#like my mind really holds me hostage when inspiration strikes.

[matrixwhore]

.

[just-a-madrigal]

We are not besties. We are ‘worsties’.

The Deadly Device

Nancy Drew Embroideries

This is hands down my favorite Nancy Drew game. I’ve always loved science, and been interested in research and learning how things work, and this game made the job of a scientist look so romantic and wonderful that I absolutely credit it with influencing my career. I used to work in a lab and on days when I was particularly uninspired I’d put on this game’s soundtrack to channel that motivation. I became fascinated with Nikola Tesla because of this game, he was truly one of the most intelligent and kind people history has known. So I’ve had the design for this piece in mind for a long time, and I was really excited to get into it. I made it hard for myself by making the piece so small, which made it hard to get all of the details right, but I was on vacation and wanted to pack light so I figured smaller would be more convenient. But someday I’d like to redo this piece on a larger scale!

This was the first (and remains the only) piece of media that I have been directly inspired to write fanfiction about. I wrote more about it that ended up being super long so it’s below the cut if anyone is interested! Overall, this was a great week :)

The story I’d write for these characters came so clearly to me; I’ve never been able to visualize something this way before. But I want to see a story about how Nico and Victor had once been lovers but Nico was too focused on his work and Victor was too capitalist-minded for them to maintain a relationship. But they did remain professional and kept respect for each other, Victor even continuing to invest in Nico’s work. But then Nico fell in love with Gray and they had a dynamic that worked because Gray was so devoted to Nico and the two of them were a team, using Gray’s considerable Physics background, but he had no interest in acclaim or the career of a scientist so Nico kept him close in the security position where they could spend evenings working together. But Victor saw this relationship blossom and became jealous and petty, and he allowed that to fester and his anger at seeing Nico be happy and loved by someone else eventually drove him to plot the murder. But he couldn’t allow himself to be so emotionally vulnerable, even going so far as to convince himself that his crime of passion was one motivated by his capitalist values and greed instead. Gray could see this happening and stayed close to protect Nico, doing what he could to protect their work and their relationship from Victor’s jealousy but knowing that Victor still had this financial power over them, essentially holding the pair hostage. When Victor finally did strike, Gray couldn’t save Nico, but he could save the evidence where he knew Victor couldn’t destroy it. He sent the security tape file to Nico’s secret computer before Victor could come in and edit it, which he knew would happen because of course Victor would cover his tracks. He had to do right by Nico and bring Victor to justice. That’s why he didn’t trust Nancy- he suspected (correctly) that she had been brought in by Victor to find that last piece of evidence and destroy it so that Victor could maintain his innocence. He couldn’t trust that Nancy would do the right thing. Gray was coming into the secret lab at the end of the game because he knew Nancy was trying to obtain it- but he thought she was going to destroy it for Victor. But as we know, Nancy gets Victor brought to justice, and so Gray can have a sense of closure, although still mourning his lost love.

So my reading of the game was very romantic, and made me enjoy it all the more!! Did anyone else read it similarly?? I believe I saw a post going around talking about the lack of details for the ending of the game, so this would be my explanation haha. Maybe someday I’ll actually flesh this out into a real story, it’s been sitting with me for literal years!! I’d love to hear if anyone else had a similar reading.

[cloud-laufeyson]

Snap Out Of It (Part 1/3)

Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader || Rick Sibling! x reader

Summary: You start to fall in love with an archer but try to tell yourself not to

Word Count: 3.2K (I got carried away)

Warnings: Profanity and minor stab mention

Song inspiration: Snap Out Of It by Arctic Monkeys

A/N: This song can be interrupted in many ways, but for this one shot I used one of my 3 interpretations for this. Where the person is telling themselves to snap out of it.

🍄Masterlist🍄  👾Requests👾

(Not my GIF)

You woke up before the sun could even come up. You couldn’t sleep at all because of him. He was in your mind, rent free, all the time. You have to shake off these thoughts by doing things constantly. You’ve been doing runs with Glenn (even by yourself if Rick isn’t looking), impaling walkers at the gate, helping Rick with the pigs, taking as many watch shifts as possible, and hell even hunting and skinning animals. Rick noticed, as he always does. After Lori passed and Rick’s episode you, Carl, and Judith were the only family left. Rick was protective over you growing up, but now he has become even more. He hated to watch you work yourself all day, even before he woke up he would see you doing work. He sees you quickly eat oatmeal and head out to do whatever chores you were doing that day.

You walked back up to the gate with two baskets of mushrooms and walked in once Rick opened it. “You went out for mushrooms?” He asked while taking one out of your grasp. “Yeah. Might as well. Kids need their vegetables right?” You glanced at him, smirking. He chuckled a little. “Y/n, are you okay? Actually okay? I see you working all day and I’m getting worried.” You looked at him, but he was already looking at you. You stopped walking and took a deep breath in, Rick stopped in front of you. “Yeah Rick...I’m good. You know me. If I don’t get stuff done, I feel useless.” You looked at the basket and back to him. “I know that. Ain’t mean I’m still worried. I also think I got a feeling of what else is going on.” You giggled under your breath. “Thinking isn’t really your thing is it? Plus nothin is goin’ on, Rick.” He nodded at you. “Alright then. I’m here if you need to talk.” You nodded your head and started walking again, Rick following beside you. “You got watch tonight?” “Yep. And you can’t stop me.” Your brother just rolled his eyes and nudged your shoulder.

You and Rick made small talk while making your way to the prison. Once you started to walk into the courtyard you saw Carol cooking. You and Rick settled the baskets on the table beside her. She thanks you two and strikes up a conversation. After a few minutes you and Rick go separate ways. You started to walk to the end of the Courtyard to go watch Carl near the pigs, but then you saw him. Crossbow on his back, one hand holding the strap while the other is on his hip.

What's been happenin' in your world?

What have you been up to?

I heard that you fell in love or near enough

I gotta tell you the truth, yeah

As you made your way closer, you gulped. He had his back towards you, but you still felt nervous. You wanted nothing more than to talk with him about anything and everything, like you used to do with him. You two started as friends back in the Greene farmhouse. He was very shy when it came to talking, but you broke down those walls. Then of course your emotions clouded your thoughts as the weeks went by. You distanced yourself after the herd invaded the farm, but you only observed him more and that’s what made it worse. As the months went by in the prison, you observed him more. You started to fall in love. You fell in love harder after he wouldn’t leave your side when you came back from Woodbury. The Governor held you hostage along with Glenn and Maggie. You weren’t the type to do that, to be in a committed relationship and think of the future. But you did with Daryl. And that scared the living shit out of you.

You breathed in the fresh air and made your way beside Daryl. Thinking you might as well make small talk. You pulled your emotions back—like you usually do—and started the conversation. “What are you doing? Not going hunting?” He looked at you and scoffed. “Nah...jus’ tryna enjoy the view. An’ you already got meat for the week. Went huntin’ without me knowin’.” You looked at him and chuckled. “Yeah...sorry about that.” You continued to look at him.

I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby

Snap out of it (snap out of it)

I get the feelin' I left it too late, but baby

Snap out of it (snap out of it)

“You a'ight Y/n?” You snapped out of your thoughts and shook your head. Feeling embarrassed he caught you staring, you looked down at your feet. You could feel your cheeks warming up and that weird feeling in your stomach. Why couldn’t you just stop thinking about him? Why can’t you just snap out of it? “Nah, yeah. I’m good. Just thinking.” “About what?” You looked at him with a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Daryl rolled his eyes at you. “I’m playing, I was just thinking about...what I’ll get Judy on my next run.” That wasn’t a complete lie, you did want to get Judith something but that wasn’t what you were thinking at the moment. you couldn’t have him knowing what you were actually thinking...about how much you wanted to kiss him...how much you just wanted to spend time with him. You two made eye contact and you could’ve sworn red crept up on his cheek. “Well maybe I’ll come with ya, help ya get something for Lil’ Ass Kicker.” Fuuuuuuck. Well...there goes the butterflies in your stomach. With that he walked away and you were left there frozen in place. Still feeling warmness on your cheeks.

If that watch don't continue to swing

Or the fat lady fancies havin' a sing

I'll be here waitin' ever so patiently

For you to snap out of it

You cursed at yourself for letting your guard down even a little bit, just enough that he can make you blush. You were snapped out of your thoughts again, but this time by Rick. He nudged you, making you almost fall over because of the force and surprise. You snapped your head at him watching him laugh. “It’s not funny, asshat.” You crossed your arms and glared at him. He just rolled his eyes, calming down from his laughter tantrum. “It kinda is. But watch your mouth, there’s children around.” Now it was your time to roll your eyes. “I said hat not hole.” This time you two both chuckled. “I saw you and Daryl. You gonna talk to him more again?” You looked away from him, back to watching the pigs and Carl just staring at them. “I don’t know.” You mumbled just loud enough for Rick to hear. “You don’t think I know what’s going on with you? If you think I don’t know, you really are stupid.” You glared at him, “You don’t know shit.” You then look back to the trees far from you. He patted your shoulder and said, “Oh yeah?” You could feel his eyes on the side of your face.

Forever isn't for everyone

Is forever for you?

It sounds like settlin' down or givin' up

But it don't sound much like you, girl

You looked back at your older brother and sighed. You couldn't hold it anymore, you needed to tell him, you needed him to help you. “Rick...you know I’m not good at that stuff. You're the ‘lovey dovey’ sibling and I’m the ‘too cool to show that side of me so I hide my emotions so I can be a badass’ sibling. I have commitment issues. I have had a crush on Daryl since the farm! Fuck...Rick...I dont know anymore. I can’t just talk to him. I need your help bro. Even if it’s just saying ‘get your head out of that damn fucking gutter and stop thinking!’ I need your help. I’m admitting this to you right now, so go ahead and milk the crap out of it then help.” Rick was still looking at you, once you were done he widened his eyes. “That was a lot. But yeah, we are that duo. Now I won’t make fun of you right now, but I will later. Look if you wanna shoot your shot...do it. It doesn’t sound like a you-thing to actually like someone a lot, but it sounds like you committed to having a crush on him for months. If you don’t want to shoot your shot and you want to handle it like you always do, I’m here. Okay?” You nodded your head. “Yeah. Thanks Rico Ricky.” He groaned and rolled his eyes at the name you gave him when you were younger, he pulled you in for a hug still. He wrapped his hands around your shoulders and you wrapped your hands around his torso. “I know you want to make fun of me so go ahead.��� You felt the vibrations of his laugh. “Nah. You have watch with him tonight so I’ll schedule making fun of you tomorrow. Maybe when we go on that run.” You pulled away from him and shoved his chest, “You dick! You put him on watch with me AND you are making time to make fun of me?!”

After Rick bid you goodbye you took a breath and just thought to yourself. Why couldn’t you just let go? Love is so complicated.

I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby

Snap out of it (snap out of it)

I get the feelin' I left it too late, but baby

Snap out of it (snap out of it)

If that watch don't continue to swing

Or the fat lady fancies havin' a sing

I'll be here waitin' ever so patiently

For you to snap out of it

It was now night. You thought about the shift with Daryl and you weren’t ready to spend 5 hours alone with him. You looked up at the tower and already saw him there. You rolled your eyes and laughed a little. Of course he’s there already.

You made your way up the tower and once you were in the tower where the tiny makeshift bed was, you looked at the sky through the windows. It was a nice night. The stars were out and you could make out the big dipper. You made your way towards Daryl. “Well hello there Robin Hood.” You said standing beside his sitting figure. He huffed lowly, his way of laughing which you took as a win. “Haven’t heard you call me tha’ in awhile.” You looked down at him, seeing he was drawing something in his sketchbook. He looked up and saw you looking at his book, Daryl blushed a little, knowing he was caught. He hated having people know his hobby, but you...he was okay with you knowing his art side. He scooted over and patted the spot next to him. You took the opportunity—not without hesitation—and sat beside him, brushing your shoulders together while doing so. You looked out towards the woods, making sure nothing was coming. There was silence between you two. It wasn't awkward, it was more...calming. You heard something scratching on paper and looked down at Daryl’s lap. “What are uh- what are you sketching?” You stumbled on your words, cursing yourself as doing so. “I uh, I’m sketchin’ out the courtyard. Ya wanna...take a look?” You looked at him and nodded eagerly. You chucked a little and handed you his work. He felt safe while with you, he felt like he could trust you not to make fun of him.

You looked at the page and sat there, lips parted slightly out of shock. It looked exactly like the real thing. There was the mini outside cafeteria, the place to cook, tables, even the basketball net in the background. It may have been just in pencil, but it still looked beautiful. There were people as well, sitting at the tables, enjoying their meals. You looked at everyone and you could tell who they were. There was Sasha, Carol, Beth, Glenn, and Maggie. Then you saw Carl, Rick, Judy, and you. You smiled to yourself. You three were sitting in the middle. You sat between Rick and Carl with Judith on your lap. You were eating your meals and smiling. Judith was being fed by Carl. You looked up at Daryl, speechless. You tried to say something, nothing but squeaks came out. You shook your head and looked at Daryl. Daryl was already looking at you. You two just sat there for a moment, staring at each other.

Under a spell you're hypnotized (ooh)

Darlin', how could you be so blind?

You realized that you two were just sitting there looking at each other. Your cheeks started to heat up and you decided to say something. “Daryl...this is...holy shit! This is amazing!” You held the thing between the two of you. Daryl just scoffed and looked down. “Nah...it’s nothing.” You rolled your eyes and punched his bicep. “D this is literally an EXACT replica of the real courtyard! I mean hell you even got me in there! I mean this looks like what happened a few days ago...how did you remember all this?” You put the book back in your lap looking at it. Daryl stared at the side of your face. “I- I jus’ remember things. I observe.”

You traced your fingers over the paper, but very lightly to make sure you don’t smudge anything. “Can I look through the pages?” You didn’t even think about what you said. The words just slipped out. Daryl just stared at you. He had this look you didn’t know how to read. You could read all his faces, but this one...this one was different. His eyes had this worried look in behind his eyes yet they also held softness. His nose scrunched up a little and his brows were furrowed—what he does when he thinks. His shoulders were tense as well. “I mean- you uh, you don’t have to! I just...you’re really good.” Daryl was looking at you, but his face and shoulders relaxed. All his tenseness was gone. “Yeah, go ahead. Ya can look at ‘em.” You smiled at him and squeezed his hand that was on his lap. “Thank you, D.”

You started from the beginning. At first it was sketches of different sceneries. The quarry, the CDC, the Greene farm, places the group camped out after the herd, the prison. There were people as well. Everyone in your group. Then your eyes landed on a sketch of you. A sketch of you reading a book on one of the guard towers, the thing was this actually happened. You remembered reading that book. It was “The Outsiders” by S. E. Hilton. One of your personal favourites. You flipped the page, another sketch of you. This one was you coming back from a run, smiling because you found a toy for Carl and Judith. You smiled at the drawing. You continued to flip the pages, the majority of the pages were you. You were confused, thinking why the hell Daryl would waste his time drawing you. You flipped the page one last time and landed on this sketch of you asleep in your cell after receiving a stab wound you got from a lost man in the forest. It was a deep scar, but Hershel patched you up. That was only a few days ago. You looked at Daryl, but he was already staring at you. He was looking at you the whole time, observing your expressions. He was nervous this would happen, but he thought he should man up and confess.

“Daryl this...you did all this? These are amazing!” You smiled at him. The corner of his lips tugged a little. “Nah, it’s nothin’.” “D...it’s not ‘nothing’. Hell you did me justice. I look way prettier on paper.” Daryl scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Nah. Don’ say that. Ya look amazin’ in real life.” You looked down feeling your cheeks heat up again. “Why?” Daryl looked at you with a questioning look. “I mean, why draw me? You have this whole place to draw.” You waved your one free hand around, gesturing to everything around you. Daryl looked down and mumbled something that you couldn't quite hear. You just heard a few swear words. “‘Cause I…” he paused and took a deep breath. “ I like ya. Yer amazin’. I didn’t want to say anythin’ cause I was scared.” He looked into your eyes, he tried to study your face. Your face was soft...almost like you were relieved.

I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby

Snap out of it (snap out of it)

I get the feelin' I left it too late, but baby

Snap out of it (snap out of it)

If that watch don't continue to swing

Or the fat lady fancies havin' a sing

I'll be here waitin' ever so patiently

For you to snap out of it

“Daryl...I uh, I like you too. A lot.” You grinned at him, and one corner of his mouth twitched up. “And if it makes you feel better, I was scared as shit. I’m gonna be honest, I’m scared right now.” He furrowed his brows. “Why?” You looked at him and sighed. “I’m not good at...this.” You pointed to him and yourself. “I suck at relationships. I suck at commitment. Past relationships haven’t been the best for me. My past partners not only screwed me over, but also my family.” You confessed to him, thinking he’ll laugh at you. He just grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “Y/n...I understand. I suck at all tha’ as well.” You chuckled a little, leaning into Daryl’s side but still looking into his eyes. “Well we got all the time in this world to figure our shit out.” You smirked at him and he laughed. One of rare laughs that made your heart jump. You joined in on his laughing. “Yeah. We do have tha’. We can try and figure this out.” You looked at him with a warm smile.

You saw he was relaxed, his eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. You two leaned into each other, closing the gap between the two of you. At first the kiss was sweet, then it got passionate. Daryl laid one of his hands on the small of your back, the other went to cup your cheek. He brought you in closer, you laid your hands on his chest. After moments pass, you two pull away from each other, laying your foreheads together. Both of you were out of breath but that didn’t stop you from making a snarky remark. “You know...for a shy guy I never imagined you being a good kisser.” Daryl’s eyes went wide. “Oh yeah? Well maybe I’ll just become more shy.” He smirked at you and you laughed. He went in for another kiss, but you stopped him by applying force to his chest. “Now wait a minute Robin Hood. We are supposed to be on watch. And if I keep kissing you...who knows.” He laughed one of his rare laughs again. “A’ight. Fair enough.” He squeezed your waist and pulled you closer to his side.  

Maybe you don’t have to snap out of it…

A/N: Any critiques on how I could improve or just any comments are welcomed:) Would you like a part 2 and 3 (different plot however) for the other interruptions to the song?

[sadprosed]

𝑳𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑪  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬   REPUTATION  ( 2017 )  by  taylor  swift.

taken  from  or  inspired  by  the  lyrics  of  the  album.  some  sexual  themes  present.

+    feel  free  to  change  pronouns  !

‘  i  see  how  this  is  going  to  go.  ’

‘  i  knew  he / she / they  was  a  killer,  the  first  time  that  i  saw  him / her / them.  ’

‘  every  love  i’ve  ever  known  in  comparison  is  a  failure.  ’

‘  i’ll  keep  him / her / them  forever,  like  a  vendetta.  ’

‘  touch  me  and  you’ll  never  be  alone.  ’

‘  no  one  has  to  know.  ’

‘  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  my  dreams,  you  should  see  the  things  we  do.  ’

‘  are  you  ready  for  it  ?  ’

‘  i’ve  got  some  big  enemies.  ’

‘  you  and  me  would  be  a  big  conversation.  ’

‘  we  tried  to  forget  it  but  we  just  couldn’t.  ’

‘  i  bury  hatchets,  but  i  keep  maps  of  where  i  put  them.  ’

‘  in  rumors,  i’m  knee  deep.  ’

‘  i  can’t  let  you  go,  your  handprint  is  on  my  soul.  ’

‘  you’ve  been  calling  my  bluff  on  all  my  usual  tricks.  ’

‘  i  never  trust  a  narcissist,  but  they  love  me.  ’

‘  for  every  lie  i  tell  them,  they  tell  me  three.  ’

‘  this  is  how  the  world  works,  you  gotta  leave  before  you  get  left.  ’

‘  i  can  feel  the  flames  on  my  skin.  ’

‘  i  did  something  bad,  why  does  it  feel  so  good  ?  ’

‘  they’re  burning  all  the  witches,  even  if  you  aren’t  one.  ’

‘  don’t  blame  me,  love  made  me  crazy.  ’

‘  for  you,  i  would  cross  the  line,  i  would  waste  my  time.  ’ 

‘  i  once  was  poison  ivy  but  now  i’m  your  daisy.  ’

‘  for  you  i  would  fall  from  grace,  just  to  touch  your  face.  ’

‘  i’d  beg  you  on  my  knees  to  stay.  ’

‘  my  reputation  has  never  been  good,  so  you  must  love  me  for  me.  ’

‘  we  can’t  make  any  promises,  but  you  can  make  me  a  drink.  ’

‘  just  think  of  the  fun  things  we  could  do.  ’

‘  is  it  too  soon  to  do  this  yet  ?  ’

‘  sometimes  when  i  look  into  your  eyes,  i  pretend  you’re  mine.  ’

‘  i  don’t  like  your  tilted  stage,  don’t  like  your  twisted  games.  ’

‘  the  role  you  made  me  play  of  the  fool,  no,  i  don’t  like  you.  ’

‘  i  don’t  like  your  perfect  crime,  how  you  laugh  when  you  lie.  ’

‘  the  world  moves  on,  another  day,  another  drama.  ’

‘  i’ll  be  the  actress  starring  in  your  bad  dreams.  ’

‘  you  make  all  my  grey  days  disappear.  ’

‘  i’m  so  chill,  but  you  make  me  jealous.  ’

‘  i  break  down  just  a  little,  but  when  you  get  me  alone  it’s  so  simple.  ’

‘  i’m  in  a  gold  cage,  hostage  to  my  feelings.  ’

‘  you  cut  me  into  pieces.  ’

‘  you’re  so  cool,  it  makes  me  hate  you  so  much.  ’

‘  you’ve  ruined  my  life  by  not  being  mine.  ’

‘  i’m  so  furious  at  you  for  making  me  feel  this  way.  ’

‘  you  should  take  it  as  a  compliment  that  i’m  talking  to  everyone  here  but  you.  ’

‘  there’s  a  consequence  to  you  touching  my  hand  in  a  darkened  room.  ’

‘   i  feel  like  i  might  sink  and  drown  and  die.  ’  

‘  you  make  me  so  happy,  it  turns  back  to  sad.  ’

‘  i  struck  a  match  and  blew  your  mind,  but  i  didn’t  mean  it.  ’

‘  we  never  had  a  shotgun  shot  in  the  dark.  ’

‘  don’t  pretend  it’s  such  a  mystery.  ’

‘  we  were  flying,  but  we’d  never  get  far.  ’

‘  you  should  have  known  i’d  be  the  first  to  leave.  ’

‘  it’s  no  surprise  i  turned  you  in,  because  us  traitors  never  win.  ’

‘  that  was  the  last  time  you  ever  saw  me.  ’

‘  i  made  up  my  mind  i’m  better  off  being  alone.  ’

‘  all  at  once,  you  are  the  one  i  have  been  waiting  for.  ’

‘  i’ll  never  let  you  go.  ’

‘  your  love  is  a  secret  i’m  hoping,  dreaming,  dying  to  keep.  ’

‘  the  taste  of  your  lips  is  my  idea  of  luxury.  ’

‘  is  this  the  end  of  all  the  endings  ?  ’

‘  all  at  once  this  is  enough.  ’

‘  i  loved  you  in  secret,  at  first  sight  we  loved  without  reason.  ’

‘  i  could  have  spent  forever  with  your  hands  in  my  pockets.  ’

‘  you  said  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  to  divide  us,  but  i  had  a  bad  feeling.  ’

‘  we  were  dancing  with  our  hands  tied,  like  it  was  the  first  time.  ’

‘  i  loved  you  in  spite  of  deep  fears  that  the  world  would  divide  us.  ’ 

‘  can  we  dance  through  an  avalanche  ?  ’

‘  my  love  had  been  frozen  deep  blue,  but  you  painted  me  golden.  ’

‘  i’d  kiss  you  as  the  lights  went  out,  swaying  as  the  room  burned  down.  ’

‘  i’d  hold  you  as  the  water  rushes  in  if  i  could  dance  with  you  again.  ’

‘  they’ve  got  no  idea  about  me  and  you.  ’

‘  you  made  your  mark  on  me,  a  golden  tattoo.  ’

‘  my  hands  are  shaking  from  holding  back  from  you.  ’

‘  say  my  name  and  everything  just  stops.  ’

‘  i  only  bought  this  dress  so  you  could  take  it  off.  ’

‘  carve  your  name  into  my  bedpost.  ’

‘  i  don’t  want  you  like  a  best  friend.  ’  

‘  if  we  get  burned,  at  least  we  were  electrified.  ’

‘  everyone  thinks  that  they  know  us,  but  they  know  nothing.  ’

‘  even  in  my  worst  lies,  you  saw  the  truth  in  me.  ’

‘  i  woke  up  just  in  time,  now  i  wake  up  by  your  side.  ’

‘  it  was  so  nice  throwing  big  parties.  ’

‘  there  are  no  rules  when  you  show  up  here.  ’

‘  why’d  you  have  to  rain  on  my  parade  ?  ’

‘  this  is  why  we  can’t  have  nice  things,  darling.  ’

‘  did  you  really  think  i  wouldn’t  hear  all  the  things  you  said  about  me  ?  ’

‘  here  i  was  giving  you  a  second  chance,  but  you  stabbed  me  in  the  back  while  shaking  my  hand.  ’

‘  herein  lies  the  issue:  friends  don’t  try  to  trick  you.  ’

‘  i’m  not  the  only  friend  you’ve  lost  lately.  ’

‘  here’s  a  toast  to  my  real  friends.  ’

‘  i  brought  a  knife  to  a  gun  fight.  ’

‘  i’m  doing  better  than  i  ever  was.  ’

‘  call  it  what  you  want  to.  ’

‘  all  the  liars  are  calling  me  one.  ’

‘  all  my  flowers  grew  back  as  thorns.  ’

‘  you  don’t  need  to  save  me,  but  would  you  run  away  with  me  ?  ’

‘  i  know  i  make  the  same  mistakes  every  time.  ’  

‘  bridges  burn,  i  never  learn,  but  at  least  i  did  one  thing  right.  ’

‘  your  starry  eyes  spark  up  my  darkest  night.  ’

‘  i’ll  be  there  if  you’re  the  toast  of  the  town,  or  if  you  strike  out  and  you’re  crawling  home.  ’

‘  don’t  read  the  last  page,  but  i  stay.  ’

‘  hold  on  to  the  memories,  they  will  hold  on  to  you.  ’

‘  please  don’t  ever  become  a  stranger  whose  laugh  i  would  recognize  anywhere.  ’

[erin-bo-berin]

My Heroine

MASTERLIST

This fic was inspired by the song My Heroine by The Maine which you can listen to here, if you’d like. The song I’ve come to realize sounds like it can have multiple interpretations, but I was inspired to use the whole “reader is Spencer’s drug of choice” plot. Not gonna lie it was rough writing about his prison trauma cause I consider it to be one of his biggest traumas, but I kinda wanted this to be a journey from his avoidance of it to his eventual acceptance, all while sex is his “heroin” or the reader is the “heroine” in his story. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 4,460

I’m feeling pretty dirty baby

Forgive my sins

I get the feeling you can save me honey,

My heroine

The silver gleam from the sharp blade caught his eye as it hit the light. In any other circumstances, the sharpness of it might actually be considered  beautiful.

This was anything but beautiful.

This was horrifying.

The metal was so closely pressed to skin that even a small flinch could draw blood.

“Never ever mess with a man’s stash on the inside. When you do,” the man paused for a second—a millisecond—before the knife sliced across the skin, ripping the hostage’s throat open.

He struggled against the person holding him, his momentary shock and need to help his friend making him fight the grip of the big man, even more.

“People get hurt,” the first guy said, backing away.

The second man let go of him, his friend falling to the floor, choking on his own blood. While they made their departure from the laundry room, he ran to his injured friend’s side, grabbing a towel to hold against the wound.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeated, kneeling over the only friendly face he’d known in the last weeks.

If he repeated it enough, he’d be okay. He had to be. 

“Guard!” he yelled.

His hands cradled his friend’s face as he lay gasping and wheezing, the fear in his eyes matching his own. 

In all the years, throughout all the things he saw that most normal people didn’t, he’d never been as terrified as he was right now. His heart raced from the fear and he was breathing heavy as he screamed as loud as he could.

“HELP! HELLLLP!”

Spencer shot up in bed, breathing hard.

His face was sweaty, his entire body was sweaty, in fact. His t-shirt clung to his skin.

He kicked off the covers, sitting on the side of his bed, running his hands through his hair. He tried in vain to calm his pounding heart and slow his breathing.

The nightmares hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d gotten worse.

A rare burst of anger caused him to shove the object that was sitting on his nightstand, off of it with extreme force.

He glared at the journal on the floor where it had landed haphazardly. He didn’t want to write in it like his therapist suggested. It didn’t help him then and it wasn’t going to help him now.

He rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to erase all the images that constantly played behind his eyes, regardless if he was asleep or awake.

It was the middle of the night, but he knew what he needed. He grabbed his phone off the charger and sent a quick text.

I need a distraction.

The recipient would understand, he knew. It was only 1 am and they were known to be a night owl anyway. 

He grabbed a pair of pants to change into and pulled them on in place of his pajama pants. All he had to grab were his car keys and his phone and he was out the door.

-

It’d only been six months since Spencer had been released from prison in which he spent three long, grueling months in.

He had been framed.

That was the first thing he remembered thinking, even under the influence of heroin and cocaine, in which the unsub had drugged him with. He had been sitting in a prison cell in Mexico, but deep down he knew he hadn’t done anything, even if his mind was scrambled and tried desperately to convince himself otherwise.

Fucking Cat Adams. If she hadn’t been such a psychopath, he might’ve admired her intelligence and skills to pull off something so elaborate, but alas, she was.

Her and her female partner Lindsey Vaughn had been watching him, waiting to strike. All because Spencer had arrested Cat and outsmarted her. It’s where she belonged after all. She’d been a

hit woman, operating in the shadows of the dark web that even experts in the area couldn’t even fathom.

She, along with four other assassins had been working for years before any law enforcement even knew of their existence. Spencer and the rest of his fellow Behavioral Analysis team had been the only ones to get close enough to them. Close enough in fact, to take them all down, every last one.

Cat Adams though, had been the hardest one. She was one to play mind games and she hated to lose. Which she had against him; he’d outsmarted her and she was the one who’d landed in a prison cell.

Of course, being the kind of person she was, she wasn’t going to take that lying down. So, she returned the favor.

He had been determined to help his mother—Diana Reid—who’d been suffering from paranoid schizophrenia all his life, but now had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. He was smart, he was sure he could help her, fix her maybe.

There’d been a plethora of drug trials, medicine combinations, diet changes, but nothing helped. So without his teammates—who happened to be the closest friends he had—knowledge, he had been crossing the Mexico border numerous times to get medicine for his mother, one that was definitely not FDA approved.

It was one of these trips that Lindsey—and technically Cat too—had struck. 

She’d dosed him with a spray of scopolamine, pumped him full of cocaine and heroin and murdered the woman he’d been meeting to get the vials of medicine from.

It was bad, really bad. He was the prime suspect in the murder and that is how he ended up in Millburn Correctional Facility pending trial for three months.

Thankfully, the BAU had worked their asses off to clear his name, but in the time spent in prison he had experienced some pretty awful things.

If that hadn’t been bad enough, Cat had orchestrated another evil plan. Lindsey had managed to kidnap his mother.

Less than 12 hours after being released from jail, he was back in another one to face Cat again and play her games. 

She had been executed for her crimes and the additional charges she faced for framing him and kidnapping his mother. He wasn’t the least bit remorseful; if anything, he was glad he’d never have to deal with her again. He dealt with her in his mind enough as is.

Spencer didn’t deal with emotions very well, so it was no surprise to himself that he didn’t stop to process his trauma.

Instead, he found other outlets.

He’d known Y/N for several years but had done an awful job of keeping in touch as the years passed. He’d recently reconnected with her before his arrest and then he’d pulled away again.

He felt bad for never telling her until after the fact, but he’d been embarrassed enough. 

She was a good friend, one who had said she would do anything to help him if and when he needed it.

That’s how the arrangement began. It’d happened once, by accident, but it had helped him forget everything when he needed it the most.

Which is why at 1 a.m. he was headed over to her house, just to forget everything for a while.

Your hips, my hands, you swing and you dance

Yeah, I’m feeling pretty lonely baby 

Just let me in

Just let me in

The door to her apartment opened to reveal her barefoot and in a long, oversized t-shirt.

“Hey,” she greeted him.

He didn’t waste time with the greetings, he kicked the door closed with his foot and grabbed her face, kissing her.

Within minutes he had her pressed up against her door, hands roaming under her shirt as he kissed her hungrily.

He wanted to forget.

Needed to forget.

She moaned into the kiss. Lucky for him, she got horny easily. She was always ready to go at it whenever. Maybe it had something to do with him, although he didn’t know. He never really took the time to dwell on it.

His fingers stroked her bare stomach as his tongue moved against hers. Her hands clutched the bottom of his shirt, pulling away long enough to help him yank it over his head. Her shirt followed suit.

For a while, they stayed there, top halves pressed against one another as their lips moved together in a complicated, yet simple dance. 

They made out for a while, while Spencer forced his brain to empty and focus on her. It finally worked as he felt his crotch tighten, his need for her now more than just something to get him through the night.

She led him back to her bedroom and within minutes was kneeling in front of him, pulling his cock out of his pants.

“You gonna be a good little girl and suck my cock?” he mumbled, looking down at her with lidded eyes.

Normally, he would never fathom talking like this. But something had changed within him in the last six months. He was rougher around the edges, he quite literally didn’t give a fuck anymore. Which proved to be true since he quite literally had a fuck buddy—something the old Spencer wouldn’t even consider.

He cared about her, but like him, she didn’t want anything serious, so he never felt too bad taking advantage of her this way. Weren’t they both using each other anyway?

“Your wish is my command,” she purred, making his cock throb even more.

The moment her mouth touched him, his eyes closed in pure bliss, the feeling chasing the nightmares away.

His hand threaded in her hair, guiding her head as her tongue glided and mouth hollowed out, sucking him like her favorite popsicle. She was amazing at this, he definitely had to give her that.

“Y/N, fuck,” he groaned, his hips bucking up towards her mouth.

Her tongue was his gateway to an anxiety free mind—at least for the time being.

He pushed her away after a few minutes. He wasn’t going to last if she kept that up much longer.

With surprising agility, he’d had her from her knees to bent over the end of the bed in seconds.

Their sessions were far from romantic love making—the type of intimacy he knew she deserved—but more animalistic and frenzied. 

He knew he was selfish and instead of letting her have what she deserved from a man, he held tight to her like she was his lifeline.

In a way, she had become his lifeline. Things got worse the longer he tried to stay away from her. That’s why he always returned.

Her moans and the slap of their bodies were the only sounds heard in the room as he thrust deep into her. Even as fucked up as he was, he had to be an idiot to not admit that sex with her was incredible. She was incredible.

“Spencer, oh my god, fuck.”

Her words came out in a strangled moan as he’d switched up the movements of his hips. Instead of the fast and harsh thrusts, they turned into slow and deeper ones. He may only be her fuck buddy, but he was still gonna be damn sure she got her pleasure out of it too.

His fingers dug into her hips as he tried to erase the images of his earlier nightmare with every thrust. Usually, it worked. Tonight though, he was struggling.

Instead of disappearing, the memories kept flashing through his head like a silent movie on repeat.

The helplessness everyone felt in that prison.

The fear he felt.

The images of a group of white men who pointed a knife in his face his first full night in prison.

Two, sneering and sadistically joyful faces hovering over him as they beat him to a pulp, smothering his face with a rag.

His desperate decision in doing something so awful that it hurt more men than he intended it to.

The constant paranoia.

The fear he had become a monster.

Every single moment inside he’d spent that he had to make choices he’d never fathomed he’d have to—only to survive.

Delgado.

“Switch it up,” he muttered, pulling out of her, turning her around.

His jaw was tense, his body was rigid. All he wanted was one orgasm to erase his nightmare.

Her eyes narrowed, sensing his tension but knowing better than to comment on it.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered.

She pushed him towards the head of the bed, ordering him to sit against it. He did as he was told, focusing all of his attention on her again.

When she climbed into his lap to straddle him, his breathing had become ragged and he was glad that the stirrings of his arousal were coming back—his sexual attraction to her luring him back in again.

She sank down on him and he exhaled sharply, groaning lowly. The feeling of her tight around him was always like drinking water after being utterly parched.

“You like that?” she purred, her hands resting against his chest, “You like when I take care of you?”

“Very much so,” he growled.

He thread his hand into the back of her hair, pulling her face towards his. He kissed her roughly, his lower half meeting the speed she’d set since she was now the one in charge. Her pelvis grinded against his, giving her even more pleasure, he was sure.

As much as he did this for his benefit, he also had a small sense of pride in knowing he could make her moan and writhe like he did. His hands cupped her breasts, massaging them and she threw her head back with a loud moan. 

He could practically fall apart at that sight alone, but he managed to resist.

His lips attached to her throat, sucking harshly, sure to leave a mark. Their moves were frantic as she gripped the headboard and he bucked relentlessly into her.

They both spiraled into ecstasy, not that far apart from one another.

Sweaty and out of breath, she moved off of him, gathering her clothes and tossing his own to him.

“Want something to eat before you go?”

She asked it so nonchalantly it was as if he hadn’t just spent about half an hour buried to the hilt in her.

“No, thanks though.”

He wasn’t one to stay long after the deed, even though a part of him felt like an ass for it. Y/N didn’t deserve that. But if it ever bothered her, she never let on.

She nodded, watching him as he finished pulling his shirt over his head.

“I’m around, if you need me.”

Spencer gave a nod and headed to the door, grabbing his car keys on his way out.

You’re my heroine, but you’re suicide 

If I let you in you’ll crawl inside 

You save my skin

But you can’t wait to sink in 

My heroine

In a way, Y/N had become his drug.

Whenever things got too hard, he went to her. But lately, it was like every time he fucked her, it only left him needing more.

His PTSD was getting worse, the sex was only distracting him for so long, but he was stubborn. He wasn’t going to give her up anytime soon.

The PTSD was also affecting his work and he knew it.

It’d been six months since his release from prison, but he’d only been reinstated for three months. He worked his ass off to get his position back and he wasn’t about to let his emotions get the best of him.

He was currently trying to focus on the geo profile in front of him, but his vision kept blurring. He rubbed his eye, trying hard to block out everything else but this case.

He was becoming increasingly irritable as well.

It had only been a week since his last visit to Y/N, but he was craving her and her distractions so much. His nightmares hadn’t ceased, he was hardly sleeping and his teammates weren’t oblivious.

They knew he was having a hard time readjusting.

Spencer doubted they knew just how bad it really was though.

The map blurred in front of his eyes again, the sight being replaced with moving pictures, his memories being played before his eyes.

Like the time he was so desperate to survive, he poisoned drugs that he was supposed to move, instead of getting involved with the situation.

He ended up causing several men to get incredibly sick—his guilt over that still haunted him at night.

Prison was an incredibly dangerous place and he had been too good of a person to survive as long as he had.

For a while he’d had two friends; Delgado and Shaw.

One was murdered in front of him.

The other turned out to be using him. Shaw ran the entire prison population. He called the shots and people listened to him. But Spencer wanted no part of that.

Making an enemy of Shaw had been deadly. In fact, it came close to being deadly. Spencer could’ve easily lost his life behind bars.

It had been months since he had been locked up, but the sense of helplessness he felt still haunted him to this day. It smothered him like the sweltering heat on a hot, summer day.

He rubbed his palms into his eyes. He felt like he couldn’t breathe while at the same time his heart rate accelerated. His sense of fight or flight was being triggered and he couldn’t stop the sense of dread that was engulfing his senses.

“Spence, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just need some fresh air,” he answered, brushing past a worried JJ.

The moment he exited the crowded police station and the cool air hit his face, he felt fractionally better, but the anxiety still gripped him.

He gripped his tie, yanking at it and loosening it, so he could breathe. The feel of it around his neck had been making him feel like he was suffocating more so than he already had been.

His therapist had told him panic attacks were normal with PTSD, but he hadn’t had them much. This was an exception apparently.

He leaned against the brick of the building and tried to focus on his breathing to bring his heart rate down. After all he’d endured, he wasn’t about to let a damn panic attack take him down.

His eyes were closed as he tried to calm down, so he didn’t hear Luke approaching.

“Reid.”

He opened his eyes, seeing his teammate Luke Alvez, standing next to him. 

He wondered how he currently looked through Luke’s eyes. A mess, probably. 

Luke didn’t beat around the bush, either.

“Your PTSD has gotten worse, hasn’t it?” he asked, gently.

Spencer shrugged.

“Spencer, if you need to take some time—”

“I don’t need to take time off because I’m fine,” he snapped.

Luke flinched as if Spencer had physically hit him. If anything, he knew that his outburst was just further proof at how not okay he was.

“I need to get back to work,” he mumbled, moving around Luke to head back inside.

He wasn’t sure of anything much lately, but one thing he knew for sure was when they got back from the current case, he was heading straight to Y/N’s apartment.

I feel a little withdrawal baby,

Come pick me up

Took a hit from your level

Now I just can’t get enough 

Your taste, my touch

A little bit of love and a whole lot of lust 

He was back at her door, knocking.

She opened the door, dressed in another oversized t-shirt—due to the late hour of night—and greeted him with a wordless nod. Somehow, he thought she knew that he was having a bad time today.

He looked like shit, that he knew. His hair was a mess of tangled curls, his eyes were bloodshot and deep, dark bags shined brightly under his face, darker than his normal appearance. His cheekbones were more prominent lately as well since he wasn’t eating much, nor was he sleeping well either.

“How do you want me?” she asked.

Her tone was dull and to the point and threw him off guard for a moment. She’d never made it about her, ever. But now, looking at her, he could see her unhappiness. Whether he caused it or not, he was unsure.

This arrangement of theirs had been only to help him forget. Too quickly, it had become like an addiction for him. She was like his drug. He needed her to forget. But maybe, at the same time, she was tired of trying to help him when he couldn’t even help himself.

He promised himself that this would be the last time. Once more and he’d let her go. He’d let her be free of him. She’d be happier anyways.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

He tried to be gentle as he pulled her towards him. As he kissed her, he felt her body melt into his. Maybe he had been imagining her mood earlier.

He tried to focus on getting hard, not on all the horrors that constantly swirled in his mind.

His lips moved swiftly with hers in a kiss that was anything but romantic or gentle. It was lust driven and filled with his own desperate need to be distracted.

She knew exactly what to do to get him in the mood, that’s for sure. 

Her teeth tugged at his lower lip gently, her tongue almost the complete opposite of their current actions. It was gentle and hesitant as it met his before continuing its dance with his own.

He pulled her closer, his hand tangled in her hair as he kissed her more roughly, pushing her against the arm of her couch.

In the blink of an eye, he had her turned around and bent over the arm, his hand gliding over the silk material of her underwear. He felt a small swell of pride hearing her moan as he touched her. It also went a long way in helping his own arousal which was now throbbing in his pants.

He was already unbuttoning his pants as he kissed her neck, his hips pressing into hers. The more he got into it, the more he actually felt that he wanted this—that he wanted her.

With one smooth movement, he had her underwear pulled down to her thighs and he entered her with a groan.

But he couldn’t focus. 

Somehow, without him realizing it, the memories had slipped through a crack in his mind.

Instead of being there with Y/N, he was back in that cell.

The countless hours sitting in a cell, trying to remember something he never did.

The desperation, the helplessness in that place.

Familiar faces he dealt with sped across his mind.

Malcolm, Shaw, Delgado, Wilkins. Frazier, Duerson, the two men who gave him a beating meant for Delgado.

The fear he felt in those final days when he had no one to trust, when he had to stab himself in the leg to get into solitary confinement, just to stay alive.

The horrible memories were flashing in his head at the speed of lightning.

“Ow! Spencer, you’re hurting me.”

Spencer snapped back to the present, realizing his fingers were creating bruises on Y/N’s hips from his too tight grip.

“This isn’t working,” he said in way of an apology, pulling out of her.

He was already going soft anyway, the previous arousal now completely gone and replaced by his racing thoughts and memories.

“It’s fine,” she muttered, pulling down her t-shirt and pulling up her underwear.

He had just zipped up his suit pants—he’d come straight from the jet—when she spoke again.

“Actually, no. It’s not okay.”

Spencer blinked in surprise at her harsh tone. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her raise her voice.

“I’m sick of this Spencer! I know we started this a while ago for...reasons,” she flapped her hand in midair as if demonstrating all the unsaid things between them.

“But I can’t do it anymore. I care about you Spencer. Honestly right now I don’t know if it’s as more than a friend or just as a friend but that’s another can of worms to open another time. You can’t keep doing this! You can’t keep coming to me and fucking me to try and rid your demons. You’ve been through a hell of a lot and you didn’t deserve any of it, but I’m not going to stand her and watch my friend destroy himself because he refuses to get the help he so desperately needs.”

Spencer stood, frozen in place, mouth agape. It was then he saw tears shining in her eyes.

“We have a lot to sort out between us, eventually, but you need to help yourself first,” she whispered, as if feeling defeated by her previous outburst.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he could say.

“I know facing everything, processing it all is a scary feeling, Spencer. Even if you tried reaching out to a friend to talk through it, that would be a big step. I just...I just want you to get better.”

A single tear slid down her cheek and he did the worst possible thing to do.

He fled her apartment like the coward he was.

•

He didn’t go home. 

Instead, he walked around the city as the daylight receded and the sun slipped behind the horizon, saying goodnight to the world until the next day.

He spent a lot of time thinking.

He ended up dashing into a busy diner he came across as the night sky opened up and rain began falling in sheets.

He sat in his booth, absentmindedly sipping on the cup of coffee he’d ordered and watched the rain fall in the darkness outside.

In an ironic way, the weather outside was similar to the turmoil he felt inside. 

Just like the completely blackened sky outside, he felt just as dark and empty. The storm was similar to the storm of emotions, memories, traumas he continually tried to squash, all in the wrong ways.

He knew ignoring his problems wouldn’t make them go away; he also knew using sex as a distraction was the worst possible thing to do as well, yet he’d continued to do it and he’d hurt more than just himself in the process.

He’d hurt his friends, who’d only wanted to help, but pushed them away. He’d hurt Y/N, who didn’t deserve to be treated like a plaything, yet he kept coming back, making things worse.

By the time he’d finished his coffee, he decided what he wanted to do. What he knew he needed to do.

I’m feeling pretty lonely baby,

So just let me in

Just let me in 

He’d ran through the pouring rain. He didn’t even bother to try to take any transportation. The rain felt like it was washing him clean from the horrors of the last year.

He was back at her door, but this time, for a different reason. 

He was soaking wet and felt a lot like a dog with his tail between his legs, but he refused to chicken out once again. So, he knocked.

She answered, this time in actual pajamas rather than the attire she was in hours before.

Maybe it was the expression he wore or something she saw in his face because she didn’t immediately slam the door in his face—something he knew he deserved. She stood patiently, almost questioningly, waiting for him to speak first.

He took a deep breath before speaking the words he should’ve uttered months ago.

“I’m ready to talk. I’m ready to get the help I need.”

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[five-rivers]

The "Young Yagi Toshinori|All Might on ao3 covers everything from him being a toddler to just pre-organ-loss so just-got-ofa-teen Toshi is smol enough. (Altho elementary-school-age Toshi ruining some villain's day would be hilarious and awesome) The into mind plot sounds awesome and I'm looking forward to it. Blackwhip -Vigilante- Underground Hero Yagi (and Izu) sounds like a ride!

Sir, you have inspired me.  Have some elementary school Toshinori.

.

Shimura Nana was having A Day.  

First, she’d woken up with her bones aching, a side effect of all the microfractures she’d given herself while getting used to One for All.  Second, she’d discovered she was out of painkillers.  Third, the convenience store she usually frequented for such matters had been collateral in a villain fight earlier that week, so she’d had to jog to the nearest grocery store (her license level didn’t cover quirk use for personal matters).  Fourth, the grocery store didn’t sell her usual brand, so now she was stuck deciding between the grocery store’s generics, of unknown quality, and a slightly more expensive brand she knew would mostly work but tended to make her drowsy.  The more expensive and effective brands were a little out of the price range of a person like her.  

A person like her being a recently licensed aboveground sidekick who was trying to stay out of the direct spotlight due to the century-plus-year-old supervillain who was currently stalking her due to the origin of one of her two powers.

Yeah, okay.  So, there weren’t any other people like her.  It was a figure of speech.  Who could blame her?

The universe, apparently.  

One wall of the grocery store caved in, the force of the blast whipping the scarf off from around Nana’s neck and all thoughts of painkillers from Nana’s mind.  One for All pulsed in her fists as she turned to face the threat.  

(As always, she wondered, was this it?  Had he found her?  Was she about to die like Six?)

The threat was underwhelming.  The villain standing in the hole was skinny, stressed, and clearly new at the ‘escape’ part of the gig, despite the bulging bag of cash under his left arm.  Where had he come from, anyway?  The nearest bank was...  Ugh.  Nana couldn’t be bothered to remember the exact distance.  It didn’t matter, anyway.  

What mattered was taking the guy down before he got the bright idea to start doing whatever he did to the wall to people.  For example, the shoppers who were still standing right next to him.  

Was the demolished wall not enough of a hint for these people?

Whatever, they were civilians.  Even heroes and policemen froze sometimes.  

It would be best to avoid a flashy (and damaging) fight in this scenario, especially given that Nana wasn’t wearing her costume, but a random sweater and some old jeans.  She began to maneuver around to the villain’s flank, positioning herself in such a way that there were no civilians behind her.  She prepared to strike.  

And then, because the universe really had it out for her today, a second villain walked through the hole, this one carrying a crying girl in an elementary school uniform.  He also was wearing a truly atrocious pair of shorts.  They were some unholy combination between Hawaiian print, stripes, and polka-dots.  And the were short.  And tight.  

The kidnapping only barely beat out those shorts as the worst crime the man was currently committing.  

“No one get any ideas, or I’ll kill this brat!” yelled the villain.  Their quirk looked like it turned their hands into spikes.  Simple, not terribly threatening, but more than enough to kill the kid.  

Oh, and now there was another kid, a blonde, peeking around the edge of the hole, glaring at the spike villain.  

Okay, from now on, Nana was going to assume that no one had any self preservation, ever.  

“I don’t know about this, bro,” said the other villain, shaking.  

“Shut up!  Hey, you!” he shouted at a cashier.  “Where’s Kimiko?”

“She, uh, break room,” said the shaking teen.  

The villain snorted.  “Come on, she’s got that teleport quirk.”  He kicked the back of the other villain’s leg.  He stumbled forward.  

A number of things happened in quick succession.  

First, the blonde kid ran at the spike villain, hitting the backs of his legs.  

Second, Nana darted forward, intent on taking out the villains before they could kill the suicidal blonde.

Third, there was a lot of blood.  

When Nana said a lot, she meant a lot.  As in, a worryingly large amount.  As in, anyone who lost that much blood needed a trip to the hospital pronto, and that was if they were an adult.  

The wall-blasting villain had evidently realized this, was screaming, and, thankfully, not paying enough attention to anything else to notice Nana coming up alongside him and knocking him across the jaw.  

She didn’t have her capture gear with her.  She’d have to hope he’d stay out.  

Then the spike villain just.  Collapsed.  

Which is when she realized he was the one bleeding, rather than either of the kids.  In fact, the blonde kid, who was utterly covered in blood, was helping to extract the girl from the villain’s rapidly weakening grasp.  Which meant that Nana should probably do something.  

Yeah, something.  

First, make sure the villain wasn’t going to get back up and attack everyone.  Oh, jeez.  That was a giant chunk out of the guy’s leg, right underneath those awful, awful shorts.  

Yeah, he wasn’t going to be moving for a good second.  She turned to the kids.  

“Are either of you two hurt?” she asked.  

“No, ma’am!” said the boy, beaming.  Underneath the blood, his teeth gleamed whiter than a toothpaste spokesman’s.  The girl shook her head.  

“Cool, cool,” said Nana, giving them a grin.  “Did you bite him?” she pointed at the villain, winced, and started to take off her sweater.  The guy needed a tourniquet.

“Yes!” said the boy.  “He’s-- Is he okay?”  The smile dropped a little, and he started wringing his hands.  

Oh, gosh, he was precious.  

“Yeah,” said Nana, brightly, trying to staunch the flow of blood.  She could hear sirens in the distance.  “He’s fine!  People just get a bit dizzy when they, uh, lose this much blood.  Why don’t you two go over there, and make sure the police have been called?  And an ambulance?”

“Yes, Ms. Hero!” said the boy, saluting again.  He practically dragged the girl off, over to the cash registers.  

Cute.  

The villain did make it into the ambulance.  So.  Anyway.  Time to make sure the trauma wasn’t catching up to the sunshine boy.  How old was he, anyway?  Five?  Ten?  Had to be younger than eleven with that uniform, right?

(Simply speaking, Nana was not good at estimating ages.)

She slunk over to listen as the police officer questioned him.  

“I just want to make sure you know, Yagi-kun,” said the police officer, who was gently dabbing the child’s blood-covered face with a cloth, “you aren’t in trouble, but we need to know if you used your quirk on that man?”

That was something Nana was curious about, too.  After all, the kid had just about bit through the guy’s femoral artery.  That took talent.  Or a really weird brand of luck.  

“Oh, no, sir!  I don’t have a quirk!”

The officer stared.  “You ran at a villain holding a hostage without a quirk?”

“Emi was crying!  I had to help!”

Okay.  Nana liked this tiny feral child.  

The officer sighed.  “Can you tell me your parents’ names?  And phone numbers?”

“I don’t have parents, sir!  I can give you the number of my foster home, though.”  The last sentence was said with significantly less energy than all the ones before, and the boy looked down at the ground, kicking at it lightly.

Heck.  If Nana didn’t have All for One after her, she’d adopt right then and there.  

But she did.  

And her bones still hurt.  

Also, she was covered in blood.

Well, quirkless or not, she had no doubt that kid would go far.  Maybe she’d see him again, someday.

[emachinescat]

The Casket of the Armadillos (by Edgar Allan Nope)

A Psych Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 9 - buried alive

Summary:  When Shawn confronts a grad student turned murderer, he learns a very important lesson a very hard way: Don’t piss off English nerds - especially the homicidal ones. 

Characters: Shawn, Gus, Juliet, Lassiter, Henry

Words: 5,924

TW: panic attacks, buried alive, claustrophobia

Note: If you liked this classic lit-inspired Psych fic, you can always check out this one I wrote, inspired by To Kill a Mockingbird: The Finch and the Mockingbird 

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up.  Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones.  For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them.  In pace requiescat!

- Edgar Allan Poe, “The Cask of Amontillado”

Her name was Olivia Hale, she was a twenty-three-year-old grad student at UCSB, and she was working on her doctorate in American lit.  She was attractive in a cute librarian sort of way - short and petite, with long, curly auburn hair she kept in a bun and oversized glasses with thick lenses, and a smattering of freckles across her slightly upturned nose.  She knew a little bit about everything when it came to literature as a whole, a rather impressive amount about American literature, and absolutely everything there was to know about the life and works of one Edgar Allan Poe.

She was also batshit crazy and currently pointing a .22 pistol directly at Shawn’s head.

“Don’t move,” she growled, disengaging the safety.  

Shawn did a cursory glance around the empty classroom, looking for anything at all he could use to his advantage, to distract her or attack her with or - worst case scenario - to use as a shield.  But Olivia had found him snooping around on the tiny fourth floor study room that she’d been given to use by the department chair as her thesis headquarters.  She’d really made herself at home here, piling books and journals and what seemed like hundreds of loose sheets of paper on every available surface.  

But he was stranded in the middle of the room, with nothing close enough to use as a weapon, and so Shawn used the most powerful tool he had, one that had saved his life and many others, wooed women all over the country, and ordered more chili cheese dogs than he could count.  

He started talking.

“Look, Olivia, I get it,” he said soothingly.  Slowly, in the most non-threatening  manner possible, he lowered his hands.  Olivia gripped the pistol tighter but didn’t shoot.  “I know what happened.  You didn’t mean to kill him.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce, her lips pursed into a thin line.  “No,” she admitted.  “It was an accident.  But he was going to--”

“Yeees,” drawled Shawn, slowly raising his left hand and putting it to his temple, very well aware that he was probably pushing the limit with all of this movement after she had expressly ordered, at gunpoint, for him to stay still.  “I see it.  Dr. Graves was feeling guilty, wasn’t he?  A fifty-five-year-old professor with a fancy PhD and tenure, and a devoted wife and three kids and two grandkids, to boot.  The perfect life.  But oooh, it wasn’t enough for him, was it?”  

Shawn immediately answered his own question, something that he had become exceptionally good at over the years since he was usually the only one who could keep up with himself.  “Of course not!  What’s the perfect job and family when you’ve got a smokin’ hot, super smart student in her mid-twenties who thinks you’re the most impressive man on the planet?”

She sneered, and Shawn noticed with some trepidation that the hand holding the gun trembled just the tiniest bit.  When she spoke, her voice warbled with rage.  “My age and appearance had nothing to do with it - and even if it did, there was nothing wrong with our relationship!  We were perfect for each other, intellectual equals.  We were on each other’s levels - he was my soulmate!  So don’t you dare belittle what we had like that!”  

Ah.  So he had hit a nerve.  This could now go either one of two ways, in Shawn’s extensive experience in being held hostage: Either she would get fed up and send a bullet screaming through his body, Garth Longmore style, or she would let her emotions distract her, and cause her to make a stupid mistake.  Obviously, Shawn hoped for the latter.  

Now Shawn had to make a choice, because he could proceed in one of two ways: Either he could back off and try from another angle, or he could further antagonize her into (hopefully) making a mistake.  Naturally, Shawn went with the latter.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed airily.  “Older men and younger women do it all the time.  But to say there was nothing wrong with your relationship?  The man was married, and you were his student.  I’m not the headmaster here -”

“Dean,” she corrected sharply, and this further proved that Shawn had pegged her correctly as a know-it-all literature wunderkind who had to be right one thousand percent of the time.  “This isn’t Hogwarts.”

Shawn gave a tiny shrug.  “To be honest, all big schools look like Hogwarts to me.”

“Because you have the mind of a child.”  The words were accusatory and patronizing, but Shawn flashed a dazzling smile.

“Thank you,” he said.  Before she could respond, he continued his earlier thoughts, “Even though you were the ‘perfect couple,’ you were furious with him for even suggesting that you stop seeing one another.  The affair was too risky, and he missed his wife.  He wanted to tell her the truth, fix things.”

“It would have ruined everything!” Olivia hissed, and the sound of her voice sent shivers down Shawn’s spine.  There was an unhinged quality to it, something raw and dangerous that he hadn’t sensed before.  He fought the sudden urge to backpedal as far away from her as possible.  “We were perfect together!  And if he told his wife and she let it slip, I would be kicked out!  All my research, all my time and work here, everything would be gone!  He had no right to make that decision for me, to take away my future!”

“Maybe,” said Shawn, and it was like he was watching from outside his body, because he knew that what he was about to say was a big mistake, but he was helpless to stop the words from tumbling from his lips, “you should have thought more about your future before you pursued your married Shakespeare teacher.”

Fury etched itself into every feature of her face, turning her from a beautiful librarian to a feral monster, but her voice was slow and measured as if it was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to shoot him where he stood.  “He taught Southern. Gothic. Masterpieces.”

Shawn tried to backtrack, to undo whatever damage had been done by his unpredictably big mouth.  “But,” he pressed.  “Killing him was an accident.  You didn’t mean to push him down four flights of stairs.”

She considered this.  “No, I didn’t mean to kill him,” she reaffirmed, and then an odd calm smoothed out the angry crevices between her eyebrows - the peace, perhaps, of having come to an important decision that she knew was absolutely right.  Shawn recognized the look because he’d seen it on others’ faces before (very rarely, if ever, had he seen it upon his own).  “And I don’t think I will kill you, either.”

Whatever Shawn had been expecting, this wasn’t it.  Everything about this woman screamed insane and vengeful.  If Shawn lived, he would turn her into the police, and she would go to jail for a very long time.  She was incredibly intelligent - surely she knew this!

And then she clarified, and the world started to make sense again - though Shawn would have honestly been perfectly content in this alternate reality where the bad guy suddenly has a miraculous change of heart.  “Well,” she amended, “I won’t kill you directly.  I’ve never shot anyone before - I only have this little guy here because I’m a young, pretty girl on a big college campus, and I have two night classes.  Besides, your death shouldn’t be so easy.”

Shawn swallowed.  “Olivia, you don’t have to do this.  You haven’t intentionally killed anyone yet.  If you turn yourself in now and cooperate, your sentence will be a lot shorter than if you kill me - directly or not.  Because make no mistake, even if you kill me, you will still get caught.  The SBPD has some damn good detectives, and they’ll bring you down even if I don’t.”

She didn’t respond to him directly.  Instead, her expression was flat save for the dark gleam in her eyes, and she intoned words that in and of themselves had no meaning to Shawn, but that still managed to strike a chord of fear deep inside of his soul.  “‘The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.’”  Shawn was utterly unnerved by this point; it was like she had been taken over by something both sinister and incredibly well-spoken.

And indeed, in many ways she had, as Shawn soon found out, she was quoting the beginning of a story by Edgar Allan Poe.

Presently, however, Shawn had no context for her strange words or sudden shift of demeanor.  His skin crawled and his heart pumped with more get-up-and-go than he’d ever been able to muster in his whole body before.  “Uh, Olivia…”

“Move,” she ordered.  

This time, though it was contrary to his nature, Shawn did what she said without arguing.  This side of the student, with stolen words sliding evilly from her mouth, was a million times scarier than the enraged Olivia who had very nearly shot him between the eyes.

She marched him out of the room and down the three flights of stairs to the main lobby of the English building.  It was dark outside, nearing midnight, and Shawn kicked himself for thinking he was clever for coming to investigate this late.  He’d thought she’d be at home sleeping.  He should have realized that as a grad student, sleeping was the one thing she wouldn’t have time for!  And now he was in very deep trouble, alone, and no one knew where he was.  He should have waited until morning, until the building wasn’t deserted, should have at least called Gus and told him what he was doing.  But it was a college campus, and she was a tiny little literature nerd - it should have been safe!

As she forced him down one flight of stairs, then two, then three, and finally, into a stairwell off the beaten path that had to be unlocked with a key card - which she had - she continued to encant, her voice slowly losing its flatness and growing into something twisted and sing-songy with every word.

“‘You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat.  At length I would be avenged; this was a point, definitely, settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.’”

“Olivia--”

It was as if she hadn’t heard him as she shoved him into the basement, and now her voice stilled from a chant to a slow, measured whisper..  “‘I must not only punish but punish with impunity.’”   

Shawn wasn’t sure what impunity was, but it sure as hell didn’t sound good.

Their final destination ended up being a small, partially finished storage room near the back of the basement.  Dusty boxes and rusted cabinets and archaic old computer monitors lined the walls and cluttered most of the walking space.  Shawn was reminded grimly of a school supply graveyard.  

Olivia stopped him when they came to a brick wall that had been busted through to fix some issue with the pipes - Shawn saw the water stains on the concrete floor near the break in the wall, and there was a brand new water pipe joined to an old, yellowed one at about eye-level in the small open space between the bricks and the drywall beyond.  Shawn also noticed that the new bricks had been neatly piled up near a sealed bucket that almost certainly contained mortar, right outside of the hole.  Someone was in the process of walling this section back up.

“Nice wall,” Shawn joked, relieved that Olivia had finally stopped her creepy recitation and desperately trying to lighten the mood and bring things back to some sort of normal - honestly, he’d take being threatened with the gun again to the horror movie stuff he’d just witnessed.  “I bet all the other walls are jealous of it.”

It was a lame joke, but her eerie dramatics had him all kinds of messed up.  He expected her to tell him to shut up, or to threaten to shoot him again, or to actually shoot him, but instead she asked him a question in that same cold, calm voice as before.  “Have you ever read ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Shawn?”

Shawn blinked.  “I make it a point not to read anything that’s not a magazine from the 80s or WikiHow articles on ‘How to Escape from Dangerous Forest Animals.’”

The corner of her lips lifted in a mockery of a satisfied smile.  “Good.  Then you’ll get to experience it for yourself, first hand.  Just wait until you get to the ending!  You’re going to love it.”

Somehow, Shawn doubted that very much.

Still holding the gun on him with one hand, she reached her free hand into the cross-body bag she wore and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.  Shawn groaned.

“Come on!  What college student just carries handcuffs in their school bag?”  Then he remembered that this particular student had until recently been having a passionate affair with her teacher.  “Wait - never mind.  It makes perfect sense.”

She laughed, even though what he said wasn’t even remotely funny.  The sound of it was strange and discordant - light and tinkly with a threatening undertone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  Then she gestured at the hole in the wall and ordered, “In.”

Shawn had known it was coming, but had tried to shove that knowledge into the corner of his mind - something that was quite difficult to do for someone with a photographic and eidetic memory - in an effort to convince himself that even she wasn’t that cruel.  He tried to appeal to her one last time: “Olivia, it’s not too late to stop this.  I mean, are you really going to do this to another human being - seriously, look at this place - it’s dusty and moldy and I’m almost certain there’s no room service!  If you’re going to chain me to a pipe, why not do it in a five star hotel?”  When she nudged him with the gun, eyes gleaming with something dark and triumphant, he reluctantly stepped into the small space and implored, “I’ll even settle for a seedy motel off a poorly lit backroad.  I’m not too picky.”

She didn’t answer him as she stood on her tiptoes and handcuffed Shawn’s wrists around the pipe, cinching them so tight that the metal dug into his skin and he doubted that even his dad’s lessons on escaping handcuffs wouldn’t be much help here.  Already he could feel his fingers going numb, and his shoulders and back had started to ache from the hunched position he was forced to take due to the height of the pipe and the awkward angle of his arms.  

Well, Shawn thought glumly as she smiled at her handiwork and carefully backed out of the small space, maybe all wasn’t lost.  Surely someone would come down here and find him. This place was dusty, but it couldn’t be abandoned - work still needed to be done down here, after all.  And he could always yell for help once he was sure Olivia was gone.  She was booksmart, but maybe she wasn’t criminally minded.  He might be in for an uncomfortable night, but in the morning someone would find him and he could have his vision and the cute little psychopath would go to jail for a very long time.

He waited for her to leave, but instead, she used a crowbar to pry the lid off the bucket of mortar, and the pit in Shawn’s stomach became a whole-ass trench.  He should have seen this coming - his heart pounded madly against his rib cage as if trying to free itself, with or without him.  He couldn’t blame it.  “Olivia, please,” he said, and this time, there was no joke, his voice imploring and terrified.  “You don’t have -”

Again, she cut him off.  “How would you like to hear a story before you die, Shawn?” she asked in a tone so casual that she could have been asking him if he wanted to grab a taco.

“How about you tell me a story and then I don’t die?” Shawn bargained weakly.

“Mmmm… If you stay alive, my whole life will be ruined,” Olivia reasoned.  “And I have worked far too hard to allow that to happen.  So.  You just stand there - quietly - and I’ll tell you the story of Poe’s most beloved tale of revenge.  I won’t tell you word for word, of course - we don’t have time for that - but for posterity, I do have it memorized.”  She sounded grotesquely proud of that fact.  “It’s my favorite of his stories, after all.”

And so, as she slowly began to brick up the hole in the wall, with Shawn trapped, helpless and in a dissociative state of panic, she told him the story of two men with really stupid names that Shawn somehow managed, despite his raging fear, to file away for later as possible nicknames for Gus.

“Our story starts in Italy, during the carnival, and our narrator is a man named Montresor, who has a grudge against his once-friend, now-foe, Fortunato…”

The story was an interesting one, even to Shawn, who preferred watching over reading and especially over listening any day.  And as it turned out, Olivia was a really good storyteller.  If he had been in any other position, Shawn might have actually enjoyed the suspenseful tale of revenge.  

But as he stooped there and was forced to listen, all he could think about was about how terrified this Fortunato guy must have been, and then he started wondering how long it had been before the man hadn’t been able to hold his bladder or… other things… anymore, and then about what had happened when he was too tired and dizzy to stand up, if the manacles on his wrists had pulled so hard against his flesh that they cut into him, and if lack of water or oxygen killed him first, all the while he knew that he wasn’t asking these questions for the sake of the fictional character.  He was asking them for himself.  Olivia had made it exceedingly clear - for a literature scholar, she was surprisingly un-subtle about any underlying meanings or motives - that Fortunato’s story was now to be his story.

It wasn’t until she had begun discussing with rapture the brilliance of Poe’s use of the Italian carnival as the setting of a story about murder (because of its abandonment of social order, whatever that meant) and had built up all but the last two bricks, leaving a hole around Shawn’s eye level, that came to the most horrifying realization yet.   He’d been so focused on his own thoughts and fears with Olivia’s words washing over him like an acid bath that he’d barely registered that the dim light in the hole had been darkening incrementally with each new brick placed.  Now he came to the bone-chilling understanding that once she placed those last two bricks, he would be completely in the dark.

He was going to die, alone, terrified, and in utter darkness with fear as his only friend.  He thought in that moment that he might die of a heart attack before he could even think about dehydrating or suffocating.  Honestly, it sounded like an easier way to go.

“Well,” said Olivia finally.  “I can’t say that it’s been a pleasure to meet you in any way, Shawn, but I suppose I should thank you.  Ever since I found out about this unfinished wall down here, I’ve had this unscratchable itch to recreate the titular scene from my favorite Poe story.  You gave me the means and justification to do it!”

Shawn was so overcome by the surging sea of fear and early-onset claustrophobia that he couldn’t even muster up the gumption to make a joke about the word titular.  Instead, as Olivia knelt down next to her bag, rooting around for something, he jerked madly against the handcuffs, desperately searching for any give in the metal or the pipe he was handcuffed to (or even his wrists, at this point he wasn’t picky).  But the pipe was new, and it was sturdy, and so was the fitting that connected it to the old one, which itself didn’t seem too keen on budging, either.

A sick grin teased at Olivia’s parted lips.  “Oh, Fortunato tried that too.  But then he stopped crying and struggling and chose to die with a shred of dignity.  But I highly doubt dignity is something you’re capable of.”  

And then, with the finality of fitting a lid to a coffin, she slapped a piece of fluorescent pink duct tape over his mouth and a fresh wave of panic ravaged Shawn’s everything.  He didn’t remember this happening in her retelling of the story!  Then again, the Fortunato guy had been sealed into catacombs deep underground.  Shawn was in the basement of a heavily trafficked university building.  Someone would actually hear him if he called for help, so she took his voice away from him too.  He couldn’t even sing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” to pass his time or distract him from the inevitable.  As if it wasn’t bad enough that he would die in the dark, he would die in the quiet too - and silence was, as his incessant need for chatter plainly proved, Shawn’s worst enemy.

“Goodbye, Shawn,” Olivia said, and she added one brick, layered on the mortar, and then gave her captive one last satisfied glance before adding the last brick and leaving Shawn in total, impenetrable darkness.  He would never forget that last, terrible look in her eyes before his world went black - she was no longer human; she had elevated herself to the level of the storytelling gods and she relished in the twisted power she held over the life of another human.

As her footsteps clipped away, her voice, obscenely gleeful, called out, “In pace requiescat!”

***

The next ten hours were the worst of Shawn’s life, and they consisted of five main elements all bundled together into a nightmare that would stalk him for the rest of his life.

Cold.  It was the middle of January, and though it couldn’t have been less than forty-five degrees outside, the basement - especially behind the walls - was chilly, and with the musty smell and the dust and the pitch black, Shawn was reminded far too much of a grave and knew that he might as well be in one, because this was going to be his.  It was the kind of cold that bit deeper than the skin and wormed its way into the very core and dug its icy fangs in and refused to let go - the chill of death, an open invitation from the dead to join them in their home beneath the ground.  He shivered a lot, but he couldn’t be sure if it was the cold, or the panic.  It was probably a little of both.

Dark.  The darkness that surrounded him had an unreal nature that could easily trick the eyes into thinking that they were already closed.  It was oppressive and thick, pressing in from all sides, inky black water dredged from the depths of the sea.

Shawn had never been a fan of the dark, but neither did he exactly fear it.  That changed the second that the last brick was put into place and he found himself in a darkness so severe that were in not for the feeling of floor beneath his feet he could have been suspended in the depths of space so remote that not even stars could reach.  The darkness swarmed his senses - it had a physical presence, and it didn’t lessen, never permitted Shawn’s eyes to adjust to it in the slightest.  It just hung there, surrounded him, assaulted his mind with its infinite arsenal of nightmares.

After experiencing true darkness, Shawn would never sleep without a nightlight again (which unfortunately meant he couldn’t judge Gus anymore for using one, either).

Pain.  At first it was just the pull of his shoulders, the ache in his back.  Then, about five minutes after he’d been sealed up, he realized his wrists were screaming with agony - he must have torn them badly when he fought to get away, but the adrenaline staved off the pain until now.  He vaguely wondered how deeply the cuffs had cut - it felt like the skin on his wrists had been flayed - but quickly remembered that it didn’t matter where he was going.  

Then there were the hunger pangs, and they mingled with the cramps from holding his bladder longer than he ever had before, and at some point muscle spasms in his arms and chest and legs joined the choir of suffering.  At one point, he shed a few tears, but they could have just as easily been from anxiety or exhaustion, which itself produced its own kind of pain - he longed to sleep, but his body refused to allow him even that comfort until the very end, right before he was rescued, as if he were being forced on pain of death to endure the pain of death right up until the very moment of his painful death.

At least he didn’t have too much trouble breathing.  There must have been a crack somewhere in the wall in front of or behind him, because fresh air was entering somehow.  He did, several hours into his imprisonment, begin finding it difficult to pull in a full breath, and by the time he was rescued he was giddy with light-headedness, but he didn’t know if it was from the air quality or exhaustion or panic or from being forced to breathe only through his nose for hours, but he really didn’t care.

Quiet.  Even worse than the cold and the dark and the pain was the quiet.  The tape over his mouth prevented him from doing the one thing that could bring him comfort in even the most difficult of situations.  Talking was what Shawn did - he utilized mindless prattle to distract bad guys, to make people underestimate him, to quell fear and panic in himself and those around him, to annoy and wheedle those whose opinions meant the most to him (and who he was most afraid to be real with), and most importantly, to distract himself from all the pain and baggage that his exceptional memory had filed away for him throughout the years.  Talking nonsense meant that he wasn’t thinking about or acknowledging the parts of himself that arguably needed the most attention, those bits that were scared and unsure and hurt and vulnerable.

Shawn had always detested silence, and now it had invaded so intimately that even he could not drive it out.

And all of these culminated in a constant, agonizing state of absolute, unrelenting fear.  

Panic attacks are horrific things that take your natural instincts in potentially dangerous situations and turn them against you in the cruelest of ways.  They suck the air out of your lungs and make your heart pound so fast and so hard that you are convinced it’s going to give out in pure fatigue and never make it to that next beat.  It makes your skin crawl like there are thousands of spiders nesting there, and your chest hurts and your breath is short and stunted and you know you are dying, that the next breath will be your last, but it isn’t, and the fear just continues and sometimes you curl into a ball or rock back and forth or scratch at your skin.

Panic attacks generally last anywhere from five to twenty minutes.  Shawn was stuck in a state of raw, unfiltered panic for ten hours.  When the EMTs at the scene took his heart rate, it was 160, had been the entire time he’d been buried in a collegiate tomb, knowing that he was going to die.

Put simply, Shawn Spencer spent ten hours in his own personal hell.

***

It was nearly three in the afternoon when Detectives Juliet O’Hara and Carlton Lassiter, with the help of a frantic Gus and a worried Henry that tried his damndest not to show how worried he was, made the final connections in the case and tracked down the woman who had slept with and then killed her lover like a hyper-intelligent, book-loving black widow.  Juliet and Gus remained on the college campus to continue investigating while Lassiter and Henry went on to the station to question Olivia.  She had refused to say where the missing psychic detective was, however, and only offered one bitter phrase, spoken in another language that sounded to the questioning party like a curse being placed on their heads: 

“Nemo me impune lacessit.”

It was Gus who figured it out after Lassiter related the cryptic saying over the phone.

“I know that phrase!” he exclaimed to a swell of raised eyebrows.  “It’s Latin! It means no one wounds me with impunity!”

“You speak Latin?”  Juliet seemed impressed.

“Not much.  But I recognize that particular saying, because it’s from a story that gave me nightmares my entire sophomore year of college.”  He shuddered.  “It’s from the second-most terrifying Poe story.”  He didn’t elaborate on what the first-most terrifying one was, largely because he didn’t want to give the others fodder to use “The Tell-Tale Heart” against him like Shawn already did.  Then the full implications of the words sunk in and he gasped, “We have to find Shawn, now.”  The horror in his expression sent a chill down Juliet’s spine. 

“Gus - what the hell are you talking about?”  Henry was no longer trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“It’s from ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Gus clarified, his own panic making it difficult to express himself clearly.

“Guster, this is hardly the time for you to have a glass of wine,” Lassiter barked.  “Now stop talking in riddles and just spit it out!”

But Juliet had now made the connection as well and answered for Gus.  “Oh my gosh - isn’t that the one where the guy is sealed into a wall and left to die?”

The dread in Gus’s eyes said it all.

“He’s got to be somewhere on campus,” Henry reasoned, and his voice shook the tiniest bit.  “Lassiter and I are on our way back to you now.  In the meantime, check with the school and see if there are any places that are easily accessed and under construction.”

No one said it aloud, but the possibility that her words hadn’t been a hint at all and that Shawn was somewhere else entirely hung in the air amongst them.  It was funny, Juliet thought - though it wasn’t funny at all - she urgently needed Gus’s theory to be right, because otherwise they would have no leads, but at the same time, she was terrified of the implications if it were true.  

Her heart felt as sick as Montresor’s when he placed the last brick as she and Gus raced to the administration building and prayed they weren’t too late.

***

When they broke through the wall, the sight that greeted them was one that would never leave them - any of them.  Even Lassiter, who made it his sacred duty to remain unfazed by anything his job threw at him was visibly disturbed.

A moment of silence, a beat where time stood still and everyone was afraid to move, and then - 

“Shawn!”  The four rescuers surged forward as one, but Henry got there first, his trembling fingers groping for a pulse - thank God, but it was racing, dangerously fast, and in the background he heard Lassiter radioing for an ambulance.

Shawn woke up as Henry gently peeled the hideous pink duct tape (an affront to all duct tape everywhere) off of his mouth.  It wasn’t a gentle waking, a flutter of eyelashes or the murmuring of a name - it was violent and erratic, fueled by terror.  

Henry had had to deal with panic attacks before - mostly Gus’s when he took the boys camping together, but once or twice when Shawn was really young and he’d had a bad dream.  This one was the worst that he’d ever seen - Shawn woke with a muffled yell, panting through his nose, writhing, tears streaming down his face, eyes squeezed shut against the trauma he’d been subjected to, and he threw himself against the handcuffs so fiercely that Henry feared he’d break his wrists.  

Soon his wrists were freed, though, and Henry, with the help of Lassiter, helped a weakened Shawn out of the wall and into the basement and lowered him to the floor.  Henry sat with him and rubbed his back and spoke quietly to him, Juliet took his hand, and Gus reassured him while Lassiter ran up the stairs to check on the ETA of the ambulance.  

Twenty minutes later, Shawn had been placed onto a stretcher and carried up the stairs and out into the sunlight - sensing the warm rays, he opened his eyes only to pinch them shut again as the brightness after so many hours in the dark nearly blinded him.  He had been given something to calm him down, and he would be going to the hospital to be checked over and observed overnight, and a psychiatrist would be sent in to evaluate him in the morning, and everything was moving so fast that Shawn leaned over the side of the stretcher and deposited the remnants of the last thing he’d eaten, nearly twelve hours before.

“There’s one thing I still don’t get,” he gasped as he was eased back onto the stretcher.  “Where do the armadillos come into her plan?”

The EMTs exchanged a concerned look at the stretcher, probably wondering if there had been some carbon monoxide poisoning after all.  Gus, however, just rolled his eyes.

“Amontillado, Shawn.  It’s a kind of wine.”

“The story is called ‘The Casket of the Armadillos,’” Shawn argued stubbornly, going so far as to cross his arms over his chest, pulling at the IV in his right hand.  

Gus was going to argue, to insist that he’d actually read the story (and why the heck would someone fill a casket with armadillos?), but then Gus saw the plea in Shawn’s hazel eyes, that need for jokes and silliness, and understood that his best friend was clinging onto his last shreds of control.  

“You know what - I forgot,” Gus corrected, shaking his head and giving himself a light smack on the forehead for good measure.  “It is ‘The Casket of Armadillos.’”  He glared out at Henry, at Lassiter and Juliet and the EMTs, defying them to challenge his claim.  No one did, but they all shared a similar baffled expression.

Well, they could deal with their confusion, Gus thought protectively as he watched Shawn and Henry disappear into the ambulance.  Shawn had been through a night of unspeakable horror, so if it was armadillos he wanted, then it was armadillos he was going to get.

[kittyanonymity]

A Ladybug in Gotham #3

Marinette reunites with some dear friends

Y’all. The response I’ve gotten to this fic has been just. SO much MORE than anything I ever could’ve imagined. I can’t say it enough, thank you for loving this so much??? It really caught me off guard, and I’m just glad there are people who are genuinely enjoying it. This chapter is over 9k, so I hope you guys are excited. 

Also like, you get to see my Ultimate Chloe this chapter, and I am just. SO EXCITED FOR YOU GUYS TO READ IT.

Also also, prepare for diabetes maybe??? I got a little nauseous writing this at times because it is disgusting levels of adorable, and I LOVE it. 

Ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 :HERE: Part 4 Part 5

Enjoy my dears!!! <3 <3

~~~~~~

The tour was nice, and Damian pointed things out to her that Dick glossed over during his talk; but Marinette found herself fascinated with the architecture and layout of the building. So many twists and turns, and hiding spots; how could anyone ever find their way?

Damian shrugged, “Well, it’s meant to be a little confusing for people who aren’t used to being here. Makes it easier for the people who are here to hide in the event of a situation.” Marinette nodded, remembering how high the crime rate was in Gotham. She paused to regard a statue against the wall, releasing his hand, and Damian watched as she pulled a pocket sized sketchbook from her bag. Her sketch was done in under a minute, and he noticed her writing some things off to the side.

She offered him a sheepish smile after she zipped the book away into her bag once again.

“Sorry, inspiration strikes at the oddest times.” Damian simply smiled, and took her hand in his once again as they continued behind the class.

“That’s ok. What were you drawing?” Marinette nodded her head back towards the statue.

“That’s Joan of Arc. I like to design clothes, and seeing her made me think of the gown I want to make for the Gala at the end of the month.” Damian hummed.

“Ah, the Wayne Charity Gala, right? Father mentioned that he’d invited your school.” Marinette nodded, a wide smile on her face.

“Yep! I didn’t have anything at home that I thought was appropriate, so I decided I’d see what Gotham had to offer,” she shrugged a shoulder, her smile growing just a bit, “and I have to say, I haven’t been disappointed.” Damian hesitated for a moment, before he frowned slightly.

“Even after what happened yesterday?”

The smile on Marinette’s face froze, and Damian immediately regretted opening his dumb mouth, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, angel. I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s ok.” Her grip on his hand tightened a bit, and the smile she gave him was sincere, “It was the first time I’ve had a proper gun pointed at me, so it was a bit horrifying. But, it’s not that unusual. Some of the akumas in Paris have been more deadly, but not quite so terrifying.”

Damian frowned, “I meant to ask earlier, but it didn’t seem like the right time; but what are akumas?” Marinette’s eyes grew wide as she looked at him, and she felt Tikki and Kaalki jolt in her purse.

“You mean you don’t know??” Seeing how alarmed she was, Damian grew concerned; but he still shook his head. Marinette blinked a few times, before she sighed.

“Well, it is only in Paris, I can’t say I’m surprised…” She looked back at him, and started, “Paris has its own problems. We deal with a supervillain named Hawkmoth, and his accomplice Mayura. Hawkmoth uses akuma, little dark butterflies, to control people when they’re having a bad day.” She paused, “And it doesn’t have to be a major negative emotion. A baby was akumatized because he had a nightmare. Likewise, a grieving mother was akumatized when she thought her child died in a car accident,” Damian could feel the tension running through her arms as she continued on, “A girl flooded Paris, killing millions, and it was Hawkmoth who had her do it. He preys on you when you’re weak, saying whatever it is you want to hear to get you.” Damian stared at her in shock.

“How does the world not know about this, Marinette? Paris flooding, millions dead? It should’ve been all over the news.” Marinette smiled, but it was brittle.

“That would be Ladybug. Paris has its own heroes, Ladybug, Cha-Hornet, Ryuuko, and Viperion. At first, four years ago, it was only Ladybug and Chat Noir against Hawkmoth, but the others were recruited with time. You see, Ladybug can undo any damage done with her Miraculous Cure. Flooded Paris? Fixed. Hundreds of thousands dead? Fixed. She’s the embodiment of Creation while her partner, Chat, was Destruction.” Marinette shrugged, “We’ve all just learned to live with it. It’s why I have such a hard time expressing myself nowadays. We can’t be allowed to feel any of the negative things in our lives without being preyed on. It’s miserable at best, and agonizing at its worst.”

Damian was struck silent, staring at the girl next to him. Nearly a head shorter than him, and she was dealing with all of this as a civilian. No suit to help protect her at all. His mind wandered back to the three strange creatures he’d seen in her hotel room the previous night, but what could they be? He cleared his throat.

“Have you ever been… akumatized?” Marinette’s smile fell just a bit, and she looked forward towards the class, at Lila.

“...Not yet, no. I’ve had a few close calls over the years, and Hawkmoth has specifically targeted me a few times; but I have a support system that helps me keep my negative emotions under control.” She turned towards him, her smile growing just a bit, “It’ll be fine though; Ladybug’s really close to finding him finally.” Damian’s mouth tightened into a thin line, but he nodded.

“You have a lot of faith in her, angel.” A heavy aura fell over her shoulders, and he noticed her smile was a bit strained.

“You misunderstood me, I think. It’s not that I have faith in her exactly, but…” And there it was again, the fire in her blue bell eyes, “She cannot fail. If she fails, Paris dies. She has to win, or she…” Marinette looked away, her voice soft, “or she dies, and so does her family, her friends.”

Damian frowned, gently slowing to a stop, and before he stopped to consider his actions, Damian brought his free hand up, and cupped her cheek softly, turning her to look up at him. Her eyes were glassy, teeming with unshed tears.

“Angel, are you ok?”

Marinette took a deep breath, willing her voice to be steady, “I’m so sorry, I swear I’m not trying to dump this on you, after all you’re one of the first friends I’ve made in four years-” Damian’s eyes grew steely, and he glanced in her class’s direction, “but it-it’s so hard to not talk about it now that I’m in a place away from him; away from Hawkmoth. I-”

“Angel, please don’t apologize.” Looking up at him in surprise, Marinette stared at him, her lips parted slightly. Damian gave her a small smile, wiping away a trail of her tears with the pad of his thumb, “From what I’ve gathered, this man has been holding your city hostage for at least four years; that’s four years of pent up negativity. I won’t lie, I’m amazed at the amount of resilience and mental fortitude you have to possess to go through that, and still be, well…” His smile grew a bit, “you.”

The blood rushed to Marinette’s head so fast that she thought she’d faint, and she was just now noticing how intimate their position must look.

Just in time for someone to clear their throat.

Marinette yelped, clutching the hand Damian was cradling her face with, before she whirled to her right.

Chloe gave her a coy grin where she stood with her arms crossed, watching them. Alix lowered her phone, laughing as she skated over to Marinette. The pink haired girl wrapped an arm around her friend, a teasing grin on her lips.

“Looks like you guys are getting pretty chummy~.”

Marinette immediately started stammering, switching to french fluidly as she spoke to Alix quickly. Damian could catch bits and pieces, but he was busy staring at Chloe. Marinette’s best friend regarded him with surprisingly kind eyes, and after a moment she sighed, walking over. She passed behind Damian casually, but he felt her pat him on the shoulder.

“Don’t hurt her.”

Damian flushed brightly, opening his mouth and closing it again as Chloe circled around him to also tease Marinette; and Damian realized that while his right hand was no longer on her cheek, she was still clutching his left. Marinette’s cheeks were still bright red, and she was switching between looking at Alix, who rested her chin on Marinette’s shoulder with a devious smile; and Chloe, who was standing a bit off to the side, looking far too pleased with herself. Finally, Marinette sighed, and looked back at him, and Damian saw her cheeks brighten a little more while she rubbed the tears from her face.

“S-sorry about them, they just… get like that sometimes.” Chloe snorted off to the side, before giving her and Damian a grin.

“Of course we do, we have to make sure you get only the best, Mari-bear.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she began walking in the direction of the tour and their class. Alix gave Marinette a wink as she skated after the blonde, and Marinette groaned, her face falling towards the floor. Damian felt his lips twitch up into a small grin.

“Angel?”

Marinette shook her head, “Nope, I can’t, cannot look at you right now, or I am going to DIE. Is that what you want, Damian? You want your new friend to die of embarrassment? Because that is what it sounds like.” Between her rambling, and the overly dramatic way she was talking, Damian really couldn’t blame himself when he started laughing.

Her head whipped up at the sound, and Marinette watched his shoulders shake with the force of his laughter. Her blush faded a bit, but she smiled, a small, private little thing. He looked amazing when he laughed, and she hoped she could get him to do it more. Finally, Damian calmed down, and wiped at the tears that had gathered in his eyes.

Marinette pouted as he looked back at her, a grin on his face, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh, but…” He snorted, covering his mouth with his free hand, “I just didn’t expect that.” Marinette huffed, turning and following after Chloe, and Alix; he followed dutifully, still holding her hand. It was hardly noticed by them at this point.

“Well, look out, cause I am going to make sure to catch you off guard all the time then.” She turned to look at him, and when she smiled, Damian felt all the air leave the room. It felt like his world stopped, and his heart soared, “I love it when you laugh, Damian; so if I can see that, it’ll be worth it I think.”

How had he ever had the luck to run into such a remarkably sincere young woman like herself? She saves his niece her first day, fends off the Joker, and now she’s slipped past all of his carefully built walls like they were non-existent. He had never felt so comfortable, so at home with someone he really had no business feeling that for. And the intensity was alarming, said the rational side of Damian’s brain; but the other, the long ignored until just the last couple years… Well.

He was pining.

He was unaware of the similar turmoil rolling around in Marinette’s mind, her head and heart at complete odds with each other. Tikki had told her last night that due to being partners with Chat for so long, she would be overcome with love and affection for her real Black Cat when she found him; but right now, she wasn’t thinking about that conversation as Damian gave her the softest smile she’d seen yet. Her heart thundered in her chest wildly, but she didn’t feel overwhelmed.

“Thank you, angel.”

Dick was staring at him when they finally got closer to the tour once again, and Damian was sure his older brother had heard him laughing given the acoustics in the building. His eyes narrowed at his brother, and Dick continued to stare at him before he glanced at Marinette.

The grin that came across Dick’s face meant nothing but trouble for Damian, and the young man rolled his eyes, groaning. Marinette looked at him.

“Damian, are you ok?” He sighed.

“My idiot brother is going to make my life hell for the foreseeable future.” He grimaced, looking back at her, “Also, you’re probably going to have to deal with the rest of my idiot brothers at lunch. Please remember, they were dropped on their heads as children, and I bear no blood relation with any of them.” His deadpan delivery had her breaking out into shocked laughter, and Damian was thrilled he could make her so happy. His brothers constantly told him his sense of humor was awful, but at least Marinette appreciated it.

“Aww, now that hurts demon spawn.”

Damian tensed, and Marinette was already turning around; and looking up.

Whoa this dude was tall.

Damian groaned as he turned around, “Jason, why are you here?”

Marinette watched the man shrug, a grin on his face, “Well, to see my baby brother of course,” And then he was looking at Marinette, “And to meet your little girlfriend. Who knew you could laugh, demon spawn?”

Damian flushed, and Marinette felt her cheeks warm as well; but she still smiled, and held out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Marinette. It’s nice to meet you!” Jason’s grin grew, and Damian rolled his eyes while they shook hands.

“Jason Todd, it’s nice to meet you too, kiddo. Saw what you did on the news,” Damian tensed, glaring at his brother, “The families really grateful.” Marinette’s cheeks pinkened all over again, and she shook her head, looking only slightly uncomfortable.

“Really, it was nothing. I’m just glad I was able to keep her safe.” Jason shook his head, grinning still.

“I see now why your paper won your class this trip. It was a good read, and I can’t say I’m surprised at the kind of person you are.” Marinette’s eyes grew wide.

“You read my paper?” Jason nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“We all did, pixie pop. You’re a good kid.” His grin grew snarky, and he nodded at Damian, “Figured I’d make sure he hadn’t kidnapped you.” Damian frowned, but Marinette laughed, covering her mouth.

“I-I promise he hasn’t kidnapped me, Mr. Todd. I’m really enjoying my time with him actually. He’s very funny.” Jason was staring at Marinette with glee before his gaze swivelled to Damian. Damian rolled his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, he is, is he? Are you sure he didn’t pay you to say that, short stack?” Damian felt the atmosphere shift, and glanced up, finding Marinette glaring at Jason. Her tone was nothing but polite, cordial even, as she spoke, but the coolness of it...

“Don’t be rude, please. Damian has been nothing but kind, and helpful to me since we met. I don’t like what you’re implying.” Damian felt his jaw drop, while Jason’s grin just grew.

“Good answer, pixie pop.” Before Marinette could react, Jason reached out and ruffled her hair; she batted his hand away with a huff as he looked at Damian.

“She’ll be a good friend for you, demon spawn; don’t fuck it up.” Damian scoffed, looking at him unimpressed.

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Jason. I already know.”

“Mari-bear, is this guy bothering you?”

Marinette froze, and turned back around to see Chloe and Alix, who had noticed them stop. Chloe was staring at Jason with distaste, arms crossed. Jason held his hands up in surrender.

“Just came to make sure my kid brother is playing nice, I swear.” Chloe’s eyes widened in recognition as she looked the man up and down.

“You’re Jason Todd.” Jason looked surprised.

“You know me?” Chloe scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“I know you’re a delinquent with no fashion sense, yes.” Jason laughed, and now it was Marinette’s turn to sigh. Damian smirked a bit as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Oh god, here we go…” She mumbled, and Damian snorted, a chuckle falling from his lips. Jason’s mouth immediately closed, cutting off whatever retort he had; he stared at Damian, eyes wide.

“Holy shit, Grayson was right.” Damian’s face instantly fell into a scowl as he regarded Jason, who was looking for too pleased with the situation to be safe. His older brother looked back at Marinette.

“You’re coming to dinner tonight, right? Cause Alfred needs to see him laugh. He’s been trying for years and all he’s gotten have been amused huffs of air.” Marinette blushed, but she couldn’t help but laugh; Chloe looked at Marinette and arched an eyebrow.

“What dinner, Mari-bear?” Still chuckling, Marinette handed over the invitation from Damian’s father.

“S-sorry, Chlo, I still haven’t decided if I’m going yet.” Chloe’s eyes flicked over the paper quickly, her smile growing before she handed it back.

“Marinette, you have to go! It’s dinner at the Wayne Manor! I would lose credit as your best friend if you don’t go! Honestly!” Chloé rolled her eyes, and shared a commiserating look with Jason of all people, “I swear I raised her better than this. She’ll be ready by 7:30, I’ll make sure of it.”

Marinette laughed, batting at Chloe’s arm playfully, “Hey, since when were you my mom, Bee?” Chloé flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“No one can compare to Sabine, DC, you know that.” Jason laughed, shaking his head.

“You two are really close huh?” Alix snorted.

“That’s the understatement of the century. They go everywhere together, even-“

“The bathroom!” Everyone looked at Marinette, who was clutching her phone in her hand. She looked up at Chloe, eyes wide, and took Chloe’s hand. “I need to talk to Chloé about something super important, so we’ll be back!” And just like that, Marinette was hauling Chloe down the hallway and into the bathroom they’d passed. After a moment of staring after them, Jason and Damian both turned to Alix, who just shrugged.

“It happens all the time. Marinette has pretty bad anxiety, and Chloe usually helps her with it.” An alert from Alix’s phone had her eyes widening, and she scrambled to unlock it and pull up an app.

“No way! There’s an akuma on the Seine!” Jason and Damian watched as the rest of the class all got out their phones as multiple alerts began chiming, the students clamoring excitedly.

Damian and Jason leaned over, watching a livestream on Alix’s phone. A man stood on the Seine, trash swirling around his legs while the water thrashed violently.

“I am the Recycler! The Seine is tired of your trash Paris, and I will make sure to exact revenge in its honor!” 

Damian watched as the water of the river swelled, spilling over the walls. He felt sick as he watched people get caught up in the wave, people going under, and not resurfacing. Screams rang through the tiny speakers, echoing poorly around the hallway.

There was a red blur.

“Ladybug is here! And she’s brought Hornet with her!”

Frowning, Damian saw two young women drop down, insect themed wings beating behind them. One was dressed entirely in red, with sections of black from her hips to her knees, and wrapped around her ribs; she had to be Ladybug if the spots were any indication. Her partner, Hornet, was dressed mostly in a rusty kind of orange with black stripes and patches, with yellow accents; her hair was interesting, being fully black except for the yellow tip of her ponytail, and gods, it was long.

Damian watched as the two sprung into action, working together flawlessly. It was clear Hornet was the offensive, while Ladybug played more to defense and strategy. It was over in under five minutes, with Hornet grabbing a trash net and snapping it over her leg. The black butterfly that fluttered out was retrieved by Ladybug’s- Damian’s eyes widened.

Yo-yo.

Ladybug’s weapon of choice was a yo-yo.

All of the pieces fell into place as he watched Ladybug - Marinette - purify the butterfly, and send it on its way. He watched as she crouched next to the young man left in the place of the akuma; watched as her magic brought back all those he’d just seen die.

He expected name calling when the crowd gathered around the heroes and the victim. Damian was shocked when they all closed ranks and took turns calming the young man down. The camera came closer, coming up to Ladybug as she spoke with the victim in hushed tones; she noticed the camera, and looked over.

“Ladybug! What would you say to Hawkmoth should he be watching? It’s been nearly five years since the start of this!”

If Damian had doubted her identity before then, he certainly no longer could. Her eyes held the same fire he’d seen from her now three times, and it was far too recognizable paired with her dark hair and blue eyes. She took the microphone, staring into the camera.

“Paris is strong. We are united. And I would tell him to be afraid.” Her eyes narrowed, and her grip on the mic tightened, “I have a lead on your identity, little butterfly, and you will not hold us hostage much longer. The dawn is coming, and I am coming for you.” Her voice sent chills down his spine, the sheer tenacity making his pulse spike; he couldn't help but feel his cheeks warm.

Damian jumped as the class broke into cheers up the hallway, but he didn’t take his eyes off the video as Ladybug handed back the microphone. With a flick of her wings, she was gone, Hornet waving, and following closely behind her.

And if Marinette was Ladybug, then Hornet must be-.

Damian’s thoughts cut off as Marinette and Chloe came walking up, having left the bathroom; Damian had to commend them. Chloe had not a hair out of place, and Marinette’s red face could easily be explained away as an aftereffect of a panic attack. He should be looking at Jason, trying to find out if his brother has caught on, trying to figure out how they got to PARIS; but all Damian can do is stare at Marinette.

Who is smiling at him, a look so full of sincere trust and amusement. And she has been going through this for the last five years, running off at a moment’s notice to put her life on the line for the people of her city. Watching people she knows and loves, die, only to be brought back at the end of her battle.

Damian frowns as his heart aches, bringing up a hand to his chest. Warm fingers wrap around his other hand, and he glances over to find Marinette looking at him, an open expression of concern on her face.

“Damian? Are you ok?”

And Damian smiles. Because of course Ladybug is Marinette Dupain-Cheng; who else could it have possibly been?

“I’m fine, angel. How about you?”

Marinette jolts, her free hand falling to her purse as it twitched; violently. Her cheeks grew pink, so Damian pretended not to notice. Now that he was looking for it, she really wasn’t subtle.

“I-I’m fine, really! Chloe talked me through it.” Her smile was genuine, “I’m lucky to have her.” Marinette looked back at him, and Damian realized he still had his hand over his heart; she bit her lip, “Are you sure you’re ok? It looked like you were in pain.” Damian smirked a bit, and winked.

“I was struck by your beauty and couldn’t breathe, angel.”

Damian laughed a bit as Marinette’s face grew red quite quickly, and she smacked his arm with her free hand.

“You can’t just-! SAY things like that! Oh my god!” She was starting to giggle though, so Damian counted that as a win. Maybe he was better at this than he thought.

“Wow, I cannot believe you just said that Demon spawn.”

Damian sighed, a long drawn out exclamation, and his smile fell. He turned to see Jason grinning in glee, holding his phone up. Damian’s eyes narrowed.

“Jason, what. Are you doing?” Jason shrugged, lowering his phone and typing away at something real quick.

“Oh, you know, just getting Alfred proof you do have emotions.” Jason’s grin grew, “I’m sure he’ll love the video I got of you two.”

Damian rolled his eyes; in all honesty, he’d completely forgotten about Jason’s presence given the gravity of what he’d realized. Marinette was a fucking superhero. Ignoring whatever rambling nonsense Jason was now spewing, Damian casually turned, and guided Marinette away from his idiot brother who was exchanging words with Chloe and Alix. Admittedly, he was leading her towards his other idiot brother, but Dick was busy showing the class the cafeteria for lunch; and he was sure Marinette would be hungry.

“Sorry about him, angel; he’s a bit much at times. Are you hungry?” Marinette giggled, gripping his hand just a bit tighter.

“He seems fun, actually. I like him. And, yes, I’m starving.” She grimaced, holding her bag tighter, “I uh, skipped breakfast after all.” Damian’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her teacher.

That’s right, they’d left her behind.

He gave Marinette a smile while he got out his phone with his left hand, and sent his father a quick text.

“Well the cafeteria is outfitted with anything you could possibly want. Father makes sure his employees and guests are well taken care of.” Marinette smiled as they passed Dick, entering the cafeteria; she could hear Chloe and Alix talking behind them, likely with Jason still.

Eyes wide, Marinette looked around the cafeteria in awe. They had a full three course buffet, and the amount of staff milling about, checking the quality of the food, was astounding. Damian laughed a bit.

“He spares no expense.” Marinette nodded, letting Damian lead her to a starting place. She finally breathed.

“This is breathtaking for a cafeteria. And he doesn’t charge for it?” Damian shook his head while he handed her a plate.

“That’s right. Father thinks everyone deserves the right to good food. Everything not eaten is donated, and during the evenings on the weekends, the cafeteria is opened to the homeless.” Marinette looked around the cafeteria with a newfound respect for their sponsor.

“Your father sounds like a good man, Damian; it sounds like you respect him a lot.” Damian smiled, filling up his plate; when he turned, he found Marinette ready and waiting for him, her plate stacked nearly as tall as his. He smiled.

“He’s alright; don’t tell him I said that though.”

Marinette laughed while Damian led her over to a minimally populated table, and not shortly after they’d sat down did Chloe and Alix join, Jason conspicuously absent. Alix sat on Marinette’s left side, while Chloe sat across from the three of them. Alix grinned.

“Dude, this cafeteria is amazing. It’s got everything!” Chloé sighed as she had a bite of her honey baked salmon.

“That is delicious. Damian dear, what company does your father have staff the kitchen? I have to have this salmon at home.” Damian chuckled, cutting into his steak. He shrugged a shoulder.

“I don’t think he uses a company. As far as I know, the staff are all locals.”

There was a snort from down the table, and they all turned to see a young man not much older than him hunched over his laptop. Damian sighed.

“Hello, Tim. Glad to see you’re coherent today.” Tim looked over and held up the mug in his hand.

“Thank the coffee.” He nodded in greeting to the others while he took a sip. “Bruce would never let you oversee staffing; you’re too… you,” Damian frowned, listening to Marinette giggle, “but you are correct. All the staff in the building is local.”

Chloe pouted, looking at her salmon mournfully, “Well, damn.”

Marinette snorted, saying something to Chloe in French; but Damian felt himself get distracted when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He looked behind him to find Jason standing there.

“Hey, let’s talk kid.” Damian sighed, and when Marinette looked over, noticing Jason, Damian gave her a smile.

“I’ll be right back angel.” She nodded, returning his smile, before she turned back to the conversation with her friends, and apparently Tim now.

Jason and Damian walked a little ways away, closer to the wall, and out of hearing range from the class. Jason turned to him.

“What was going on in that broadcast? You were as confused as I was until they showed that girl in red.” Jason crossed his arms, “You figured something out.” Damian shrugged.

“It’s nothing.” Jason’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh yeah? So it has nothing to do with the fact you’re little girlfriend took the Joker down in the same manner as that chick in the video?” Damian frowned, but Jason wasn’t done, “You think she’s a superhero.”

“I don’t think, I know, Jason.” Damian cursed his big mouth as Jason grinned.

“And how do you know, brat? Cause there’s no way she told you.” Damian flushed, averting his eyes, and Jason laughed. With a huff, Damian glared at his brother.

“I recognized her, in the video. I saw the look in her eyes and knew, ok?” Jason’s grin softened just a bit, and he reached out, mussing Damian’s hair. The young man swatted at him, frowning, but Jason just laughed again.

“Careful, brat, or we’re gonna start thinking you’re falling for her.” Jason expected Damian to scoff, to dismiss the fact entirely; he didn’t expect the thoughtful look on his brother’s face as he glanced back towards Marinette.

“It’s too early for that, but… I definitely like her more than I should.” Damian frowned, “Normally I’d be suspicious, but not once has she been less than sincere with me.” All Jason could do was stare.

“Holy shit, you’re serious.” Damian turned back to his brother with a scowl.

“When have you ever known me to be any different?” Jason snorted.

“Today, right now in fact. If I’d insinuated yesterday that you were falling for a girl you’d just met, you’d have tried to take my head off,”

...He was still thinking about it anyway.

Oh, Jason was still talking. Huh.

“And now, you’re just casually accepting it as a possibility? You didn’t even laugh when you and Raven were together, and she kicked ass.” Damian frowned as Jason brought up his ex.

He and Raven had had an amicable breakup; after all, he just didn’t have the parts she was looking for, which she’d learned over the course of their relationship. Last he knew, Raven was searching for a girlfriend, and still liked to brag about how much more action she got than he did.

“Raven and I were very similar in many ways, Jason. I don’t share all that much in terms of hobbies with Marinette, and her outlook on things is… refreshing.” Jason pointed at him.

“Yesterday, you would’ve said she’s naive, and gullible.” Damian’s eyes narrowed.

“And I would’ve been wrong, Jason. What’s the point of this? I’m getting to know her like a human being, and you’re acting like I’ve lost my mind.” Jason threw his hands up in the air.

“That’s cause it’s a little weird! Usually you compile an entire dossier on someone before you even attempt to talk to them; but you decided to come see the class this morning based only off the information Tim got for us. That’s not like you, brat.” Damian went to reply, but Jason’s head rose sharply.

“Looks like we got a problem, kid.” Damian was already turning when he heard a commotion. He paused when he saw one of Marinette’s classmates, a blonde boy, with his hand wrapped tight around her arm, hauling her out of her chair.

Damian saw red.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette watched Jason and Damian walk away for a moment before she turned back to Chloe.

“I hope he’s not in trouble…” Chloe scoffed, having another bite of her fish.

“Why would he be in trouble, DC?” Marinette shrugged, playing with her food.

“I don’t know, I’m just worried.” Down the table, Tim snorted.

“It’s more amazing actually.” The three girls peered down at him.

“What do you mean?” Alix asked around her sandwich. Tim shrugged.

“Damian is the youngest out of all of us, but he’s generally the coldest.” He looked at Marinette, and smiled, “We’ve seen him smile more around you than we’ve seen in the last 8 years he’s lived with us. Hell, you got him to laugh, and you've barely known him a day.” Tim chuckled, “That’s enough to warrant some kind of reward honestly. The family is just trying to adjust to this new reality where Damian is actually happy.”

Marinette flushed, “He’s been nothing but kind.” Tim laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, but that’s what’s weird. Something sets you apart from anyone else,” Tim grinned, pointing from her to Chloe and Alix, “You, and the people you care about. He wants to be kind to you. That’s a big deal when it comes to Damian.”

Chloe’s eyes lit up in recognition, “You’re Tim Drake, the third son, right?” Tim gave her a short laugh.

“Wow, I’m honored. Not many people realize it.” Chloe shrugged a shoulder.

“I’m rich, of course I know about other rich people. My father has been trying to partner with the French branch of Wayne Enterprises for way too long.” Marinette laughed, reaching for her drink to her right when someone’s hand wrapped around hers. She froze, looking over and up. Her heart was beating too fast, her hands getting clammy.

Adrien smiled down at her, his grip tightening ever so slightly over her hand.

“Hey, Mari can we talk?” Chloe looked about five seconds from throwing a fit, and Marinette couldn’t see Alix given that the girl was on her left. She stared at Adrien, seeing the clear expectation of her cooperation; it burned her up.

She took her hand out from under his, bringing it to her chest.

“No, we can’t. Leave me alone, Adrien.” Marinette turned away from him, heart beating in her ears. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing.

‘Calm down, it’s fine, you did it! He’ll leave-’

“Marinette, please, I really need to talk to you.” She tensed as he gripped her upper arm insistently.

Oh god, why wasn’t he leaving? She said no!

“I said, NO Adrien. Get away from me.” There, she said it again. He wouldn’t be so bold as Adrien, not with the class-

Marinette yelped as she felt herself get hauled to her feet, and out of her chair.

“Just for a minute, Mari-!” She scratched at where his hand held her arm, glaring at him. Her eyes were welling with tears.

“Let me GO, Adrien!” Chloe was over the table, three inch stilettos be damned, and Alix was already coming in behind him, having circled around. Chloe beat her to the mark, hitting Adrien across the cheek with a sharp hit as she leapt off the table, tackling him, but then Kim and Ivan were there too. Kim pulled Chloe off of Adrien, after getting a good hold on her; and Ivan pulled Adrien to his feet, looking at him in disgust. Alix came over to Marinette who was staring at the floor, trying to breathe, arms wrapped around herself. Alix put her hands on the girls cheeks, startled at how cold she was.

“Marinette, hey, DC, I need you to breathe with me ok. Shh, deep breaths.” Marinette shook her head, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t, couldn’t breathe, oh god-

“Marinette?”

Marinette turned, Alix’s hands falling from her face, and then there was Damian. He took one of her hands, holding it tight, and Marinette grabbed the other one too, struggling to ground herself. Was he saying something?

“Angel, you need to breathe. You’re hyperventilating.” Oh. That’s why she felt fluttery. She nodded, closing her eyes, and for once, surrendered herself to her Ladybug senses; it would help her focus. Everything faded out, all the shouting around her, the voices, all the faces, until only Damian’s remained; she could hear his pulse if she tried hard enough, and Marinette focused on it, breathed with it. And when she opened her eyes, she gave him a tired smile.

“Thank you Damian.”

He smiled back at her, his thumb stroking her hand idly.

“Ivan, let go of me, damnit! Marinette, please, I just wanted to talk to you!” She flinched, and Damian watched her eyes narrow dangerously. She stepped around him, and Damian turned to see her storm up to where her classmate, Ivan, held her ex. Marinette stopped in front of the blonde, arms crossed.

“I said no, Adrien. I meant it. I don’t want anything to do with you. It’s been over for nearly a year now, you need to let this go.” Adrien frowned, forgetting how many of his classmates were around.

“But Mari, you love me! We were great together!” Marinette frowned.

“Adrien, I loved you so much, I was stupid about it. I would’ve done anything for you,” She choked a bit, clearing her throat, “And you wouldn’t even let the class know that we were dating. I had to tell Chloe secretly just so I had someone to talk to about it.” Adrien turned wide eyes to Chloe, who snarled at him; Kim kept a tight grip around the girls’ waist just in case. “Adrien, you never stood up for me, you never even cared enough to try. And I deserve better.” Adrien sneered, and Marinette hated the expression on his face; it looked so wrong.

“What, and he’s better?” Adrien nodded his head towards Damian, and he arched a brow in response. Marinette turned and regarded him for a moment before she smiled, and turned back to Adrien.

“I don’t know if Damian would be a better boyfriend than you Adrien, but I can tell you, he’s already a much better friend.” Adrien looked stricken, eyes watery as he looked between Marinette and Damian. Then security was there, being led by Dick who went and stood next to Jason. Three security officers took Adrien over to a table where they had him sit while Madame Bustier was found. The class was whispering amongst themselves, and Damian noticed how torn everyone was. Several of her classmates looked like they wanted to try and comfort Marinette, but weren’t sure how anymore. The first one to make up their mind was the bulky boy with blonde bangs who had been holding Chloe back.

He walked over, and placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder, “Hey, Nette, are you ok?”

Marinette looked over and up at him, and Damian could see she was crying. He tensed when she threw her arms around the boy.

“I missed you, Kim…” The boy, Kim, frowned, before he returned the hug.

“Yeah, I missed you too, Nette.” Damian glanced at Alix and Chloe who were talking nearby. He had to admit, he was impressed. He couldn’t remember seeing many women go up and over a cafeteria table in stilettos, and then follow it up with such a nice right cross. If Adrien’s cheek wasn’t broken, it was surely fractured; Chloe was a force to be reckoned with. The two girls didn’t seem concerned with this particular classmate interacting with Marinette, so he stood by while she spoke to the boy, thanking him. Kim stayed at her side while Marinette thanked Ivan for getting Adrien away from her; Ivan just frowned.

“You don’t deserve to be treated that way, Mari. He should’ve been proud to have you.” Marinette had flushed and thanked him before he went back to his and Mylene’s table. Finally Marinette sighed and sat back down. Damian reclaimed his seat next to her, surprised to see Kim sit next to Chloe across the table; not a moment later did another new face show up. Damian regarded the boy and robot warily, looking at Alix and Chloe’s reactions once more. Seeing the two of them unbothered, Damian returned his attention to Marinette, who smiled at the newcomer.

“Hi, Max, hey Markov, how’re you guys doing?” Damian watched the boy and robot share a look, before the boy, Max, frowned.

“I uh, just wanted to see if you needed bandages or anything. Markov is fully equipped for first aid, Mari.” Max fixed his glasses while he pulled a spare chair over, “Adrien had no right putting his hands on you like that. I can’t fight like Kim, but I can make sure the bruising is kept to a minimum.” The smile Marinette gave him would’ve blinded a lesser man, Damian was sure.

“I would really appreciate that, Max. Thank you very much.” Max pursed his lips, nodding.

“It’s the least I can do.”

They all tensed as Marinette shrugged her right arm out of her hoodie. Chloe growled, eyes swivelling to the table where security was speaking with Miss Bustier and Dick; her gaze found Adrien who was staring at them in horror.

Oh, so he could see the bruises from over there.

Alix gasped, hands covering her mouth, and Kim scowled, his hands clenching. The only one who remained largely unaffected was Max. Markov had already analyzed the grip Adrien had had on Marinette’s arm, and had warned Max it would be bad. He still wasn’t quite prepared for it.

The outline of Adrien’s hand was obvious, rubbed red from the force; but the most telling parts were where his fingers had dug into her skin. His nails had bitten through skin in some places, and there was a bit of blood to clean up; underneath the blood were the bruises, already dark purples and yellows taking up space on her skin. Max tried to focus on his breathing, and helping the girl he once considered a dear friend. God, did he even have the right to think that anymore?

“Thank you for this Max, Markov. I’m glad to see you guys again.” Max looked up from her arm, and flushed when she smiled at him. He swallowed, and nodded, returning the smile hesitantly.

“Me too, Nette.” He got back to work on her arm again, pulling some alcohol swabs from a small compartment on Markov. They really didn’t deserve Marinette; they never had.

Damian was struggling to breathe the second Marinette’s arm left her jacket, and he joined Chloe in scowling at the blonde across the cafeteria. Staring at the dark, bleeding marks on her arm would not make him or her feel any better; but maybe beating the living hell out of the boy who caused them would…

He turned his attention back to Max and Marinette as the boy started cleaning the marks left by Adrien’s nails. Damian was tense, feeling a restless energy in himself he hadn't felt for some time. He glanced at her jacket, where it hung off her shoulder, and he frowned.

She wasn’t going to tell anyone about the pain. She was going to go right back to her lunch like nothing happened.

...Was this the first time a situation like this had happened?  

Damian reached over and took her free hand in his, staring at their hands as he laced their fingers together. Her hands were calloused, years of fights and work marking her skin; her hands seemed so small in his, yet they were just as strong. Marinette looked over, observing him as he rubbed idle circles into her hand, and flushed when he finally looked up at her. He gave her a teasing smile, a surprisingly gentle thing.

“There’s never a boring moment with you is there, angel?”

Silence fell around the table, and for a moment, Damian panicked, worried he’d said the wrong thing; but then Marinette was laughing, shoulder shaking before she winced in pain. She smacked at his hand playfully before taking hold of it once more.

“Ow, don’t make me laugh, Damian.” She fought to keep her giggles under control, careful of where Markov sprayed disinfectant on her scratches. It was easier if she didn’t look, pretended the marks weren’t there. Damian grimaced.

“Sorry, angel. You still up for that dinner tonight? I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to just rest.” Marinette shook her head with a frown, her eyes narrowing.

“I am definitely still coming to dinner. I’m not letting that asshole ruin my day.” Chloe gasped, scandalized.

“Mari-bear, you can’t cuss! Who taught you that vile word?” Marinette rolled her eyes, giving Chloe a deadpan look over her shoulder that had the blonde laughing.

“I am allowed to cuss. Just you watch me. Bitches.” Damian snorted, while Alix cackled; Damian thought he even heard Tim snickering to himself down the table. The tension in the air wasn't gone, but it had surely lessened. Max finished with her arm shortly after that, wrapping it in an ace bandage. He fidgeted with his phone for a moment before he sighed.

“Marinette, could I have your phone number, please? Markov took pictures of your marks in case you want to press charges, and I'd like to send them to you.” Marinette blinked, her face growing pale.

“P-press charges?? Oh god, but-” Tim interrupted her.

“Kid, you should definitely press charges. That’s assault.” Marinette stared at Tim for a moment before she turned back to Max, handing him her phone. Damian could see her biting her lip, and he knew she was considering it.

“I’ll… think about it.”

An obnoxiously loud giggle from one of the nearby tables drew her attention, and Marinette glanced over to see Lila sitting with Alya, Rose, Juleka, Sabrina, and Nathaniel; Nino was noticeably absent, and Marinette frowned.

“That’s right! My Damiboo just loves taking me out around the town. Last night’s dinner was so much fun!” Alya grinned, nudging Lila’s shoulder with her own. Marinette rolled her eyes, and turned back to the table after Max handed her phone back. She smiled as Max went around the table, sitting next to Kim, and snuggling into his side. Kim gave his boyfriend a wide grin before dropping a kiss on the boy’s forehead; Markov hovered behind them, and rolled his eyes. Marinette was about to return to her food when she heard Alya respond.

“Girl, I cannot believe you’re dating Damian Wayne! That’s so damn cool!”

Marinette choked on her drink, trying and failing to conceal her laughter. She glanced to her right, where Damian was sat, and she started coughing; he looked so insulted!

“Angel, who is that?” Marinette cleared her throat, getting control of her breathing, and offered her friend an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that, that’s uh, Lila Rossi. She-” Alix leaned around from her left with a flat look,

“She’s a lying ho, that’s all you need to know.” Marinette turned to her.

“Alix! You shouldn’t say that.” Chloe scoffed from the other side of the table; she had her nail file out, fixing the nail she’d broken on Adrien’s face. She pointed the file at Marinette with a smirk.

“We just call it like we see it, Mari-bear.” Chloe’s smile fell as she glanced in Adrien’s direction, who was still talking with Madame Bustier and Dick. A new man had joined them, and Chloe felt her levels of glee rise; the man was dressed in a smart business suit, and wow, he was built.

Bruce Wayne cut an imposing figure as he scowled at their teacher.

Chloe turned back to Marinette, “Are you ok, DC?” Marinette blinked at her, shocked.

“Yeah, but I’m more worried about you. You didn’t twist your ankle or anything did you? I know you hate moving like that in your heels.” Chloe rolled her eyes, and flicked a piece of her salmon across the table at Marinette; it didn’t quite make it.

“Stop worrying about me; your ex just assaulted your pretty ass, and you’re worried about my ankles? Ridiculous!” She looked at Damian, gesturing to Marinette, “You see what I deal with, Damian? I swear.” Chloe watched the young man tear his glare away from Lila’s table and focus back on Marinette; the smile that came to his face filled Chloe with confidence. He liked their everyday Ladybug.

She knew she’d been right.

“Chloe has a point, angel; you should really worry more about yourself right now.” Marinette scowled up at him, but it really looked cuter than anything; which is how Damian knew she didn’t mean it, and was teasing him. He remembered quite vividly what her eyes looked like when she was serious.

“I can worry about whoever I want, thank you very much.” Damian chuckled, holding the hand of her injured arm gently. He offered Chloe an unapologetic shrug.

“Sorry, can’t argue with that logic.” Chloe clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

“You are no help to me.” Alix snorted, giving her a grin.

“Is anyone?” Kim laughed while Max rolled his eyes; Chloe gave her an almost feral grin, but before she could speak, someone else did.

“M-Marinette?”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed as her smile fell into a scowl, and her reaction had Damian turning. Two girls, two of the ones from the liar’s table, stood there. The small blonde one clutched the taller girl’s hand like a lifeline; both looked more than a little ashamed of themselves, but also angry. The smaller one spoke again.

“I-I, um, I mean, we just wanted to check and see if you were… ok.” Marinette regarded them, her expression a bit guarded.

“I’ve got some bruising, and a few cuts; but otherwise I’m fine.” She gave them a smile, and Damian watched the taller girl bite her lip, “Thanks for asking Rose, Juleka.”

Marinette went to turn back around when the dark haired one, Juleka, spoke.

“Marinette, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Marinette paused, her eyes wide. Juleka frowned, glancing back towards the table her and Rose had come from; just in time to see the others turn back around quickly. She scowled, and Rose tightened her hold on her hand in reassurance. Juleka looked back at Marinette.

“I didn’t realize for so long that it was never you bullying Lila; it was always the other way around. I-” Marinette gasped, standing up as tears rolled down Juleka’s cheeks, “I didn’t realize, but I should have! You a-always went out of your way for us, for all of us. We didn’t even try-” Rose wasn’t much better, tears rolling down her face in steady streams.

“Guys, please don’t cry! You didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that they didn’t help. That they didn’t believe you.” Marinette turned to Chloe, who was looking at Rose and Juleka with unconcealed skepticism. She switched her gaze to Marinette, “What do you think, DC?” Marinette frowned and turned back to the girls in front of her. She sighed, considering.

“We don’t deserve your forgiveness, Marinette.” Said girl looked up in surprise, watching Juleka wipe at her tears in vain; more just took their place. “Chloe’s right, we weren’t there for you; not like you were for us. And there’s nothing to be done for that.” Marinette nodded after a moment.

“That’s true,” Rose’s shoulders shuddered as her tears fell with more force, and Juleka bit her lip; Marinette smiled, “But you’re here now, aren’t you?”

Rose sobbed, and Marinette soon found herself with an armful of blonde; Rose hugged her tight, mindful of her injury, and buried her face in Marinette’s shirt.

“I-I’m so sorry Nettie!” Marinette felt her eyes get misty as Juleka joined the hug, and she did her best to wrap her arms around both girls.

“Guys, you’re gonna make me cry…” Rose shook her head, clutching Marinette tighter.

“No, you can’t cry anymore, i-it’s illegal…” Marinette laughed, and then she was crying too, holding the girls closer to her.

The three of them stood together for a moment, gathering themselves. Finally, after a minute or two, they separated. Rose offered Juleka a tissue she pulled from her bag, before handing another one to Marinette. The two left for the bathroom to clean up, since Juleka’s makeup had been ruined, and the shoulder of Rose’s shirt had suffered for it. Juleka hesitated before they left.

“When we come back…” Marinette smiled, encouraging her, and Juleka flushed, “Could we maybe… sit with you guys?” Damian watched as Marinette seemed to glow at the thought, her smile brightening.

“Of course.” And then the two girls were gone, off to the stalls.

Marinette slumped back into her seat with a sigh, a tired but pleased smile on her face. Alix smiled a bit.

“You look exhausted.” Marinette groaned, using one of her napkins to clean up her face some more.

“A lot has happened, and it’s not even one o’ clock, Alix. We still have the Pier to go to today.” She cleared her throat, taking a drink of her drink; crying was exhausting. “I’m kind of terrified of anything else happening.”

“Rest assured, miss Dupain-Cheng, I am doing everything I can to make sure nothing else happens.”

Marinette jolted, her knee slamming into the underside of the table, and she groaned as Chloe began to laugh; Alix and Kim shared a grin while Max sighed. Damian turned and glared up at his father.

“Father, what are you doing here?”

Bruce smiled down at the students, offering Marinette an amused grimace.

“I apologize for startling you. Are you ok?” Marinette flushed, waving off his concern even as her knee pulsed in agony. Gods, she felt dumb.

“It’s fine, sir! I’ve had worse, I promise! I just didn’t hear you come up. And please, call me Marinette.” Bruce looked oddly concerned at the promise of her having had worse, but he merely filed it away for later. He gave her a smile.

“Marinette, then. I wanted to reassure you that I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you’re able to enjoy the rest of your day.” The blood rushed to Marinette’s head so fast she got dizzy.

“S-sir, you don’t have to do anything like that! There’s no reason for you to! I’ll be fine, I swear.” Bruce shook his head, holding his hand up.

“Nonsense, I owe you a great debt, Marinette; whether you think so or not. The fact remains that I sponsored this trip, and you saved my granddaughter. You have more than earned the right to a good time.” He smiled, nodding at Damian, “I trust my son has been good to you?”

Chloe covered her mouth as she snorted, and Marinette flushed; Damian sighed. Marinette couldn’t help her smile as she nodded.

“Yes, sir! Damian has been nothing but wonderful since we met! He has a lot of respect for you.” Damian stared at her, scandalized.

“Angel!” Marinette laughed.

“I never said I wouldn’t tell him!”

Bruce watched the two interact with a fond smile, seeing his son blush for what he’s certain is the first time. He cleared his throat, and smirked when Damian glared at him.

“I trust you’ll still join us for dinner tonight? If not, we can do it another time.” Marinette nodded, a smile on her face.

“I would love to, sir. Thank you very much.” Bruce smiled, and held his hand out. She shook it, giving him a startlingly sweet smile.

“Please, call me Bruce.” He stepped back, and regarded her friends, “Forgive me, but it’ll take some time to arrange a meal to accommodate all of you. I should be able to schedule it for sometime next week. Would that be alright?”

Most of the kids stared at him in shock, but Chloe merely smiled, flipping her hair.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne. We’d love to.” Bruce chuckled a bit, nodding.

“Excellent. Damian,” He looked back at his son, thoroughly enjoying the aggravated look he was given, “I’d like you to stay with Marinette during their time at the pier. Keep the… riff raff away.” Damian scoffed.

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” Bruce smirked, and raised a brow.

“I know.” Leaving his son embarrassed and glaring, Bruce waved at the kids before turning and leaving, heading back towards the teacher and security. He sighed, looking at the blonde boy who had caused this situation.

Always another problem to take care of...

~~~~~~~~~~

@wAYNEtechieBish

(½) Oh my god. I hope we host tours for

schools more i just got lunch *&* a show

at work. Like damn dude. #wayneenters

#dramaticasschildren #HOLYSHIT #WAIT

@wAYNEtechieBish

(2/2) Ths girl st8 went ovr the table at ths

dude!! SIS IS IN HEELS!! DAMN! N she

BUSTED his ass!! #gethimbb!! #godDAMN

#dudeiLOVEmyjob #dontfiremeplease

~~~~~~~~~~~

And that is chapter 3 my dudes!!!!! SURPRISE!!!!! So as much as I love the Batfam helping Mari out in these kinds of situations, I just wanted it to be her own friends for once. And Feral!Chloe is kind of my favorite Chloe; sorry, not sorry. ADRIEN YOU DONE FUCKED UP BOI. Like *DAMN*. Juleka and Rose were actually kind of an accident; they weren’t supposed to happen til later lol and the reason for their switching of sides will be revealed next time! ;D Where did Nino go??? WHO KNOWS! ;D (me, I KNOW)

This is the first time I’m writing any kind of romance, but HOLY SHIT it is SO MUCH FUN. ALSO NEXT TIME! THE PIER! RIDES! GAMES! A DATE????? MAYBE!! XD ....I really wanted it to be the dinner finally, but it’s still like,,,,,, early afternoon lmao and school trips always feature a pretty full day of activities (at least they did when I went). Anyway, I hope you guys liked this one as much as I do! I had a lot of fun writing this one! I haven’t started chapter 4 yet, but I usually spend my weekends writing, so as long as I maintain my current level of sick, I should be fine lmao

Until next time! <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 :HERE: Part 4 Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST BBS!!!! Tag list is :CLOSED: SORRY GUYS <3

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[we-want-mini-mini]

Because I fell in love with the previous prompt/oneshot I wrote about an OC falling into the DC universe (specifically Gotham) and wants to avoid the Vigilantes/Wayne and Co but fucking fails at it (or succeeds, who knows).

This one shot is about—

The Reluctant Executive Assistant To Lex Luthor, Who Also Is A Supervillian

Masterlist | Pervious Post Regarding This Oneshot

Warnings! Strong language, mentions of disassociation, mentions of body dysphoria, non-graphic description of violence, probably OOC Lex Luthor, shitty spelling and grammar oh my!

LIA WONDERED WHAT SHE DID TO ANGER THE UNIVERSE, what she did so heinous, so deplorable, so bastardly to be punished in this way. She reclined into her plush sofa, her eyed glazed over, as they seemingly stared beyond the cream colored walls of her small Metropolis apartment. On her coffee table, laid a stack of papers. Papers that were at least a couple inches thick, filled with long winded explanations, language that could confuse anyone, and an agreement to become Lex Luthors god damn Executive Assistant.

I’m basically going to be a glorified Secretary, for one of the most powerful men in the world... Whose also a raging fucking Supervillain too. Lia thought with a groan, rubbing her face. Her mind whirled with various thoughts, plans and so, oh so much more. The fact that she’s been offered such a prestigious job, at the tender age of 23 years old. A job as the right hand to a fucking Supervillain, Jesus Christ...

Ever since Lia woke up in her doppelgänger’s body, all those years ago, she made a decision that she would never involve herself with the various vigilantes of this world. But, considering she lived in Gotham before this, she had to cope with the fact that her city had various Vigilantes running around, doing whatever they were doing. But, Lia had the upper hand you see: the world she came from, all the Vigilantes and hero’s were fictional characters! Thus, she knew all their origin stories, secret identities and the like. In her pervious world, every kid knew that Superman was unassuming reporter Clark Kent of the Daily Planet. Who also happened to be Lia’s next door neighbor. You know what, I’m not even going to go down that rabbit hole. Nope. Nah. I’m good.

But, adjusting to life in her new body wasn’t a simple walk in the park. She had to adjust to a whole new city (perviously Lia lived in New York, which was the inspiration for Gotham but still). A whole new environment that became desensitized to the causal, practically fanatasical acts of violence ranging from man made super blizzards, the occasional alien invasion and etc. Not to mention, Lia had to cope with the fact she, in essence, lived in an entirely different body. The first two years of living in this world, Lia struggled with dissociation and body dyshoria at the fact that one: she now lived in a completely different world compared to her pervious world, and two: she inhabited a body that, yes is her, but, at the same time, wasn’t her.

Thank goodness mom realized what was happening and shipped my ass off to the few non-supervillain therapist in Gotham. Lia thought with a huff like laughter.

Her eyes then soon trailed too the stack of papers Lex Luthor gave, ones that detailed her contract of becoming his Executive Assistant. One, that would make her one of the most powerful women in the US by being the right hand of Lex Luthor. Who also is a fucking supervillain, god damn it.

Lia vowed to herself to never involve herself with the various superheroes, vigilantes, or villains of her new world. She wanted to live a normal as possible life, not wanting to have such a heavy responsibility of being a hero on her alreayd aching shoulders. She did not want to get involved in the drama that often plagued those who entered that life. She did not want to endanger her family (or herself) because she has connections with people who are vigilantes. Specifically, when she was a student at Gotham U, she avoided anything surrounding the Wayne’s (considering they are the infamous Bats and Birds that protect Gotham and her people). Likely, the only times she ever saw said infamous Vigilantes were the few unlucky times she was in a hostage situation and when she was about to be mugged those couple of times.

As far as interactions outside of their vigilante identities, she’s bumped into Bruce Wayne shopping with Damian, Stephanie, Cassandra and Tim. And oh boy, oh boy, did Lia pray to any deities out their to make sure this was the first and last time she ever met them. Her only words to Bruce Wayne (also fucking Batman) was a high pitched apology and the wish to be smited by God that very second. She’s also bumped in Dick Grayson the one time she visited some friends in Blüdhaven in a coffee shop. They struck up conversation, and it wasn’t till the end of the conversation did she realize who it was. After that, she always went out with headphones in her ears as they are the universal symbol of Don’t Talk To Me. And as for Jason, she’s seen Red Hood when she was out late at a 24/7 7/11, picking up some food. Frankly, Lia was to strung up on zero sleep and pure caffeine and spite to honestly give a single shit. Lia vaguely remembered wanting a specific thing, and Red Hood also reaching for it. She snatched said snack with a word, ignoring Red Hoods existence completely. The cashier looked like they saw a ghost but, as always, Lia was tired to give a single flying shit.

However, Lia’s paranoia didn’t simmer down. So much so, that she applied for an internship at LexCorp, her excuse being she wanted to have a change of scenery. While working at LexCorp, she gained considerable amount of knowledge and experience, but compromised with her mom that, after her internship finished up in LexCorp, she’s go to WE and work there. Lia had deep seeded concerns about working at WE, but after going back and forth in her head, she decided that, fuck it. It’s a gigantic ass company. There’s such a low percentage of me ever crossing paths with one of the Waynes and Co. Plus, mom drives a hard bargain. And damn, do I honestly miss Gotham. It’s so damn bright here. And it’s called fucking Metroplis of all things.

Before Lia could further brood about what her life had become, the sound of her doorbell flooded Lia’s ears. Lia’s eyebrows scrunched together, did I order something? But, she shrugged to herself, springing to her feet. Better find out then, I guess.

When Lia opened the door, she expected, say, a delivery person, or, a neighbor asking to borrow something. What she did not expect was her 5’3” mother, standing next to a 6-something, rather muscular, but familiar figure of—HOLY SHIT IT’S SUPERMAN, WHAT THE FUCK—

Next to her mothers petite figure, was the gargantuan stature of one Clark Kent, AKA, Superman. Lia could feel her blood pressure rise.

“Mom! Mr. Kent! What a nice surprise.” Lia said, through a tight lipped smile. Her mother simply smiled, laughing lightly.

“Habibi, it’s been such a long time—and, wait did you loose weight?” Her mother’s once smiling face turned sour, her eyebrows pinched together in worry. Her warm brown eyes trailing up and down Lia’s figure. Lia’s face immediately warmed up a few degrees, then her mother took hold of her face, examining it closer. Lia let out a indignant squawk, “Mom! Not infront of the neighbor please!”

Clark simply laughed, “No, it’s alright. I can understand a mother’s worry as my own Ma does the same thing whenever she visits.”

Her mother nodded, “See! He doesn’t mind, habibi. Now, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Mr. Kent, if you would be a dead, could help me set the food on the table?”

Clark smiles, his teeth a little too white and dazzling. “Of course! But please, call me Clark.”

Her mother laughed, while nodding. “Of course, Clark. Now, come in, come in.” Her mother said, inviting Lia’s neighbor into her apartment. She let out a sigh, moving out of the way.

Before long, Clark, Lia and her mother were setting up dinner. Somehow, someway, Lia’s mother convinced Clark to stay for dinner, while sending meaningful glances towards Lia. Lia wanted to jump out of her window. Knowing that her mother would always be her wingwomen, was, strangely nice, but this time? Trying to set her up with fucking Superman? Nope. Nah. No happening mom, no matter how hot Clark looks. Not. Happening.

Her mother, soon strikes up conversation with Clark about work. He talks about the Daily Planet, and being a reporter. Soon, the topic veers to Lia, whose honestly forgotten that Clark was Superman for a couple minutes.

“...on the topic of internships, my Lia currently interns at LexCorp, if I’m not wrong.” Her mother says, sending a pointed look to Lia.

“Uh. Yeah. I’m currently working at LexCorp as an intern.” Lia says, watching for Clark’s reaction at the fact that she works for his biggest nemesis. She can see it, the infantasmal flinch, before he relaxes again.

“Oh, is that so? From what your mother said, didn’t you live in Gotham before coming to Metropolis?” He inquires, setting down some plates on Lia’s dining table. Lia freezes up, since, she can’t just say: Well, you see, I know the identities of Gotham’s infamous vigilantes, who happen to also run and own WE.

“Well, I wanted a change of scenery really.” Lia added smoothly, taking out all the food and sorting them. She kept her face and tone neutral, watching Clark’s every move and reaction.

His face had a knowing look, as he gave a small nod. “I can understand that. Gotham and Metropolis are two very different cities and wanting a change of scenery is a fine reason for moving.”

Lia hums noncommittally, while her mother sighs. “I still wished you would’ve stayed in Gotham, you know. It’s closer and I worry for you, Habibi.”

Lia buffs through her nose. “Mom. I’m 24 and very much so capable of protecting myself, considering you were the one who taught me how to knock a man thrice my size out in a single punch since I was 7.”

Clark makes a sort strangled noise and covers it up with a cough. Lia’s mother simple sighs, her face showing her true age. “Of course your capable of defending yourself. Why would I let my daughter out and about in Gotham of all places with being able to defend herself? I just worry, ya habibi. This is a whole new city and you also live by yourself.”

“I’ve been living by myself since I was 18, mom.” Lia interjected but her mother gives her a look.

“Yes, you have been living by yourself since you were 18 but at least you were nearby. I worry, regardless of the fact.”

Lia sighs. They’ve had this talk numerous times, before Lia moved to Metropolis and before she even uttered her concerns about wanting to move. “I know.” She says softly.

The conversation dies out, as everything soon is set. However, before they could start eating, Lia’s mother spots the stack of papers.

“Lia, what with the stack of papers?” She inquired, her head gesturing to the coffee table.

“The stack of what?” Lia yelled out, as she was in the kitchen getting a jug of water. Her mother, whose curiosity guided her, got up from her seat and took ahold of the papers.

“The papers on your coffee table. What are they for?” She asked again, when she heard Lia set the jug of water down.

Lia, whose brain was preoccupied with a million other thoughts, carelessly said the phrase: “Oh, my contract to become Executive Assistant to Lex Luthor.”

Clark almost dropped what he was holding, before discreetly catching it with his super speed. Lia’s mother stilled, her eyes wide as saucers, her lips slightly parted.

“Your what to whom?” Her mother asked, her tone beyond incredulous.

Lia short circuited. She realized what she just said. In front of fucking Superman. In front of her mother. Fuck. Why does the universe hate me?

Before Clark could say anything else on the matter, his phone buzzed. The mother daughter pair snapped their gaze at Clark, whose face grew even more surprised.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I have to go. Something urgent just came up.” He said, shoving his phone back into his pant pocket. The mother-daughter pair simply nodded, as they watched a slightly frantic Clark Kent shuffle out of Lia’s small apartment.

When they heard Lia’s apartment door shut closed, her mother’s head whipped towards Lia’s. Her face went rigid, the past surprise at the new was scrubbed away, being replaced with a cold, calculative look. She gestured to Lia to sit down, at the dining table.

Lia, who simply stared at her for a while, sighed, before taking the opposite seat across from her mother. She knew this conversation will be a long one, thus, she started to pile on the food her mother brought.

“The contract in your hands, is a contract between me and Lex Luthor. It’s about me becoming his Executive Assistant.”

Her mother hummed, while also taking some food. “So, you’re going to be his right hand, essentially?”

Lia nodded. Well, sure. I’m technically a glorified secretary with a lot of power now. But sure, right hand is a lot more appealing. But she didn’t voice those thoughts, simply taking a bite of her food.

“Well, this took a turn I did not expect it too.” Her mother said with a sigh.

“You and me both, mom.”

Lia never would’ve imagined, not in a million Earths, would she become Lex-fucking-Luthors Executive Assistant. She honestly thought she would finish her internship without much fanfare and move back to Gotham to apply for a position at the WE.

“So,” her mother began, setting her fork down. “How the hell did you catch Luthors eye?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story but...”

A COUPLE DAYS AGO, the department in which Lia was interning suddenly lost a handful of employees who quit for whatever reason. Not to mention, an important meeting was scheduled and was now completely fucked due to these employees leaving. Plus, some other important event was also going on with some higher level execs and that was also in jeopardy. Lia, who was witnessing this utter shit storm in real time, realized, oh fuck. This is bad. Really bad. And decided to do something about it. Lia, at the time, was known in her department as someone who can manage a schedule like no ones business, convince people to do things her way like it was as easy as drinking water. She had a reputation and the department head was a chicken whose head was cut off, trying to put out the proverbial fires one by one, rather ineffectively. Lia, who made friends with various other interns in other departments (who worked with other high level employees), and who had various connections in Metropolis, was able to salvage most of the day (and subsequent week). She was able to fill in those positions rather quickly (the department head was more then happy to oblige), re-schedule the various important meetings and events that were scheduled that in under three hours after some (what Lia called) “aggressive persuasion”. Somehow, someway, the story of some intern with godly management abilities, persuasion skills made its way up to the big man himself: Lex Luthor.

When Lex Luthor heard of this, he became intrigued. Thus, he called Lia up, all the way to his office. Lia, who when was told that fucking Lex Luthor himself wanted to see her, was understandably shitting bricks. Her mind immediately went to the fact that somehow, someway, he figured out that Lia knew the identities of various vigilantes. Lia, who was reasonably terrified at the thought, began to draw up counter arguments and contingencies.

The entire way to Lex Luthor’s office Lia went through the seven stages of grief (the extra two are Denial 2 and astral projection). She thanked those she loved, and made her not peace with God. When Lia finally arrived to Luthors office, she immediately compartmentalized all her feelings, slapped on her most convincing cooperate smile, and knocked on his door, saying in the most polite and calm tone she could muster: “Mr. Luthor? You called for me, Lia al-Abadi?”

The moment she heard the muffled “come in.” Lia sent one more prayer to whatever deity out their, and strode into Luthors office.

Now, Lia has seen pictures and clips of Luthors office. But, it was one thing too see it and another to be in it. Lia, when entering the large office, with Luthor facing the window out looking Metropolis, felt her heart drop all the way to the earths core.

Her hands were discreetly balled up in her sides, her nails digging crescent shaped moons into the palm of her hand. The shirt underneath her blazer was definitely soaked through, but, thankfully, Lia wore a black blazer today, so it wasn’t that noticeable. Probably. Hopefully.

Lia took in a deep breath, trying to calm her hammering heart. “Mr. Luthor?” She called out, her voice surprisingly even. Her heart hammered against her chest, so hard, it seemed it would burst through any moment. God, what the fuck is my life anymore.

Luthor, being the dramatic ass Supervillian that he is, spun around, his hands clasped together as he faced Lia, sitting in a typical, large, black, swivel chair. The only thing he was missing was the white cat in his lap. 

Lia could feel herself die a little when she made direct eye contact with the man, the legend, the Asshole, himself: Lex god damn Luthor.

“Ah, Ms. al-Abadi, please, do sit down.” He said, his voice uncharacteristically bright and inviting. But, Lia knows better then to trust the fox when it was simling. She could see the calculative glint in his eyes. Carefully, she walked towards Luthor, who kept his picture prefect smile. The only thing that filled Lia in for the eternally long, yet short walk towards Luthor was the clicks of her heel, and her heart hammering against her eardrums.

Her hand, which she forced to keep steady, took ahold of the chair, dragging it away from the desk. The ugly screeches of the chair legs against the marble floor still reasonated through Lia’s ears. But, at least she saw the slightly—almost invisible—eye twitch that gave away his annoyance.

Lia, who kept her face devoid of any emotions, slowly sat down. Her eyes still focused on Luthors stupid smiling face.

When she sat down (finally, Jesus Christ that was a lot more anxiety inducing then I thought) she kept her back straight, shoulder squared and her hands on her lap. She could still feel her heart beating hard against her rib cage, and the million thoughts of Luthor somehow finding out about Lia and her knowledge of the identities of the various vigilantes. Her hands became clammy, her entire being screamed, I AM VERY UNCOMFORTABLE! but, Lia was stuck in between the proverbial rock and a hard place (rock: chair, hard place: Luthor’s office).

Her lips stretched into her patented cooperate smile, “You had called for me, Mr. Luthor, sir?”. Fuck my life. Lia thought, still smiling while she slowly died on the inside.

Luthor bared his teeth, lips stretched into a smile. “Please, call me Lex, Ms. al-Abadi.”

Lia, with ever cell in her very being, absolutely rebelled at the prospect of calling Lex Luthor just Lex. For one, he’s her boss, and Lia was raised to be polite. Second, Lia only ever referred to Lex Luthor either as Luthor or Lex Luthor, never just Lex. Third, Lex Luthor is a goddamn Supervillain, no fucking way am I calling him by his first name.

Lia’s fave stretched out into a tight lipped smile. “I’m afraid cannot do that, Mr. Luthor.” She said through gritted teeth, face still stretched out into a tight lipped smile.

Luthor cocked his eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”

For one, your Supervillain. Second, me saying your first name, and just your first name, tiggers my flight or fight response. Lia, of course, did not response to Lex Luthor’s question with that reply. Instead she said, “For one, Mr. Luthor, you are my boss and I am your employee. Employees don’t generally refer to their boss by their first names. Secondly, me referring to you by your first name implies that I am in some way, shape or form, close to you. Considering this is my first time ever meeting you personally, I can’t—” Won’t “—refer to you by your first name.”

A beat of silence. Lia, who continued to smile at Luthor as he stared at her for a good few moments, before lightly chuckling.

“Well, when you put it like that, Ms. al-Abadi, I cannot disagree. However, I do hope in the near future you would be more comfortable calling me Lex rather then Mr. Luthor.” He said, his face all smiles.

For a moment, Lia was confused. She was simply a temporary intern that would leave in about two months, how would she hypothetically warm up to Luthor enough so to call him Lex? Plus, what he said also implied that Lia would stay in LexCorp long enough to warm up to Luthor.

Then a thought crossed Lia’s mind. Wait, does he want to be my sugar daddy?? Which Lia immediately shot down, as, this is Lex Luthor, why the fuck would he be interested in being my sugar daddy? Even though I am fucking beautiful, thats for sure. But still. Lia shuddered at the thought before getting back on the topic at hand.

“Mr. Luthor, I am just a simple intern that will be leaving in about two months. I don’t understand how I would be able to get close to you enough so that I refer to you by your first name,” Lia said.

Then another thought crossed her mind, “Unless, you’re planning on making me a full time employee?” There was a slight tilt in Lia’s voice, her eyebrows slightly pinched together. Lia, however, racks her brain for any reason why Lex Luthor of all people would personally call her to his office just to say he’s going to hire her as a full time employee.

Luthor nodded, “Precisely, Ms. al-Abadi. But, I don’t just want to make you any full time employee, that would simply be a waste of your talent and potential.” He said, reaching for one of his drawers, pulling out a stack of papers.

A wave of confusion wash over Lia. Talent? Potential? The fuck did I do to catch Luthors attention of all people? “I’m not sure what you mean by my ‘talent and potential’, Mr. Luthor.” She said, while shaking her head. She honestly didn’t think of anything note worthy enough to catch a awfully busy man like Luthor.

A flash of confusion flickered through Luthors face before being plastered with another smile. “Ms. al-Abadi, I’m sure you know your reputation among the other interns, right?”

Lia’s eyes narrowed, as she hesitantly nodded. She was infamous for managing a clusterfuck of a schedule into an actual, mangable schedule. Lia was also known for her “aggressive persuasion” tactics and the like.

“Not to mention, the situation in which many employees from the department you interned in, quit. Resulting in many important events and meetings to be up in the air. Not to mention some other notable things that happened that day.” Luthor said, matter of factly.

And, he wasn’t wrong. But the fact that Luthor knew of that utter shitstorm raised more then a few alarms in Lia’s head. The situation that occurred that day was promptly swept under the rug and Lia only complained about the situation to a couple intern friends and her brother. Then, the face of Ana—an intern from the PR Department—flashed through Lia’s eyes. Lia wanted to strangle herself. Of course she told fucking loose lipped Ana about situation that never should’ve reached Luthor’s ears, god fucking damn it. No matter how much Lia wanted to groan and fight God, she kept her composure.

Lia gulped down, rubbing her hands as another smile made its way onto her lips. “Well, I simply did what had to.” I had pull so many fucking favors, and most of my god damn grey hairs are from that day, Jesus Christ. Whenever Lia remembered that day, her face (internally) soured, and the need for her to curse out God, the universe, whoever, was so great she had to bite her tongue (literally) to force herself not to go on a 20 minute rant about the entire situation. Still, even with her bubbling feelings of pure, unbridled rage, Lia kept her composure. This is a professional environment. I’m infront of my boss. Whose one of the most powerful man in the US. Whose also a raging Supervillain. I have to stay professional. Professional...

“Nonsense, Ms. al-Abadi. From what I heard, you had a situation presented to you, a situation that was falling at the seems no less—and somehow salavaged it. In under three hours, you were able to salvage the situation, reorder them schedule and was able to avert a scandal as well.”

Lia, for whatever reason, felt her face grow hot at the praise. She, of course, knew how shitty the situation became—did what she always did—complained a bit, and moved on. Planning, reorganizing, improvising plans on the go, and her “aggressive persuasion” is something Lia always did. She didn’t find such things awfully notable, as she’s been doing this sort of thing since the ninth grade.

“T-That’s—” Lia cleared her throat. “That’s quit a bit of praise, Mr. Luthor, considering I didn’t do much aside from reorganize and persuased a few people. Nothing that I consider rather notable, enough so to earn your attention.” Unnecessary attention, was left unsaid.

Luthor simply smiled, his teeth too white and straight for Lia’s eyes. “You might consider it unnotable, but I beg to differ.”

Then beg—Lia almost retorted, but she caught the phrase before it could ever leave. Fucking siblings.

Luthor pushes the stack on papers closer Lia. “Which is why—I want you, Ms. Lia al-Abadi, to become my Executive Assistant.”

Lia, when she heard the words Executive Assistant concluded that the universe hates her and that she will make preparations to fight God.

Safe to say, Lia was just offered a prestigious position, next to Lex Luthor, to be his Executive Assistant. The same Lex Luthor who is actively fighting against Superman—the Justice League at large—and it an overall Supervillain. One of Superman’s most noteworthy Supervillian. A Supervillian, who can potentially kill Superman because he has access to a grow, green rock. A Supervillian who made a clone of Superman—combing his and Superman’s DNA—to do so. The same Supervillain, who essentially was asking: “Do you want to be my right hand?”

“You want me to be your what?” Lia asked in an incredulous tone. She looked at the stack of papers and Luthor several times, while pointing to herself. “Me? A 23 year old, with barely any experience in the cooperate world, work as your Executive Assistant?”

Luthor, surprisingly, nodded, his face not showing a hint of annoyance. “Yes, I am. Of course, you should take your time to think over my offer. It is Friday, and I’ll be expecting your answer next Monday. Come to my office at 3 PM, next Monday, and we’ll talk some more, Ms. al-Abadi. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting to get too.”

Next thing Lia knew, she was holding onto a stack of papers, in an elevator, going down back to her original office. When she came back, several people commented on how dazed and pale she looked. One of her supervisors even asked if she wanted the rest of the day off (as there wasn’t much left to do, either way). Lia, who was still reeling from the events that had just transpired, graciously accepted.

Lia’s mother, who kept on listening to the entire ordeal, from start to finish simply commented. “Well, damn.”

Lia groaned, her hands rubbing her face. “‘Well, damn’? That’s all you have to say on the fact that one of the most powerful man in America offering me a position as his god damn Executive Assistant?”

“Hey! It’s a lot for me to take in, and, it must a lot for you to take in.” Her mother said, reaching out, taking a hold of Lia’s hand. She gave a comforting squeeze.

“Yeah, it was...” Lia mumbled. She sighed, her eyes on the stack of papers detailing what Lia’s responsibilities were, and some other key information. The stack of papers that could change her life with a single stroke of a pen.

“So, what are you going to do? Accept Luthors offer, or...?”

“It’d be dumb for me not to accept it.”

“Damn right it would be!”

Lia shoot her mother a look, before continuing, “It’s just... I’m only 23 and me getting this job is just... There’s a lot to consider. Sure, I’m good at managing schedules, persuading people and—” Her mother snorted, waving her hand.

“Hey! I am good at all those things, you know.” Lia exclaimed, crossing her arms.

Her mother raised both her hands, shaking her head. “Never said you were bad at them, Habibi. Your a damn genius when it comes to organizing events and persuading people. Not good, not great, but a god damn genius.” Her mother voice clearly showing how proud she was of Lia.

The tips of Lia’s ears were painted bright red, as her face spilt into a grin. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I am. But, the matter at hand is that, I don’t have much experience in the cooperate world. And, I just graduated a couple months ago. Not to mention, if I accept the position, there’s going to be a lot of talk on how, I, a 23 year old, rather attractive women, who just recently graduated from Gotham U, who was just a regular intern, managed to get the position of Executive Assistant to Lex Luthor.”

Her mother sighed. “True, there definitely will be rumors regarding how earned such a position without much prior experience.”

Lia sagged in her seat, her mind a tornado of thoughts. Should she accept? Should she decline? Should she msyteriously disappear off the face of the Earth, never to be seen again? Decisions, decision, so many decisions with so many consequences and variables at play that made Lia’s head ache. She had time, but not enough. It was late in the evening on Friday, and Luthor wanted an answer by Monday afternoon. Great. Just a couple dozen hours till D-Day. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“What about a trial basis?” Her mother blurted out. Lia cocked her eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue.

“Like, what if, you were his Executive Assistant for a couple of months, on a trial basis. Just to dip your toes in and get a feel for the job. That sort of thing.” She said with a shrug.

Lia’s eyes widen, as if a light bulb went off her head. “Oh my god. Why didn’t I think of that? That’s prefect! Not only would it allow me ample time to see if I’m ready for such a position, but also invaluable experience if I were too not take the position or Luthor deemed me unworthy of it.”

With a sort of plan set in mind, Lia continued to eat, all with a smile on her face. Even if after the trial basis, Luthor deems me unfit, I still get away with a couple months worth of pay that would pay off my student loans, not to mention invaluable experience. I win regardless of the fact if I get the job or I don’t!

With the sun setting, and Lia eating her fill, while catching up with her mother on other past events, Lia can’t seem to stop smiling. Even if she’s going to become the (Reculant) Executive Assistant to Lex Luthor, who also is a Supervillian.

That’s it folks! I had a lot of fun writing this in all honesty, even though it’s not that good. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Till next time.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Original CH17

Surprise! A day late/early

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Chapter 17

“I’m glad we’re finally getting to do this.”

The night was warm, and the chatter of several other diners sounded across the restaurant as Marinette looked out over the city. At Adrien’s declaration, she flicked her gaze back to his with a smile, reaching to lace her fingers through his.

“Dinner at the Eiffel Tower seems a bit extravagant for a first date,” she teased, and he let out a breathy laugh.

“You deserve the best. Besides, we’re celebrating,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “You impressed two of the most hard-to-please people in existence.”

“I still can’t believe it honestly. I half expected her to throw me out.” Marinette lowered her gaze to her plate. “I just hope the show goes well in a few months.”

“It will. I’ll be modeling for you, and I’m sure the others will too if you ask,” Adrien assured her, and Marinette bit her lip. “What did Macy say when you told her?”

“I haven’t yet,” Marinette admitted, pushing her food around with her fork. “I asked Audrey if I could make one of the dresses because it’s very important to me. The dress I designed for Macy…I poured everything into its design. I just hope she likes it.”

“She will. I’m sure of it,” Adrien said, and Marinette smiled up at him.

“I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous about everything. If the show goes well then I’ll be famous, but if it goes bad then my career will be ruined,” she said, pursing her lips. “I don’t know. I guess when I pictured entering the fashion world, I imagined being fresh out of university, but I’m not even out of college yet.”

“It’s normal to be nervous,” he said, skewering a mushroom with her fork and lifting it to her lips. “You’re about to change the world and prove that Lila is a liar. It’s going to be messy.”

“I know,” she said after swallowing. “But I can’t truly be free from her when she still holds everyone hostage. I just can’t bring myself to walk away.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. If anyone can do it, it’s you.” Adrien lifted her hand to his lips, but when she still seemed unsettled, he added, “I’ll be right by your side the whole time helping you, and so will all of your friends. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Thank you,” she said, relaxing her shoulders a bit. “You’re always there when I need someone to lean on.”

“You need someone like that,” he said with a smile. “Everyone else leans on you, so if I can be that person for you then I will.”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed a little under his loving gaze, and she lifted his hand to her cheek, leaning against it with a smile.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Marinette.”

***

“You seem more out of it than usual today,” Gabrielle remarked as she refilled Marinette’s mug.

“I’ve got a lot going on,” Marinette admitted, pursing her lips. “I’m kind of kickstarting my fashion career.”

“Is that why you had your nose buried in your sketchbook last week?” Gabrielle quirked a brow and set the pot back on its burner.

“Yeah, I had to come up with a pitch for Audrey Bourgeois by the end of the month,” she said, stirring in her cream and sugar. “And she loved it.”

“You don’t seem enthused.”

“No, I am, but…” Marinette shifted her gaze to her cup. “I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” Gabrielle scoffed, and Marinette looked up at her. “The queen of style likes your work. You’re about to strike it big.”

“I don’t really care about all of that.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes, but she continued, “I themed my line to help a friend, and I just really hope she likes it.”

“You’re a strange girl, Marinette,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re more concerned with whether or not your friend likes your work than the woman who runs the industry? We really are two different people.”

“You’re a lot different than you use to be,” Marinette pointed out, leaning against her fist.

“Don’t take all the credit. I’ve had a humbling last few months,” she said, averting her gaze, though she couldn’t hide the flush to her cheeks. “I never said it was a bad thing. It’s kind of cool. Whatever.”

Marinette watched in amusement as Gabrielle brewed a fresh pot of coffee.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Marinette said after a while, and Gabrielle folded the rag she was wiping the counter with neatly.

“Does it require me to be nice?” Gabrielle sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Will you be one of my models?” Gabrielle seemed shocked, perfectly plucked brows raising and glossy jaw dropping.

“You want me to be in your show?” She asked, blinking.

“Yeah, you’re tall and pretty, and you’re my friend,” Marinette said with a smile, and Gabrielle’s cheeks darkened.

“I- um, sure, I guess,” she stammered before clearing her throat.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Marinette bounced excitedly, and Gabrielle eyed her for a long moment before shaking her head again.

Marinette really was strange, but Gabrielle had to admit, she liked it. She’d never say it out loud, but she was glad they were friends, and she wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything in the world.

When Marinette’s phone buzzed, she checked her message, eyebrows furrowing.

“Weird,” she said, blinking in disbelief. “Chloe’s inviting me to have a sleepover tomorrow.”

“Don’t you two hate each other?” Gabrielle asked, rinsing a dirty mug.

“Well, we used to, but I dunno. Since we’ve started all of this with Lila…I don’t really know anymore.” Marinette shook her head.

“Her mom is sponsoring your brand, so maybe she’s just being cordial.” Gabrielle shrugged as if it were no big deal, but Marinette knew Chloe better.

“Maybe,” she said before gulping down the rest of her coffee. “Well, I’ve got to go meet with Macy. I’ll text you to figure out a time to meet with the tailors to take your measurements, okay?”

“Okay,” Gabrielle said, eyes narrowing a little bit as Marinette stuffed her textbook back into her backpack and zipped it up.

“See you later,” Marinette said with a wave. “Oh, and Gabrielle…thanks for letting me talk through everything.”

Gabrielle pursed her lips to hide a smile and nodded.

“You’re welcome,” she said, and Marinette slung her backpack over her shoulders. “Hey, Marinette?”

“Yeah?” She paused at the door, and Gabrielle let out a breath, running a hand through her hair.

“I’m…happy you and I are friends,” she said, and a smile curled on Marinette’s lips.

“Me too.”

***

“I’m here!” Macy called, pushing open the trap door, and Marinette looked up from her sewing machine with a smile.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Marinette said, jumping up to greet her. They exchanged kisses, and Macy peeked around her at the piece she was working on.

“That’s pretty,” she remarked, trailing her fingers over the fabric.

“Thanks, I’m making my dress to wear to the show,” Marinette said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Speaking of which…I’ve already asked Eliott, Martin, and Lisette, but I was hoping that you would be in my show too.”

“Me?” Macy stiffened. “I dunno. I mean, I’m not exactly a model.”

“Neither is anyone else, well, except Adrien,” Marinette pointed out with a shrug. “I really want all of my friends to be in it because you all inspire me so much.”

Macy seemed to weigh it a moment before nodding.

“Okay, but only because you’re my best friend, and I love you and trust that you’ll make me look awesome,” she said, and Marinette pulled her in for a hug.

“Thank you, Macy! I’ll do my best,” she vowed before pulling away. “Um, can I take your measurements? I need to send them to the tailors right away.”

“Yeah, sure.” Macy shrugged, holding her arms out as Marinette retrieved her tape measure and notepad. “So, what am I going to wear?”

“I…don’t know. The tailors will look at the measurements and decide,” she lied. “Audrey says they’re professionals, so they’ll know what’s best.”

“Makes sense,” Macy said as Marinette scribbled down a number. “Well, if you designed it, it will be amazing. You’re so talented.”

“So are you,” Marinette shot back, wrapping the measuring tape around her waist. “I really liked the song you sang in art the other day. You have a great voice.”

“Yeah…but I’m just afraid it won’t be enough. I don’t look like a popstar, so who cares of I sound like one. Image is everything in this industry,” she sighed.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re beautiful,” Marinette assured her, but Macy pursed her lips.

“Thanks, I guess,” she said, and Marinette deflated a little.

“Anyways, I didn’t tell you about my date with Adrien,” Marinette changed the subject, and Macy perked up.

“Oh, details!” She gasped, and Marinette described their evening together for the rest of the time she worked.

Macy’s insecurities weren’t going to mend overnight, and Marinette knew that. It pushed her to work harder on her brand, so that maybe she could change the standard enough so that she could stop believing that she had to look a certain way to have value. So that one day, every Macy Chanteur out there could feel beautiful.

***

Marinette stood awkwardly in the hall outside Chloe’s suite, shifting her gaze around anywhere but at the door in front of her as she waited for it to open. She glanced down at the message on her phone screen for the twenty-sixth time to ensure that she wasn’t losing her mind.

The fact that Chloe had invited her to spend the night was strange enough, and Marinette still couldn’t fathom why she’d actually shown up. When the lock clicked, she flinched, eyebrows raising when Chloe herself pulled it open.

They stared at each other for a moment in silence before Chloe pursed her lips and spoke.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Marinette replied, and they finally broke eye contact as if some spell had been broken. Marinette peeked up at her again, pointing inside. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said, though it took her a moment to actually move aside, and even when she did her movements were stiff and robotic.

“Thanks…” Marinette crept in cautiously as if she expected Alec to pop out of a potted plant and tell her she’d been punk’d, but her suite was quiet except for the hum of the city from the open balcony door.

“I had the staff bring up chocolate and ice cream,” Chloe said, turning to Marinette and clasping her hands together. “You like those things, right?”

“Yeah.” Marinette nodded, and Chloe rocked back on her heels a little.

“Good.”

“Yep.”

The tension in the air was so thick, Marinette was certain you could cut it with a knife. Were they friends now? Was this friendly? Was Chloe planning to draw on her face while she slept? Probably.

“What are you waiting for?” Chloe asked as Marinette stood around, holding her overnight bag awkwardly. “Sit down already!”

“Okay.” Marinette moved to the couch, lifting the strap over her head and setting her bag down on the floor.

Chloe sat in the chair across from her, hugging her knees to her chest, and Marinette opened her mouth to speak several times, though words eluded her. What did one say to your former enemy turned friend? If they even were friends. She wasn’t sure any such words existed.

“So,” she finally managed. “Did Adrien force you to do this?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t invite you to sleepover?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Well, you never have before.” Marinette shrugged. “Did you want to talk, or- Are we friends now?”

“Gross, no.”

“Alright.” Marinette held up defensive hands, and Chloe shifted to cross her legs, folding her arms over her chest.

“You don’t trust me,” she accused.

“Should I?” Marinette gave her a look, and Chloe tapped her fingers.

“Good point,” she conceded, sitting back with a sigh. “I don’t have any mean tricks planned tonight. You can relax.”

Marinette eyed her a moment with pursed lips before gradually sinking back into the couch, though her hesitance only irked Chloe more.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you, jeez,” Chloe huffed, cheeks pink. “You and Adrien are always lecturing me about being nice, and now that I’m being nice you’re acting all suspicious.”

“Can you blame me?” Marinette quirked a brow, and Chloe puffed out her cheeks.

“No,” she said finally, letting out a breath and standing up. “Come on, I arranged a mani-pedi for us to take care of your awful nails.”

“O-kay.” Marinette blinked before following after her.

Chloe was strangely quiet as the staff worked, her eyes fixed on some point across the room as her mind raced, and Marinette sat beside her, refusing to break the silence and make this situation any weirder. She didn’t quite know what to make of all this. Teaming up to take Lila down was one thing, but handing Marinette fame and asking to have a sleepover? It all seemed too friendly for Chloe, and Marinette couldn’t for the life of her understand it.

What was going on in Chloe’s mind? Was she really changing for the better? Doubtful. Had they bonded over their mutual disdain for Lila? Possible. Was this Chloe’s way of apologizing?

Marinette shot her a glance, but she wore that same distant expression. An apology for what, she wondered? Being mean all those years? She shifted her gaze ahead again, sifting the thought from her mind. It couldn’t be.

“So,” she started, and Chloe groaned beside her.

“Stop with all the sos, it’s getting on my nerves,” Chloe said, slumping a little. “Can’t you just accept that I’m doing something nice for you?”

“I can accept it,” Marinette said, pursing her lips, “but that doesn’t mean I understand it.”

“What’s to understand?”

“Well, for starters you hate me,” Marinette pointed out. “Now you expect me to believe that you’re doing something nice out of the goodness of your heart? After all this time of tormenting me?”

Chloe remained quiet for several beats before shifting to face her.

“Look, I’m…sorry for what I did to you, okay?” She said with a grimace, and Marinette sat back in shock before her eyes narrowed.

“Even for the time you put gum in my hair?”

“Yes.”

“And the time you tied my shoe laces together in gym?”

“Yes.”

“Or when you spilled cranberry juice on my lap and claimed that it was my-”

“Okay, I think we can agree I did a lot of mean things to you when we were kids!” Chloe snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You did all of those things to me earlier this year, Chloe,” Marinette said pointedly.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you were gonna leave,” Chloe shot back, whipping around to face her, and when Marinette’s eyebrows raised, she sat back again. “I didn’t know, okay?”

“Didn’t know what?” Marinette asked, and Chloe averted her gaze.

“About Lila,” she said, curling her shoulders. “I didn’t know how horrible she was to you.”

“Why does that matter?” Marinette quirked a brow.

“Because,” Chloe huffed. “Because if I had known I would have destroyed her sooner.”

“Why do that for me?” Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed, and Chloe leaned her head back and shrugged.

“Because then you could have stayed,” she said, flicking her gaze back to Marinette who wore a confused frown.

“I thought you would have been happy to have me gone,” Marinette said, tilting her head to the side, and Chloe pursed her lips.

“You were really annoying,” she said, and Marinette suppressed an eye roll, “but I dunno, I liked when we argued. It was irritating, but fun.”

“It was not fun for me,” Marinette interjected, and Chloe sighed. “Just pointing that out.”

“I know I wasn’t always the best to you…”

“Yeah, you were pretty terrible.” Marinette nodded in agreement.

“But over this past year, it’s been different.” She shrugged. “You got a lot more confident, and you started making all of these changes and helping people and making them happy. Now that you’re gone everyone is miserable, and it’s no fun picking on people when they’re already miserable.”

“Chloe,” Marinette said, blinking as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “Do you miss me?”

“What? No! Of course I don’t!” She scoffed, though her cheeks betrayed her as they darkened three shades. “I miss being able to crush people’s joy. I can’t do that if they don’t have any.”

“You miss me.” Marinette smirked.

“No, I don’t!”

“Come here.” Marinette held her arms out, leaning in for a hug, and Chloe shied away from her advances, nose wrinkling in disgust.

“No!” She swatted lightly at Marinette as she pulled her in then awkwardly patting her until it was acceptable to push away. “Don’t ever tell anyone about this.”

“I’m totally gonna tell people about this,” Marinette said with a nod, and Chloe slapped a palm to her face with a groan.

“You are so annoying,” she said, tossing a cotton ball at Marinette who dodged it with a laugh, a smile breaking out over her own lips.

It was the first time she’d heard Chloe laugh. Genuinely laugh. Not laugh at the pain she inflicted, but laugh because she was happy. She didn’t understand it, but maybe she didn’t have to. Chloe lead a complicated life, and she too lived in a world much different from Marinette’s own. Just like Gabrielle, she was raised with much different ideals, but underneath it all was a young girl who craved affection, not attention. As much as she tried to deny it, Chloe Bourgeois was lonely, and that loneliness made her afraid to connect with others, so she reverted to the only way she knew how to get what she wanted: being mean.

Perhaps Gabrielle wasn’t the only one she could make amends with. Maybe it was time to lay down their weapons and start rebuilding. Theirs was a war that had gone on long enough, and as they watched movies and talked and laughed, Marinette felt their walls coming down brick-by-brick until she found a completely different Chloe hiding just on the other side.

“Chloe, can I ask you something?” She started later as they laid on her bed, Marinette with her sketchbook, Chloe on her phone, and the latter girl quirked a brow without glancing up from her screen. “Why did you ask your mom to work with me?”

“To get rid of Lila,” Chloe answered as if it were obvious.

“But really though.” Marinette set her pen down. “There were a ton of ways that you could have taken Lila down this whole time. Why didn’t you take any of them? Why wait around for me?”

“I dunno,” Chloe said, shrugging her shoulders and turning off her screen. “I just decided to.”

“You did it to help me, didn’t you?” Marinette said, and Chloe bit her lip.

“I did it because I felt sorry for Adrien. You’re so poor, and if you’re going to date him, you have to have a little money,” she said, but when Marinette gave her a look, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “And I felt bad about what happened. You gave everything to your friends, and then they all turned on you the moment something shinier and more interesting came along. You were just a dingy, dirty rock that got tossed aside, so I thought that maybe the best revenge would be to polish you up so that everyone can see that they threw away a diamond for a piece of fake gold.”

When Marinette remained speechless, she continued.

“You didn’t deserve what they did to you,” she said, lowering her gaze. “Not after everything you did for them, and I didn’t realize until you were gone how much of an impact you’ve had on me. I mean, you got my mom to stay in Paris with me, and honestly if it wasn’t for you, I never would have become Queen Bee.”

Marinette’s eyebrows raised at that, and she shifted a little.

“Wha- I don’t- I didn’t have anything to do with-” She stammered, and Chloe laid down on her back with a groan.

“Okay, this is super embarrassing, so I’m really not kidding when I say don’t tell anyone,” she said, rubbing her temple. “But like, the reason I do good things and actually even want to be a hero and help people is because I see you do it all the time. When I’m Queen Bee, I just think about what you would do because when I think about being a hero, I think about Ladybug, obviously, but then I also think about you…”

Marinette blinked in shock before a smile curled on her lips, and she shifted to lay beside Chloe, staring up at the ceiling with her.

“Thanks,” she said after a while, and Chloe pursed her lips.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” She shrugged, tapping her fingers on her stomach. “Thank you. For putting up with me. If I were you, I wouldn’t be here right now, but when you accepted my invitation, I was really happy.”

“Yeah?” Marinette turned her head a little, and Chloe tapped her feet together and bit her lip.

“Yeah,” she said, turning to look at her. “I know it doesn’t make up for everything in the past, but I really am sorry.”

“You have changed,” Marinette chuckled with a smirk, and Chloe covered her face to muffle her own giggle. “You know, we could have been friends a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sighed, shifting to stare back up at her chandelier. “I know.”

“It’s not too late,” Marinette offered, and Chloe’s eyebrows creased.

“For what?”

“To be friends,” she said, and Chloe’s eyes widened a little before she sat up.

“I’m tired. Let’s go to bed,” she insisted, and Marinette sat up too with a smirk.

“Chloe?”

“I need at least ten hours of beauty rest to maintain my complexion.”

“Chloe.”

“If I miss even a minute, I will break out. I swear to you, Dupain-Cheng, I will.”

“Chloe.”

“Good night.” Chloe crawled under her covers, laying down against her pillow and clicking off the light, leaving Marinette sitting in darkness, but that didn’t stop her from leaning down into Chloe’s ear.

“Will you be my friend?” She asked, and Chloe stared at the wall for a long moment before sinking down into her sheets further.

“Okay,” she mumbled, and Marinette leaned down.

“What was that?” She cupped a hand to her ear.

“I said, okay,” Chloe said a little louder.

“It’s dark; I can’t hear you. What?” Marinette grinned.

“Ugh, you are so annoying!” Chloe rolled over with a groan. “Okay, I’ll be your friend. Whatever! Can we go to bed now?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Marinette said, tucking her legs under the blankets and sinking down into her pillow. “Oh, and Chloe?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna tell people.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” she groaned, rolling back onto her side with a snort.

“Hate you too,” Marinette said affectionately, and Chloe smiled into her pillow. “Night, Chloe.”

“Good night, Marinette.”

**4 months later**

“Nervous?”

Marinette blinked up at Eliott’s quirked brow as they waited for the elevator to ascend and nodded.

“I’ve been by a few times with Audrey to assess the progress over the last few months, but everything is finished now,” she said. “The whole line, and now I just hope everything turned out okay.”

“I’m sure they’re all great,” Martin assured her.

“Hey, where’s Adrien? Isn’t he modeling too?” Lisette asked, glancing around, and Marinette thought back to her specific instructions to him to deliver Macy’s dress ahead of time.

“Uh, he’s already here I think,” she said as the elevator dinged and opened on their floor.

“Ah, here they are,” Audrey said, approaching as they stepped off the elevator, Adrien in tow.

Marinette cocked a brow at him as Audrey stooped to kiss her cheeks, and he shot her a wink.

“Your line turned out fabulous, darling; I am living for your designs,” she said, draping an arm over her shoulders and leading them to the display. “I was getting rather bored with the same old pitches. You are certainly a breath of fresh air, Marinette.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Bourgeois.” Marinette tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a smile.

“Please, you are a designer now, darling, call me Audrey,” she insisted holding out her arms to present the mannequins. “Viola.”

Marinette felt her stomach flip the moment she laid eyes on the first design – Adrien’s colorful tux, and a hand flew to her mouth, eyes burning. She’d known this moment was coming, but she still wasn’t prepared for it. Seeing her designs come to life in person was an indescribable feeling, and each one was absolutely perfect.

“Marinette, they’re beautiful,” Macy gasped as her friends paced around to admire each one, but Marinette remained rooted in place.

“You okay, M?” Eliott asked, glancing up from a light blue dress, and Adrien rushed to her side.

“Yeah, it’s just…” She wiped at her eyes. “Seeing them all…and they’re all exactly how I imagined and…”

Adrien wrapped an arm around her as she covered her face with a breathy laugh.

“I really love them,” she sniffled, and her friends all smiled.

“Well, let’s hurry up; the show is next week, and we need to sort out last minute alterations.” Audrey clapped, and Marinette took a deep, composing breath as everyone moved to begin the fitting, though Adrien remained by her side.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“Thank you,” she breathed, stepping into his arms.

“Adrien!” Audrey called, and he stepped back, planting a quick kiss on her lips before retreating to his changing stall.

“Um,” Macy piped up behind her, shifting awkwardly. “Which one am I wearing?”

Marinette turned to her with a smile, taking her hand and pulling her along.

“Come on, I’ll help you,” she said, leading Macy to a booth.

She closed the curtain on her then paced over to the rack to retrieve her masterpiece, and her heart raced as she trailed her fingers over the soft white fabric. The crowning jewel of her collection, the piece that would close out the show, the dress specially made with her own hands for one specific person. The dress she’d made for Macy.

A smile broke over her lips as she lifted it from the rack and carried it over to the booth where Macy waited and hooked it on the hanger inside.

The others emerged from their booths, walking out onto their platforms where tailors waited to make adjustments, Eliott in a colorful, casual outfit, Adrien in a tux, Lisette in a polka-dotted blouse and skirt, Martin in a breathable sweater. All of her friends wearing her designs, and in that moment, she’d never been prouder.

“I’m digging the fabric you used,” Eliott remarked, feeling his shirt as his tailor adjusted his shorts.

“And the pockets,” Lisette added, shoving her hands in them for emphasis.

“I’m glad you like them,” Marinette laughed as the elevator dinged again, and Gabrielle stepped off.

She glanced around at the others who visibly bristled when she entered, but Marinette rushed over to meet her.

“You made it. Awesome!” She greeted, and Gabrielle ripped her gaze from Eliott’s glare.

“Yeah. I’m not late, am I?” She asked, and Marinette shook her head.

“Not at all. Odette can help you over there,” Marinette pointed, and Gabrielle followed her finger, flicking her gaze back to the others briefly before lifting the strap of her bag over her head and sauntering over.

“Cool. Thanks,” she said, and Marinette beamed as she went.

“What is she doing here?” Eliott hissed when Marinette returned.

“I invited her.”

“Why?” Lisette asked.

“Because…she and I are friends.” When they gave her puzzled looks, she added, “It’s kind of a long story.”

“I think it’s good,” Martin spoke up from Eliott’s other side, and everyone’s heads whipped around to face him.

“Good? She tormented you the most,” Eliott said pointedly.

“Well, yeah, but she’s been through a lot lately.” Martin shrugged. “And I mean, look at how much we’ve changed since we met Marinette. If anyone can help Gabrielle, it’s her.”

Eliott and Lisette pursed their lips, conceding his point, and Marinette shot Martin a grateful look before Macy’s curtain opened, and she stepped out timidly.

“Over here!” Marinette pointed to the platform, and Macy paced over reluctantly.

“Are you sure this is right?” Macy asked, curling her shoulders and running her hands over the plain white fabric. “Everyone else is so colorful, but my dress is just plain. I’m going to stick out.”

“Do you trust me?” Marinette quirked a brow, placing her hands on Macy’s shoulders, and she sighed before nodding. “You’re going to stick out, but not for the reason you think. You’ll see. It’ll be a good thing.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Macy said as Marinette got to work, but the dress needed little altering and fit Macy like a glove. “It’s pretty. I just don’t think it matches the rest of the collection.”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll see. I promise,” Marinette vowed, and Macy searched her expression before pursing her lips and relenting. “You’re all done. It fits you perfectly, just as I knew it would.”

“Marinette, can you come over here for a second?” Audrey called her over.

“Coming!”

Macy looked back into the mirror when Marinette left, examining her figure in the dress. It did hug her curves and accentuate several things she liked about herself, but she just didn’t feel like she should be modeling it. It would probably look better on someone else, but she would wear it as a favor to Marinette.

“You look really pretty,” Martin spoke up from behind her, and Macy turn over her shoulder, cheeks flushing.

“Thank you,” she said, lowering her gaze down to the dress again. “Marinette designed it, so of course, it’s amazing.”

“I wasn’t talking about the dress.” He shook his head, and she stiffened, cupping her cheeks in her hands as he stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He pecked her cheek gently before smiling at her in the mirror. “I’m always here for you if you need me, okay?”

“I know,” she said, turning to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked as she made it across the room.

“Adrien mentioned that he needed help with a piece of his suit, can you go check on it?” Audrey waved her toward the changing stalls, and Marinette approached curiously.

“Adrien?” She called outside his curtain, and a hand shot out, grabbing onto her wrist and pulling her in. “Whoa, hey-”

“Shh!” He pressed a finger to her lips, a wicked grin on his lips.

“There’s something wrong with your tux?” Her eyebrows knitted together, and he placed his hands on either side of her.

“Nah, it’s perfect. I just wanted you to come over here,” he chuckled, and her face scrunched into a playfully scolding scowl.

“You pulled me away from my work just to make out in a changing room?” She pinched his sides.

“Who said anything about making out?” He quirked a smug brow, and her cheeks darkened three shades.

“I- Well- You- I didn’t- I just-” Adrien snickered, leaning his forehead against hers with an impish grin. “You’re a tease.”

“But I always deliver,” he said against her lips before pulling her in.

She’d kill him. Later. Right now, all she could think about was the taste of his breath and his hands in her hair. Even after 4 months of dating, Adrien still took her breath away.

“Marinette?” Someone called from outside, and she leaned her head back, forcing their lips apart. Undeterred, Adrien began kissing along her jaw.

“You can’t keep me in here forever,” she sighed as he trailed down her neck to her collar bone, and he let out a soft whine in response.

Footsteps approached, and when the curtain shot open, they jumped apart, Marinette instantly beginning to fiddle with his coat.

“Um, okay, button’s all fixed,” she said, and Eliott crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk. “I was just- he had a loose button, so I was fixing it.”

“Mmhmm,” Eliott hummed. “With your mouth?”

“What- We weren’t- No. I was just- Coming, Audrey!” She lowered her head and pushed past him, and Eliott leaned against the stall with a smug grin.

“I-” Adrien started, cheeks red, but Eliott held up a hand.

“I’m not judging you.” He shrugged, and Adrien touched his lips with a smile.

Despite this, neither of them could really look him in the eye for the rest of the night, and no one else knew why their cheeks were always the tiniest bit flush.

***

“My, my I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy, LB,” Chat remarked as his staff lowered him onto the roof where she sat looking out over the city. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Are you gonna get jealous if I tell you?” She asked with a smirk as he sat beside her.

“I will do my best to contain my envy,” he said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning against his fist with an encouraging grin, and Ladybug bit her lip.

“The boy that I like…he and I are together now,” she said, cupping her cheek in one hand as a rosy tint came over them. “We have been for a few months.”

“Oh?” Chat cocked a brow, leaning back on his hands. “Good for you, Bug.”

“You’re not jealous?” She shot him a look, and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I got over you,” he said, shifting his gaze out over the city. “I’m seeing someone too, and she’s…everything.”

“I’m happy for you, Chat,” Ladybug said sincerely, and he flicked his gaze back to hers, a smile curling over his lips.

“Tell me about your guy,” he requested, nudging her with his elbow, and Ladybug leaned against her fist with a dreamy sigh.

“He’s so incredible. He’s nice; he’s smart; he’s handsome, very athletic, but also so down-to-earth and gentle. He always has my back, and I really love him,” she said, smiling down at her lap, and Chat let out a short laugh.

“Well, if he ever breaks your heart, just say the word, and I’ll rough him up for you.” He winked, and she shoved him playfully.

“What about your unlucky girl?” She asked, and he cupped a hand over his heart.

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” he said, and she raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Second of all, fair. I feel lucky that she even likes me. She’s crazy talented; it’s insane how amazing she is, and she really cares about people. No matter what, she always wants to help, and she’s funny, and she has the cutest laugh. When I’m with her, it’s like nothing else matters but right then and there. Just the two of us together, and I wouldn’t give her up for the world.”

He let out a breath, biting his lip before casting her a smug grin.

“Oh, and she thinks my jokes are funny,” he gloated as if it were the cherry on top, and Ladybug pursed her lips to hide her smile.

“Well, then you’re just gonna have to marry her because I don’t think you’re going to find someone who can put up with all of your puns again,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, and Chat let out a sigh.

“Yeah, she really is the perfect girl for me,” he agreed, and they exchanged smirks before bursting into a fit of giggles, their laughter echoing across the roof.

Eventually, they found themselves lying head-to-head on their backs, staring up at the stars glittering faintly against the lights. Ladybug let out a deep breath, turning her head a little to glance at Chat.

“I really am happy for you, chaton,” she murmured, and he turned over, leaning against his arm with a tender expression.

“I’m happy for you too. I know I gave you a hard time for a while, and I’m really sorry if you ever felt like I was pushing you. It was hard to accept, but you and I just aren’t meant to be,” he said, pursing his lips, and Ladybug rolled onto her side and reached out a hand to ruffle his hair.

“You are important to me, ya know. I know I can always trust you, and I’m really glad that you’re my partner,” she said, and Chat’s eyes softened.

“Me too, Bug,” he said softly before the gentleness in his eyes morphed into mischief. “So, if we’ve defeated Hawkmoth, do you promise to invite me to your wedding?”

“Um, who else am I gonna get to be my maid of honor?” Ladybug grunted, not bothering to mask the ‘duh’ in her voice.

“Will I get to wear a dress?” He cocked a brow.

“Naturally. I’ll pick out something really tasteful for you,” she affirmed with a nod, before rolling onto her back with a laugh as he pumped an excited fist. “Better practice walking in heels.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten good at it since Reflekta!” He said, and she roared with laughter which Chat soon found contagious.

“Ya know,” she said once they’d calmed, “I feel like for the first time in a long time that everything is gonna be okay. All of this feels a little less daunting, and I know that we’re going to win against Hawkmoth.”

“Yeah,” Chat said, staring up at the sky and picturing a life with Marinette when everything was over. “I feel that too.”

“For the people we love.” Ladybug slid a hand up to his, curling their fingers together, and Chat gave them a squeeze.

“For the people we love.”

***

“Don’t be nervous.”

Adrien placed his hands on her shoulders as she chewed her nails a half hour before the show started. He was already dressed in his tux though his oversized bowtie hung untied around his neck, and Marinette instinctively began to tie it upon turning to face him, unable to keep her hands still.

“What’s to be nervous about? It’s only my whole future on the line,” she remarked, smoothing his coat once she’d finished. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out or throw up or throw up then pass out.”

“You’ll be fine. Everything is running on schedule. Your models are all here. Clara is warmed up for her performance. The press is here. Everyone’s finding their seats including your parents on the front row. Relax,” he soothed, massaging her shoulders.

“Okay. You’re right. Everything is fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine,” she chanted, taking deep breaths before a gasp swelled up her throat. “What if I forget my lines?”

“There’s a prompter at the end of the runway,” Adrien reminded her, kissing her cheek. “I have to go finish makeup, but after my walk I’ll be right beside you, okay?”

“Okay,” she said with a hint of hysteria.

“Deep breaths!” He called.

“I’ll try.” She winced, and he gave her a thumbs up before retreating back to his makeup chair. “Okay, Marinette. Everything is fine. You’re fine. Deep breaths. You got this. No worries.”

“Ya know, I never noticed how much you talk to yourself.” She jumped at Chloe’s voice behind her, spinning around to see her in a rose gold gown.

“Nervous habit,” Marinette admitted, looking her up and down with a smile. “You’re wearing my dress.”

“Yeah, my mom asked me to be in your show,” she said, fluffing the skirt.

“Did she?” Marinette cocked a brow, and Chloe’s cheeks flushed.

“She asked me if I wanted to be in the show…after I asked her if I could be,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. Same thing.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one of my hideous designs.” Marinette cocked a hip, and Chloe leaned her head back with a groan.

“Ugh, you’re so-”

“You look beautiful,” Marinette cut her off with a sincere smile. “Thank you, Chloe.”

Chloe stiffened as Marinette stepped forward and pulled her in for a hug, and after a moment, she relaxed into her embrace, a small smile curling on her lips.

“Five-minutes!”

“Adrien is right, you know,” Chloe murmured in her ear. “You don’t have anything to worry about. You always find a way to shine no matter gets thrown at you. You really are a diamond, and everyone is about to see how brightly you can shine.”

Marinette blinked in surprise as Chloe pulled away and headed to her position in the lineup as everyone scrambled to make last minute adjustments to hair and makeup. Seeing all of her friends there to support her gave her the boost of courage that she needed, and she knew that no matter what happened, they would always be there for her.

Clara took her position on the stage as the music started, and Marinette moved to the monitor to watch as she started to sing. She held her breath as Adrien made his way down the runway, camera bulbs flashing as he struck a pose at the end, and at the sound of their applause, she breathed a sigh of relief. Lisette started as he turned back, high fiving him as they passed each other, and her first message flashed on the screens.

Beauty is not a height.

“Hey.” Adrien held his arms out as soon as he made it back stage, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “So far so good. They’re still clapping.”

“That’s good,” she conceded with a nod as Chloe made her way out next, eating up the attention from the crowd.

Beauty is not wealth.

“Marinette, we have a problem!” Eliott rushed up to her.

“What? What’s wrong?” Her eyebrows furrowed as Martin clambered up beside him.

“Macy’s saying she doesn’t want to walk,” Martin said, and Marinette took off, Adrien hot on her heels.

“Macy?” Marinette called, turning the corner to find her friend sitting in her makeup chair with a dejected expression. “Macy…”

“I’m sorry, Marinette. I really wanted to support you, but I just can’t do this.” She shook her head, and Marinette set her clipboard down on the vanity then cupped her face in her hands. “This dress is beautiful, but it’s so different from all of the other pieces. It’s just not for me.”

“It’s exactly for you,” Marinette corrected, and Macy looked up at her through her lashes. “I never told you because I wanted it to be a surprise so that it could have the biggest impact on you, but, Macy, I designed this dress specifically for you.”

“What?” Her eyebrows knitted together.

“You were the muse that inspired me to create this whole line, Macy, and I made your dress the foundation of my collection. It’s my best piece, and that’s why I’ve saved it for last,” Marinette said, lifting her chin.

“But it’s so plain…” Macy glanced back down at it, running her hands over the fabric.

“But that’s where you’re wrong.” Marinette smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “This dress is unique, like you, and soon everyone will see it’s how beautiful you both are.”

Macy pursed her lips, and Marinette gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Trust me,” she pleaded, and Macy glanced at the dwindling line of models. Eliott stood at the front of the line waiting to go next, and he shot Macy a worried look.

“Okay…” She allowed Marinette to help her up and lead her by the hand to the back of the line.

Beauty is not a gender identity. Beauty is not an age. Beauty is not a hair color. Beauty is not one person.

Macy eyed the curtain of mist at the entrance to the runway, stomach flipping with dread as she crept out, releasing Marinette’s hand only at the last moment. Her hands shook as she made her way to the first mark, all eyes trained on her curious white dress, but soon those faces turned with shock, jaws dropping, eyes widening, and Macy felt her spine stiffen as chatter started.

Backstage, Marinette watched the monitors with the rest of the crew with bated breath. Everyone seemed as uneasy as Macy, but after several moments the dress began to bleed.

“Whoa, what?” Eliott gasped as colorful swirls manifested in the fabric, blues and pinks and purples fading into the white, and Marinette covered her mouth to muffle her squeal of delight.

In an instant camera bulbs began to flash like wild and the crowd cheered her on. Confused, Macy spared a quick glance down at her dress now bleeding with color and felt her heart jolt. Everyone’s faces were elated and thunderous applause roared as she made her way further up the runway, gaining confidence with each step. Behind her on the screen flashed a simple phrase that carried the weight of Marinette’s message, only three small words:

Beauty is you.

“How did you-”

“I used dye on the thread,” Marinette explained, clasping her hands together on her chest.

“And the mist activated it,” Eliott said, a grin curling on his lips before everyone backstage joined in the applause.

Clara’s song ended as Macy reached the end of the runway, striking a powerful pose as photographers fought over the perfect angle, and Marinette stepped onto the stage, waving to the audience as she floated down to meet Macy at the end. Macy shot her a bright smile, eyes watering with tears as the two embraced, and Marinette took her position.

“When I created my brand, I asked myself one question: What message do you want to send to the world?” She started as everyone quieted down. “For many years, this industry has been led by the thinnest, most attractive models, narrowing the definition of what is beautiful to exclude many ordinary people. People like you and me.” She paused to glance at Macy briefly before continuing. “I want to redefine what it means to be beautiful because it’s all around us in every person that we meet. We just have to give them an opportunity to let their true colors shine.”

At that everyone began to applaud, and Marinette lowered the microphone with an elated giggle.

“Beauty is in all of us, and you are beautiful,” she finished, and the audience rose to their feet, their cheers and applause filling the auditorium as Marinette held her head high.

She glanced back to see her friends cheering her on from behind the curtains, her smile widening as she locked eyes with her parents beaming proudly in the crowd. This was it. Her shining moment. Her glowing statement. Her brilliant sparkle, and she was radiant.

***

“Oh my gosh, did you guys see Marinette’s show?” Rose gasped over video call, and Lila masked her displeasure with a smile.

“Uh, yeah, it was amazing,” Lila said though her tone implied that she thought anything but.

“Her message was so beautiful! I teared up,” Mylene added, cupping her cheek in one hand.

“Yeah, her designs were super rad,” Alix added, and Lila grinned through her annoyance.

“Yeah, I loved them. She’s super talented.” She smiled, and Alya glanced back at the muted television where Marinette was waving for the press and let out a breath.

“Good for you, girl,” she said softly as the rest of the girls gushed to a faltering Lila, and she hugged her pillow to her chest a little tighter as that empty feeling returned. “Good for you.”

[constantviewings]

The TV Show Trials - Criminal Minds

Criminal Minds is a police procedural crime drama televisions series that aired on CBS from 2005 to 2020. Criminal Minds revolves around an elite team of FBI profilers who analyse the country’s most twisted criminal minds, anticipating their next movies before they strike again. As the team evolves together, the Behavioural Analysis Unit continues its dedication to using their expertise to pinpoint predators’ motivations and identify their emotional triggers in the attempt to stop them.

The Big Game/Revelations

The BAU pursues a religious killing team that sets up computer webcams to record their murders and post them online. The teams urgency to find the killer increases when they realise he’s holding Reid captive. Meanwhile, Reid begins having flashbacks of his own troubled childhood while drifting in-and-out of consciousness.

I am not surprised that this pair of episodes ended up at the top of my list because…wow. The highlight of these episodes is easily James Van Der Beek’s performance as Tobias/Charles/Rafael. Biblically inspired killers aren’t anything new, but these episodes bring a different twist to the trope that I enjoyed.

Rating: 4

 Mosely Lane

The BAU is called by local authorities in Ashburn, Virginia, to profile a predator who may have been abducting children for at least eight years.

This episode is grim (in tone, not quality) and emotional to its core. This is the first episode that Matthew Gray Gubler directed and it doesn’t stray in quality compared to the rest of the episodes, I really want to know what made him want to direct this particular episode. Also, Evan Peters is always a win in my book.

Rating: 4

 Mr Scratch

When three people implicated in murders claim that they were attacked at the moment each crime occurred, the BAU searches for a man who appears to be controlling the suspects’ minds. However, as the search for the culprit continues, the life of one of the team is put in jeopardy.

This is another episode directed by Matthew Gray Gubler, and I don’t like this episode as much as the others. It’s an intense ride, but once the episode is over and you’re able to calm down, the story is pretty standard with nothing too special about it. Clearly, this is an unpopular opinion as it if is the third most popular episode of the entire show, but I stand by it.

Rating: 3

100

When the Reaper returns of Washington D.C., for a final showdown with Hotch, the BAU works frantically to catch him before he reaches his family.

I think a lot of what needs to be said about this episode is communicated through the fact that I had to watch this episode twice before reviewing it because I kept forgetting what happened, even as I write this I couldn’t tell you anything that happened. It’s a fine episode, but clearly not a memorable one.

Rating: 3

 Entropy

In its investigation and manhunt of the Dirty Dozen hitman ring, the BAU implements an elaborate strategy to try and take it down, in which Reid plays a central role.

This is my favourite episode that I watched for this review, by a long shot. Aubrey Plaza as a hitwoman holding Spencer hostage to remain one step ahead just by talking is a recipe for my perfect episode. This episode features amazing performances from both Aubrey Plaza and Matthew Gray Gubler as the cherry on top of an already perfect episode.

Rating: 5

 The Fisher King

A psychotic killer involves the BAU in an elaborate fantasy game, telling them to unscramble clues and riddles to rescue his latest victim. However, as the team continues their investigation, one member’s life is suddenly put in jeopardy.

The highlight of these episodes is the trail that the Fisher King leaves behind, it’s really unique and I liked getting to see Penelope contribute more of her non-tech knowledge to the team.

Rating: 4

 Penelope

As Penelope fights for her life, the BAU’s search for her attacker leads the unit to believe the assailant could be someone close to the investigation.

This episode isn’t anything too special, but I love that it’s centred on my favourite character, Penelope. This episode really highlights the BAU’s relationship as more than just colleagues, but as a family.

Rating: 3

 Masterpiece

A serial killer confesses to killing seven people and challenges the team to find five people he has hidden somewhere before they die.

Imagine my shock when I saw Jason Alexander playing a narcissistic serial killer; the last role I ever expected to see him in. Despite that fact that I was slightly distracted by Jason Alexander the whole time, this is a pretty good episode especially Joe Mantegna’s performance.

Rating: 3

Riding the Lightning

The BAU is sent to the Florida State Penitentiary to interview husband-and-wife serial killers set to be executed. After the initial interview, Gideon suspects that the wife may not be guilty of the crime committed.

I’m not the kind to care for fictional (or real) criminals, especially those on death row, but that’s something that this episode that achieved that in spades. This episode did what not a lot of procedurals can do, which is make me care about characters that I’ll never see again. That, coupled with beautiful performances from Mandy Patinkin and Jeannetta Arnette make for a perfect episode.

Rating: 5

 Hit/Run

When a gang of lethal bank robbers initiates its latest robbery in Washington D.C., the BAU attempts to negotiate the unfolding hostage situation when the robbery turns south. The stakes begin to rise when one of their own earns the wrath of one of the bank robbers and later becomes a hostage.

This is another good pair of episodes, what lets it down is that one episode is far better than the other. While Run is a satisfying conclusion to the episodes ark, Hit succeeds at building and sustaining tension for the whole episode.

Rating: 3

 Zugzwang

When Reid discovers that his girlfriend has been abducted by her stalker, he and the BAU band together to find and rescue her before it is too late.

This is another episode I had to watch twice in order to remember what happened in it. I’m sure this episode is a lot more impactful when watched in sequence with the rest of the series, but it isn’t anything special as a first time viewer.

Rating: 3

 Believer/300

When a former VICAP agent is found locked inside a storage unit, the BAU finds multiple holes in his investigation towards an unsub he investigated dubbed ‘The Strangler’. When two agents are kidnapped by followers of Benjamin David Merva, the BAU works to stop a murderous prophecy from being fulfilled.

If you know me, you know I’m a sucker for cult stories and these episodes are no different. Like a few other episodes in this review, these two didn’t leave a lasting impression on me, but they were fun to watch.

Rating: 3

 Amplification

The BAU responds quickly after a homegrown terrorist releases a new strain of Anthrax in Annapolis that threatens the public and puts a member of the team at risk.

The ending is what really stands out about this episode more than anything else. A final shot of hundreds of deadly bioweapons locked under federal protection is a morbid reality that I don’t want to consider the legitimacy of.

Rating: 3

Seven Seconds

The unit works against the clock when a little girl disappears in a mall, believing a serial killer has struck a second time and the first girl died within an hour of abduction.

This episode makes it into my top three with ease with its combination of single setting and intriguing mystery. Unlike most Criminal Minds episodes that show the unsub and their victims throughout, this episode doesn’t and that really made it stand out in retrospect.

Rating: 4

 To Bear Witness

The BAU meets their new section chief, Mateo Cruz, who, unbeknownst to them, shares a long work history with JJ. Cruz joins the team as they comb the streets of Balitmore for an abductor who leaves victims unable to communicate.

This was the first episode I watched of Criminal Minds and I wish I had a better introduction. The unsubs method of operation, while slightly unrealistic by 2013 standards, is unique and interesting. Apart from that, everything else about this episode is pretty standard.

Rating: 3

Did I like this show? Yes, and I’m bummed that I only started watching the year that the show ended.

 Will I continue watching? Yes, I’ve already started watching from season 1.

[fc5holidayexchange]

An Inconvenient Longing

T- Rating: mentions of violence.

Hey, hey, Happy Holidays! My beta and I had to co-write some of this, especially the end, because I was running a fever for most of the last two weeks. I hope this is okay.

Rook first thought Joseph Seed only referred to his brothers and counterfeit sister as his family. Father, after all, was a common enough title for a priest. None of the Seeds used social media but some members had profiles hiding in strange little corners of the web. Yet, as the investigation wore on, those rare profiles disappeared. The idea filled Rook with a strange longing to delete their own profiles. What had one of the audio files of Seed's sermons said again?

Our family does not live in the digital cloud, or some bullshit.

Yet, like most mildly inconvenient things, Rook shook the longing off. Marshal Cameron Burke made it even easier to shove the feeling into the back of their mind. A kind description of Burke would be 'dedicated to his job'. Rook mentally deemed him a self-important asshole the moment he waltzed into the station. Still, someone had to arrest the guy.

The strange longing didn't strike Rook again until a few days into the Resistance. As they scouted the Durbman Marina one night, they caught sight of a female cultist kicking a vending machine. Although his gentle whisper could barely be made out over Mrs. Durbman's irate words, a male cultist reacted with strange familiarity. "Sister, calm your wrath, please. What would the Father think?"

The two looked nothing alike, didn't even pass as the same race. Rook watched as the woman relaxed into the touch. They didn't catch her response over the sound of their own heartbeat. They fled the scene, and tried to squash the longing. True, Montana was not Rook's home. The other deputies and Whitehorse were not their family. The other fighters were barely even friends. Still, Rook had a job to do.

Learning new skills became the easiest way to distract themselves. Want to lure a Peggie away from a hostage? Blow up a car nearby. Bow hunting? Well, Rook didn't consider themselves to be much of an outdoors person but ammo and food didn't buy themselves. Want to learn rock climbing? Sure, grappling hooks can be useful. Those ridiculous stunt courses some local hero set up? Why not!

It didn't take long for Rook to start traveling alone. They cleared entire outposts without alerting a soul. The missions turned into a twisted but soothing routine. First, survey the area, choke someone out, drag their body to a dark corner, loose an arrow at someone else, turn off the alarms, and call in the Resistance. Rook suspected that they'd need therapy after this violence but that inconvenient line of thought got pushed down with the longing.

Of course, the Seeds didn't let Rook do this undisturbed. Jacob called it 'playing soldier' and threw them into a red-tinted world of horror. Pratt, poor, downtrodden, equally broken Pratt, told them they shouldn't have come. Boy, did they believe it. Fleeing the north made sense. Faith pulled them into The Bliss twice. Images swirled in Rook's head. The Marshal's leap. Jackalopes. Joseph's Vision. The world covered in ashes. No, not ashes. Nuclear. Fucking. Fall. Out.

Oh Lord, the Great Collapse. 

They moved to into Holland Valley. It only took a few interrupted baptisms, complete with drowned VIPs, and exploded silos for John to take notice. Rook's own baptism came with Bliss sparkles and too little oxygen. They stopped drowning VIPs after their escape.

The people of Fall's End did great things to squash the longing. Welcoming folks, with warm flannel and lukewarm beer. Boomer, a trusty old dog, became Rook's constant companion. The Spread Eagle turned into a place that felt like home. Rook saw themselves fitting right in here, when the dust and gunpowder settled. Not a Montanan by blood or upbringing, but by sheer grit.

It all changed when John took Rook again. It should have been straight forward. Get out, preferably quietly, and get back to Fall's End and Boomer. Rook prepared to jump a man kneeling for prayer. Unfortunately, the longing had other plans. The prayer, a simple 'help me accept these people', struck deep. Despite the fact that these people were doing evil, this one man had nearly pure intentions. 

Rook didn't mean to cry. They went from a crouch to sitting awkwardly on the floor like a child.

The man startled and grabbed his baseball bat. "Hello?" Then, just like that, he was squatting in front of them. "Aren't you the Junior Deputy?"

Rook nodded once.

"My name is Eric. Is Rook your name or just something the sheriff's department calls you?"

"It's my first name, yeah. I picked it myself," they croaked.

Eric took a deep breath, straightened up, and offered his hand. "Let's get you back where you belong before John becomes too wrathful. You'll have to confess to trying to escape."

Rook nodded and followed behind Eric. They ignored the staring eyes of the other Peggies until they got back to the torture room. John came bursting through the door they were about to enter. "Brother John, I found Rook."

Rook watched, fascinated, as the televangelist facade slipped onto John's face. Before he could say anything, they blurted out, "My sin is Envy."

John smile turned dark. "Confessions are private, Brother Eric."

"Good luck, Rook." Rook stepped back into the blood soaked room with John. The door slammed and Rook flinched.

"We'll have to do this on the floor, Deputy, since you destroyed your chair. Sit."

Rook found a spot that was mostly dry and sat ungratefully. With their shirt collar ripped, the room felt cold. "What happens now?"

John knelt beside them with a roll of duct tape. "Legs out straight. I need to make sure you won't escape. You must reach Atonement."

Consenting to it all felt strange. John quickly cocooned Rook's legs in tape, like some redneck mermaid. Unlike Eric, there was no compassion or affection in John's eyes. He seemed excited as he moved his equipment to floor level. The light shined painfully in Rook's eyes. "This isn't meant to be comfortable. Let's start at the beginning."

"Well, I said my sin was Envy."

Rook should have expected the smack but it still stung.

"I mean your beginning, dear Deputy."

***

It took hours of punches, smacks, and swallow cuts for John to accept Rook's rather undramatic life story as truth. He examined everything for truth. Yes, their birthday really was Christmas. No, there's no deep reason why they aren't close to their retired parents anymore. Yes, they'd legally changed their name to Rook when they were 22 and stupid just because they wanted to. Weren't you a lawyer John? Those things are public record. Fuck, there wasn't even a noble reason they moved to Montana and joined the Sheriff's Department. It was just a job.  They were pretty confident they had never spoken about themselves that much. Everything hurt, seven their throat. Satisfied, John stood. "Now, why Envy?"

Through their sore throat, they whispered, "I envy the Project's sense of community." The room fell into a tense silence. Rook closed their eyes, expecting a kick. 

"Why is that a sin, Deputy?" Since they closed their eyes, they only felt John push the ripped fabric of their shirt aside and the tattoo gun buzz to life. "Come on now, open your eyes."

Rook didn't. "Because there's a community in Fall's End that isn't a brutal, murdering, doomsday cult?" The attempt at snark came out weak, with a questioning tone that turned into a painful cough.

"No, Deputy, try again. Surely you can figure it out." The buzzing temporarily stopped. "Hold still. It's not supposed to be only an E."

Rook took a deep breath to stop the coughing fit and raced through every impression they had of the cult and John. What did he want them to say? It was the truth. In those moments of profound loneliness, they could have gone to the jail, or the Whitetail Milita or talked to Father Jerome instead of the dog. As far as they could tell, it was an honest confession. They opened their eyes.

John sighed, then stood again, walking back his tool bench. "Deputy, Deputy, Deputy. Should we add pride as well?"

"Joseph does disappointed better than you." A familiar flash of anger crossed his features, like the moment he almost drowned them. Inspiration hit and the lie tumbled out. "I should have said yes. I could have turned myself in at any time. What I wanted was right there and I was too prideful to say yes. Instead, I fought against what I wanted."

"Are you going to say yes now, Deputy? Will you work towards Atonement?"

"Yes."

***

Rook came out of that bunker with three tattoos: Envy, Pride, and Wrath. John explained the last one for them. "You don't kill that many people without being fueled by anger, Deputy." They hadn't expected to come out at all. Waiting for the Collapse in a cell in an abandoned missile silo seemed fitting somehow. Yet, Joseph wanted to ensure a genuine conversion. Rook moved into the Invidia dorm on his little island with only a single radio announcement of their conversion.

Before returning to the island, Rook assumed Joseph's compound housed some of the elites. Instead, it housed everyday Peggies. Devout, yes, but they weren't major players. The only thing they seemed to have in common was a need for Joseph's direct attention. Many beds were empty. On duty elsewhere or dead, Rook didn't dare ask.

A certain familiarity coursed through the compound. Everyone knew everyone's name. Rook expected the Peggies to use all sorts of cruel nicknames for their newest convert but instead 'sibling' slipped out.

Like he did with most people, Joseph called Rook his child, and, more surprisingly, little lamb. Rook's role appeared to be following him, just like Mary's lamb. Rook wasn't extra security, even though they were trained. They weren't allowed weapons. Part of their conditions of atoning for wrath, according to John. Rook didn't understand why Joseph wanted them near. Part of them longed to know but it terrified them

By day three of prayers, sermons, and the random things like gardening, canning, and laundry, Joseph realized Rook wasn't speaking. The group that didn't have guard shifts were eating lunch. Most sat around a picnic table. Those with prominent Sloth tattoos stood. "I watched the play back of your confession, my child. Did I miss the part where you took a vow of silence?"

It took a moment for Rook to catch that he was teasing. "I--I'm sorry?" A rather unfortunate voice crack and a cleared throat later, they tried again. "I'm sorry. I've never been super talkative. I work alone, usually."

"You aren't alone now," a Peggie said. "You have us."

The words, the lie, slipped out naturally. The longing for it not to be a lie bubbled up but they squashed it. "And I'm thankful for it. I just need time to process this."

"Of course you do." Joseph's sympathetic smile seemed almost genuine.

Things fell into a routine. For two weeks, things stayed peaceful. Rook even let themselves smile and relax around Joseph and the cultists. Simple touches stopped making them flinch. Joseph let them work alone with the others while he prayed. Rook helped wherever they were needed. Weapons were still, regretfully, off limits. Rook understood why, but the lull in action made all the inconvenient thoughts simmer on the surface.

Then, Faith's body washed onto the compound's boat dock. An attempt to take the jail must have gone horribly wrong. Rook had to shut down the part of their brain that enjoyed investigation. Instead, they watched Joseph mourn. Joseph filmed the eulogy alone, just the two of them and a camera on tripod.

Rook stood awkwardly near the door of the Church. "My children, a seal has been open."

Rook quietly stepped outside the church, leaving Joseph to his broadcast. Sitting on the floor, or in this case, the ground, had become an unexpected past time. Rook at for as long as was reasonable and then returned to work.

No new Faith took the mantle but Rook briefly wondered if Joseph meant for them to take the job. He never broached the topic. Joseph withdrew, spending more and more time praying and fasting in the church. Rook made themselves indispensable around compound.

Rook consciously recognized the moment they started believing in the coming Collapse. While waiting for some freshly and taking a break in some shade, it dawned on them. The government didn't react to a Federal Marshal going missing or an entire county going off the map. Hope had decommissioned missile silos. Was that information declassified? Was Hope a target?

Joseph appeared seemingly from nowhere. "My child."

"Father. Forgive my sloth." Rook got to their feet.

"You see now."

"I do." It felt like another confession but they couldn't force out an apology. Something bad coming didn't excuse the kidnapping and murder. Their eyes went to the fence around the property. Despite the longing, they were technically a prisoner.

He did that strange forehead touch. "Child, I have news. Sheriff Whitehorse and Marshal Burke are dead. They were beyond saving."

"Oh." Rook blinked. They expected some inconvenient feelings but nothing came up. It was as if they'd been made blank. "I was only a Deputy for a few months, Father. And, this is an unchristian to say, forgive me, I didn't particularly like Burke. We'd only just met."

"I assumed they were your friends."

"No, Father." Rook didn't feel the need to explain further. "I didn't belong there."

"Do you see where you belong now?" Joseph asked.

"Here?" That longing, inconvenient as it was, surged. Shame came along with it. Murderers, kidnappers, thieves, and Rook wanted to be one of them. Although they would never admit it out loud, they'd been interested in the cult from the beginning.

"Yes, my child. This is your home."

Rook sank into the feeling, the longing finally gone.

[sarcasmrights]

The Best of You Belongs to Me

[ao3]

Hello!

Thank you Chelsey for an amazing prompt for the @shyanwritingevents. It's actually the longest fic I've written so far, thank you for the opportunity to write for you!

It's my first try at horror and this fic is mainly inspired by the horror movies The Ritual and Apostle! A good summary of both can be found online, my favorite being from FoundFlix over on YouTube.

Title taken from NFWMB by Hozier.

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The sun is bright on the day Ryan decides to set out in the forest. His friends had urged him to take a vacation from the big city and all its noise, and Ryan agreed with them. Living in LA is great, there’s always sun and something to do but something to do may be what’s giving him extreme creative block. He’s always out, trying to experience an event or show and maybe it’s overloading his senses. Maybe the forest air will do him good.

With his hiking backpack on and walking stick in hand, Ryan sets off on one of the longer trails recommended to him. The crisp air here reminds him of life before the big city, when it was just him and his brother talking about their dreams for the future over actually living with bills and adulthood. He rarely sees his brother now. They work in different job industries and that means Ryan is hunched over his laptop in LA while his brother is in meetings in New York. He can’t even hate him for it.

What he can hate is how quickly everything moves in LA. There never seems to be enough time for Ryan to do things and mean them. He can churn out content for weeks on end, but he’ll occasionally leave his heart out of one, or five. He’ll produce bite-sized entertainment and his colleagues may praise him, saying the videos are funny or interesting, but Ryan hasn’t made something he’s truly proud of in a very long time. Before getting his current position, Ryan had slaved over videos, tweaking them and making editorial notes until his vision was fuzzy and his fingers were working off muscle memory. Each of those had his pride and sweat and, occasionally, blood loaded into them. Nowadays, when his video production meant whether he got to pay for food or rent, Ryan feels like he’s shifted his focus from quality to quantity.

Give them the bite-sized entertainment they want, whether it be a two and a half minute video on the dark history of a popular brand or a summary of the most recent controversy happening in the sports industry. That is his focus now, to get something out there in order to put popcorn on the table. Maybe he should slow down…

Ryan sighs, taking a moment to look up and take a break from his thoughts for a second. The forest stretches expansively before him, looking bright and cheerful. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings and when Ryan turns around, he sees nothing familiar either. He’d been caught up in his own head that Ryan didn’t bother trying to find any markers in case he wound up lost.

“Great,” Ryan murmurs to himself, a voice in his head already asking him why he wasn’t thinking ahead. He scans the path ahead of him, squinting his eyes to see if he can spot any path markers or signs of other hikers. Sunlight cheerfully continues to beam down on him and the flora, getting close to midday since all the shadows are all short. Strange, Ryan doesn’t think he’s been walking for more than an hour and he started the hike at maybe eight in the morning…

Dirt crunches under his shoes as he pivots to stare at where he came from, the same confusion coming to him. There’s nothing that strikes him as recognizable, not even a sign to helpfully say “Civilization 8 miles”. Ryan lets out a long breath from his lips to calm down his nerves and tightens his hold on his backpack strap. It’s alright, he’ll just turn around and walk back the same direction.

As his feet carry him back, Ryan fishes out his phone, internally groaning when he finds no service whatsoever. He’s just about to open a few apps to see if they’ll work but his ankle catches on something, Ryan yelling when he trips over and falls onto his face. Slowly but surely, his relaxing hike is becoming more and more frustrating. He groans and sits up, doing a mental check. Nothing feels broken or hurt save for his ego. Ryan glares at the rock that had tripped him, giving it a vengeful kick before brushing himself off and standing up. Mother Nature is being wily today.

Ryan picks up his walking stick and phone, pulling up the compass app on it and breathes a sigh of relief when it pops up, the digital needle spinning around before telling him he’s heading South. South it is then, at least until he can find someone to ask directions.

The sound of leaves crackling and gravel accommodating him keeps Ryan out of his head for a little bit. Occasionally, a bird sings a melody and Ryan mimics it with a whistle, eyes on the ground to avoid stray rocks or plants. After about twenty minutes of hiking, Ryan takes a second to lean against a tree, fishing his water bottle from its side pocket. Taking a sip, Ryan tries to think of how long he’s been hiking. He’s spent a good majority of the day in this forest and yet he doesn’t feel exhausted. If it really is after midday, he should at least be hungry for a granola bar. His stomach tells him breakfast was just an hour or two ago though.

Ryan looks up when he hears something rustle in the bushes, sure it’s some woodland creature.

That’s when he spots it.

A single overturned rock, dirt and woodchips favoring the side that had been buried once. Ryan caps his water and slowly approaches, realizing with no small amount of horror that it’s the rock he’d tripped over earlier. The same one he’d taken vengeance on. How was that possible, he’s been walking in a straight line the entire time, his compass had been pointing South.

Ryan fumbles his phone out, hurriedly putting his water away and patting the sweat from his palms. The compass app opens, spinning to get its bearings. Ryan watches with bated breath before it finally stops turning, pausing at North. Ryan looks up, making sure he’s facing the same direction he’d been heading. It had said south not twenty minutes ago, how is it saying north now?

It’s broken, Ryan thinks, spinning around in a circle to test his theory. To his horror, the needle remains at North, the app pointedly refusing to budge. Ryan does another spin before a cold horror trickles from the crown his head down his body. His fingertips start to tremor and suddenly Ryan is very afraid.

As if the forest itself knows the jig is up, a thick ominous cloud passes overhead, blotting out the sun. Shadows darken around Ryan, all the soothing noises go quiet. Not a bird tweets, no wind rustles the leaves. Ryan’s hairs are starting to stand on their ends. A sharp crack startles Ryan and he whips around, shifting his grip on the walking stick to turn it into a weapon. Darkness is eating up the forest around him, deep shadows concealing the path he had been on.

“Who’s there?” he calls out, trying to sound more threatening than scared.

He’s not ready for two red eyes to open in the dark, as if the blackness peeled back its own eyelids to stare back. Ryan doesn’t know what to say, only able to watch in horror as more eyes peel back, too close together to be remotely human. Pupilless eyes, dark as cherries, gaze at him and Ryan doesn’t feel an ounce of humanity or safety in their stare. The hiker swallows, tightening his hold on his stick, heart thundering in its cage.

“Fuck!” Ryan shouts, shattering the deafening quiet. He throws the stick at the vague shape, hoping it’s enough of a distraction as he bolts down one of the directions of the path, not caring which way it is as long as he gets away from the thing. His legs pump furiously underneath him, all those years of cardio giving him just a shred of hope to escape. Ryan spares a glance over his shoulder to see how far he is, bile rising in his throat when he sees the blackness chasing after him. In the back of his mind, his brain hears wolves snarling and running. In his chest, his heart feels each and every step the thing takes towards him, taking almost no effort at all to give chase.

Ryan turns to face forward, the air rushing out of his lungs as the ground disappears from under him. All he sees is the rocks and moss on the other side, the steep drop of the cliff. His brain can barely register the fall until Ryan is, in fact, falling. Cold stabbing wind pushes against him, making his eyes water as Ryan tries to think of what to do. What can he do?

The answer is nothing, as the human tumbles down what he sees as a ravine, a shallow trickling river with a maw too small to even try to save him. Ryan’s life doesn’t even flash across his eyes before the ground almost rises up to snatch him, bile once against scratching the walls of his throat.

Through some miracle, Ryan doesn’t land on his head. His legs take the brunt of the impact, shattering instantly. Disgusting (the only adjective his brain supplies) pain spikes through his leg, enough for Ryan to scream “fuck!” into the air as he crumples into a destroyed heap. The side of his cheek splashes in the weak river of the ravine. Pain clouds his vision, Ryan just barely able to feel the first handful of raindrops on his cheek. Are they raindrops, or tears?

Ryan’s eyes flutter open and closed, his backpack straps holding him together like ropes for a hostage. As the same darkness starts to attack the outside of his vision, Ryan’s eyes give one more wander. In the distance, as the rain starts to pour, a tall looming figure seems to be walking towards him. There’s no rush in its gait, no worry at all in its steps. Like people falling in ravines is normal.

Nothing about this is normal, Ryan thinks before his eyes roll black and the hiker blacks out.

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Voices click and gargle from somewhere nearby, Ryan barely conscious enough to hear them. It sounds like layers upon layers of voices are speaking at once in one unified dialect. If he tries very hard, he can lift his eyelids just enough to filter an orange light through them.

At once, the voices stop talking, though Ryan doesn’t sense concern or anything warm from them. The silence that fills the void is thick and heavy, almost like a winter duvet being pressed against his body. He’s starting to choke on it, instincts warning him that something is drawing closer.

That’s all Ryan remembers until sleep beckons him back into its arms.

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Ryan doesn’t realize his eyes are open until he sees something moving. Then he can make out the fuzzy outlines of a wall, the door in it, and some other scarce furniture of the room.

The figure in question looks almost completely black, its silhouette having no discernible features. He can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, just that it’s tall and looming in the doorway. He can’t see eyes or a mouth, no ears. Just the shape of shoulders and the prickling feeling that it’s staring at him just as much as he’s staring at it. Once again, Ryan can feel his hairs standing on edge and a gag dancing in the back of his throat. He swallows it. oddly smiling at the figure and huffing a laugh through his nose.

A cheerful hysteria runs through his body. Before he can act on it, his eyes roll back again, and Ryan returns to the dark void.

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A savory delicious smell wakes Ryan up, his eyes slowly opening to a gentle stream of daylight. He’s waking up in his absolute favorite way, starting with stretching out his chest before wiggling deeper into his soft covers. The delicious smell is still in the air, now far too strong to be the remnants of a dream. Had he brought someone home last night? Damn, he’d promised himself to at least remember some names.

Ryan presses against the bed for just a moment longer before sighing, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed. He fully opens his eyes and blinks, tossing the blanket off of his lap. Weird, he’d gone to bed fully dressed. Did one of his friends wind up having to deal with him for the night? A pool of guilt pools at the base of his throat, an apology forming on his tongue when Ryan notices the blanket he’d tossed off.

None of his friends have… fur blankets, at least nothing this big and real feeling. He massages the fur before looking around, mind slowly catching up as he realizes he’s in a cabin somewhere. It’s rustic, all furniture looking handmade and dated back by a few years at least. Where exactly… is he?

“Oh! You’re awake now. G’morning.”

Ryan startles at the new voice, whipping his head to the sound and there stands a very tall and rather peaceful looking man dressed in a buttoned-up flannel. He sips from a smoking mug and from the smell, Ryan can tell it’s freshly brewed coffee. The man, probably the owner of the cabin, takes a long slurp of his coffee and Ryan realizes he’s staring, quickly averting his gaze to something, anything else in the room. He notices his backpack propped up against the wall, standing up to walk to it.

“People usually tell me their name,” the man speaks again and Ryan straightens up, running a hand through his hair.

“Y-Yeah, sorry. I’m Ryan, nice to meet you. Did you… Does this place… Yours?” Ryan asks, unsure what knocked the wires loose in his brain. Knocked? Wait, hold on.

Ryan grabs the nearest thing he can find to steady himself, washing nausea drowning him. His knees buckle as Ryan struggles to connect the dots. They shouldn’t be buckling, shouldn’t be doing anything at all because of the ravine. The fall, he shouldn’t be walking like nothing is happening. He should be in a hospital or dying at the bottom of a pit. How is he here?! He pats himself down, falling back onto the bed and waiting for the moment the illusion breaks and the pain comes through. He waits and waits before blinking hard, gaze remaining fixed on his legs.

“Ryan. Yeah, the place is mine. Are you freaking out because of your uh, legs?” the man asks and Ryan turns to look at him, completely forgetting that another person is in the room. What the fuck is happening?

“Yeah, I patched you up. Noticed you were kinda laying at the bottom of a ravine and not entirely dead so I grabbed you, healed you.”

“How is that possible? How long have I been asleep? This isn’t a hospital, how did you do that?” Ryan stutters out, grasping one of his calves as if to prove to him how Ryan is still in one impossible piece.

“Most people just say thank you. Nature does some wild things,” the man says, now a smug smile on his face. Ryan wants to react poorly but the man has a point. Instead of being actually thankful, he’d almost thrown up on the floor of the room. Jesus, LA is doing something to his manners.

“Sorry, you’re right. Thank you, uh… What’s your name?”

“What do I look like?”

Ryan tilts his head at the question, the nature of it striking him odd. They weren’t exactly friends like that, he’s not sure why the man’s… asking him that exactly. Maybe he’s just been in the woods too long?

“You uh… Huh?” Ryan grabs for the first random name he can think of. “Sh-Shane. You look like a Shane.”

“Interesting. Haven’t heard that one before,” Shane says and takes another sip, giving Ryan another friendly smile. The whole smiling thing is starting to get a little old, a little creepy even. He’s stuck in a cabin in the woods with a stranger who keeps showing off his teeth. If this was a script Ryan would be working on, this entire situation would be a little something called foreshadowing.

“What’s your real name then? I can’t just call you Shane if that’s not your name,” Ryan pushes, standing from the bed. He mentally sizes the guy up. He’s way thinner than Ryan, definitely not as strong. However, he’s got a solid number of inches on him and that could spell trouble in a fight. Ryan’s eyes dart to his backpack, though nothing in there can help him.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. Shane works. Been called a lotta things,” Shane says and turns from the door, walking off but still talking on. Ryan feels an inexplicable draw to follow him, still a bit baffled how he can follow Shane. His legs feel completely normal, not a tinge of pain or creaks anywhere.

“Guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch, horror of the shadows…” Shane lists off and Ryan hums. Guy’s funny. A little strange but funny.

The room they walk into is the main living space, with a kitchenette tucked into a corner and a hearth with a gentle fire still lit. Ryan peeks out one of the windows and sees the night sky stretching over them. The forest seems much friendlier now, and yet Ryan can’t keep the red eyes away from his memories. They haunt him whenever he blinks, two unnaturally red dots hungrily look at him. His compass acting completely weird brings a chill up his spine, the overturned rock scaring him more than it should.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he nearly jumps when Shane stands in front of him again, holding out a bowl.

“Oh, thanks. What’s this?” Ryan asks, already bringing the soup to his lips. It’s still hot, but Ryan quickly gets over it when he tastes the soup. It’s rich, salty, all in the best ways. He can’t imagine tasting something this good anywhere else, it’s like taking the love from his mom’s food and mixing it with the best ingredients man can find.

“Some mushroom soup made from stuff I gathered,” Shane says, taking a slurp from his own bowl and walking back to the pot in the kitchen. Once again, Ryan finds himself following and Shane takes his bowl, filling it with a ladleful before handing it back.

Maybe Shane isn’t too bad after all.

Ryan hurriedly takes another slurp, mind drifting back to his earlier hike. He’s sure he saw something, and even if he didn’t see it, his hair had stood on end and his instincts said fight or flight. With how the sun had darkened and everything went silent, it was almost like the forest itself turned on him.

“So, how do you think you’re gonna pay me back for healing you up?”

Ryan takes everything back, Shane sucks.

“What? Oh uh… I have some cash on me you can have if you need that. There're some bars in my backpack too,” Ryan lists off, now suddenly uncomfortable with the hot bowl in his hand. Is dinner going to cost him too? He sets the bowl down, stamping down the small headache that springs forward. God, he hopes Shane doesn’t want the Tylenol in his bag.

“Eh, don’t really need money. Food is kind of optional for me,” Shane says, downing his bowl before setting it down as well. Ryan takes a wary step back when Shane reaches out, unable to move away when Shane’s slim fingers rest around his wrist. Ryan’s breathing quickens and the familiar feeling of fight or flight returns. On cue, the fire that had been burning snuffs into an intimidating ball of hot embers. Ryan glances back at Shane and in the new lighting, he could swear the man’s eyes look black.

“I was thinking of something more service-oriented. Don’t need human things anymore,” Shane proposes and his voice distorts, shifting between sounding like one person to multiple people at once. His memories suddenly flood him all at once.

He fell down the ravine, shattering his legs and laying in agony until someone nonchalantly walked up to him. There was no worry in their steps even though a normal person would be concerned. The way the forest shadows bent around him, how the path circled over and over. What had Shane called himself earlier? Guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch…

Horror of the shadows.

“Fuck!” Ryan shouts, yanking his wrist from Shane. He was so busy connecting dots that he didn’t notice Shane’s grip tightening. He looks down at the skin, seeing a collection of raised red welts in the shape of a handprint. Shane doesn’t look offended whatsoever, his impasse grin almost shining in the darkness. The man takes a step toward Ryan and that’s when his body says flight.

Ryan turns around and makes a mad dash for the door, throwing it open and escaping into the night. As he suspects, the forest has turned villainous, tree limbs stretching to cover any moonlight. Ryan is running blindly back into the forest, slapping shrubs and kicking up dirt. Anything to get away from Shane.

Yet, as far as he runs, he can still feel the haunting presence chasing after him. It’s like the ravine again, only this time his legs work.

A scream is building in the back of Ryan’s throat, clawing at the walls of it but Ryan can’t bring himself to scream. There’s no one to hear him, nature itself is his enemy right now.

Ryan crashes through bushes, registering he’s on some sort of path and he immediately runs towards the faint glow of lights in the distance. His legs pump furiously underneath him. Survive, his brain demands. Survive or face something you’ve never known. Something far worse than death.

“Help!” Ryan screams at the first sign of life. He sees someone, someone human, sweeping their front porch as he bursts into the village. He stops to gasp and catch his breath, sparing a second to look over his shoulder.

Shane’s eyes are staring right back, not a single drop of worry as he leans casually against a tree. Ryan has to tear his eyes away from him, running up to the nearest person and catches her shoulder. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates, face frozen in shock as Ryan wheezes out his story.

“Please, please, you have to help me. Something is chasing me, it’s… I’m Ryan, please!” he begs, fingers trembling as she looks blankly into his face. He needs help, he needs…

She recovers enough to rest a hand on his wrist, about to say something before her eyes fly to the welts on his skin. Ryan watches her skin pale and he’s suddenly pushed away, the woman screaming a name as she flees into the safety of a growing crowd.

“I-I just need help, please,” Ryan asks again, reaching for the crowd. They all gasp and murmur, backing away from him like he has the plague. He can’t help but feel his heart break a little, covering the welts with his hand. The hairs on the back of his neck stand and he whirls around, taking a surprised step back when Shane is there now.

“You shouldn’t scare people like that, Ryan. They were getting ready to sleep for the night,” Shane says, holding out his hand. Ryan glances at it before darting his eyes back to Shane, taking another step back and hearing the crowd take one as well.

“He’s… You’re a monster!” Ryan shouts, hoping the people would have his back. There’s strength in numbers. If Ryan can at least get some people to try and shield him, there’s a chance Shane will back off and he can maybe find a place to stay until he gets his bearings right.

“Not really, no. Those things usually kill for fun. I don’t kill for anything,” Shane explains in a stupidly cool and collected voice. Ryan hazards a glance behind him, wanting to make sure the villagers were hearing this. All their eyes are watching Shane, a sort of reverence among them. They all seem so much calmer, their guards completely down. Ryan slowly turns back to Shane, that damned cool smile back on his face, like he’s been patiently waiting for Ryan’s attention again.

“Not a monster, not human either. Least, not anymore. I eat for taste now. So, if I’m not a monster and not a human, there’s only a handful of things that I can be.” Ryan watches Shane tap a slender finger against his lips before grinning widely, something distinctly inhuman about it. He claps his hands together and Ryan flinches, waiting for the pain to come. After a handful of seconds pass, he slowly opens his eyes, Shane holding his hands together.

“What?”

Shane doesn’t answer, just grins before turning. Ryan follows his gaze, gasping when fresh sunlight hits his eyes. He instinctively squints, shielding his eyes away. That’s impossible, the moon was barely halfway through the sky, dawn shouldn’t have been for another six hours.

A happy gasp startles him, the villagers applauding while Ryan stares on in horror. Shane stays facing the rising sun before turning around, the edges of his smile sharp as he addresses Ryan.

“Something like a minor god. Someone you owe your life to. My brother may have left the forest to sing for people, but I’m still here, just chilling,” Shane says and Ryan hates the shiver that runs down his spine, brain telling him Shane is telling the truth. He watches Shane slowly lift a hand, reaching up until it looks like he’s caressing the sun before dragging dawn back to night, the moon slowly rising to loom over them.

“I think you should go back to the cabin, Ryan,” Shane says and Ryan grinds his heels into the ground, ready to spit a biting “no” back. A wave of nausea comes over him and Ryan finds himself collapsing onto his knees, clutching his pounding head with his heads. The pain is strong enough for his vision to go white for a second and he barely feels himself be lifted until Shane’s back in his vision.

“You should go back to the cabin,” he repeats and Ryan, teeth grit from the pain, vaguely nods and the piercing ache disappears. Ryan chokes on a sigh of relief, shuffling his feet towards the direction he thinks the cabin is in. If Shane can change time, there’s little else he can do to stop. He belongs to a god of the forest, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

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The days that follow the incident at the village are, surprisingly, peaceful. Shane disappears for hours of the day, leaving Ryan with only a handful of things to do. The only bedroom in the cabin has silently become Ryan’s. Initially, Ryan tried to defy Shane. He would sit in his room and pretend to be back home, running video ideas through his brain. It worked, at first. Before long, the same overwhelming pain would attack his mind and he’d be left with no choice but to do what Shane asks.

The tasks are simple enough. Every morning, Ryan starts with collecting firewood and clearing the pathway to the cabin. Once the sun rolls to its peak, he’s supposed to go to the village to see what they need help with. Apparently, they haven’t seen an outsider in years and they’re interested in his stories. It’s kind of nice, really, to have an audience he can interact with. They aren’t interested in bite-sized videos, they want the entire story and don’t really care how long it takes. They ask questions, and slowly but surely, Ryan finds himself looking forward to seeing them.

Occasionally someone will have a task for him, like lifting heavy wood into the house or ask for his thoughts on building something since he’s seen outside tools. Ryan thinks it’s strange, but everything could be worse. He could be out there coercing other humans into the same fate, or even killing them. Shane asked him why he looked so glum and Ryan, no longer truly scared of him, asked why he had to serve. Shane didn’t explain why, just finished his meal and left Ryan to sit at the table.

Every fifth day is sacrifice day. Ryan initially imagined bloody effigies and other grotesque offerings so he had entered the village in small steps. To his surprise, there hadn’t been anything of the sort. Some would offer baskets of gathered food, others simply put a slip into Ryan’s hands. When he had unfolded one, it listed the deeds they’d done the week to help the forest.

The days start to blur together and when Ryan wakes up one morning, he can’t bring himself to be upset about being here. He’s forgetting how his bedroom in LA is decorated, hands starting to memorize the bedroom he has now instead. The idea of forgetting LA leaves a mixture of emotions in his gut and he kicks off the blankets, hoping the path is absolutely riddled with junk. He doesn’t want to think about LA.

Ryan tosses on a shirt a villager named Alex had given him, sliding into a pair of clean jeans and socks before opening the door to the main room. Shane is standing there, staring out a window with a knot between his brows. Ryan passes by him with a gentle “g’morning”, heading for the eggs and getting ready to make an omelet when he feels the beginnings of a headache tickle the back of his head.

“What, Shane?” he asks, turning around. He’s started to notice when Shane’s about to ask him something and that doesn’t annoy him. What does annoy Ryan, however, is when Shane forgets to vocally tell him something and leaves Ryan with a headache while he’s gone.

Shane’s still looking out the window and Ryan is about to turn around to continue with breakfast when the first wave of the headache rolls through him. Ryan pinches his eyes closed, turning around and gasping when Shane is right next to him.

“What the fu-“

“We gotta go to the village,” Shane says and the tone makes Ryan’s eyes widen. In all the days he’s been here, Shane has never spoken in something other than cool and collected. So freed from an invisible pressure Ryan always feels. Now, Shane sounds incredibly worried, like a problem could be on the horizon. Ryan doesn’t bother protesting, just rushes to the door after Shane, throwing on his sneakers and kicking into a jog when Shane starts to run towards the direction of the village.

There’s a gaggle of villagers right in the center, strained whispers buzzing around them. Ryan watches the people part for Shane to walk through, trailing after him. The scent hits him before he makes it through the crowd and when Ryan finally peeks over Shane’s side, he nearly vomits.

Four bodies lay side by side, polka dots of bloodstains on their clothes. Ryan can hardly process what he’s seeing, recalling their hello’s and laughter from just yesterday. His eyes can’t leave the bodies, staring at the vacant eyes and the pale skin. In the sun, he can see every wrinkle and there’s no stopping his brain from remembering every moment he spent with each of them. Taking dried herbs as a sacrifice, tightening ropes to keep a homemade broom together…

“Ryan.”

The human snaps out of it, gasping when he realizes Shane’s hands are holding his face. Ryan blinks and tears roll down his cheeks, sinking into the space between Shane’s fingers and his cheek.

“I knew them,” Ryan manages out and Shane’s face softens, eyebrows curling upwards before slowly releasing Ryan’s face and pulling him in. Ryan can’t find it in him to fear Shane right now, not when he looks so human with the emotion in his eyes. He sinks into Shane’s embrace, forehead resting on his flannel shoulder as tears soak into the thick material. He’s not sure how long he’s like that, just resting as the silence wraps them both.

“Sorry, I just…” Ryan pulls away, rubbing his eyes with his arm.

“No, it’s alright. Death is… real,” Shane says, looking between Ryan and the people. He slowly turns to them and sinks to one knee, slowly closing their eyes. The forest seems to respond to him, and Ryan can’t explain it with words. It’s like everything droops. Sunlight seems to dull and the air feels heavier on his shoulders. He feels grief in the air, as if the forest mourns for the fallen.

Shane stands and takes a step back, turning to Ryan with a look in his eyes. Ryan prepares for the itching of a headache but it never comes. They stand like that, god and man, for what feels like forever. Shane looks like he’s debating something, eyes occasionally flicking over Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan takes a glance behind him, finding the villagers looking to Shane for guidance. They all are, he realizes. Ryan is looking to Shane for direction.

“Go back to your business. Whatever came for them is coming to intimidate and I refuse to fear them. You’ve seen what I’m capable of. You have followed me for decades, centuries. I haven’t failed you yet and I don’t plan to. You two.” Shane points at two men. “Make sure they’re properly buried. They deserve to return to the home they built.”

The villagers quickly separate and Shane doesn’t spare them a glance as he heads for the exit. Ryan follows after him, unsure how to comfort Shane. He’s sure the guy must be hurting, especially if he’s some old blood god who’s watched over the village before those people had been born… Blank eyes flash in Ryan’s vision and he ducks his head, picking up his pace to keep up with Shane.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

More bodies are piling up. Soon, Ryan is the one responding to village whispers, volunteering to bury the ones who had been hunted. Shane has stopped going out in the mornings, now spending them at the front gate of the village. He doesn’t try to stop anyone from leaving, encouraging it even, but he does tell them to be careful. Still, people come back dying or carrying the dead.

Ryan’s hands have callouses where he’s gripped the shovel too tight.

“Shane,” Ryan says one night and the god looks up from his seat the fireplace. It may just be a trick of the light, but Shane looks more human than Ryan’s ever seen. His eyes are a bit sunken and his fingers are tightly wound together. His movements have lost their lackadaisical grace and Shane always looks so serious now.

“What’s happening?” Ryan asks, taking a seat next to him. Shane sighs and looks back at the fire, seeming to get lost in his own mind. Ryan looks into the fire as well, not expecting answers.

“… I used to be human.”

“What?” Ryan glances at Shane, now fully turning towards him. Shane doesn’t look at him, talking to the fireplace more than Ryan.

“Centuries ago, I came to this forest with my family and some friends. Slowly, I began to learn more and more about this place. People started to come to me for advice, and one day I found out I could do things. I’d close my eyes and open them somewhere else. I could hear the forest calling, I could… I knew every single thing that happened in the woods. If an outsider comes, I know exactly where they are. There’s no limit to my powers… I can manipulate the entire place to make someone walk in circles for hours, make them feel like it’s been hours when it’s really been seconds. I can do all of that…

“At least, I used to. The more people who follow me, the stronger I am. That village has been with me for centuries, Ryan. Now they’re dying. I’m getting weaker.”

Ryan is struck with how exhausted Shane looks in the fire, the bags under his eyes becoming incredibly deep. He wants to reach out and rest his hand on the god’s shoulders, wants to say it’ll be alright. However, Ryan isn’t blind to how impossibly mortal he is. There’s nothing he can do about the situation. His fingers brush against the raised welts on his wrist and shrinks further into the sofa.

“I can’t protect them. Whatever’s hunting them, I can’t protect them from it,” Shane says and it looks like it sobers him. The god rubs his face and sighs, leaning back against the sofa. He puts his hands down in favor of turning his gaze to Ryan, looking him with a reverence that made his stomach churn.

Wordlessly, Shane holds out his hand and Ryan settles his wrist into it, the slim fingers matching exactly where Shane had touched him all those weeks ago.

“Ryan, I care for my following with my life. They are the source of my power, they have given me home. I would die before I let any more of them die. I will die before I let you die.” Shane looks deep into Ryan’s eyes and he can’t breathe for a second, his heart hammering against its cage. Had he heard that right? Had Shane really said that?

“And with that, I set you free,” Shane says and Ryan feels an electric tingle run down his skin before Shane pulls away. The welts are gone, the skin there as soft as it had been before. Ryan holds it up to his face, running the tips of his fingers along the surface to find any trace of Shane’s mark. He can see Shane smile before turning back to the fireplace. The conversation is over before Ryan can even get any answers.

“Goodnight Shane,” Ryan says, slowly unfolding from the couch and heading for his room. He almost misses the quiet “goodnight, Ryan. I’ll miss you.”

The next morning, Shane isn’t in the kitchen or staring by the window. Instead, there are a few boiled eggs on the table and some food left in a Tupperware container. Ryan approaches the eggs, taking one and peeling it before taking a bite. Strange, he’s usually making his own food before starting his chores. Which he doesn’t have to do anymore. Ryan looks around the cabin, wondering if the headache will ever hit. He waits a few minutes more, just in case, but when it never comes, Ryan takes another egg and heads for his bedroom to grab his toothbrush.

A knock on the door interrupts him and Ryan squints at it. Shane isn’t one to knock to come into his own home, he hardly even uses the door. He’ll simply appear whenever he wants to be home. The villagers don’t like coming by the cabin, treating it like some sacrilege act. Ryan walks up to the door and unlocks it, opening it just a crack.

“Hello?”

Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees two men wearing proper hiking clothing standing at the door. He quickly opens it, swallowing the lump of an egg inside of his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Hello, good morning. How can I help you?” Ryan asks, heart racing at the sight of people from civilization.

“Hello, we were wondering if we could… help you,” one of them asks, gesturing at the cabin itself. Ryan looks up, finding nothing out of ordinary with the wood.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The hunters lean in as if to share a secret. Ryan almost doesn’t want to, but they look alright enough. He leans just enough out of the door to hear them clearly.

“We heard there’s something living in the cabin, something that takes people from their families. We can save you, friend. We’ve already crippled its church, soon it’ll be weak enough for us to kill it. Purge it from our forest.” The hunters lean away just as quickly as they leaned in and Ryan feels his hairs stand on end, spine locking him in the half-bent position he’s in.

“I… No, no. Just me living here,” Ryan quickly says, stepping back into the comfort of the cabin.

The hunters give him a doubtful look, one of them looking ready to reach for the knife Ryan can see strapped to his belt. Tension settles between the three of them and Ryan’s engaged in a staring contest, his smile getting weaker and weaker. They stay like that before one of them, an older man with a graying mustache, coughs and nods to the other hunter.

“Well, you let us know if you need any help, friend. We’ll be coming around these parts often,” he says and turns away from the door, his buddy following him after a long second. Ryan waves to them and as soon as they’re gone, he quickly shuts the door and presses his back against it, heart racing. Holy shit, the people… The villagers. Those guys are the ones who have been hunting down the villagers. They’re like… pillagers. Murderers.

Ryan quickly decides to tell Shane as soon as he comes back, making a beeline for his bedroom to get ready. He has to get to the village too, tell them to stay inside and lock the doors. There has to be a safer place to evacuate them, but Ryan doesn’t know if Shane needs to be a certain distance from his following or else his powers die… Shane hasn’t been able to manipulate time or space of the forest in a while, saying he’s left with only his strength and not much of it.

Ryan reaches for his backpack and pauses when he sees it neatly zipped up. He looks at it for a second, sure it should be completely open and some things spilling out. Ryan had unpacked his things, resolved to living in the cabin with Shane. Even when the welts had been removed, no thought of going back had crossed his mind. Ryan slowly unzips his bag and finds all of his clothes rolled up and his bottle full of cool water.

“You were waiting for me to go,” Ryan murmurs to himself, standing up straight when he hears the locks on the front door click. He quickly dashes back to the door to his room, closing it to a crack just in case the pillagers had wanted to come back for another “friendly chat”. Slowly, the top lock undoes and the deadbolt is expertly removed, Shane’s head popping into the house.

“Shane,” Ryan breathes out and opens the door, gasping when Shane jumps nearly a foot into the air.

“What? What’re you still doing here?” Shane asks, looking at the eggs at the table and the food. Ryan tilts his head before snorting, patting his hands on his pants.

“You thought I was going to leave? You’re joking. Not when you need my help. Listen, Shane, I saw them. The people who’ve been killing the villagers. They came up to the door and asked if I ‘needed help’,” Ryan explains, gesturing at the door. Shane’s eyes impossibly darken, reminding Ryan of the first night he saw them go completely black. It’s been a while since he’s seen Shane do that. His brown eyes now just reflect the dangerous quiet inside of Shane.

“They came? Are you okay?” Shane asks, turning his attention back to Ryan. Ryan pats himself down and shrugs. They hadn’t bothered trying to take him out, though he doesn’t want to say one of them looked ready to get at him. If he had even resembled the villagers, would Shane have found his body in the cabin?

“I’m fine, but we have to do something Shane. This can’t keep going on,” Ryan insists and relishes the complete look of surprise on Shane’s face. Something other than sad or passive, perfect.

“You care about the villagers, right?”

“I told you last night, of course I d-“

“Then we need to find a way to get your powers back. You can’t protect them from these weird fucks if all you can do is break something from pressing on it too hard.” Ryan looks at Shane with a challenge in his eyes, now thankful Shane had “set him free”. If he hadn’t been, Ryan is sure he’d be suffering from a major migraine right now.

Shane looks back at Ryan with a foreign expression, looking like he’s thinking over the idea. Slowly, his face gets lighter and lighter until there’s a spark of determination in his eyes. Ryan smiles as Shane nods.

“There’s a place in the village we need to see. It’ll have a way, we just need to find it,” Shane says and Ryan follows him out of the cabin, both of them bordering on breaking into a jog for the village.

The place Shane wants is the history keeper’s house, a place filled to the brim with journals detailing not only every villager to have lived with Shane’s power, but dozens upon dozens of books from people who studied Shane’s powers. Over time, the curiosity had been sated, though a few books are being revised into more modern English.

Shane completely disregards books with modern binding, going straight for the oldest section of the home and pulling out a heaping armful of ancient scribblings and setting them on the nearest available surface. Ryan follows suit, pulling out his own pile and tossing it onto a nearby empty desk. Shane sits and begins to rifle through the nearest one and that’s how the two begin to spend their days. For about three days, Ryan and Shane live in the village library, peeling through yellowed paper underneath firelight. Occasionally, Ryan will show Shane something that resembles power or ancient deities. Every time, Shane would tell him that’s not what he’s looking for, that he’s already tried that method.

In those three days, Ryan is the one bringing the both of them food. They’re too scared for the remaining villagers to have Shane leave for the cabin, fearing if he does leave, someone will die. Ryan plays messenger, running the two of them hard-boiled eggs or mushroom soup whenever they get hungry. The villagers have taken on the task of leaving some snacks at the door whenever they can, though, with the low labor count, a lot of their focus is keeping their farms tidy and making sure anyone who lost family is taken care of.

Slowly, Ryan finds himself helping Shane whenever he catches the god asleep. He’ll gently shake Shane’s shoulders and when that doesn’t work, Ryan will peel his cheek off of whatever he’s reading and throw a blanket over him. Shane always wakes up when Ryan leaves for food or water, but the kind looks he offers when Ryan looks at him are enough.

On the fourth day, Ryan feels ready to tear his hair out, Shane just a step behind him. They both feel exhausted and, as Ryan pulls another book off a shelf, the situation looks rather grim. All the methods Shane has found have all been proven false and unless someone comes up with a breakthrough, there likely isn’t a way for Shane to gain his powers back without a new following. Ryan finds himself fighting the thought, but he can’t help feeling like they’ve reached an end neither of them want.

“What about this one? I can’t read it,” Ryan says, flipping the book over and showing Shane a page full of a scribble Ryan can’t read. The god takes a look at it, eyes darting over the passages as he reads before scoffing.

“Yeah, sure. That’s all bullshit, Ryan. Just some children’s fairy tale. Toss it,” Shane says, going back to leafing through his own book. Ryan presses his lips together, turning the book over and trying to make out some words. It doesn’t look promising, no pictures whatsoever. If Shane can read it and thinks it’s not going to help, it’s not going to. Ryan shuts the book and sets it on their mountain of finished material.

Another hour passes by them when Shane suddenly stands, knocking the desk he’s using. Ryan almost jumps, watching Shane head for the door and throw it open. He’s about to turn back to the umpteenth journal on witchcraft when he hears Shane yelling outside.

“What the fuck?” Ryan asks, abandoning his own desk and heading out.

“My people. My family,” Shane starts as Ryan joins the circle of villagers.

“You all have to leave. This place, our forest, is no longer safe for you. You have given generations to me and our forest, but I’ve failed you. I have failed, and I have allowed your family to die. You were once amazed by my powers, when I could bring the sun up in the dead of night, when you would always find your way home no matter how far you wandered into the forest. I can’t do that for you anymore, I can hardly be the god you all need. And you all deserve better.”

Shane looks over his family and Ryan can see the mourning sadness in his eyes. The forest doesn’t even respond it anymore, benignly watching from the outskirts of the village. It breaks Ryan’s heart.

“You all deserve better, and I am not that. Please. Leave by the next morning. For your safety, for your family’s safety. I will always be able to find you, no matter how far you go. The forest lives on in each of you.” Shane claps his hands and pulls his lips into a taut line, turning his back to the crowd and walking towards the trees. Ryan looks around and finds the faces of distraught villagers trying to make plans with one another. To stay and possibly die or to leave and abandon the only life they know.

Ryan can’t hear it right now, pushing around people to chase after Shane. He manages to catch up to him, the two of them making a beeline for the cabin.

“Hey, hey! Shane! Wait,” Ryan asks, stepping in front of the god. Shane spares him a look before dodging around him, still stomping towards the cabin. Ryan sighs and continues his chase, stepping in front of Shane before he makes it to the door.

“Wait, what happened to trying? What happened to saving them?” Ryan asks, hating how Shane can’t meet his eyes. The god looks so small despite being a full head taller than Ryan. He looks like he’s struggling, and when Ryan glances down, Shane’s hands are tightly clenched into fists.

“This is saving them, Ryan. I have to let them go to save them. If they stay here, they get murdered. If they run, if they can get far far away from here, then just maybe they have a chance. I can’t do it for them, I can’t even do my little… Shadow thing anymore,” Shane confesses, finally meeting Ryan’s eyes. They’re glossy, the shine of a thousand stars dancing in Shane’s unshed tears. Ryan looks up at him, his heart knotting itself in his chest. They can’t… If the villagers leave, if Shane loses his entire following, he’ll just be a man again. A man vulnerable to bullets and knives just like the rest of them.

“You’ll die,” Ryan whispers, the words tasting awful even to him.

“I know. For them, I will,” Shane replies, scratching his face.

“… There’s something we can do, there has to be something,” Ryan desperately asks, almost begging the forest itself to pull a solution from thin air.

“There is, and I’ve done it, Ryan. I set them free, don’t you get it? You can leave, you can go back to LA and you can go back to being a normal person. You don’t have to see this all end,” Shane says, spitting “this” out like the word had offended him. Ryan gapes at Shane, unable to say anything as the god pushes him aside and enters the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Go back? To LA? That’s what he wanted right, to go back to the life he had known before Shane, before this whole adventure began. Ryan had wanted nothing more than to get back to the apartment he could barely afford and sit in the comfort of his Ikea couch, warm laptop sitting on his thighs. Looking back into the forest now, however, Ryan doesn’t know how he could ever go back. LA seems so loud now, all the cars screaming at odd hours of the day. In the wilderness here, all Ryan has to do is hold his breath and silence will fill him with enough peace to last a lifetime.

“I don’t want to,” Ryan murmurs and it feels like his soul agrees with him. LA isn’t where he should be, the forest is home now. Ryan presses a hand against the door to the cabin, sucking in a deep breath before pushing it open.

Shane is sitting in front of the fireplace, except there’s nothing more than smoking ashes in the hearth. The entire cabin looks devoid of happiness, sunlight not helping how gray the entire home feels. Ryan slowly steps in, the wood creaking underneath his feet.

“Shane?” Ryan asks, stepping around the sofa to take a seat by his side. Shane sighs and looks at Ryan to show him he’s listening.

“What did that book say?”

“Ryan, it doesn’t matter, it’s all lies.”

“Yeah, but what if it isn’t? C’mon, it can’t be bad. Just… humor me. Tell me what it’s about and if it’s impossible, we’ll drop it,” Ryan says and Shane seems to study him for a moment before bursting into a humorless chuckle.

“It said… Says that the power of true love is equal to having the power of gods in my veins. That if I found someone to spend eternity with, I just have to perform a ritual and I will literally become a god and not have to rely on a following to keep my power,” Shane explains drily and Ryan hates the sarcastic look he gives. He’s distracted, however, by exactly what Shane says. The power of true love? To spend eternity with someone?

Ryan can’t help the warmth he feels in his ears, blood suddenly becoming a roar in them. He looks away from Shane, back at the door out of the cabin. Shane shifts and Ryan figures he’s probably staring at the ashes again. He feels so far away, and Ryan wants nothing more than to reach out and touch Shane again. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he misses the sound of Shane’s carefree boisterous laughter, and the way he stoops over when he’s doing something. How cool he was, how the problems of life just rolled off his back like water on a duck. Ryan misses that…

He misses the true Shane.

“Listen, your backpack is still packed. You still have time to get a headstart before those guys probably-“

Ryan can’t take any more of the martyr talk, picking himself off the couch and crashing onto Shane’s body, their lips sloppily aligning. Ryan’s kiss misses, too much to the right. He tries again, pressing their warm lips together and enjoying the fireworks show going off in his gut. Ryan didn’t realize this is what he’s craved from the forest, the warmth from Shane’s body and the tremble in Shane’s hands as they slowly rest on Ryan’s body.

“True love? Right?” Ryan asks and Shane’s eyes are clouded over with a new emotion before he quickly nods.

“Ritual?” Ryan asks again and Shane’s nodding as he pulls Ryan in for another kiss. The human quickly obliges, their lips bypassing whatever dance they’ve been doing and going straight to passionate love. Ryan feels Shane’s hands reverently brush along his back, guiding him to a more comfortable position on the couch. Everything Shane touches burns alight and Ryan gasps when strong hands grab his waist, pressing thumbs against his hip bones.

“What do you gotta do for the ritual,” Ryan pants against Shane’s lips when he breaks for air. Shane blinks at him before a smile just a touch shy of the one Ryan misses spreads on his lips.

“Just need to get some herbs together, draw a few sigils here and there, and well…” Shane seems to blush at what he’s about to say next, looking down at where their hips are settled against each other. He gives a filthy roll of his hips and Ryan groans at the delicious friction. Shane’s hands press Ryan flush against the god, leaving no space between their bodies as Shane presses his lips against Ryan’s ear.

“It involves wearing your sheets down until they’re nothing more than threads,” Shane whispers and the heated undertone of the message drags a pleasurable shiver down Ryan’s spine. Shane leans back to look into Ryan’s eyes, and he hopes he likes what he finds because soon enough, Shane is lifting Ryan off the couch, keeping Ryan’s legs wrapped around his waist. Superhuman strength indeed.

Ryan’s tossed onto the bed and Shane gives him one last heated look before tearing off to find the correct herbs. Ryan reaches for his backpack and pulls out a thick Sharpie from the front pocket, tossing it to Shane once he comes back into the room. He trades Ryan a bowl of crushed herbs that Ryan sprinkles around the room. Once they’re all gone, Ryan hurriedly tosses his clothes into a lump onto the floor and jumps on the bed, watching Shane draw artful sigils all over the cabin walls. Those aren’t coming off soon, but Ryan can’t bring himself to give a damn.

In a mixture of soon enough and far too late, Shane is on top of Ryan, smothering his neck with bites and open mouth kisses that make him squirm. The room is filled with the sounds of Ryan gasping at each of Shane’s touches, the god playing him like an instrument.

“Ryan,” Shane says and Ryan can barely lift his head to look down at Shane, eyes rolling back when he sees Shane smiling up at him from his crotch.

“Yeah? Do we… Is there something else we have to do?” Ryan manages to slur out, his words weighed down by the lust in the room. Shane chuckles and the sound paired with the vibration makes Ryan shiver again, hips bucking up involuntarily. A heavy hand presses him back onto the mattress, Shane pulling up so their eyes can properly meet.

“No, but I do have to do this in another form,” Shane murmurs and Ryan nods, holding his god’s cheeks and pulling into a kiss. As their lips crash against each other, Ryan’s fingers feel Shane’s skin change textures, going from its typical feeling to a much more indescribable feeling. The best he can say is he feels like he’s touching the void, where nothing and everything meet right in the middle.

“Oh fuck,” Ryan groans when he opens his eyes, taking stock of what he can see. The room seems to have disappeared into Shane’s form, and Ryan can’t be too sure but he can faintly make out a handful of eyes staring at him.

“Still want to do the ritual?” a voice asks. It’s more like layers upon layers of voices are talking to him, but Shane’s voice rings over all of them.

Ryan looks around the voice before choosing a pair of eyes to stare into. The human smirks and stretches himself into a pleasing line, stretching out and making suggestive moans before slowly, reverently, opening his legs for Shane.

“Come get me, big guy.”

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Sunlight streams through the opened curtains in the bedroom, the light shining right onto Shane’s closed eyes. He groans, throwing one of his arms to try and save himself some more sleep but it’s too late. He’s slowly waking up from a pleasant dream and he makes a note to curse the sun for doing that. Shane rolls onto his side, pausing when Ryan makes a sleepy noise of protest from his position against Shane’s arm.

“G’morning to you too,” Shane greets in a sleepy growl, kissing Ryan’s temple. He’s tempted to see if his powers did return, but right now, with Ryan sound asleep against him, Shane can’t really bring himself to try and make the sun sink back into the horizon. Watching Ryan sleep, all the worry and doubt smoothed from his forehead, is slowly becoming one of Shane’s favorite past times. He wants to say the book had been preaching utter bullshit, but here he is, watching his human snore against his arm.

“Forest god!”

The peacefulness of the morning is shattered by the shout and Shane’s eyes narrow, feeling the presence of two outsiders outside the cabin. There’s another person with them, a much more familiar presence. Shane presses his lips together before gently stealing his arm back from Ryan, giving his human another kiss on the cheek.

“Promise not to kill them, s’long as they don’t try to take a shot at me,” he murmurs before leaving the warmth of the bed. Shane manages to throw on his clothes from yesterday, combing his hair with his fingers as he steps out of the door. His eyes immediately find one of his followers kneeling between the two outsiders, a gun aimed squarely behind her head. She’s the village doctor, one of the kindest people Shane has ever seen in the village.

“Hello, g’morning,” Shane greets them, his smile returning to his face. The forest rustles to return the greeting, the sound widening his grin. It feels good to be one with it again, to feel each and every creature and plant living inside of it.

“We know you’re getting weak, forest god. When you’re gone, we’ll finally be able to take this place, we’ll become our own gods!” one of them shouts and Shane is a little miffed about being shouted at in the morning. He should be in bed, holding Ryan and telling him to go back to sleep when he tries to wake up.

“Yeah, about that… I don’t really like the fact that you killed off almost half of my family and now you’re trying to threaten me,” Shane bites back, smile shifting into a more predatory territory. He keeps his eyes on the doctor, incredibly proud of how she stays still. Her faith in him is rolling off her shoulders, giving him a fresh power high Shane hasn’t tasted in a while.

Shane’s about to ask for their last words when the door to the cabin creaks open. Ryan steps out, dressed as well. He looks grim, eyes darting between Shane, the hunters, and the hostage. Shane is getting ready to tell Ryan to head back in, that this whole thing will be over shortly when Ryan decides to do the talking for him.

“Haven’t you guys done enough? You guys are human as well, you know. You’ve literally committed mass murder because of some power fantasy, and for what? He’s lost his family, his powers. You’ve taken everything from him,” Ryan protests, walking to Shane’s side. Shane bites his tongue from revealing that his powers are, most definitely, not gone. They’ve returned almost tenfold.

“Not everything,” the older human says and draws his gun, pointing it square at Ryan.

Shane doesn’t want to call himself a violent person, doesn’t want to call himself a monster, but seeing the gun aimed at Ryan breaks a restraint in him. With a god’s blood in his veins, the forest snaps and everything goes dead silent. A cloud envelops the sun and Shane melts into the shadows cast on the ground. The darkness eats up the distance between Shane and the pillagers, his dozens of eyes opening within the shadows.

“Oh fuck!” Shane hears in the mess, too busy chasing after one of them running off. He can feel the doctor run towards Ryan, and his love using his body to shield her. It only makes his heart warm as Shane does his job. He’s the guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch. Anything unwelcome to his forest will only find one way out, and with the blood of his family on these outsiders’ hands, Shane doesn’t imagine their escape being easy.

Reaching a clawed hand for the outsider he’s chasing, Shane snatches him up and tears him through the forest, unable to keep track of what limb is lost where. By the time he stops to check, the human is a mess of dislocated limb and torn flesh, eyes already dull of life. Shane tosses the pile of flesh into a bush, wiping the blood off on his flannel. He opens himself to find the other one, wondering if he should bring him to see what became of his companion.

He’s prepared to sink into the shadows again when a sharp pain stings through his lower back. Shane gasps and trips forward, falling through the shadows and shedding off all his extra limbs and eyes. When he comes to, he’s back in front of the cabin, staring at the pillager holding a bloody knife. Ryan’s eyes are wide and his skin looks starkly pale. Everyone is stunned in a dark silence before Ryan falls forward. It’s all Shane needs to break from his stupor, a bubbling rage consuming his mind. A visceral scream tears through his throat and he disappears, opening his godly maw underneath the pillager. His teeth pierce through the earth, appearing like toothy columns around the man. Shane slams his jaws together, the sickly wet pop of crushing the man satisfying to his ears.

He drags the carcass deep into the forest soil, leaving it in a cursed spot he doesn’t want to remember. Shane crawls back to the surface as quickly as he can, clawing for the surface to see Ryan, to check on him. It’s only been a day, he can’t… The terror of possibly losing Ryan grips Shane and he simply materializes in front of the house, ready to bust in when the doctor suddenly opens the door.

“My God,” she greets as respectfully as she can. “Some space, please. He is being bandaged up, and I would prefer silence over your hovering.” She nods once before closing the door again, leaving Shane in a stunned daze. He takes a step away from the door before his pacing begins.

If Ryan dies, does that mean Shane’s powers go with him? Who gives a damn about the powers, Ryan could potentially be dead, dying inside right now. Damn the powers, damn everything. Shane will happily give it all up if it means Ryan can live. If it’s safer for Ryan to be far far away from Shane, hundreds of miles away, so be it. Shane will wither in the forest, he’ll die a million times before he lets Ryan die.

After what feels like an eternity, the door to the cabin opens and Shane immediately rushes forward.

“Doctor, Ryan… How is he?” Shane asks as patiently as he can, trying to peer over her and into the cabin. The fireplace is going again, what did that mean.

“My God… I… I did what I could, I just don’t. There’s something you must see,” she answers, face completely pale. Shane fears for the worst in that moment, pushing past her and throwing the door open.

Sitting by the fireplace, bundled in a fur blanket, is Ryan. His silhouette is decorated by the glow of the fire and when Shane approaches, he can see the peaceful expression on his love’s face. Shane drops to his knees at Ryan’s side, reaching out to take his hand. The couch is absolutely littered with used medical materials, some of the bandaged made of torn clothing.

“Ryan?” Shane asks, hands trembling as he touches his hand, taking it in his own. It’s still so warm, and if Shane concentrates, he can feel Ryan’s heartbeat through the tips of his fingers. Ryan breaks his stare at the fire and looks at Shane, grinning at him before nodding to the bandages at his side. Shane slowly turns his gaze down and finds streaks of a liquid not unlike gold staining the fabrics.

“What? How?” Shane asks, picking up one of the stained bandages. He holds it up to the light of the fire and then looks at Ryan again, balling the fabric in his hand. “Ryan, are you…”

Ryan gives him another smile before shedding the blanket, turning to show the spot where the knife had gone in. There is a row of neat stitches and smears of the same metallic gold liquid on the skin. No part of Ryan looks in pain. In fact, he looks… at peace.

Shane senses the forest trembling without ever seeing it, feels it entirely shift and warp to accommodate something just as powerful as Shane entering it. It buckles, threatening to shatter and throw the two of them out and Shane waits with bated breath as Ryan slowly turns around to meet Shane’s questioning gaze.

“I can feel it. Everything in the forest.”

“What does that mean?” Shane asks, voice delicate. He’s scared of the answer.

Ryan reaches out and cups Shane’s cheek, the god unable to keep himself from leaning into the touch.

“You don’t have to spend eternity alone anymore, Shane. You’re not the only god of the forest anymore.”

The forest trembles to welcome its newest guardian into its world.

[princess-of-luxure]

The Angel and the Devil

When a mysterious devil rescues you from being taken hostage by a fearsome enemy, you fall quickly and hopelessly in love. Turns out, his girlfriend's like an angel too. You're so screwed.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Nero (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Kyrie (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)/Reader Characters: Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie (Devil May Cry) Content Warnings: None

Written for day four of Whumptober, prompt was 'Human Shield!' This is another one that ended up being only loosely inspired, and it ended up being more fluff than angst, but hey, just means when I do write angst (like Half Hearted), it's gonna hit so much harder. I kinda lost motivation for this after the first section, so I hope the quality doesn't suffer too badly from it!

Fic under read more.

You should never have been involved in this. It was a fairly average day for you, making your way down the sidewalk of a busy street, groceries in hand while you bickered with your best friend on your cell phone.

“Okay, yes, my ex was kind of a dick, but listen, I’m desperate—” The rest of their argument was cut off as suddenly, the ground heaved underfoot, your purchases spilling to the ground as you lost your balance, crashing down with a heavy thud. Screaming began to cut through the air not a moment later, people running for their lives as thick cracks began to appear in the road, soon splitting into a gaping abyss.

Paralyzed with fear, you found you could only sit and watch with wide eyes as two sets of scaly talons peeked over the mouth of the canyon. A gigantic creature, draconic in nature with four wings, two heads and red and blue mottled scales climbed up from underground. Lava streamed from the jaws of the head with orange eyes, while a frost permeated the air with every breath of the blue-eyed head.

The creature shook its wings out, toppling buildings as it surveyed its surroundings. It rose onto its hindlegs for a better vantage, swishing its flail tail as it did—with a crash, several more shops turned to rubble. The mutant dragon thing didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, well, the human world at last,” the fire head mused, its growling, guttural voice like nails on a chalkboard. Smoke hissed up from the gravel beneath it as the dripping lava ate away at the road. “So many tasty morsels, brother… aren’t you excited?”

“Mm, excited, yes, yes, brother,” the ice head agreed, its voice more of a hiss. “Delectable scents… I can’t wait to have a bite! I must sample some of Earth’s delicacies!”

“Humans… I suppose we shall finally know what they taste like,” the fire head snarled in earnest. “That accursed Sparda may have denied us in our youth, but he cannot stop us now!”

“So, you’re looking for a meal, huh?” Both you and the demon turned to look at the newcomer. From this distance, you couldn’t make out much other than his short white hair, navy blue coat and the fact he had a sword slung over his shoulder, but it was still enough to strike an imposing figure. “Too bad you aren’t getting one here.”

The two heads growled and hissed in displeasure, collapsing back onto their forelegs with a thud that created craters in the road as their body lumbered towards the stranger. “Sparda’s kin!” the fire head roared, lava splattering everywhere. “You will not stand in our way!”

“Yes, yes, you will not stand in our way!” the ice head snapped. “We came here to feast, and feast we shall! And you shall be the appetizer!”

The stranger seemed utterly unperturbed by the threats as he drew his sword, planting it into the ground and revving it like a motorcycle. That was weird, but you were still too shell-shocked to question it. “Sorry pal, but I don’t think I’d be all that tasty. Too chewy, yknow?”

The demon dragon let out a roar, taking to the sky with a flap of its mighty wings that send more debris falling to the ground. The ice head was the first to take the offensive, swooping towards its opponent and exhaling a storm of frost as it swiped with one of its massive clawed forelegs. It hardly seemed to bother the stranger, who easily skipped out of the path of the chill, meeting the strike with a swing of his sword, the edge of the blade glowing red hot. It cleaved through scale and bone with ease, and through your shocked haze, you couldn’t help but think of the one hundred degree knife videos on YouTube as the beast reared back in agony.

“You’ll pay for that, Sparda’s kin, yes, yes, you’ll pay for it!” the ice head snarled, enraged. “Nobody strikes the great Dugoron!”

“Really?” You were now in awe of the stranger as he deftly brought his sword up again. “‘Cause I think I just did. You’re not so great after all, it seems.”

The ice head gave another furious snarl and seemed about to attack again, when the fire head glanced around, glowing orange eyes landing on you. You barely had the time to think oh shit before a thick, scaly tail was wrapping around your midsection, hoisting you into the air faster than you could blink. You tried to scream, but no sound came out, fear stealing the breath from your lungs as the creature dangled you in front of it.

“Would you look at that, brother? Even the kin of Sparda doesn’t dare strike us if a puny human is in his way,” the lava head cackled. This close to the dragon, you could feel (and unfortunately smell) its unbearably hot but simultaneously freezing cold and stinky breath wash over you.

The frost head snickered as well. “Yes, yes, I see, brother! What is it humans call it… empathy?”

As the two heads mocked and taunted their attacker, you twisted in their grip despite the blood rushing to your head to properly look at him. He had lowered his sword, and from what you could tell, he appeared to be shaking, with anger or anxiety or something else entirely you couldn’t tell.

You didn’t have to wait long for clarification. “You know, I’d be careful mocking humans, if I were you,” he began, voice trembling with a barely concealed rage. “We might be STRONGER THAN YOU THINK!”

You couldn’t possibly comprehend what happened next. One moment, there was a flash of blinding blue light, the next, the demon dragon was crashing to the ground and crumbling to nothing, and you were safely cradled within the arms of the stranger, who now looked anything but human; he had transformed into the visage of a devil, spectral wings folding against his shoulders and back as glowing orange eyes looked at you with concern, clawed hands holding you gently.

The transformation dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, aside from the wings, which remained furled. “Are you alright?” your saviour asked quietly, his demeanor shifting now that the threat was gone.

“I, uh…” It processed in your mind that the handsome stranger was still holding you, and your cheeks flooded with color. He seemed to realize this only a moment later, as he turned red as well, quickly placing you down on your feet. “I’m alright,” you managed to get out.

The other opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, there was a screeching sound as a van pulled up beside you both. A woman stuck her head out the window, yelling, “Hey, devil boy, you better get in now unless you wanna be late!”

“Hey, sorry, I gotta go,” your savior apologized to you, quickly searching in his coat pockets. He pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, quickly scrawling something down and handing it to you. “Call me, alright?”

You nodded, still slightly stuck in processing what had just happened, watching in a daze as he hopped into the van and it drove away. Only when the van was long gone did you glance down at the paper he’d given you, reading the scribbled numbers there and a name just below them.

Nero.

~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~

It had taken some time for you to gather the courage to call Nero after the incident, but once you had, an arrangement was quickly made for you to come over one night and have dinner with him and his girlfriend, Kyrie. Your best friend had teased you about it when you’d told them about it initially, but they’d quickly shut up once you’d mentioned that Nero was already taken.

You weren’t quite sure what to expect when you rang their doorbell, palms sweating. You certainly weren’t expecting Kyrie to be so heart-stoppingly gorgeous; ginger hair fell neatly to her shoulder, brown eyes sparkling with warmth and a kind smile on her face. Nero was devilishly handsome and Kyrie was angelically beautiful, and you had no idea how you were going to survive the evening.

“Oh, it’s you!” Kyrie spoke your name, her melodious tones setting your heart aflutter. “Nero told me you’d be visiting. We’re delighted to have you! Come inside, I made stew for dinner.”

Kyrie ushered you inside the house, escorting you to the kitchen/living room where you were immediately assaulted by the mouth-watering scent of food. You didn’t have long to get distracted by it, though, taking notice of the familiar figure sprawled across the couch and idly inspecting what seemed to be some sort of prosthetic arm, the TV droning on in the background.

Nero looked up and your gazes met; a moment later, a casual, smug smirk curled across his lips. “Hey,” he greeted, and as he said your name aloud, you knew you were in for one hell of a dinner.

~*~*~*~*~ * ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~

Spending the evening with these two perfect beauties and knowing they were both off the table was agonizing. As soon as you could, you were quick to excuse yourself, heading for the door as fast as your feet could carry you, ignoring Kyrie’s surprised call of your name and Nero calling for you to wait.

You were in the hallway when Nero caught up to you. “Wait!” The single word combined with your name was combined with so much desperation that you couldn’t help but obey, turning to the devil hunter without looking him in the eyes, wringing your hands anxiously.

There was a beat of silence, and when it became evident that you weren’t going to break it, Nero sighed softly. “Why did you run like that?” he asked, and to your shock, he didn’t sound mad in the slightest.

You chewed on your lip, still not looking at him; still, you figured you owed him an explanation. “I think I like you both,” you mumbled.

“Sorry?” Disbelief laced Nero’s tone. Understandable. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

You sighed, dragging your gaze up to his face and daring to speak a little louder. “I said, I think I like you both.”

You could see this process in Nero’s mind for several long seconds, then he slowly asked, “Like… like like us?”

That had been a lot of likes, you mused to yourself as you nodded. Nero shook his head, expelling what almost seemed like a sigh of amazement, running his fingers through his hair. “Well, would you look at that,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Kyrie was right after all.”

You tilted your head, furrowing your brows. “Right about what?” Nero leaned against the wall, cheeks taking on a pink flush. He didn’t look at you as he explained, “I told Kyrie I thought you looked kinda pretty, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know you. We’re in an open relationship, you know. Kyrie reckoned there was a good chance you liked me back, but I didn’t believe her.” He closed his eyes. “I shoulda known better than to doubt her. She’s amazing like that.”

You blinked as these words processed in your mind, then you smiled. Nero was still rambling away, but you had mostly tuned it out as you approached. His eyes snapped open as you stood on tiptoes (damn, he was tall), cupping his cheeks in your hands and whispering his name.

“May I?” you asked softly, searching his expression. You saw him swallow, surprisingly shy, before he nodded, and you leaned in.

Kissing Nero was a near-indescribable experience. At first, the kiss started out slow and chaste, a tender and trembling meeting of lips and feelings. However, Nero quickly found his groove, hands coming to embrace you tightly as he poured more fervor into the kiss, your combined passion surging through your bodies.

It was the kind of kiss that left you both breathless, and neither of you noticed Kyrie standing in the doorway until she spoke. “You two are adorable!” she complimented, eyes sparkling and a hopeful smile on her face as she approached. She turned to you. “Do you mind if I try?”

It took a moment for her request to process, but when it did, you couldn’t help but chuckle, disentangling yourself from her boyfriend to step over to her. Kissing Kyrie was very different from kissing Nero; where he had been full of passion and fire, everything about Kyrie was soft and sweet. It was no less breathtaking, though, and it left you feeling like the middle ground between heaven and hell itself.

Nero smirked at you when you pulled away from his girlfriend, though the slight blush that painted his cheeks offset the expression slightly. Anticipating his question, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d love to join you guys, if you’ll have me.”

Nero and Kyrie exchanged a quick look, before they both pulled you into a hug. “We’d love that,” Kyrie murmured beside your ear, and your heart rejoiced.

The love of a devil and an angel. How lucky were you, after all?

[eerythingisshaka]

The Coffee Prince XI

*Part 1* *Part 2* *Part 3*  *Part 4* *Part 5*  *Part 6* *Part 7* *Part 8* *Part 9*  *Part 10*

(T’Challa x Reader)

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: Violence, Grief

Sitting in Shuri’s lab, you get a moment of peace as she cleans your wound and works a salve over your gash that hardens to a comfortable gel-like bandage to hold your skin in place.  

“That should do the trick.  Should’ve put that on you before.”  Shuri says, removing her environmentally safe gloves.

She hands you a canteen of water and some bread for you to eat.  “Thanks.  It probably would’ve been just fine if it wasn’t for a certain disturbance.”

“Oh yeah, life is funny that way.  And just so you know, your vitals still look good.  Everything seems normal from what I can tell.”  Shuri pushes some options on her interactive wall.

You swallow hard in surprise.  “You didn’t even hook me up into anything or poke me or anything this time!”  

Shuri smirks, looking back at you like a grandmother about to school the youth.  “(Y/N), don’t forget where you are.  Things aren’t the same here as America.  Now some poking would be nice to get a full scope but we don’t have time…”  Shuri studies her kimoyo beads, saying something under her breath as she walks away.

“Where are you going?”  You ask, finishing up your snack before you get up from the table.  The flip of your vital records disappearing from the wall in front of you as you walk over to an opening positioned right across from the falls.  The Dora Milaje have Erik in cuffs, awaiting the start and appearing as cool as ever standing in the rushing waters.  T’Challa is nowhere to be seen just yet.

“Don’t worry yourself over that.”

You turn around swiftly at the sound of a melodic voice carrying beautifully across the lab.  Donned in a green leather outfit, bantu knots crowning her youthful face.  Nakia looks as if she’s never known a day of stress in her life, floating atop all the issues of the world.

You clear your throat, feeling diminutive.  “Uh, well, I wasn’t.  I am just trying to get myself prepared for what is to happen.”

Nakia purses her lips.  “Has anyone explained the ritual that is about to take place to you?”

You shake your head slightly.  “Just that there is a fight...whoever wins is King.  Right?”

Nakia holds her hands in front of her, the only sign of anxiety reading on her.  “That is the short and sweet version, sure.”

Her knowledge began to irritate you.  “I’m sorry, but...who are you?  You aren’t dressed like the Dora and I just wonder how I should address you properly.  You weren’t here for the big raucous earlier.”

Nakia looks at you with sincerity.   “Oh, I know.  I rushed as fast as I could when word circulated, however.”  Nakia closes the gap between the two of you holding a hand out but stops short of touching your face.  Your head moves away from her hand involuntarily.  “I am very sorry for overstepping.  I just...how did he do this to you?  I thought he was under surveillance.  How did he get past the Dora?”

You touch your head lightly near your wound.  “It wasn’t something anyone was expecting, that’s for sure.”  You laugh a little too hard, feeling the soreness around your throat.

“Bast, were you choked?!”  Nakia leans to view your neck.  “You have bruises-”

“Nakia, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.  Sorry, just...Shuri is supposed to be down to escort me to the falls and that’s all I’m focused on.”

Nakia nods with a slight bow.  “Of course.  You’re still early in your pregnancy, I understand.  Shuri is notorious for her impulsive fashion changes-”

You stammer over her to cut Nakia short.  “Wait, wait.  You know I am pregnant?  Was there a, like DECREE told about this that I missed out on?”

Nakia blinks a couple times in surprise of your reaction.  “No but T’Challa told me in confidence-”

“How do you know him?  Are you family?”  You ask, voice rising slightly.

Nakia sighs.  “No.  We really shouldn’t dig into this so deeply-”

“Ok!  I am ready!  Sorry, my braid was not cooperating…”  Shuri adjusts her braided bun and she adjusts her embroidered and leather bound corset marching down her winding staircase before looking up and reading the room.  “Uhh...are you two ok?”

You sigh exasperatedly.  “I was talking to...Nakia, but I’m confused.  She knows everything about me, but I know nothing of her.  T’Challa told her I am pregnant so I imagine she is something special here but she won’t tell me!  Shuri, would you tell me?”  

Nakia starts.  “(Y/N), let’s-”

“I said SHURI!”  You exclaim, holding your stomach to remind yourself of what is still most important.  You take a few deep breaths and Shuri hustles to your side, holding you.  

“She is a family friend.”

“And that is all!”  Nakia says desperately.

“T’Challa and Nakia grew up together, since they were babies they knew each other.  He still confides in her from time to time, it’s only naturally he would fill her in on your condition.”

You begin to calm down slightly.  “I know, I know.  God, I’m just...so tired…”  You feel the crash of embarrassment smack into you as Nakia an Shuri shush you with reassurances.  You appreciate the confirmations that you are indeed not crazy and just being a normal, stressed out, hostage survivor who is pregnant with a genetically enhanced monarch of a secretly advanced country.  Regular, day to day stuff.

Nakia, Shuri, and a few Dora Milaje take a heliplane over to the Falls; across the plains, over the canyon, toward the sunset.  The beautiful golden rays against the pinkish sky juxtaposed your impending dread.  What if T’Challa got hurt really, really badly?  Maimed and no longer King all because of you?

Exiting the heliplane, Nakia leads you and Shuri off, heading straight to Queen Mother who gives her a generous hug before glaring in your direction.

“What is she doing here?  This is not for her to see in her current state.  What are either of you thinking?!”  She begins to speak to a Dora with a directive before Nakia stops her.

“Queen Mother, she insists on being here.  She is of sound mind to make that decision on her own, we can’t belittle her.”

“I am not belittling!  I am protecting her because she has been through enough upon arrival here.  I would never have authorized her to be here!”  

“Mother, she is already here.  What else can we do?”  Shuri says meekly.

“Send her back!  Put her in the offices in the downtown headquarters!”  Queen Mother says through her teeth.

“Queen Mother, I am fine.”  You say with a slight smile as evidence.  “I want to support him, I want to see him through this fight.  I assured him to show up for it, I should be here watch it play out.”

Queen Mother holds your hands.  “Daughter, you don’t know what you may see.  This is a tradition passed down throughout the centuries in determining who runs this kingdom.  If he loses, you could easily be caught up in the crossfire.”

“But he will walk away.  His pride may be hurt, but he’ll push through like whomever lost before him.”

“Most of them are dead, dear.  It’s difficult for most to yield with pride.”  She says ominously as the sound of another aircraft approaching kicks up wind around them.

“Wait, this is life or death?”  You question as Shuri sets you down beside her on a rock.  “Shuri, it’s either give up or die?”

Shuri has her arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulder.  “No lives will be lost today.  T’Challa has you here to inspire him.  And after what Erik put you through, he won’t hold back a single blow.”

A second heliplane hovers over the water as a staircase descends.  T’Challa walks out slow and steady holding a weapon and a shield.   Nothing more covers his body save for a pair of shorts.

“Does he get any armor or something?  He can’t fight Erik with just a shield and sword!”  You whisper harshly to Shuri.  

She pat your hand, growing impatient with your questions.  “Erik will have the same things to make it fair.  No guns, no armor, just hand to hand combat.”

Okoye uncuffs Erik’s wrists, who rubs them as he sneers at T’Challa, picking up his weapon of choice.  A shaman walks toward the middle of the two of them, speaking in Xhosa.  Shuri translates to the best of her ability.

“That is Zuri, he is like the master of ceremonies.  So now, he has a bowl that is like an antidote for the powers of Black Panther.  T’Challa has to drink that.”

You scoff in frustration.  “So no he has no armor, no gun, no suit and no powers??  Shuri, this is setting him up to fail!  These rules can’t be bent?”

Shuri looks at you.  “Have a little more faith than that, (Y/N)!  He earned the throne this exact same way before.  He knows what he is doing.” Shuri cheers T’Challa on as he coughs and strains from the effects of the antidote.  You were already regretting having to see him like this.  The pain has already begun before the match has started.

“Agh!”  you squirm from a sharp pain in your side.  Queen Mother hears you.

“Do you need to exit?  I’ll call Ayo over-”

“No!”  You say, holding up a hand and breathing deeply.  Your face softens when the pain subsides as you look up to see T’Challa looking back at you mouthing if you are alright.  You nod with a thumbs up, clapping and cheering him on as Zuri gives a final word, striking his staff down to initiate the battle.

What follows is an assemblance of might and anger between the two.  Each strike of metal against metal made you jump a little more than before.  Erik was too strong with his hits, hammering down on T’Challa with an unnatural agility for his size.  T’Challa was not weary, intelligently moving on the defensive and wearing Erik’s acrobatics down.

“He’s got this…..He’s got this….”  You whisper softly, rubbing your stomach subconsciously as you watch in awe of his fighting skills.

“You’ve got this T’Challa!”  Shuri whoops from the top of her lungs.  Queen Mother is speechless as she grips Shuri’s hand for support.  

Erik makes move to stab T’Challa, but T’Challa saw this move coming, using his shield to strike Erik’s hand back before lunging toward Erik’s face.  Erik leans away but moves back too soon, catching the edge of T’Challa’s blade against his cheek.  Erik stumbles back slightly, touching the wound in surprise.

“Yield!  This can be settles another way, if you would only yield!”  T’Challa shouts.

“I ain’t a ‘yield’ nigga.”  Erik snarls, coming back with a barrage of strikes for T’Challa to block.  It’s like the fight has started all over again, with Erik having so much energy come back to him.  

“Snap out of it T’Challa!” Shuri screams.  Her directive makes you nervous.  Is he about to lose?

Erik and T’Challa are toe to toe going at it when all of a sudden T’Challa is brought to one knew, exclaiming in pain.

You jump to your feet.  “No…”

T’Challa raises his shield block a second attack, before standing again.  A series of blocks ensue before you hear T’Challa wail again in pain, pushing Erik back.

“T’Challa!”  You yell out without regard to what’s happening.  Shuri takes you by the shoulders.  

“Shuri, he needs to yield.  He can get a do-over.  I don’t want to see him get stabbed”  Your thoughts are interrupted by a gasp from the crowd as you see T’Challa on his hands and knees in the water.  Just as T’Challa begins to stand, Erik’s foot meets T’Challa’s face.

“NOOO!  YIELD, PLEASE!  STOP IT NOW!”  You scream out as Nakia holds you back.   Shuri is frozen, face blank as her mind is in another world.  Queen Mother grabs ahold of Shuri before wailing and pleading herself.

“This ya King, huh?  This-”  a swift kick to the gut interrupts his taunts.  “THIS YA KING?!”

T’Challa is at his breaking point, completely out of it as he struggles through the pain to get up, much less defend himself.  Erik readies himself over T’Challa, hovering the blade above T’Challa’s neck like a golf club preparing to tee off.

“No.”  Queen Mother utters.

“Bast, please.”  Shuri sobs.

Nakia’s arms leave your body as her hands shoot up to her mouth, covering her mouth in horror for what was about to happen. Why wasn’t T’Challa yielding, you thought.  Is he actually going to accept death for his position here?  Wakanda can’t possibly survive under Erik’s crazy hand.  And you had no intention on raising a child who would never know their father and his culture.

You aren’t sure when you started or even if you were truly moving.  But once the scene of T’Challa about to be beheaded came closer to you in slow motion.  

“Stop!”

You couldn’t feel your heart beating, your breath becoming labored.

“Stop her!”

As the water splashed around you, your jaw stretched almost to the point of dislocating.  What came out is a blur, but before you know it, Erik was turning to face you, sword trained in the air.  Your body suddenly felt cold under his glare as his hands released the sword, turning towards you.  You hadn’t stopped yet, you wanted to collapse over T’Challa to protect him, to call an end to the fight once and for all.  You didn’t care about tradition or royalty, he was your love and you weren’t about to watch him die.

Your gaze fell to his back, T’Challa was just beginning to crane his neck back and look towards you when it happened.  Erik didn’t let you pass him by before he sent a wave of pain to your gut.  You fell into his arms weakly as your breath was forced from your lungs.  Your vision darkened at the edges as you felt your body being forced backwards, landing in the cool waters.  Erik’s image stands over you smiling as you feel hands grabbing your arms and dragging you back.  You still can’t think coherently about what has just happened to you, or if you were even alive at the moment.

Sound pops in and out as your ear had filled with water upon your fall,  but a spattering of shouts made it to your understanding as your consciousness waned. Some man in fur swings a long club over Erik’s head sending him down with an awful thud.  Your eyesight fades in and out as you see T’Challa.  One blink, he’s up.  Next blink, T’Challa is straddling Erik rearing his elbows back to force his fist practically through his face.  Final blink, the fur man pick T’Challa up under his arms.  You aren’t sure if a new fight is about to begin, but no one seems to stop him as the Dora carry Erik off and others along with Queen Mother and Nakia try to calm a fervent T’Challa...

----

“Come on, Beanie Baby, he won’t be long.  Please behave!”  You walk around Wakanda’s natural landscape with your beautiful, yet fussy infant in their stroller.

T’Challa lays his hand on yours resting on the bar of the stroller to stop you from walking further.

“Do you think maybe we should go back home?  I don’t think-”

“Beanie needs some fresh air.  Three weeks in doors is long enough!”  You assert, unbuckling your baby to pick up.

T’Challa pets their head as they suckle on their fist, whimpering.  “Hungry, are we?”

On cue, your baby begins to wail again, unsatisfied with their current state.

You tut at T’Challa.  “Why did you have to bring that up?  I’m a walking refrigerator 24/7.”

Your baby’s crocodile tears run down the sides of their face as their brown little face twist in frustrated toothless wails.  You work your breast from your specially made shirt, angling your swollen nipple to your baby, whose mouth eagerly seeks its nourishment.

T’Challa holds your back, observing.  “That’s better, isn’t it?”    He coos, holding your baby’s hand as they suckle on you.

“Yes, Beanie Baby!  Baba and Mama love you so much.”  You say sappily in your baby’s face.

T’Challa stands back a little, looking at you.  “Are you ever going to say the beautiful name we picked upon birth?”  He says sarcastically.

“Ohhh, one day.  We know the name, it’s been blessed and sung and praised by the whole country.  But to me they will be my Beanie Baby until I am old and bent over.”

T’Challa pushes the stroller as you walk with your feasting baby.  “What you said about Bean needing some fresh air...you meant yourself as well, right?”

You sigh, looking off into space.  “Of course I meant me.  I have been soooo stir crazy in the palace.  I mean  don’t get me wrong, you’ve made it so comfortable for me and I love every minute with the baby and of course I had to heal up cuz I pushed too hard during and I swear I’m trying to be a good mother but-”

“Eh, eh, shhh…”  T’Challa stops in his tracks, turning to you, placing a hand on one side of your face.  “You are exciting yourself too much.”

You feel tears beginning to brim over as your baby unlatches from your breast.  T’Challa takes the whimpering baby over his shoulder, patting them firmly on the back as you clothe yourself.  

“I know, it’s been like that lately.”  You wipe your tears away sniffling.

T’Challa’s eyes soften in understanding, standing close to you.  “You don’t have to hide your feelings, share them with me.”

“I know, I will.  I’m sorry.”  You sniffle.  The baby lets out a hearty burp that breaks the emotional tone of the scene.  You ‘aw’ as T’Challa smiles, congratulating Beanie in Xhosa, holding them up and kissing their cheeks greedily.  

Setting the baby back along his shoulder, bouncing their little body along as he pushes the stroller along.

“You know, when we first met, what I enjoyed about you?”  T’Challa asks.

You puff out your cheeks in thought.  “Uhh, that we both enjoyed coffee?”

He smirks, shaking his head.  “No, not even close.  What I like is how bold you are.  How open you are to letting me in, despite our differences or whatever doubts you may claim to have, you never showed your worries to me.  It seemed to come natural to you.”

“Yeah, I just really wanted to talk to you that badly.  You seemed nice enough, not like the creepy regulars.”

“Phew, thank Bast for that.  However, the same thing I like about you, can also be something that leads to problems between us.”  He adds.

“What’re you talking about?”  You ask.

“Like all you just told me.  For three weeks you’ve been suffering and I haven’t been any wiser for it.  I never knew and that is scary.  I mean I knew you were tired, we all have been, I just didn’t expect the possible psychological toll on you.  Don’t be polite with me, be open and honest as you always have been.”

You nod, mulling over his words.  “Yeah, I think I’d call myself the truthful one in the relationship.”

T’Challa groans.  “I swear, you know everything now, and you’ll know everything as it comes from here on out.”

He smiles at you, pausing your walk to take your hand with sincerity.  A soft snore from your baby fills the silence.  T’Challa gently lifts the baby to lay them back in the stroller.  

“Chacha, I want to be honest with you.  But I’m hard headed so, just be patient with me.  If you can do that, I’m sure I can find the words to tell you how I feel quicker than usual.”

“We share a life, and that includes our struggles.  I will not let you fall long as I am by your side.  I won’t have it oh!”  

You laugh out loud.  “You promise?”

“On a ton of vibranium, I promise.  I will promise you when we get married next month and all of Wakanda can recognize you as Queen.  I will promise you when we have more children, and they have children and we live on in the ancestral plane.  You two are the most important beings int my life.  I have nothing if I don’t have you both”

You look into T’Challa’s eyes, enamored by his words.  The peace of the lands surrounding you both, the little life you both cared for more than anything in the world, and the love and respect between a King and a girl he loved from a coffeeshop around the way.  It’s a fairytale that writes itself.

“I guess that’s good enough, I’ll talk it over with Beanie and let you know.”

T’Challa kisses his teeth.  “You are something, having secret meetings with the baby.  Soon as the baby is weaned, I will be the favorite.  Mark my words.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still MY favorite after all.”

You reach your hands to T’Challa’s face, holding his face to study his features you loved so much, fingers finding his widow’s peak.  You both embrace sweetly under the high noon Wakandan sun, peacefully loving each other over your first born, anxious for the life you have in store with the new Kings in your life.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.  Wake up…”

---

“Uzole!”

Your head pounds as you begin to stir.  Your mouth feels dry as you begin to speak but no sound comes.  You’re about to try and sit up when your vision focuses on two figures standing at the far end of the room.  

T’Challa faces towards you but is looking down at the floor as Nakia’s back is turned to you.

“There is no need for her to hear that now, you stay by her side until she wakes and remind her what she means to you.   That’s it.”  Nakia says.

T’Challa wipes his faces before stuffing his hands in his pockets, looking up at the ceiling.  He looked good for what he went through at the fight, but he was worn down, you could tell.

“I will not lie.  As much as it pains me, I will not omit information from her again.  She does not deserve that.”  T’Challa whispers.

Nakia lays a hand on his chest.  “I promise you, one day will not hurt her.”

“And if she asks outright?  What do you expect me to say?”  T’Challa’s gaze snaps into place in Nakia’s direction, jaw tight in frustration.

Nakia’s hand falls as she shrugs.  You feel a soreness in your back that becomes more annoying than waiting for the conversation to end.  Pushing off the bed you bring your torso forward, calling T’Challa’s attention to you.

“umhle?  You are awake, glory to Bast!”  His stride brings him over in seconds as he adjusts your pillows behind your back.

“Ugh...I need…”  You croak.

T’Challa’s eyes widen in anticipation.  “What is it?  Are you in pain?  Do you have a fever?   Nakia, get Shuri at once!”

You shake your head slowly.  “It’s not….I’m thirsty.”

T’Challa sighs in satisfaction as he knows just what to do for you.  A pitcher of water sits on your bedside table, dripping with condensation.  He picks it up, pouring it slowly into a cup as you wait for him to sit beside you, holding a straw between your lips for you to take a drink.

Nakia clears her throat.  “I let Shuri know you have awakened.  She’s only a call away if you need.  Good to see you back with us.”

Nakai smiles quickly before leaving the room.  T’Challa looks you over, petting your hair gently, kissing your forehead with sweet pecks.

“Chacha, please.”  You whine, weak from exhaustion.

He sits backs taking your hand in his, studying your knuckles, fingers, nails intently.  “I can’t help it.  I promise to behave, I’m just excited to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you too.  How are you?”

T’Challa runs his hand along your forearm, massaging the softness of your skin.  “When the Heart Shaped Herb gives me back my power, it heals as well.  No harm done.”

“You won?”  You ask with weakened excitement.

T’Challa nods.  “I did, my love.  With a little help, if I remember correctly.”

“Mm, yeah.  Some big guy with furry shoulders came, right?”  You close your eyes for a moment.

T’Challa looks at you confused.  “You saw M’Baku?  I thought you were taken out by then.”

You shake your head.  “I was there, but I fell down.”

T’Challa’s thumb strokes your cheek.  “You remember how you fell?”

Your eyes open again.  “Not all the way.  I saw you hurt and...my stomach started to hurt...then I was in the water...floating away…”

T’Challa nods.  “Don’t think about it too much right now.”

You turn your head towards your cup of water, motioning for more.  T’Challa obliges without missing a beat.

“So are you just going to sit here and watch me sleep then?”

T’Challa shrugs.  “It’s the only thing I feel like doing at the moment.”

“That’s boring.”  You quip.

T’Challa snickers.  “Maybe to you.  This is the most excitement I’ve gotten all week.”

You scoff.  “The fight yesterday wasn’t fun enough for you?”

T’Challa pauses, looking around to search for words to reply with.

“What’s wrong, Chacha?”  You ask suspiciously.

“Nothing.  I don’t have anything to say to that.”

You take your hand away from him.  “You don’t want to talk to me, but you want to see me.  I’m not understanding you right now, man.”

“I would love to talk to you about so much, but-”

“What happened to Erik after the fight?”  You interrupt.

T’Challa stammers.  “That’s not the subject I’m looking to dig into.”

You rub your temples.  “But you are King, right?”  He nods.  “God, then he is dead.”

“What?!  Why are you thinking that?”  T’Challa asks, surprised.

“It’s yield, or death right?  Which I did not know before saying you could fight.  I thought there’d be a ref and rules.  Last thing on my mind was a death match.”

“I think it was implied when he took you hostage, death was on the table as consequence.”  T’Challa says in a low serious voice.

“Don’t take that tone with me!   I was there, I know how dire it was!”  You exclaim in anger.

“No, love, I didn’t mean to offend you.  I was just saying, I was prepared to risk my life to keep him from hurting you and Wakanda.”

“How would I go on without you? Huh?  You weren’t thinking straight to make that kind of decision.”

“You told me to go-”

“I wanted you defend yourself, that’s it!  Get some licks in for me, and keep it moving.”

T’Challa leans on his knees holding his head.  “You aren’t making sense.”

“Well maybe it’s the pregnancy talking, but I have a lot of shit to work through right now.  I want you to be able to hang in here with me while I do that.”

“I’m here, I will.  It’s just that-”  

Shuri knocks on the door, walking in at the same time.  “Hello you two!  Are you feeling good (Y/N)?”

You fold your arms.  “I’ve been better.  Your brother is being extremely annoying because he doesn’t want me to talk to him.”

“I didn’t say that!”  T’Challa whines.

Shuri smiles as she takes out a tablet to scroll through.  “Sounds a lot like him though, so I believe it.  I could open a second vibranium mine shaft for ever time he’s told me to shut it.”

“Aye!”  T’Challa scolds her.  

Shuri reaches into a pouch to pull out two containers of pills.  “Have her take the blue ones for discomfort, the red ones are vitamins.  She’ll still feel weak for a few more days.”

“Are those safe to take with the baby?”  You ask, reaching your hand out to look at the pills.  Shuri looks over at T’Challa and back to you before handing them to T’Challa.  “The instructions are these as far a frequency and overdose warnings, and the like.  I’m glad to see you’re finally back with us (Y/N).”  Shuri shoots T’Challa a look before leaving the room.

“I know she heard me...A few hours sleeping and it’s like I’ve been gone forever.”  You chuckle a little as T’Challa reads the bottles.  

“How long do I have to take them, you think?”  You ask.

T’Challa’s forehead wrinkles in concentration.  “Until the bleeding stops, I assume.”

“Whoa, what?  Bleeding?  I’m bleeding, where??”  You push the blanket from you as quick as you can muster, but T’Challa holds your hands down.

“Stop it, (Y/N), you can’t move your body too fast.”  He orders you.

You look up at him, you body beginning to fill with rage.  “Why?  Why can’t I?  What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing life threatening, just please calm-”

“T’Challa, if you tell me to calm down, I will lose my shit for real.  Now back off of me!”  

T’Challa releases his grip on your arms finally.  You glare at him as you sit up, taking down your blanket to look over yourself.  You look at your body under your gown to see purple bruising across your abdomen.

“Oh God…”  You begin to swing your legs over the side of the bed.  T’Challa comes over to offer a hand to help you up but you swat him away, easing yourself to standing.  You lose your balance quickly as your leg give out a moment, but T’Challa catches you.

“God, it’s like I haven’t walked in weeks.”  You say out loud.  T’Challa remains silent as you walk holding his hand to go to a long mirror by the adjacent wall.  You stop short catching a glimpse of yourself looking haggard.  Your hair frizzy and matted, skin pale and eyes darkened around the edges, one eye looking bloodshot.  

You felt your spirit falling as you catch T’Challa’s reflection in the mirror, looking at you with pity.  No hope in his eyes, no reassuring smile or jokey tone to make you feel less ugly than you looked.  His face told you just about everything you would’ve forced him to say.

Your hands fall in front you you as you ease the gown up, catching the hem of the garment in your hands as you lift it up past your thighs, your pelvis.  You were wearing granny panties covered a portion of your stomach.  Letting down the waistband you see the deep, angry looking bruise the punctuated the impact of what happened to you

Suddenly you realized this whole time you felt nothing.  No pain, not even a flutter.  You touch your stomach, willing for that sign, anything to tell you that it wasn’t so, you were delusional.  It wasn’t gone, they didn’t leave you yet, that you weren’t alone.  

You hear T’Challa saying something, but you can’t listen to his words.  A sensation comes from you between your legs that catches your attention but not what you hoped.  Looking in your underwear, you see a pad filled with blood.  

“T’Challa, call Shuri, uhh...I’m-I found the bleeding.”

“Umhle….”  T’Challa’s voice cracks.

You grab his arm, feeling dazed.  “The...the blood, it’s here.  We can’t lose Bean.”

“It’s too late, it’s been days since.”  He says.

“Bean...my beanie baby...I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”  You sob, tears painting your face as emotion stretched your features agonizing angles.

“You didn’t!  You did nothing wrong!”

“T’Challa!! Call somebody!!  We need help!”  You scream so loud, a couple of Dora run in to survey the situation.  When it became clear you were hysterical, 

 Shuri and a couple of her lab team members came in to try and calm you.  But there was no calm left in you to manage.  It was taken from you and left you empty.  Your hopes and dreams got the best of you, and the world repaid your ignorance tenfold.

Masterlist

RagTag

@sweetpeachjones@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@universalbri @therevolution-willbelive@you-like-this-chain @sarcastic-sunshines@airis-paris14@afraiddreamingandloving@kreolemami@lalapalooza718 @syreanne@thiccdaddy-mbaku@she-is-golden @wakanda-inspired@90sinspiredgirl@bidibidibombaclaat@sithlordslut@brujademente@chaneajoyyy@slimmiyagi @lewatigress @shesakillerkween @queentearra @fiercedeception @yaachtynoboat711 @yofavcocoa @katasstrophey @zxddy-panther @babygirlofwakanda@destinio1  @heyauntieeee @ambthegamer @savageiz@klaine15689 @nickidub718 @dramaqueenamby

[justaramblingromantic]

Beware of Cat

Characters/Pairing: Tsukasa Eishi, Kobayashi Rindou /EiRin

Type: Aristocats!inspired AU, Freestyle

Word Count: 1366

A/N: Whenever I come across cat videos on tumblr (impossible not to), I think about what to do with this verse...!

The huntress had found her target. She was crouched low, completely silent, her slit pupiled eyes focused sharply on the back of her unwitting prey. Her prey was not an elusive quarry to hunt, but still a certain amount of expertise was required...or it would not be fun now, would it? Her tail twitched back and forth with intrigue and anticipation as she silently bid her time, waiting for the best opportunity to strike. Slowly, unnoticeably, she slunk forward, little by little, inch by inch, her claws carefully sheathed, her paw pads making nary a sound-

Her target straightened suddenly, looking warily around, and she stilled, hunkering down until her belly was touching the ground, out of sight once more. Minutes ticked by, and she held herself so motionless that not even a twitch of her furry ear or a blink of her gold eyes betrayed her presence. Her careful effort paid off, for eventually, her previously spooked prey slowly relaxed, sitting on its haunches and blinking tiredly-

She started to stalk forward again, her shoulder blades rising and falling in pronounced, deliberate tandem as she picked up speed. She was in top form. She was deadly grace. She was killing perfection. The hour was now. The time was ripe!

With a powerful, uncoiling stride, the mighty huntress leapt into the air and stretched out to her full length with a triumphant roar, agilely springing upon her target with a precise glee. Death from above!!

“Gotcha!!!”

Eishi nearly jumped out of his skin at the victorious meow that had abruptly cut through what had (previously) been a quiet afternoon. The skittish Turkish Angora instinctively twisted around with lithe, reactive speed, rolling onto his back in surprise, claws coming out to defend himself from the incoming ball of red fur…though it wasn’t him in particular that she had jumped on.

Correction; it wasn’t all of him, at least.

The Somali happily pounced on the furry white tail of her housemate, pinning the fluffy, cloud like appendage down with her paws, and then she went on swiftly ‘murder’ it by sinking her sharp fangs into the tip.

“Ow! What are you-” Eishi hissed and scrambled to get away from the crazy feline. This was not the first time she had stalked his tail – it was only a few days since he had joined this strange clowder of cats but now he was very quickly realizing just why everyone sat around with their tails wrapped very neatly around themselves.

There was a serial tail biter on the loose.

“Rawr!!”

“Will you stop that?!”

He managed to knock her aside before she could really dig in and make him bleed. Again.

Eishi was not a happy camper. All he wanted to do was be left alone to contemplate his recent circumstances and feel sorry for himself but this other feline in particular was refusing to leave him be to brood. He sputtered when the cat in question recovered easily from being pushed away and bounced back at him with undeterred enthusiasm. She bumped into him and sent him careening onto the ground again, and she tripped over his flailing limbs and flopped on him. She also trod all over him, still determined to capture her elusive prize that was coincidentally sticking out of his rear end waving about like an enticing flag. He meowed unhappily.

The two cats scuffled and rolled across the floor, and it quickly became obvious which was the one more use to roughhousing; the red Queen was very much dominating this ‘friendly’ tussle. She chirruped and did a small little pounce onto his tail again, and then she finally caught it deftly between her forepaws and stilled it by putting it between her fangs, not exactly biting down, but holding it in her mouth and keeping it captive, looking very proud of herself for having caught her prey.

Tucked safely away in various favorite nooks around the café, the other cats watched the commotion with varying levels of interest, some relieved that the rambunctious Somali had found herself a new toy to bother, while apathetic others could hardly care less what was going on.

Eishi glowered quietly at the other feline holding his tail hostage.

“Are you done?” he asked her. “Please give my tail back.”

She tilted her head at him, as if she didn’t quite understand him. She shook her head at him.

“Sh’mhine!” she told him in a muffled mumble around the fluffy, tufty mass in her mouth. “I kaud’eet! Orr ohn myne ohwn!”

He was very nonplussed by her ridiculous reply. He tried tugging his appendage back, but no. She had it sandwiched very firmly between her jaws. “Are you still a kitten?” he demanded to know, and she just gave him a prim look, radiating smugness in a way that silently implied that she knew that she was in the right and that nothing he said could change her mind. He was very tempted to swipe at her just to get her to let go, but also knew from precious experience as well as observations of her interactions with the other cats that she had a way of rolling right over you (sometimes quite literally) and still doing whatever she wanted in the end, so it was quite futile going against her. They were at an impasse.

And the new cat really did not have energy or the spirit to fight her, upset as he was.

Rindou watched the other feline literally wilt into a depressed puddle in front of her. She looked very bemused by his change of state (both physically and emotionally). Whitey sure was quite a funny guy, if he wasn’t so glum and moody all the time.  

“Waii dyu wook sho unhwapphy?”

“…”

It turned out that ignoring her was just the thing to get her to stop her wild shenanigans. She dropped his tail at last, curiosity once again dictating her responses. She stood up and pattered closer to him, nosing him and lightly batting at him inquisitively. He had reeked of misery and antsy anxiety from the very first day he had been put here, and even though he was calming down a lot more now, he still leaked with distress every now and then. Most of the other felines in the compound instinctively kept their distance, but that was not so for Rindou. She really, really really wanted to know what was up with him.

“Why are you so sad?” she nosed him some more, nudging him a bit when he still refused to respond. Was he hurt somewhere? But there was no smell of blood, so that did not seem to be the case… She circled him once, twice, and then she finally settled down beside him after her third circuit. “It’s no fun ‘ta be sad all the time, ya know.”

He looked at her dully. “…Please leave me alone.”

He was homesick for a place that he could no longer return to, grieving for a master who was no longer of this world. He did not expect this weird, crazy cat to understand the trauma that he had gone through the last couple of weeks, and neither was he in any mood to expose the rawness of his pain for the sake of satisfying the idly curious. He wanted to go home, but had been made to come to terms with the stark understanding that home was…here…now, amongst all these strange felines he did not seem to have any affinity for…

But this oddball Somali, she was a bit different from the others. Instead of giving him space like he obviously wanted, she had put herself right in his personal bubble instead, being very annoyingly distracting and making it very difficult for him to be one with his depressing thoughts.

“…Why are you doing this?” he asked her blankly, uncomprehending.

Because now she was making herself quite comfortable beside him. In fact, she was even starting to groom herself…and then, as if in afterthought…she started grooming him, too. She peered at him with her bright gold eyes.

“Huh? Whaddya mean ‘why?’ ‘Coz being alone when you’re sad really sucks, of course!”