#ran's not the only person who's difficult to deduce | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marycecilyy · 3 years ago

Note

Hey could you do headcanons for the mcl guys (or if not all of them castiel, armin, and kentin) when their S/O is a famous singer? Thank you❤

Oh god this turned out so longer than I expected huahahushaushu

First of all, these are too long to be headcanons, all three of them have more than 1k words each. Also, I changed a bit the prompt. It's more like "Candy has the dream of becoming a famous singer". The rest you'll see... I'll only say that I'm very proud of this one ;)

Castiel, Armin and Kentin with a Candy that wishes to be a famous singer

Castiel

Castiel wasn’t one to be friendly to new students, but he knew you weren’t like any other when you came to him and asked if Winged Skull was one of his favorite bands too. He was shocked to know that there was another person at Sweet Amoris who enjoyed the same bands as him. Yes, bands (in plural). After he answered that, yes, Winged Skull was his favorite band of all times, you started talking about your common interests and discovered that there were many.

He was a very closed off guy, but somehow you managed to break into his skull in a short time and, in a few months, you turned into best friends.

When Debrah came back and that whole situation happened, your fight with Castiel had a lot of impact over you. In your head, you had just lost your best friend forever. Fortunately. Lysander not only helped you recover from the blow and gave you energy to gather your friends and expose Debrah, but also helped you admit to yourself that, you did have feelings for Castiel.

Once she was unmasked and ran away like a coward, things quickly came back to normal. In less than one week, you had restored your reputation, your friends apologized for misjudging you, Castiel and you were once again friends. The only difference was that you knew that you were in love with him.

You didn’t tell him about your feelings right away, you decided to keep your friendship and focus a bit on your lifelong goal: become a music star. You started learning how to sing properly and doubled the days of your guitar lessons. Castiel even helped you get into the music club (they were full when you got into Sweet Amoris, but he found a way to enroll you).

You knew that your chances of actually becoming famous were pretty low, the market was difficult and depended a lot on having the right contacts. That was why, while you tried putting your name out there, your plan was to get a degree in music as soon as you finished high school. Antheros Academy offered a good education and was close, it was your best option.

As you channeled your energies towards your goal, Castiel started to acknowledge his own sentiment towards you. He liked to watch your focused face as you tuned your guitar and your singing voice earned a sweet accent all of the sudden. He always considered you a special girl, but, to his surprise, feelings were starting to develop inside his closed off chest.

That was why, as soon as he won those concert tickets on a raffle, he knew he’d take you there as your first date. Luckily for him, you accepted right away. Castiel had a feeling that night would be something else.

And it really was, as he kissed you, without even thinking it through, when the vocalist sung what he knew was your favorite tune. When you kissed him back, he wrapped his hands over your waist and lifted you up, feeling your warm lips open up for him.

The months that followed were full of bliss. With you and Castiel officially dating, the school had a lot to talk about. Amber pestered you quite a bunch of times, but that didn’t mess with your relationship at all. Everything was perfect, as it was supposed to be.

But that didn’t last long. Right after you finished high school, your dad had to move to another town because of his job and you had no choice but to go too. You were sure that your relationship would survive the distance, after all, you were in love. This situation would be worked out.

Castiel came to your new house a couple of times and you two called frequently, but in the end distance started to grow between the both of you… and it hurt. Knowing that Castiel was sad made you miserable and you decided to break up before it became unbearable.

You lost your count of how many nights you cried thinking about him.

4 years later.

You were zipping your jeans up when you heard a knock on your dressing room’s door. Who could it be? Your parents had already congratulated you over the phone, there was no one supposed to come that night. Did your manager schedule a press interview for after the show?

You put on your shirt and told whoever was on the other side to wait. When you finally opened the door, your jaw almost fell. You couldn’t believe he was there.

He looked exactly like in the magazines, (a bit less photoshopped, but that was to expect. You went through that as well and it sucked). His hair was shoulder-length and he wore a black shirt that showed off the tattoos up to the middle of his arm. He wore some light makeup, most on his skin, which you deduced his manager made him put on. Castiel looked like you expected him to after all those years, but one thing about him surprised you.

His eyes, although more mature and serious, had the same brightness as before.

"Are ya going to keep staring like that?” He asked and you noticed you had just been looking at him for a solid minute.

“Sorry. Come in.” You said and made space for him to enter the room. For your luck, there was nothing private to be seen, you had the habit of leaving your clothes and personal belongings messy and only cleaning up the second you had to go.

Castiel cleared his throat. An awkward silence hung between you. You hadn’t been alone with each other ever since the breakup. You two were two of the biggest stars of nowadays rock music, but you barely had any opportunity to talk. Not that you haven’t tried, it was the opposite. You avoided contact. Your fans knew you had dated in high school (you used to have pictures on your personal instagrams and fans were quick to dig over old accounts to find information about their idols), so they never expected a feat or any kind of collab. Everyone knew that you weren’t on best terms.

You remembered just a couple of days ago, when you were interviewed for one of those talk shows. The host made a lot of personal questions about Castiel and even asked if you would get back with him if you had the chance. You tried to avoid answering, but the public instantly read your unconscious signs: yes, you would.

That was why, you assumed, he was there. To make things clear. After all, because of you yours and his fans started shipping you two and got you on twitter’s trending topics. He probably was pissed. There was also a possibility of him wanting to take advantage of the situation, maybe propose a fake relationship? No, that wasn’t like him. Or was it? You barely knew him anymore.

“So… you probably guessed why I’m here. I saw your interview” You were right, then. “And I want to make things clear.” Ouch. You should prepare for the blow. “Look, we both know time has passed and we’re not the same as before. You broke up to avoid more suffering, and I get that. I really do.”

Castiel crossed his arms and glared at you. You looked back at him with fear, fear of knowing what his next words would be. “But...?” You asked.

“Tsk.” He huffed. This would be more difficult than he thought. “Look, little girl…” You felt a shiver run through your spine at the sound of the old nickname he gave you. You had always loved it, even though you didn’t say it out loud. After what felt like hours, he continued. “I don’t want to be cheesy, that’s not like me. So I’ll just say that if what all of the fans are theorizing is true.... If you do want to try again....”

Castiel took your hand and you jumped in surprise. He turned your palm to him and grabbed a pen from his back pocket. He wrote down a phone number on your hand and let go of it, capped the pen and turned around to go.

"That's my personal number. It’s pretty useful if you wanna call me without having to schedule an appointment with my manager.” You managed to laugh. You knew exactly how these things were annoying.

Inside, you were bursting with excitement. However, you answered playfully “Hm…. I’ll think about it, mr. Rockstar” Castiel chuckled and excused himself, saying that his manager would get pissed at him if he took too long. You smiled.

Maybe it was not over, after all.

Armin

When you told Armin, very early on your friendship, that your dream was to become a famous singer, he got so excited for you. He already knew that you played the guitar and was good at singing, but he had no idea that you wanted to make this your career path.

You couldn’t have chosen a better partner. Being the tech nerd that Armin was, he helped you a lot in recording your covers with the best quality possible considering the amateur camera and microphone you had.

However, the times that his presence most comforted you was when you showed him your new songs. He was always eager to see your composing progress and gave you pure honesty in his feedback, keeping in mind that he was no expert but still wanted to help you.

You always asked him for a way to return his favors, but he always said that it was his duty as your best friend to support you and that it was more than enough having you to talk about all his geek interests.

As time passed, you started to notice that you liked him way more as a friend. Without an idea of what to do, you asked Rosa and Alexy for advice. They were your closest friends apart from your crush (and you couldn’t run to him in that situation, duh)

After a dozen pro tips and date ideas from them, you decided to take Armin to the movies (basic, you knew, but couldn’t go wrong).

When you asked him if he was available Saturday night, you didn’t say properly “Hey, we’re going on a date”. Actually, you didn’t mention the word “date” at all, hoping that he would read between the lines.

And he did, because as soon as you sat and the film started, Armin grabbed your hand that was resting in the armrest and entwined your fingers. You couldn’t pay attention to what was going on screen at all and your attention was completely drawn from the movie when the boy grabbed your chin and brought your lips to his.

You only stopped kissing when the lights went on and the credits started scrolling.

“Hey…” You asked as soon as you two left the place, holding hands with him. “What was the movie about again?”

Armin laughed out loud. He teased you about it a lot before you made him confess that he didn’t know either.

A few days later, it was him who asked you out. You kept going on dates for the next week, all of them simple but interesting at the same time. However, you two weren’t dating. The whole school knew there was something going on between you two by the chuckles and timid kisses when you thought nobody saw them, but you didn’t make things official… yet. But that was about to change.

It was friday and you invited Armin over to “study” (he was sure that the afternoon would be spent between videogames and kisses, but if you wanted to call it a study session, it was okay for him).

As he comfortably sat on your bed as if it were his own, you told him to wait as you brought him some juice. When you came back, he was already grabbing his nintendo switch from his bag.

“What makes you think that we’re here to game?” You teased, handing him the glass.

“Come on, Candy, we both know that none of us are interested in learning orbital hybridization…”

“Maybe I am. I really need a good grade on those tests.” You approached him and held his jaw up so your foreheads touched. With a trailed voice, you continued. “Unless you have something more interesting to do in mind...”

Armin opened up that playful smile of his. “Oh, I do, actually.” In a quick movement that caught you off guard, he threw you in bed and started pampering you with kisses all over your face. You couldn’t stop laughing from how his hands tickled your belly, but you managed to stop him. “W-Wait, Armin!”

He looked at you, confused. “What?”

As you caught your breath, you explained that there was something you wanted to show him first. You got off the bed and went to grab your guitar that was hung up on the free wall of your bedroom.

“Did you compose a new song?” Armin deducted as you sat in front of him again, this time with your guitar in hands.

“You’ll see.” You tuned your instrument under his curious gaze. When you felt satisfied with the sound, you looked back at him. Armin didn’t miss the blush that coloured your cheeks. “I know you’d never do it, but I have to ask even so: promise you won’t laugh.”

You started playing the first chords of the song you had finished composing just a few days before. Usually, you composed simple songs that anyone could identify with, songs about friendship, inspiration, changing the world. You never wrote about your personal feelings. The notes never made you cry.

This song was special, though, because it was about him.

The day it hit you that you had feelings for him, you had the idea of writing random verses that could one day fit into a new song. After your first date, you felt so overwhelmed that, looking at the words, you decided to turn them into a song. You didn’t think it would turn into something so personal and emotional. Every note, every word, everything was clearly about him, that dorky geek you had fallen in love with.

Falling deeper every time

I can’t help but think, oh my

I’m through, but I don’t mind

Would you trade you 2D girls

For this hopeless lover

That just wants your heart?

I’ll just say that he got the message very clearly and, as soon as you finished playing, he practically jumped on you, kissing your lips with such tenderness that you almost teared up.

Of course, he asked you to be his girlfriend XD

Kentin

The first time he heard about your dream, he was still little Ken. It was one of your first days at Sweet Amoris and you two were eating cookies in the staircase. You were ranting about how sad you were that the music club was already full and you couldn’t join. Ken asked you the reason why you were so upset.

“Well… There weren’t those kind of classes in our old school. Learning how to play an instrument and sing, even during extra classes would be so cool! If I went well, maybe I’d be able to convince my dad to pay me for some private classes and then I’d be one step closer to my dream!”

“Your dream?” Ken muttered.

“Yeah! I want to become a famous singer in the future! I know that it’s impossible and even kinda silly, but-”

“No, Candy! It’s not silly at all!” Ken said. Learning more about you made him happy and he didn’t want you to think for even a second that your dream was worthless. “You shouldn't be ashamed of dreaming big. You’ll have a long, difficult path to walk through, but when you get there - and you have my word on that - I’ll be cheering for you!”

“Ken... “ You flashed your best smile at him. It meant a lot to you to have his support, he was a kind person and a very good friend (he did cross a few limits with his adoration for you, but you weren’t bothered by it). You liked being around him a lot.

-x-

“Kentin!” You threw yourself in his arms and gave him a tender kiss. “Good morning.”

Your boyfriend chuckled and held your hand, walking with you through the hallway. You talked about how your weekend had been and, between light smiles and sweet kisses, you thought of how quickly things changed between you two.

When he came back from military school, a lot of things had changed in him, including his nickname. You were facing a new person and it had been a challenge discovering Kentin and building a new relationship with him.

Even though he was a different person from before, one thing didn’t change at all and you noticed it clearly: he still liked you. Obviously he was no longer that guy who professed his feelings to everyone and followed you everywhere, he had found new ways to show you his love. You enjoyed that more mature version of him, but wished he had the opportunity to grow into a man without all the trauma he went through. You knew that most of his growth had been through suffering, and that upset you.

You didn’t know when, but somewhere into your friendship you started to grow feelings for him too. After some coaxing from Rosa and Alexy, you managed to ask him out on an official date.

The whole school already knew that Kentin was head over heels for you, but everyone was shocked to know that you loved him back as your relationship became official.

“Hey, love.”

“What?” You asked your boyfriend back as soon as you got in front of your lockers. You started looking for your books, checking that day’s classes.

“I really liked that video you posted on youtube yesterday. I never heard that song before, did you compose it yourself?”

The book you held in your hand fell to the ground. “What video?” You whispered, eyes wide.

“What do you mean, babe? That video of you singing and playing the guitar. You uploaded it yesterday night. I saw right away, you know I have my notifications turned on to all your videos. I got surprised that you decided to finally show your face and sing something of your own and- Candy? Is everything okay?”

Kentin noticed your face and got worried for you. You looked absolutely terrified.

“That video… How did you see it? I posted it as private”

“No, you didn't. It was public.” Kentin was starting to understand why you were so surprised. He put one hand on your back as you blushed and hid your face on his chest in embarrassment.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I did that! I’m so stupid! The first time I record something like that, I accidentally post it for everyone to see! Dumb, dumb Candy! Dang, now everyone’s gonna know I’m bad!”

“First of all.” Your boyfriend frowned, bringing you close to him. “You’re not dumb, you just made a mistake. And it’s okay, probably just a few people saw it. Last time I checked was before I went to sleep and it only had 20 views. But why are you so upset, Candy? Didn’t you tell me a few days ago that you were finally ready to show your face along with the covers. Did something happen to change your mind?”

“Well, I was not ready to show right away, especially not in a video that I looked terrible in. And it’s not just that. It was my first original song. I never showed it to anyone, what if it sucks?”

Kentin held your chin up and looked you in the eyes. “Candy, it doesn’t suck and you look great in the video!” You closed your eyes and snuggled close to him. “But I understand your concerns. Luckily, that can be solved if you delete the video. You’ll have other opportunities to get famous, and with better videos.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” You reached for your phone and went to your youtube page. “Fu... No way…!”

Your hands trembled. Kentin was right, the video had few views (which was good). Only 50 people had seen it, but the problem wasn’t that. For your bad luck, one of those people had been Amber. You knew that because she had left three comments on your video.

AmberOfficial: lmaooooo

AmberOfficial: Thank you for the laughs. That’s hilarious

AmberOfficial: Just give up already, looser

“That girl....” Kentin grunted, looking at your phone screen. “I swear to you, Candy, I’ll make her regret this. I’ll-”

“You don’t need to, I’m fine.”

You untangled your arms from his torso and started walking away, trying your best to hide how upset you really were. Amber was right, your music sucked. You should give up on your dream of becoming a famous singer, not only because you were bad, but also because you could barely show your face to a few people without feeling like shit. You wouldn’t be able to deal with fame.

Kentin tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. He figured you needed some time alone. He could use that time to think of something to support you and get back at Amber.

-x-

You walked out of the bathroom, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You had already deleted the video, but you couldn’t stop feeling stupid for getting so upset by a few bad comments. And feeling stupid made you even more upset.

When you got to the hallway, it was empty due to classes having already started. You probably spent half an hour locked up, but at least no one would mess with you.

You went to the garden to get some fresh air and wait until the next class started. You sat at the bench, breathed in and finally calmed down a bit.

“Candy.”

You turned around, surprised to see your boyfriend. “Kentin! What are you doing here? Classes have already started.”

He just waved his hand in a “don’t worry about that” way and sat beside you. He kissed your cheek and took your hand, checking how you were. Seeing that you seemed to be more calm, he smiled lightly at you. “So… I talked to Armin. He already found out Amber’s password and he’ll hack into Amber’s youtube account. He’ll just mess with it for a bit, delete some videos and upload some random stuff. Nothing too bad, I promise, just some memes and rickrolls.”

“Hmm…” You muttered, thinking about what he said. It wasn’t right, for sure, but you didn’t feel like stopping them. You were still hurt. “Okay. Just promise you two won’t do something serious, okay?”

He agreed. You felt a bit better, but that wasn’t enough to lift your mood and Kentin knew that. That was why he also had something else prepared. "That 's not all. I did some quick search for places where you could record that music of yours with its deserved quality. You are a good composer, Candy, believe it. Your talent doesn’t have to stay hidden in a dark room with only you, a guitar and your cellphone recording it.”

“Kentin…”

“If you want to, I’ll help you rent a studio and record your song. That would be very useful for your portfolio. I know that’s expensive, but we can find ways to-” You cut him off with a kiss. He cared about you so much, to the point of skipping classes to think of ways to make you feel better. You loved your boyfriend so much…

Lucky. You felt lucky to have him.

“I love you. Thank you for taking care of me... “ You kissed his cheek, happy to have his support. That was more than enough at that moment, Amber’s words were far behind you. All that mattered was that you could go through this.

You had Kentin, and when you had him, you had your whole world holding you so you wouldn’t fall.

#my candy love #mcl headcanon #mcl hcs #my candy love headcanons #mcl writing #writing #my writing #my candy love writing #castiel #my candy love castiel #mcl castiel #mcl armin #mcl kentin #my candy love kentin #fluff #mcl #2nd person pov #headcanons #hcs

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homoose · 4 years ago

Text

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’ for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminals minds self insert #dr spencer reid #professor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #homoose writes

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 3 years ago

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Here is my little drabble for Writer Wednesday @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Armitage Hux x GN!Reader

Warnings: Soulmate Au. This is me, angst. Pain. Mentions of an accident.

Word Count: 1541

Soulmates. Everyone wants one, everyone wants to find that extra special person they spend the rest of their life with but it’s so difficult when all you have to go on is the last words they ever say to you tattooed on your body. You had poured over yours for years wondering what it meant, everyone had this vision of spending their whole lives with the right person but fate never worked out that way. You’d given up anyway, everyone was destined to meet their soulmate at some point, it was just a case of when.

You stared at the tin of soup in your hands, you hated shopping. No one told you as an adult you’d have to feed yourself at least once a day if not more and you’d have to think about it and cook it. Every. Damn. Day. The sound of the tin hitting the bottom of your basket rang out loudly and you looked up hoping not to have disturbed anyone in the quiet shop. There was only one other person near you, a tall gentleman smartly dressed in a suit and he certainly looked too well put together to be shopping here. You looked back at the shelf but the urge to look at him more was almost overwhelming and you ducked your head, turning slightly so you could see him out of your peripheral vision. His shoes were smart and shiny, his suit a rich black, the shirt crisp and white creating the perfect contrast. He shifted slightly and you got a good look at his profile, high cheekbones and light green eyes that were looking at you. He was looking at you. Oh shit. Embarrassment made you feel hot and uncomfortable so you quickly walked round to the next aisle, standing in front of the fridge of ready meals and hoping it would cool you down. You grabbed a lasagne and dumped it in your basket trying to think of what else you needed but nothing was coming to mind.

“Hi.” You flinched and looked up momentarily speechless. His bright red hair fell over his brow, his eyes were intense as they looked at you, a slight smirk tugged at his pink lips and you found yourself thinking he was the most gorgeous person alive.

“I…um….oh….sorry….hi.” You muttered, feeling the heat creep under the skin on your face wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Can I…?” He pointed at the meals you were blocking from him and realisation washed over you.

“Oh! Yes of course…sorry.” You sidestepped and watched as he reached across you to retrieve a packet of Macaroni cheese. He was close enough to smell and you couldn’t help but breathe him in, the brush of his jacket swiped your arm making goosebumps race over your skin and you shivered slightly. “Good choice.” His head turned to you and you wished you could just keep your mouth shut but when you felt uncomfortable you always spouted nonsense. And now you felt you had to talk yourself out of this. Your eyes rose to meet his amused gaze and before you knew it you were babbling. “I mean I like that meal too…I chose a lasagne today though. I hate cooking, it’s such a chore. I mean…I’m not being nosy…sorry I ramble…..” You were drowning in air. What was wrong with you? You shifted the basket to your other arm and stuck your hand out offering your name. To your surprise he took it, his skin smooth and soft but his handshake was firm and sure in your grip.

“I’m Armitage. Armitage Hux.”

“Hi,” you breathed, caught up in the open expression on his face as his eyes studied your features. You snapped your hand away, realising you've been holding it for far too long. “I haven’t seen you here before. I mean not that I make a point of scouting the men that come in here, it’s just….” You gestured to him. “You kind of stand out. In a good way!” You almost yelled, your eyes wide. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t walked away yet, just standing here looking at you holding his macaroni cheese and sandwich.

“I haven’t seen you here before either.”

“Oh. Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, a numbness was creeping over your brain and it was making you feel sluggish and even more stupid.

“Have you lived in this area long?” He asked. He wanted to keep the conversation going. You raised an eyebrow in surprise expecting him to run in the opposite direction long ago.

“A while, the days just kind of all slip into one another, what with work and then coming home to an empty flat and cooking.”

“You live alone?” He enquired.

“Oh I mean I have like 6 housemates and they’re all burly body guards….you’re not a murderer are you?” His laugh was loud and rich and you smiled nervously.

“No I am not, sorry I was trying to deduce if you were single or not.” Oh.

“I am so very single…” you murmured.

“Then you wouldn’t say no if I asked you out to dinner?” Your brain stuttered, your thoughts scattering, fleeing, leaving you utterly thoughtless and your mouth opened but no sound came out. “You know, what with you hating cooking and all….” He trailed off. “You can say no…”

“No! I mean yes! I mean I’d like that.” You smiled slightly as the nerves twisted your stomach into a million knots. “I hate cooking so, yes. I would really like that.” He smiled and it changed his whole face softening that intense demeanour he had just moments before.

“What do you like to eat? I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”

“Oh, I am so indecisive….” You looked him over again and realised you were judging where he’d like to go by the way he was dressed. He could like a greasy burger from a fast food joint for all you knew. “Somewhere that does chips?” He nodded.

“That’s good, I like chips too.” You smiled shyly as he looked at his watch, his mouth pulling down in surprise. “Damn I need to go, my meeting started 5 minutes ago.”

“Wait!” You dug around in your bag quickly scribbling your number down. “Here, otherwise knowing my luck we’d never find each other again.”

“I promise I’ll message you as soon as I can!” You followed him to the tills, noticing he placed your number in the pocket inside his jacket and a warm sensation began to expand through your chest. He paid and turned to you. “Enjoy your lasagne for a family of five. I’ll be seeing you,” he breathed close to your ear with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

“You bet I will!” You called after him. Both of you smiled at one another before the door closed after him. You frowned, something he said made your mind race.

“Miss, are you ready to pay?” Said the cashier but you didn’t hear her as a cold sensation ran through your body, the basket crashed to the floor at your feet, falling from your numb hands. Everything was muted, like your ears were stuffed with cotton wool, your hands shook as you pulled back your sleeve to see the words scribbled on the inside of your wrist:

I’ll be seeing you.

“No….” You were aware someone was trying to talk to you but all you could think of was to get to Armitage. Your legs moved but they were slow, too slow. The door to the shop opened and you saw him stop in the middle of the road, looking down at his wrist. You wanted to shout at him, scream his name but your throat had closed up. He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours and you saw the realisation dawn on his face. He took a step towards you, his mouth open to say something when a waft of air ruffled your hair and he wasn’t there anymore. The screech of tyres rendered the air around you, tears already sliding unbidden down your cheeks. People shoved past you, voices rose in panic but you didn’t register any of it. He had been right there, just seconds ago. His red hair glinting in the sun, his green eyes full of concern for you. But he was the one who had been taken. You flinched as your wrist burned, the writing of the last thing your soulmate would ever say to you began to fade. Everything about him was being erased making your heart flutter in your chest. It pained you to think your soulmate had been around all this time and as soon as you met him, a cruel twist of fate took him from you. Turning away from the accident you found your feet moving, leading you down an alleyway where you stumbled. Your legs gave way and you fell to your knees as the pain of your soul splitting in half engulfed you. A cry ripped your chest echoing against the walls heightening the anguish you were feeling to an almost unbearable pitch. He had been right there…and now he was gone.

#soulmate au #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux fanfic #modern armitage hux #armitage hux fanfiction #armitage hux x you #armitage hux #angst #pain #mention of an accident #writerwednesday #my writing #mylifeisactuallyamess #A Brief Moment in Time #autumn leaves1991 blog #clydesducktape

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talldarkandroguesome · 2 years ago

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4th of Last Seed, Turdas

It was difficult to leave. It always is. I feel like I never have enough time with my son and I want so badly to have that time with him.

It is only made worse in that I do not know how long this task will take.

Sure, it will get me away from all of the Council nonsense, but at what cost to Sildras? I think I have made a mistake in my choices. Yet there is no turning back. I know it would be wrong to go against the will of any part of Almsivi, but for that chance to be with my son just a bit more....

There is no use being upset about it though, I suppose I am here now, on my way to Serk. I had been planning to check into matters in Stonefalls first, that I might trace the origins into Deshaan, but after learning that Almalexia had already sent several people to do the same and they had found that it was making its way into Deshaan at the gate outside of Serk, it seemed as though perhaps I should head there first.

I recall, not so very long ago, when Sildras and I were traveling through that part, that there was much talk of illness and that there were fears of this disease in Narsis as well. At the time, things had not looked too poorly, yet as I arrived in Narsis today, the guards were turning people away who were not residents of the city or on official business. I explained my reason to them and told me that they were mostly free of the disease in town and wished to keep it that way. That the plague victims had been sent to Serk because a group had set up a quarantine hospital or something of the like there. They said that they had discovered a cure and that they were asking for all ill persons in the area to be brought there to recover.

I did not stay in Narsis long, for I knew that the healers in Serk, if they had truly discovered a cure, would have far more information available to me than any other source. I was very excited to meet these diligent healers who were putting themselves into harm’s way to help the people of our lands.

I was heading out of town to try and reach Serk by morning, when one of the merchants, who had overheard me speaking with one a guard ran up to me and handed me a notice she had found on her market stall just a couple days ago. She said that she was going to be taking her family soon and showed me what the Maulborn, as they called themselves, were offering.

It took me little time to deduce that they were probably not the healers I had expected. Of course Almalexia would not have sent me out if there was a cure so readily available. But more than a cure for those sick, they claimed to have a preventative treatment that would keep you from catching it at all.

The wording seemed to speak of a snake oil salesmer’s rhetoric and I was instantly suspicious. There were always people out there willing to capitalize on fear and desperation. This would be nothing new, though if the plague were as dangerous as warranted Almalexia sending me to investigate, it could be potentially devastating for false cures to be spread around. Who would bother staying away from the ill when they believed themselves invulnerable to it?

I suspected that Almalexia may have caught wind of this group’s claims and saw the devastation it may potentially bring to Morrowind. The sooner this blight were irradiated, the better.

I got permission from the merchant to take the notice with me and told her that, as good as it sounded, there might be little actual power in the mix. The merchant thought for a moment and said they would wait until they heard from their neighbor who had left with his family already to get the cure. If it worked for them she would follow suit.

Since it was clear that she would not be dissuaded, I thanked her for the notice and took my leave. There truly was little time to spare. And yet, I would need to sleep at some point. I had already pushed my guar to ride through one night, the poor thing needed some rest. so I traveled just a couple of hours on foot, leading Alsinif with me, before setting up camp. We will get a few hours of sleep and then proceed northward to Serk.

I was rereading the notice and there is something towards the end that I must have missed before. Something which disturbs me greatly.

At the very end, after the fearmongering about how the Houses and Almsivi do not have any answers to the plague issue, the nostrum trying to sell the reader on coming for this cure says that they give their word on this. Normally I would chalk it up to confidence in the product, someone who is trying to say that you can believe their every word about the wonders of this cure-all. However, its placement right in the same paragraph with the statements that the Houses and Almsivi have no answers, almost seems to point towards a more sinister connotation. How can they be so sure that the House and Almsivi do not have any answers for the populace?

I do not yet know what it means. Perhaps it is simply the fog produced by a fatigued mind. Let sleep offer me some clarity coming morning. Azura, enlighten me as to what is the truth. My Prince, allow me to see what is concealed. Boethiah, allow me the strength of arms to overthrow whatever corrupted power is at work here, if any.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

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Respite (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Twenty Three: Exhaustion

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Elias Bouchard, Rosie

Summary: Archiving is hard work, but someone’s got to do it.

Or, five people who caught Jonathan Sims sleeping on the job.

“Alright Jon, I think I’m going to head out-oh.”

Sasha had been gone for five minutes, tops. And yet here was Jonathan Sims, fast asleep in his chair and using her messenger bag as a pillow. And snoring.

They worked late into the night on some hunch Jon had - once he got on a research kick, there was no stopping him. Sasha wasn’t much better. They encouraged the worst in each other sometimes, but that’s how they got their sterling reputations as researchers. So this was not an unfamiliar scene.

But it was ten at night and Sasha had been looking forward to finally getting home, putting her feet up and knocking back a glass of wine or two. They had hit a dead end and wouldn’t be able to continue until tomorrow, anyway. Jon had begrudgingly agreed and she popped over to the bathroom only to return to...this.

It couldn’t be comfortable. Her bag was covered in buttons and pins, some particularly pointy. It wasn’t exactly clean either; it had been thrown on one too many questionable surfaces in the past few months. But Jon seemed comfortable, if his open mouth and the tiny bit of drool currently on the front pouch were anything to go by. Gross.

She contemplated waking him up. He would want to head home soon as well, the trains became entirely unpredictable the later it got and they boarded at the same station. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the dark shadows under his eyes, the small, wheezing breaths. The way his brow slightly furrowed even in sleep. The crankiness that increased as the week went on. If anyone deserved a quick rest, it was him.

Sasha had been in the job for three years before Jon came on. She cut her teeth in Artefact Storage for the first six months- initially she’d been excited to delve into the dangerous and mysterious objects they had on site, but that excitement quickly faded into dread after a week on the job. She got the first transfer out into research, much more her speed. She was steadily making her way up the ladder and was now trusted to train new hires and interns. Ergo, Jon.

When she first met him, she honestly thought he wouldn’t make it far. He was fresh out of college, twitchy and short-tempered with an intermittent stutter. She didn’t fault him for that of course, but that didn’t save him from the judgment of others. No one wanted to get within a mile of him until Sasha volunteered her services in a rare moment of pity. His hand was dry and shook in hers when they were introduced; he was clearly not used to touch, though surely he must have shaken many a hand by now.

Sasha was good at teaching, though she wasn’t very interested in it. “You should teach!” so many of her friends and family members said. Sasha hated being told what to do even more than she hated teaching.

Jon was a difficult student. He had constant questions that Sasha patiently answered. He did not take criticism well, once getting up and walking away for an hour after Sasha fixed his grammar. He couldn’t seem to focus, which was not at all promising in a career that demanded it. Still, she worked with him as a sort of pet project. If she could make a functioning researcher out of Jon, she could prove herself worthy of respect and perhaps a promotion or two herself. So she figured out how Jon ticked- what worked for him and what didn’t. It took some hard work but Jon opened up bit by bit, giving her more insight into the person he was. And he wasn’t all that bad, once you got past the prickly exterior. He was whip-smart with a dry, clever humor that Sasha could appreciate. When he got on the trail of something interesting, he followed it to the end with a dogged determination. Sasha found herself opening up in turn, talking to him about her past jobs in academia and her frustrations with the Institute. They had a lot in common, it turned out. Both were academics at their core, finding debate and discussion endlessly entertaining. They both had a soft spot for nice wine and greasy pub food. And they were both constantly underestimated and overlooked- Sasha, as a woman in her field with a tendency towards “aggressive behavior” which in any man would just be called confidence and expertise, Jon with his inability to read social situations, the stutter in his voice that undermined his points, and the painful earnestness in every word he said, no matter how pointed. So yes, they got on. He made her laugh. That was hard to do these days.

Five more minutes, she promised, sitting back down at the table with a fond look to her companion. Thirty minutes later she woke him up, smiling at his panicked embarrassment and laughing in exhilaration as they ran to the station, just barely making the last train.

___________

What does Elias think he’s playing at, putting this poor young man in charge of the Archives?

Rosie had worked at the Magnus Institute for two decades and had seen many a manager come and go. She was Elias’s first and only secretary, coming in a bright-eyed young girl and now a tired, disillusioned woman firmly in middle age. You see a lot of things at the Institute. Sometimes you have to turn a blind eye.

When Gertrude Robinson went missing, Elias handled the situation with a bizarre aloofness that Rosie felt no need to question. Questioning things got you in trouble around here. But when he told Rosie of his plans for Jonathan Sims, she had to stop herself from scoffing. She had seen the way Elias spoke to him, mentoring him in a way he never had with any other employee. Perhaps he just had a fondness for the boy, though she wasn’t sure what he had done to earn it. Jon never got used to Elias’s presence, constantly jumping at a hand on his shoulder and laughing nervously through any of their conversations. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so pitiful.

But to make him Head Archivist? The man had only been here four years, there were plenty of other researchers and staff members who had not only seniority but the credentials to match. Jonathan Sims had an Oxford pedigree, impressive to be sure, but in Literature and History. It didn’t help that he seemed one missing file away from a nervous breakdown at all times. And they were going to give him an entire department to manage? A department that was in shambles and hadn’t been properly handled in the last fifty or so years? Good luck, kiddo.

She had been a little short with him the day he took the position- she had a monster of a headache and he wasn’t exactly making it easy on her, what with his questions about Gertrude and his ridiculous little proclamations of “I don’t believe in ghosts!” But the sincere gratitude in his voice as he told her to thank Elias for the opportunity came back to her hours later. You have no idea what you’re in for. It seemed almost sadistic to put a man like that in charge of the Archives.

The situation never seemed to improve. From what little she saw of him in the hallways, he always looked haggard and on edge. When he stood in front of Elias’s door waiting to be let in for another meeting (Elias had been scheduling a lot of them as of late), his hands fidgeted and his feet shuffled. She felt bad for him, when she remembered to. She had twenty years to get used to Elias, but he seemed to get worse with every visit to his office.

It was with a reluctant sigh that she took the paperwork from Elias and headed down to the Archives. Just a few things that slipped my mind on the last visit, so sorry Rosie. It was the end of the day and she was punctual to a fault, meaning she very rarely stayed past five unless Elias requested it. Even the Archives were empty- the assistants had all filtered out earlier and her footsteps echoed in silence as she made her way to the Head Archivist’s office.

“Mr. Sims?” she called, immediately regretting the choice of name. It sounded unnatural coming out of her mouth. “Jon, are you in there?” There was no one in his desk chair, though his bag and coat were still accounted for. She was not about to do a scavenger hunt through the Archives, the place gave her the creeps and it got worse with each passing minute. She contemplated just leaving them on his desk when she saw a half-opened door labeled “Document Storage.” I’ll just peek in, can’t hurt.

“Jon?” she called again, creaking open the door and peering inside. It was not very well-lit; half of the lights were flickering like something out of a horror film. No one answered her. “Jon, if you’re here I have a few papers for you to sign. I’ll just leave them on your desk-” It was then she noticed a cot in the corner. That’s not allowed, she thought testily. It was rumpled- somebody had used it recently, she deduced. And then she looked down to the floor to find one leg sticking out from under the cot. She shrieked, grabbing at her chest as she slowly made her way over, unsure of whether she was about to die or if she had to call an ambulance.

She kneeled down gingerly, her legs trembling as she found one Jonathan Sims entangled with a small, tattered blanket and snoring softly, completely lost to the world. She sighed in relief and no small amount of irritation- the man had just taken about three years off her life, at least. And what was he doing under the cot? Such a strange thing, that Jonathan Sims.

She reached out and grabbed his arm, giving it a good shake. “Jon!” He kept right on sleeping, completely ignorant to her entreaties. She gave him another, harder shake- nothing. This is ridiculous. She leaned in closer and opened her mouth to give one last deafening shriek of his name. “Jon!”

That did the trick. Too well, one might say.

Jon immediately sat up, which wasn’t a good idea- he only had a few inches of room left under the bed and ended up slamming his head against the metal rungs and leaning back down with a cry. “Agh!” he squeezed his eyes shut as she reached out her hand in apology.

“God, I’m so sorry,” she babbled, patting his arm. “It’s just, you weren’t waking up and- are you alright?” His silence was worrying. Oh god, Elias is going to murder me if I’ve killed his Archivist.

“Yes,” he hissed, awkwardly sliding out from under the bed in a sort of shimmying motion and rubbing at his forehead. Luckily he hadn’t broken any skin, it was just red at the point of impact. “What on earth- ah, Rosie!” The instant switch in tone as his eyes focused on her form would be amusing in any other situation. “So sorry, d-did Elias need anything from me?”

She paused, considering the man in front of her. He looked bad, really bad, like call-the-doctor-bad. Thinner than ever with dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t had a good nights’ sleep in weeks, if ever. And that look in his eyes, the change in his voice as soon as he noticed her- Elias had sway even through proxy. Suddenly Mr. Sims was all eager-to-please, as if he hadn’t just been caught collapsed under a bed in sheer exhaustion.

“What are you doing under there?” is what she asked, though she did not mean to. She wasn’t really supposed to care about anyone in the institute and she’d done a good job of it thus far. But something about this situation felt off, even to her.

He ran a hand through messy hair (he’s going gray so young) and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Ah, just a- I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” He made no attempt to explain his odd choice of napping area. “If you could please not tell Elias-”

“Of course,” she assured, again strangely protective of the silly little man in front of her. “Think nothing of it- just need you to sign a few papers, is all.” She got up to allow him room to move, ignoring the creaking of limbs far too young to sound so bad. “Should probably use the bed next time, dear. That floor’s got to be horrible on your back.”

Jon blushed, grabbing at the papers and looking anywhere but her eyes. “Yes, well,” he shifted his feet, gesturing at the tattered blanket he had extracted himself from. “I’ve got that, so it’s fine.”

She fixed him with a dubious stare, but let him have this one. He headed back to his office to grab a pen, limping in obvious pain. The papers were signed and they said their goodbyes, Rosie heading home and Jon heading back to Document Storage, whether to sleep or work she couldn’t tell.

In her next round of discretionary spending, she ordered a few pillows and a nice knitted throw for the Archives. The break room had been looking a bit drab, it deserved a little sprucing up.

______________

“Mr. Stoker, if you could come get your Archivist I’d be much obliged.”

“I’m on it, Janice.”

Tim sighed. Just another Wednesday night at the Magnus Institute.

Jon was running them ragged with investigations, following up on every statement he deemed ‘unsatisfactory’ in terms of research. So far, he had deemed almost every statement as so. It was not very fun.

Tim had taken pains to finish his research bright and early, wanting to get home as quickly as possible and finish up the series he’d been binging. This plan included the added plus of avoiding the worms that had been showing up outside the institute over the past couple of days. But then Jon had come out of his office, looking sad and lost as he handed over another statement for Tim to work on. “Tomorrow is fine, Tim,” Jon said, in an uncharacteristic show of generosity. “No need to worry.” Tim was worried now, for an entirely different reason.

He promised himself he would only stay an extra hour, just to make sure Jon got home alright. That was two hours ago. Jon had apparently snuck out to the library without him noticing, and now needed to be fetched for reasons Tim was pretty sure he could guess at.

Jon was never really on good terms with the librarians. What he lacked in charm, he did not make up for in well, anything really. He got upset when a book was in the wrong place; he was very short whenever something would take longer than a few minutes. He constantly hid from the librarians when it was time to close- one night he was quite literally chased out by Janice, and another night he was locked in (also by Janice) and didn’t even notice.

So finding him tucked in between two bookshelves fast asleep was not surprising in the least. It didn’t look comfortable but Jon seemed fairly relaxed, crammed as he was. This had happened more than a few times back in research but never recently. And never was he quite so hidden away, not even a limb giving away his position. He knew Jon liked his small spaces, but even this was pushing it. Janice hadn’t attempted to wake him, knowing what a fools errand it would be. “That boy could sleep through the end of days, I reckon,” she said as she opened the door for Tim and ushered him down the aisles. “I don’t know how he does it.”

“That makes two of us,” Tim mumbled as he crouched down in front of the man he previously called a friend and now a boss. “Jon? You up, mate?”

No response. Typical. Tim could keep this going for the rest of the night, or he could take matters into his own hands.

Let it never be said that Tim wasn’t hands-on.

He managed to maneuver Jon into his arms without waking the man, a feat he’d perfected over the years. Jon, for his part, just slumped into his chest and muttered some nonsense under his breath that Tim couldn’t make out. Jon was a fairly vocal sleep-talker, something he found endlessly amusing. This situation was anything but amusing, however, and he could barely summon up a smile to give Janice as he carted his boss back down to the Archives.

Jon was falling back into old habits. He was becoming distant and moody, snapping at any inquiry about his health or well-being. It took all of Tim’s strength not to snap back at times. Sasha helped keep him in check, giving him warning glances whenever she believed he went too far, which was happening more and more often. He was afraid for the frail man in his arms. He had a strange sense of impending calamity that woke him up in the middle of the night, heart racing like it did after his encounter with the circus. It awoke a strange, primal fear inside of him that Tim couldn’t control and it crept in more and more by the day.

Even when Jon was safe and comfortable, tucked neatly into the cot in Document Storage, the fear didn’t ease. He wanted to stay and keep watch, though that didn’t make much sense. The Archives were probably the safest place to be. Nothing could reach them in this dank, dusty prison cell of a workplace. Not even Prentiss. But he was tired, so he decided to leave Jon to his dreams and chew him out tomorrow morning. Now wasn’t the time.

He took a quick detour to his desk and back to Document Storage before he left, throwing one of his cardigans over Jon’s sleeping form. Just in case he gets cold, he reasoned. In reality, he didn’t know who it was actually for- Jon or himself. Maybe both.

_________

This is ridiculous.

Initially, he had been happy and slightly proud to see his Archivist stumbling back into work, bleeding and freshly marked by the Corruption. He of course told him the opposite, encouraging him to take all the time available to him to recover. But his Archivist was nothing if not stubborn, and watching him limp about the Archives, paranoid and afraid, was a wonder to behold.

Today, however, might not have been the best time to come back.

The Magnus Institute, on paper, had a fully functioning HR department. That this HR department only included one incredibly overworked woman who was willing to let many things slide in order to collect a paycheck was no matter. They still had to observe the basic requirements that came along with it, and that included having mandatory yearly training in things such as workplace harassment. The modern workplace truly was a marvel - as if anyone willing to commit these acts would be cowed by one seminar.

But here they were on a Thursday afternoon, every supervisor gathered in the conference room to undergo ‘mandatory training’ in sensitive subject matters. The training wasn’t actually training at all but an instructional video of about thirty minutes. It was quite literally the least they could do- Elias wasn’t about to go wasting precious money on hiring more professionals to help them avoid inappropriate conduct. That’s what lawyers were for, after all.

Jon had stumbled in once the video had already begun, looking bedraggled and worse for wear. The only seat left was in the back, conveniently located right next to Elias. He gave his Archivist a short nod and glanced back at the screen with a bored detachment, watching from another pair of judging eyes as Jon stumbled and struggled his way around his colleagues, murmuring apologies.

He didn’t acknowledge Jon’s greeting, preferring instead to keep him at a distance. He didn’t want him to get too comfortable with him, not at this early stage. But he still noted the exhaustion in his features with some concern- he did need him semi-functioning, how else would they get any statements recorded?

Jon managed valiantly to stay awake for the first ten minutes before he started to nod off, his head jerking backwards in a sad attempt at consciousness. Elias rolled his eyes, clearing his throat several times in an effort to keep him awake. He didn’t much care for Jon’s dignity, but it was rather embarrassing for him to have an Archivist who couldn’t stay awake for a mere thirty minutes once the lights were down.

But then it started to veer into dangerous territory. Jon was slumping down further and further in his seat, each jerk awake more distracting than the last. Elias would ask him to leave if he didn’t think he would collapse on his way out the door and cause even more of a commotion. No, it would be fine to let him sleep if his head wasn’t constantly listing to the left, further and further and- Christ.

Jon’s head found purchase on his shoulder and there he remained, finally content to doze in peace.

They were tucked far enough in the corner that nobody could really see unless they strained their eyes. Everyone else was either watching the video or falling asleep themselves. Elias considered his options- he could wake the man, knowing the force required to do so would only cause a scene, or he could let him sleep until the end credits rolled- credits he knew were incredibly loud, and thus would cover up any yelp the Archivist emitted upon waking.

Both were terrible choices. If Elias had his way Jon would have collapsed back in the Archives and avoided this mess entirely. He would also have the added bonus of being able to scold him later- a win-win, certainly. But alas, it was not meant to be. He sacrificed his pride and let the man continue to sleep on his shoulder, tensing as much as he could to keep Jon from slipping further down into a more embarrassing position. The added irony of the subject on the screen- Unwanted Workplace Advances- was not lost on him.

At least the man was having unpleasant dreams. He contented himself with watching the Archivist flit across his nightmares, running from worms and spiders and whatever other horrors his mind conjured. It was much more entertaining than the video on the screen.

And then the credits rolled. A few seconds before they began, Elias placed a firm hand on Jon’s shoulder and shook him once, hard. Just in time, the outdated, cheesy music blasted from the speakers and nicely covered his Archivist's shriek of terror and subsequent heavy breathing as his eyes shot open, panicked. No one was the wiser to that little display.

His hand turned light, friendly. Just a boss showing concern for an unwell employee. “Jon, are you alright?” he asked, schooling his face into a parental sort of worry. That always seemed to work well with Jon- he was much more apt to be agreeable when the authority figure in question made it personal. “Do you need to go home?”

His eyes could barely focus as everyone else in the room stood up, yawning and stretching and milling about. “I-yes, I think I just need a lie down.” Elias nodded in faux-concern, helping the man to his feet.

Jon didn’t say a word as he walked him past the front door and into the Archives. He knew he had work to do.

________

Jon was in the way.

This was not a sentence Martin Blackwood had ever thought before. Even when Jon was technically in the way, he wasn’t, not really. Wherever Jon was, was wherever Jon needed to be. Whether it was standing in front of Martin when he needed to get to the break room, or blocking the water cooler as he lectured Tim about ‘workplace standards,’ Martin wasn’t going to ask him to move. Fighting with the man was absolutely exhausting and a lesson in futility.

But Jon was literally in his way. As in if he didn’t move, Martin would not be able to do his job for the rest of the day.

The man was curled on top of a box of files, the exact box of files that Martin needed to access. He wasn’t moving- Martin had thought at first that he was dead, but his slow, even breaths disproved that. Why would he choose this spot to take a nap? It couldn’t be comfortable- his back was hunched and his bad leg stuck out at an awkward angle. His arms were sprawled over the box as if guarding it. Sasha had told him a few stories from their research days, but he had never seen the man asleep over anything but his desk. Jon was looking far too vulnerable these days, and Martin didn’t know what to do with that.

“Jon?” he tried quietly. The man didn’t stir. Figures. He wanted to reach out and shake him awake, but his wounds were barely healed and kept opening up, probably from his nighttime escapades. He didn’t want to be the cause of more of Jon’s pain. So he stood there awkwardly, shifting from side to side as his boss continued his slumber.

“Something wrong?” Martin jumped at the sound of Tim’s voice- Jon did not. He was leaning in the doorway, looking almost as tired as Jon and definitely in need of a nap as well. He recovered a bit better, having taken every day allotted to him. But that didn’t mean he was back at peak performance. Tim followed his gaze to the floor and rolled his eyes upon seeing Jon asleep. ‘Really?” Tim was very irritated these days. Martin didn’t blame him.

“I didn’t know what to do!” he whispered back, though he probably didn’t need to keep his voice down. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I need that box-”

“Just move him,” Tim replied unkindly, making his way over. “He won’t wake up, he’s a very heavy sleeper, honest.” He reached out a hand to grab Jon’s shoulder but Martin stopped him.

“N-No!” he stuttered forcefully, well aware of Tim’s attitude towards Jon these days. “I’ll just, I can wait, I guess-”

“You said he was in your way.” With a wince Tim crouched down, placing an arm around Jon’s waist and hoisting him over his shoulder in one smooth, practiced move. “See?” he said, also whispering. “Not a peep.” It was true, Jon hadn’t stirred one bit. It was also very concerning. He watched as Tim slowly made his way across the room to the cot, placing Jon in bed with an infinite care he didn’t think the man capable of. Like hands at a piano remembering a well-practiced tune, Tim’s body played out a gentleness he no longer felt, not anymore. He even placed a blanket over Jon, pausing for a moment to look down at him. Martin couldn’t see the look on his face and couldn’t guess at what it was.

“There.” He turned around and abruptly exited the room, not sparing another glance at either of them. When Martin looks back at this moment, he’ll wonder if that’s the last kindness Tim ever offered Jon, and how sad it was that he wasn’t even awake to see it.

________________

A year later and Martin finds himself standing over Jon, watching him sleep. He is curled around a tape recorder. The light is on, it’s recording. For what end, Martin does not know.

He slips an arm around Jon’s waist like he saw Tim once do. Jon shivers- Martin is very cold these days, so he doesn’t fault him. He deposits him in the cot he knows so well- he will be safe here. Warm. Basira is here, and Melanie- they’ll look out for him, in their own way. He pauses, looking down at the man in the bed. He is alive, but Martin couldn’t tell you if he is breathing.

He does not visit the Archives again.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162460

#whumptober2020 #exhaustion #no.23 #fic #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #elias bouchard #my writing #jonmartin #not a lot but its there #not really any cws

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arigatouiris · 4 years ago

Text

an inconvenient crush // kenma kozume x reader (1/2)

Author’s Note: A new story?? SO SOON?? Thank you for all the love for my previous Kuroo story, it meant the world to me. I write for myself primarily, yes, but it brings me SO MUCH JOY to know that my words reach you. It helps with the motivation to put them out more often. Thank you. This story is very close to my heart because I’m a gamer, although I don’t stream. I’m more like Kenma though, personality wise. Haha.

Word count: 5k+

Pairing: YouTuber! Kenma Kozume x Streamer! Reader

Summary: YouTuber Kozume Kenma has had the biggest crush on Twitch Streamer, (s/n) (y/n), who in actuality simps heavily after Kenma's secret YouTube persona, puddinghead0.

What happens when their paths cross?

Kuroo is honestly tired of Kenma's second-guessing, and (y/n) is a bit of a crackhead.

Warnings: unrequited love, one-sided crush, slight angst, pining, crackhead reader, internet bullying, slang, gaming references, haikyuu manga spoilers, fluff

C h a p t e r O n e : puddinghead0

Kozume Kenma suddenly turned existential when his eyes shifted to his phone screen for the 12th time in ten minutes.

Was he always doing this? Was he always obsessed with his phone to a point where he'd constantly check for notifications? Did this mean he was deeply lonely on the inside and wanted approval from people on a virtual platform, which meant that the approval was also virtual and none of it was real? Did it mean that he craved to nullify the growing void in his chest by distracting himself with a black mirror that showcased light that could permanently impair his sight?

He let out a breath and forced himself not to look at his phone. He didn't care. It didn't matter. That's what he always said.

"Hey!" His classmate/room-mate screamed from the entrance to his flat, "Are you watching her stream? Posted two minutes ago!"

His phone was definitely slow. He had been checking his phone but there was no notification. Letting out a breath, and giving himself a mental reason to actually check his phone, Kenma opened the notifications tab to see the one notification he had kept his eye out for had been buried under ridiculous facebook notifs.

An inconvenient crush, that's what he told himself whenever he looked at you. You were a streamer, a bit different from what he did on YouTube because you were primarily on Twitch. There were reaction videos of you on YouTube, which was where he found you, but damn—how could one be pretty while rage-quitting a game? It was abnormal. Nothing about you was normal; college student/Twitch streamer, an apparent baker in your mother's bakery, game reviewer for Sony, and you were insanely cute.

"She's getting to that part," his roommate commented from behind Kenma's back, while Kenma really just wanted to watch the video in peace, "Shit, she's gonna cry."

You did cry, quite a few times, and too easily if he could add. You cried at the ending of God of War, you cried to The Last of Us (which made sense, but you were perhaps just bawling throughout the entire game), you cried in a game called Detroit: Become Human, you cried far too easily, but you never really quit. He loved how passionate you were about games, and it was the sort of passion he could completely understand.

"Oh shit," You said in the video, your eyes scanning all over the game screen, "What's happening? What's happening?"

Kenma chuckled at how cute you were, god, you were killing him. You looked worried, and he could visibly see a sweat drop on your forehead, but you were so focused that it didn't matter. Suddenly, there was a screaming sound from the game you were playing, and your eyes popped open as wide as they possibly could and you just sat there, unmoving. He loved how you never squealed or made any loud reactions, except when you were in a fight with a difficult boss, but whenever something traumatic happened, you just froze and sunk it all in. You were currently playing the second part of The Last of Us, and a traumatic scene was definitely happening. Kenma had just finished playing it the night before, so every scene you were playing was familiar.

"I officially hate this game," You said, your voice breaking and he desperately wanted to hold you, "Fucking hell."

"God, she's amazing." Kenma's roommate said, eyes turning into literal hearts.

"Hm." Yeah, she is, Kenma thought, but could never really say.

As a YouTuber himself who streams games, he was aware that you were not as popular, and it was a fact that he really didn't like. Sure, you were on a less popular platform, but Twitch was incredibly popular by itself as well. He also understood the bias that came with being a female gamer, and while it sounded ridiculous to him, Kenma was one of those people who believed gaming required no gender.

He adored your content, and he secretly adored the hell out of you, so seeing you soar would only make him happy.

"I... I can practically feel what pain she's feeling right now," You spoke about the game, a lone tear threatening to leak out of your eye, "But! We shall persevere. I've been waiting 7 years for this game, so I won't let... won't let something like this halt my interest. Let's see if this has a point to it all."

God, he adored you. But, Kenma considered it an inconvenient crush because of course, the world was small. The first big crush he has on someone and he hoped it would remain over the internet, but it just had to become something more tangible, something that could make him weak in the knees.

You, a college student/Twitch streamer, an apparent baker in your mother's bakery, a game reviewer for Sony, insanely cute, and also happened to be one of his YouTube channel's biggest fans.

He had only recently discovered your personal twitter handle, and dear lord, you were simping after him with no remorse. It wasn't as if he was all you talked about, but he had also noticed the trajectory of the games you were playing were on par with his own timeline. Kenma had finished his final stream for The Last of Us II just the night before and you had now started playing it. Right before that, it was Bloodborne, and before that, it was Final Fantasy VII Remake. However, your public handle was a lot more professional and despite knowing that it was there, he hadn't sent you a follow request because well, Kenma called himself an introvert in every matter but Kuroo just said he was shy.

While he knew that he could easily approach you and have you know he knew of your existence, Kenma preferred not to get into such detail. It was comfortable admiring you from afar, and it was comfortable being where he was—he had his company to work hard over, he was also a computer student and a YouTuber. Sure, he had his hands full especially after calling you abnormal for something that he himself was doing, but he never really fit into a bracket anyway. Kenma's latent obsession with you was something he wasn't particularly proud of and this wasn't because it had anything to do with you, but simply because he didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Change, in many ways, scared him. And by changing the structure or dynamics of him admiring you in secret, while you admired him not so secretly, Kenma was certain that it might not lead where he may have wanted it to go.

Surely, Kuroo was against this sort of caution, calling it cowardly and saying it lacked passion; but Kenma knew it was just a crush. There was no way he could deduce the kind of person you were based on how you gamed or reacted to games, based on the little tid-bits of information you gave out while playing those games, or even how you openly spoke about how much you admired 'puddinghead0's videos. Kenma hated Kuroo for giving him that name, but he was too lazy to come up with a new one.

"Also," You sprung up in the final two minutes of your latest video, "I'm on Patreon, now! I honestly have no idea how it works, but if you really like the content I make and want to support me, you can become a patron and wish me luck!"

Kenma waited for his stupid roommate to go out of his room before he could open Patreon and find your link, which was thankfully in the description. Without a second thought, he donated to your profile but cussed instantly when he realized what he had done.

He had sent you a donation as himself, as 'puddinghead0's Patreon.

Without a second thought, Kenma called Kuroo and explained what had happened.

"That is why, Kenma, you need to check a thousand times and not let blind love navigate your actions—"

"If I knew you were going to spout such nonsense I wouldn't have called you."

He could hear Kuroo snicker while he ran a hand through his hair. Kenma groaned before Kuroo said, "How bad is this, Kenma? She'll be happy. Of course, this means she'll know you watch her content, but how bad can this be?"

"I didn't want her to know."

"And leave her devoid of the happiness of having her idol appreciate her content? You're cold, Kenma."

"You don't understand. What if... What if she tries to contact me?"

"You, my friend, have not even shared your personal account anywhere. The only way she can contact you is by commenting on your videos, which I am sure you check constantly to see if she did comment, or Tweeting, which she does every three days."

Kenma blushed at the accusation because it was true.

"She won't know who you are. Besides, there's no harm if she even does contact you! Just tell her casually that yeah, you like her contact. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Of course you don't—"

"Oh, she's tweeted something."

Kenma's entire body froze. Leaving Kuroo on the call, Kenma opened Twitter on his laptop and there it was, your latest tweet.

I am trying NOT to freak out over puddinghead sending me a donation on Patreon, pls save my soul, I am dead.

Kenma groaned before hearing Kuroo laugh once more, "She's adorable!"

I know that, Kenma thought before feeling his entire face flash up. Ending Kuroo's call, Kenma looked at your public profile before then moving to your personal one. He wasn't following that one either, but he wanted to see your tweets, he wanted to know more about you—he wouldn't deny any of these facts, but Kenma believed it was far too idiotic to dream of getting to know you through a virtual media. He wasn't even the sort of person to become close to people he met in real life, how could he allow himself a virtual friendship?

The thought staggered him, and the idea behind it was what kept him at bay. Kenma wanted to know about you, talk to you, learn about who you were and what you were doing, but he felt the media that connected you was what separated you.

It wasn't cowardice at all if he was just sticking to the facts and being real.

The next day, Kenma walked to his class by himself, listening to the latest podcast by Joe Rogan. While the external sound wasn't entirely muted, Kenma could discern sounds of people talking, cars moving around, and other noises even though he was playing the podcast on full sound. However, there was one sound in particular that stood out. Kenma paused before turning to his right, noticing a crowd of people had gathered there, with some sort of event going on. He didn't pay attention to half the events that his college conducted, his mind was obviously quite busy elsewhere, but when the announcer moved around in a weird Joker cosplaying outfit, Kenma was a tad bit intrigued.

Was it gaming related?

He slowly moved toward the crowd before finally being able to hear what the anchor was saying.

"We've got prizes for the top three best performers, and one of the participants is the one and only (s/n) (y/n), streamer from Twitch!"

Kenma froze, half-minded to run the hell away from there. But, it seemed as if his feet were stuck to the ground. How had he not known this? Didn't you always announce the events you go to? Why were you suddenly here? A second later, he spotted you, hair put up in an updo, a plain black tee, and regular jeans. You were smiling, but some part of that smile seemed a bit hesitant.

"We will be playing a bit differently today! Instead of the usual Fortnite battles or Apex Legends, we'll be going went and battling out on Red Dead Online! And of course, if you beat (y/n) here you earn bragging rights!"

He noticed you shift in your position a little bit, clearly uncomfortable with the attention you were getting; it didn't even look like you wanted to be there. Kenma could feel his chest hurt, and his palms were sweating now. That's all it is, he told himself. An inconvenient crush, an inconvenient crush, that's all.

Kenma sighed before noticing how he barely knew anyone there and was almost thankful for that fact; but before he could thank his stars, a hand threw itself around his neck and sprung him forward, earning the attention of not just everyone there, but especially you.

"We have our first participant," It was his goddamn roommate, "Kenma's a brilliant gamer!"

Kenma's eyes immediately found yours, and you were looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Although this was set in the open and the atmosphere was quite cold, Kenma felt nothing but warmth radiating all over his body at the mere sight of you; you were just a few feet away, and you were giving him a rather sympathetic expression, and god, you looked so fucking pretty—

"That's great! Sign up, ya'll! Winner will be winning a brand new DualShock 4!"

Oh fuck, Kenma thought before he felt his heart beginning to pound. He was now seated beside you, and he could practically shrink into non-existence. You were unmoving, and you weren't looking at him, but would you have looked at him if you knew he was puddinghead? Insecurity swarmed his being and he could practically feel steam escaping his ears but a moment later, he thought he'd die.

"This was so last minute," you said, rubbing the back of your neck, "The anchor's my cousin and she's so demanding."

"Oh," Kenma said, feeling his heartbeat skyrocket, "I see."

"Yeah! I mean," You giggled now, "I'm not even good at Red Dead Online!"

Kenma smirked, knowing the fact already. You struggled with Red Dead Redemption not because you were bad, but because you couldn't progress with a plot so divisive. You wanted to explore more, and since the game was so vast, you barely bothered with the Online version. You turned to him now and tilted your head.

"You're a gamer, I heard? Kozume-kun, right?"

Fuck, she knows my name, "Y-Yeah. I game when I'm free."

"Do you have a Twitch or YouTube?"

There's no fucking way I'll answer that, "No—"

"Ah, you must really be having a great time then."

Kenma blinked before turning to you with confusion. What did you mean?

"Don't you enjoy streaming?"

"Ah, no, no," You flailed your hands shyly, and Kenma believed he could combust, "It's not like that. I just think, after a point, streaming becomes more for the fans than for yourself. I used to do it for me, but now... I'm needed in places like this for promotion, and I need to have a Patreon if I'm popular or it'll look weird, I don't know... Too many restrictions. I just love gaming, you know?"

Kenma found himself smiling, "Yeah, I know. I've seen your videos."

"Oh?"

Kenma's eyes widened. He wanted to slap himself on his forehead.

"I—I mean, y-you're popular."

"Thanks! You're really sweet, Kozume-kun!"

Fucking hell, Kenma placed a hand on his forehead, She's too cute.

"Say," you said, a sly tone to your voice, "Do you want to get out of here?"

"I'd do anything." Kenma honestly agreed.

But, you couldn't just up and leave. You were called here as Twitch streamer (s/n) (y/n), and that meant your behavior was restricted. As much as you seemed to hate said restriction, Kenma was certain that you wouldn't go against it. It could take a big blow against your viewership, and you wouldn't take that chance.

A second later, your hand gripped his wrist before you shot him a wink. Kenma's heart jumped to the skies before you pulled him away from the crowd, with participants lining the entrance to enter their names. Sure, you were doing something bad—your cousin wanted you there, but not once had she even asked if you wanted to be a part of this event. Just as Kenma was pulled in without his consent. You weren't a competitive gamer, and you were not going to be, even if it was for someone else. After running away a fair distance, Kenma felt the part of his wrist burn right where you were touching him.

"I think I need to run more in real life and not just as Ellie." You said, and Kenma chuckled.

"Running's good."

"I used to run track," You said, turning to him. "Now I run in games and that's it."

You have no right being that cute, he thought before clearing his throat. He slowly pulled away from you, which made your eyes widen before shooting him an apologetic smile. He was a bit confused as to what you had done, did this mean you didn't care about losing followers?

"You might think that I've committed career suicide," You scoffed, "Honestly, this is the bravest I've been in so long."

"What do you mean?"

You shrugged, "Ever since I became a bit popular by streaming, I've just... I could feel myself change with the way my viewers wanted me to be? I don't blame them or anything, I just think that the love I get from them makes me yearn for more. And that yearning leaves me... inept to be myself. It's the downside of wanting to remain popular, I guess."

"It's not like you can't be yourself and still be popular." Kenma added.

"Yeah I know," You said, "I mean, just look at puddinghead0, we don't even know what he looks like, and wow. I adore his content."

Kenma froze once more. Was this being recorded? Did Kuroo finally tip you off and was this being filmed for his reaction? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to reveal to you now.

"Y-Yeah, I think he just doesn't care."

"I wish I was more like that because I end up caring. I like the comments and the views and the love. Agh, it's such a weird complex moral question. Don't even get me started."

Kenma laughed at your reaction before you turned to him and stuck a tongue out. Kenma rolled his eyes before waving a hand at you.

"If anything," Kenma said, looking at the ground, "You didn't lose this follower today."

Your eyes widened at his statement. You smiled before nodding, and let out a chuckle.

"Thank you, Kozume-kun."

Locking the door to his room, Kenma began to edit for his latest video. He was making a review for The Last of Us 2, but his mind was elsewhere. He still hadn't told Kuroo that he had met you, which would only cause the black-haired man to tease him relentlessly. Letting out a sigh, he felt sleep douse his eyelids as he continued the edit, right before a notification popped up on his phone.

It was you.

He narrowed his eyes before checking the date and time; it was unusual for you to stream live on random days. He'd learned your pattern by now. You'd been doing this for a couple of months, and it was quite easy for him to know just when and what time you'd begin. However, the screen for The Last of Us 2 was open and you looked like you had just stopped crying. His heart broke at the sight, and he instantly closed the tabs to his own edit, before opening your video on his monitor. You were taking deep breaths before chuckling.

"Hello to everyone that's still with me," You sounded so broken, Kenma felt helpless as he continued staring at you, "You might be wondering why I'm... yeah. So, I did something and I guess I got punished for it? I was forced into a game contest and I think walking out of it made some of my followers mad. I even spoke to this other person about walking out and honestly, it didn't hit me then that what puddinghead's doing takes a lot of courage."

"Ah, fuck, (y/n)," Kenma groaned.

"I guess even when I expected to lose followers, I didn't expect the hate? Some of the comments were just... nasty. I..." You sniffed, "...I didn't expect that you would hate on someone for making a personal choice? And I didn't do it to offend anyone, I seriously don't know how the internet works. Oh, oh wow—" You looked troubled and Kenma could see why. "—losing out on viewers now, great. 'Don't be a whiny bitch', 'This is why girls shouldn't game'..."

You took a deep breath before calming down and saying the few words Kenma feared you might eventually come around to say.

"This is (y/n), signing off to a world where gaming is appreciated and is not filled with a community of hate. Hope to see you there."

And the stream ended.

Kenma sighed before leaning back, no thought in his head. He knew for a fact that his room-mate must have seen the stream as well, and Kuroo would be calling him about the entire ordeal just to ensure he had something to say about it. Kenma, on the other hand, felt like he had practically pushed you to make this decision and partly felt like taking the blame, despite the common sense telling him that he had nothing to do with it. You weren't the sort of person who would jump at something without a second thought, and even if he didn't know you personally, he had been following you and your streams for months now. It felt like he knew that part of you quite well.

Kuroo was the first to call. Kenma stared at the phone for a bit before letting out a breath and getting back to editing his video. He only had to add commentary, and his mind was already circling on what to say.

Uploading the video took him exactly two more hours, after having missed three calls from Kuroo and twelve messages. At one point, Kuroo had even stopped contacting Kenma, thinking he was busy with something, and he was spot on. Kuroo's eyes wandered on the new notification about his friend's YouTube channel, which was weird considering it was not yet time for him to post something. He knew quite well that Kenma might have definitely seen (y/n)'s stream, and wanted to desperately talk to him about it, but without a clue of what the boy was thinking, Kuroo simply clicked on the notification and let the video play out.

It was the review for the game, The Last of Us 2, and Kuroo knew while giving the review, which was around 8-9 minutes, Kenma would speak his thoughts that were a tad bit uncensored toward the end. He'd talk about the drama surrounding the game, he would even bring up the entire hate that this game was receiving, but instead—Kenma had a rather strange dialogue instead.

"One thing I don't understand is how toxic the gaming community can be, at times," Kuroo paused, narrowing his eyes at his friend's words, "While we welcome new gamers to the entire journey of learning and discovering the joy of gaming, we also tend to put them down if they didn't adhere to a certain trend. I came across one such incident happening to (s/n) (y/n)'s Twitch channel."

"Holy shit!" Kuroo sat up straight, eyes wide as saucers at the bold move his friend made.

"I'm part of this community and I think I have the right to call out how toxic we are in general,"

Kenma's voice didn't even waver, but after knowing him his entire life, Kuroo could deduce that the boy was a bit angry,

"(y/n) didn't particularly do anything wrong, and she's received some nasty comments about being a female gamer, and I think that's...just disgusting. She has all the right to either attend or ditch a gaming event, and no one has to be forced to do something they don't want to do. We all have games we don't like despite being gamers, we don't have to do it all. I support (y/n), and I'll admit, I'm saddened by how her fans have treated her. Her content is great and I have immense respect for her. I hope she decides to come back and stream more. That being said, I think The Last of Us 2 is..."

As he got around to talk more about the game, Kuroo knew that this was a huge step for Kenma, and he had no idea what suddenly made the boy rethink his entire decision on never bringing her up. Now that he had, he's indirectly initiated a conversation with her, she'd definitely try and reach out now—in any way she possibly could, just to thank him at least.

Kuroo noticed his phone ringing a second later and a grin made its way to his lips.

"What just happened?"

"I met her, Kuroo," Kuroo almost had the wind knocked out of him, "She was at my college campus. I was walking back to my room since classes were canceled. There was some sort of gaming event. She didn't want to be a part of it, and neither did I, and we ditched. It was—"

"You like her more now, don't you?"

When Kuroo received nothing more than silence from Kenma's end, he was certain. His precious, introverted, best boy had fallen for someone. It was a proud moment, almost.

"You have to tell her—"

"Kuroo, this... this is all I want to do."

"That's bullshit, and even you know that."

"What? You want me to open up to her and tell her I'm the YouTuber she's been gushing about for so long and I was the one who kind of pushed her into doing what she did, and so that she can hate me afterward for hiding the truth because I wouldn't be losing out on anything and she—"

"Whoa there, Kenma. I'm just saying go talk to her as her favorite YouTuber. You're overthinking this."

"No, you're underthinking this. I did what I had to do. It was... hard to see her like that."

Kuroo let out a sigh but before he could say anything, Kenma had already ended the call. That boy needs to grow a pair, he thought, a bit annoyed at Kenma's nature of avoiding his feelings. While Kenma believed it was for the best, he knew he was simply running away from it. Kuroo knew his friend adored (y/n), but the boy couldn't categorize that as real feelings because he's met her just once. Finding something real virtually scared him more than finding something real in real life, and while Kuroo wanted to understand that, it only annoyed him because Kenma wasn't even trying.

When you watched puddinghead0's recent video, you were jaw-dropped in awe and absolute admiration. Tears filled your eyes, but what was more was how his voice now seemed a tad bit familiar, though you didn't pay any heed to it since you've been following this channel for an entire year now. It moved you to know someone you've been admiring has been watching your content, but at the same time, he was speaking up for you? You wanted to thank him, you wanted to send him a message and say you were incredibly grateful for what he's done and the only way you knew you could say something was on Twitter.

So you mentioned him on a tweet and poured your heart out within character limit. You wondered if he would notice your tweet since you've mentioned him countless times before, but even if he didn't, even if he paid you no heed after all of this, you were still grateful. However, a second later, you received a new follower. You blinked upon noticing that it was Kozume-kun from the other day. A soft smile fell on your lips at the soft recollection of running away from a gaming event, after which everything spiraled, but you didn't in any way blame him. Your mind again drifted back to puddinghead0 and you sighed.

I'd kill to see him, man, you thought, eyeing your tweet of him dreamily.

A second later, there was a notification. You almost spat out your heart at the mere words: puddinghead0 likes your tweet.

puddinghead0 likes your tweet.

"Oh my god—" You choked on air. However, a second later, you found it difficult to remain sitting on your bed.

Don't thank me, I hope you're feeling better. You didn't deserve any of that.

Is that a—

...deserve any of that. <3

Fuck me.

Kenma almost dozed off in class right before it ended. It wasn't like it was school where the teacher would wake him up after noticing him asleep, no one really bothered. Kenma was pushed awake by the momentum of the class once it was over and he leaned back before gathering his things. Tightening his hair tie, he casually walked out of class and got to the campus. He spotted the event area, where the gaming event had occurred and instantly spotted his room-mate and a bunch of people gathered there. Rolling his eyes, he walked away from there, not wanting to gather any attention.

"Kenma!"

He had failed. Kenma froze to his spot before turning to spot his room-mate dashing over to him, a wide grin plastered on his features. Wrapping a hand over Kenma's shoulders, his roommate brought him to the others he was talking to, before releasing him.

"You're that guy (y/n) ran away with during that event, right?" One of them asked, and Kenma didn't bother to respond.

"Why did she run though? I mean, it doesn't make sense for her to just up and leave."

"I've been telling you," The same guy said, "She's not the one playing those games. She's just the face."

Kenma frowned. What is this dick talking about?

"Man, I think that's harsh," His roommate said, "I just think she's too chicken to play in front of people—"

"She's literally a streamer." Kenma said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but why did she—"

"If you can't understand that she doesn't owe you shit, then there's no helping it. She didn't want to play at that event, and she didn't. I don't see why you aren't calling me a fake gamer for running too." Kenma snapped.

The others shrugged, "That's because we've seen you play—"

"It's bullshit." Kenma said before walking away. You all are bullshit, he thought before the frown on his face settled into an uncharacteristic glare, directed at what who knows what.

A moment later, he felt his phone buzz with a notification. Kenma opened his phone and saw that he had a message from you, but what confused him was—

The message was directed to Kenma and not puddinghead. His heart jumped as his fingers roamed over the notification, wanting to open it only when he was in the comfortable confines of his room. Swallowing the bubbling anxiety, Kenma fought the urge to smile as he continued walking back, unaware of what the Twitter message could be. It would normally take him around 12 minutes to get to his apartment from campus, but that day, Kenma merely took 7.

On reaching his room, he finally allowed himself to open your message.

(y/n): Hey! I've taken a break from streaming for now, just wanted to let you know. I don't know why I'm sending you this message, but talking to you that day made me realize that I don't really need to seek approval constantly. Also, puddinghead liked my tweet and I'm a bit too happy so I needed to gush, don't @ me

Kenma chuckled, feeling his heart jump at every word you'd said. He knew you didn't realize that you were gushing about him to him, but that didn't matter. He wanted to gush about you too. He felt a stone stuck at his throat at how real all of this felt, despite having only seen you once.

Kenma Kozume: I think he's the sort of guy who isn't too loud about the things he likes. And I think a break is a good idea, (s/n).

(y/n): Call me (y/n), came the immediate response. Kenma's eyes widened at the fact that you were online, and that the two of you were currently exchanging messages live.

(y/n): Yeah, I got the feeling from his videos that he's perhaps a private person. I'm still really glad that he supported me, I can't thank him enough. I'm feeling much better already!

Kenma smiled, I'm glad that you are.

(y/n): Also

He blinked.

(y/n): Do you want to co-op at Bloodborne? I'm trying to get a platinum, haha.

"Fuck," He let out a breath before chuckling uncharacteristically. "You can't be serious."

(y/n): I'll send you my PSN, and you can add me as a party member. Only if you're up to it, I mean.

Kenma Kozume: Sure, sounds like fun. Also

Kenma gulped. He felt like this was showing off, but he didn't care. He was going to say it.

Kenma Kozume: I already have platinum in Bloodborne. :)

(y/n): Ah, screw you.

Kenma chuckled. He wouldn't admit it, but his heart was hammering against his chest and his palms were sweating. Soon, he'd be connected to you via the DualShock and the two of you would be co-oping in a game that was designed to make players fail. He wasn't too sure how much more his heart was going to take, and while he knew he had to tell someone, for some reason, Kenma wanted to keep this a secret. It wasn't because he was ashamed or he didn't want anyone to find out.

It was simply because it was too good to be true, and he didn't want to lose out on a chance to get to know you more. Because, if this kept up...

If this kept up, Kenma was surely going to fall in love with you.

395 notes · View notes

aiikawarazu · 4 years ago

Text

Hourglass Chapter #21

Title: Winter Flower

Rated: M

Summary: The times when she was confined to her prison of hourglass was long gone, she had broken free from it now. And even if it was just to live in the moment with Eren, this was the only time Mikasa ever felt real. This was the only time in her life when she knew what she wanted to do. And for sure she didn't want to waste any single moment with him worrying about anyone – or anything else. She wanted to be with him, she wanted to be by his side. For now, Eren was right there beside her and for Mikasa, that was more than enough.

FFNet here || AO3 here (AO3 is late update)

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin

"That witch!"

Ayako let out a bellow, followed by a loud thud when her small fist hit the wall with tremendous force. The other three people in the vicinity jumped from their seats and looked at her, startled.

"W-what's going on?" Armin asked. In his surprise, he had spilled the hot green tea inside his cup, the scalding liquid now burned ferociously against the skin on the back of his hands, but Armin's attention was much taken by Ayako's rage that he was completely oblivious to the pain. On the seats across him, Eren and Mikasa were also watching their friend with great attention – Mikasa's brows furrowed, Eren's mouth gaping slightly, both seemingly as surprised and puzzled as he was.

As usual, the four of them were rounding up in the empty Home Economics classroom during lunch period. It was early March, and though weather was beginning to get warm, none of them was brave enough to challenge the cold and go to the school rooftop for lunch. They were talking about the TV show last night when suddenly, Ayako – who was standing by near the large window on the side of the classroom, surprised all of them with the sudden yell.

"Ayako, what's wrong?" Mikasa asked again, as Armin's question was left unanswered. But Ayako wasn't looking back at them. Instead, she looked at something outside the window, down on the school courtyard, her long brown hair disheveled across her face, which bore the look of frustration and outrage. She seemed like she was too preoccupied, or too angry, to put anything into words. Curious, the three of them exchanged looks. Then, seeing as Ayako clearly wasn't going to answer anything, they quickly slipped out of their seats and joined her, eager to catch a glimpse at the scenery that's suddenly plunged her into this state of rage.

Mikasa didn't know what to look for at first. But Ayako nudged her ribs and pointed exactly at two figures on the bottom right corner of the courtyard, near the entrance to the soccer field. A boy and a girl were standing there, facing each other, the girl slightly tilted her head up to look at the boy. From up here, they looked just like any ordinary couple who had gone out to the court for their lunch, but Mikasa recognized the side figure after a mere few seconds.

Jean and… Mikasa had to narrow her eyes to be sure of the girl who was with him, but she saw her everyday – surely she couldn't be mistaken. It was Nanako.

She frowned, then turned to face her friend.

"I don't understand…"

"Neither do I," Ayako replied, her teeth clenched. "What is that wench doing out there with Jean? Surely she is up to no good again."

"What's going on?" Eren seemed like he didn't understand a thing. "Why are we talking about that Horseface?"

"For your information, Yeager," Ayako cut in impatiently, "That person right there in the field," she jabbed with her finger to the figures of Nanako and Jean, "With Jean… is the likely person behind all those incidents targeting Mikasa, and you."

"By the way, she's a girl from your class," Armin supplied helpfully, "In case you don't remember."

"I can't even remember what I ate for lunch," Eren said simply, and peered out of the window with curiosity. Mikasa gave him a disdainful look. "I told you about this," she reminded him. "There is a girl in our class who likes Jean, and she hates me for rejecting him." Eren gave out a low whistle.

"Now I remember. That is the stupidest thing I heard, even including the all the school gossips combined." He continued watching out the window with great interest. "I don't know why you think this is a bad thing… sounds like that chick has scored herself a pretty nice goal then, she and Horseface look awfully chummy." The couple were now sitting together on a bench near the soccer field, and unpacking their lunch boxes. Eren was right, they seemed to be having a good time. "Bet my whole lunch this week they'd be fucking each other before March ends."

"You said that because you didn't know her!" Ayako yelled in frustration. "Nanako is a vicious snake! And whatever down there she's doing with Jean, and everyone knows the story between Mikasa and Jean – is going to have something to do with Mikasa in the end… and with you!" she looked even more exasperated now. She played nervously with her fingers and drew a deep sigh, her rage had subsided and instead was replaced with anxiety as she bit her lips in silence, brows furrowed, still looking at the couple with deep concentration.

"Oh, if only I could prove that she was behind all these," Ayako muttered in desperation. "Stalking Mikasa and everything… I'd drag her out in the open, but she would just deny everything…"

"I think," Mikasa said quietly, "That you lots have become somehow more absorbed in this than me. I know," she added quickly when she saw Ayako was about to protest. "I know you did this for me. And I'm grateful, really. But I don't want my friends getting in a lot of trouble because of me," she made a heavy emphasis on the last word, and paused for a while.

"Trust me… compared to what I used to face in my house… this is nothing."

There was such a dark tone in Mikasa's voice that made the three others immediately exchange looks. The atmosphere seemed to suddenly grow heavier with her words. Ayako shifted uncomfortably in her place.

"I don't really care," Mikasa continued, "If they mark my desk with a flower, or throw away my books every day, or accuse me of sleeping around with boys. I said this before, and I'll say it again – I can endure it. I don't mind to endure it, and for me, silence is the best option to their child-like pranks." She walked back to the table where they sat before they all ran to Ayako's side near the window. Then, she picked up her cup and stared absent-mindedly at it for a while. "And I think you forgot," she put the cup down with a small thud, now turning to face the three, who noted with relief that she was now smiling, albeit just slightly.

"I'm stronger than you all are," she said this with a hint of arrogance, but it was such matter-of-fact that none of them could argue further. "I can take on all these people. And as long as you are on my side… then I'm not afraid of anything."

She seemed like she was addressing the three but in the end, her eyes shifted slightly to where Eren was standing. She was looking directly at him. Her smile grew a bit wider, and her expression had changed into something a lot softer. Wordlessly, Eren mirrored her smile. He had never become bored observing how pretty she was, how magnificent… He knew he had been looking at her for a long while, but it's not enough – he could look at her all day – and every time he saw her, there's a certain familiar feeling of warmth that seemed to wash over him.

"Nanako can turn the whole school upside-down if she wants to," Mikasa continued again, this time looking at Ayako and Armin. "In the end, it's me she wants. If it's really her behind all of these, then… when the time comes… she'll go for me. Until then, just stay out of trouble, Ayako." Mikasa now pinned the brown-haired girl with her sharp gaze. "And you too, Armin. Don't waste your energy on her. She is not worth it."

***

It wasn't easy for Armin to find an excuse to talk to Jean.

For one, they weren't in the same class, or in the same extracurricular club. And though they both had people they knew in common – Mikasa and Ayako – this time Armin had to approach Jean without their help, which made the task more difficult for him.

It also didn't help that the only time Armin ever spoke to Jean face to face was during him and Mikasa's failed date attempt last year, in which Mikasa deliberately drag him to her date without previously informing him or Jean. Armin could never forget the murderous look Jean had on his face that day. He looked at Armin as though the blonde boy was some kind of disgusting pest he wanted to crush under his feet, and Armin had to spend several agonizing hours fearing for his life lest Jean would murder him out of spite.

To tell the truth, Armin wasn't planning on approaching Jean by himself. Mikasa had made a fair point to stop them from meddling in her affairs with Nanako, but Armin wasn't convinced. He had never seen Nanako in person, never conversed with her – yet he had a pretty good idea about this person from the way Ayako and Mikasa described her. If he was right, and usually he was rather good at deducing people's personalities… Nanako was not just interested in destroying Mikasa. Yes, Mikasa might be her end target, but Mikasa was wrong if she thought Nanako would just go straight to her in an attempt for revenge. From what Armin knew by words, she was foul enough to also extend the damage to anyone else she saw associated with Mikasa Ackerman.

And that, of course, also included Jean Kirstein.

That was the sole reason Armin wanted to find out the nature of relationship between Nanako and Jean, but first things first, Armin really wasn't sure on how to approach him. He had spent the whole day yesterday, diligently stalking Jean and trying to find an opening that he could use. These days it seemed like he was gradually getting used to stalking and hunting, Armin noted to himself with a bit of wonder. And what surprised him even more, was the fact that he actually enjoyed the thrill. Maybe he had been looking for some interesting events to distract him from the boring school life, after all…

And today, Armin waited in the corner, tense with anticipation. He finally decided that the best time to approach Jean was a few minutes nearing the end of the lunch break – he saw Jean heading down the stairs to the ground floor, toward the row of the vending machines installed near the inter-building corridor. Armin saw Jean put in his coins to the drink vending machine, pressed a few buttons, then bent down to retrieve his canned drink. Jean was alone, thank God, it will make things easier…

Jean finally retrieved his canned hot coffee, bent up again, clicked his can open, and after a sip, began to walk to where Armin was hiding.

Armin counted carefully, inside his head, taking care to act only with the most precise timing. Then, when he finally reached five, he drew in a deep breath and emerged abruptly from the corner. Quite naturally, Jean, who was walking fast to the opposite direction, didn't have enough time to dodge him. He tried to stop in the last second but a collision was unavoidable. They collided, Armin fell to the floor, Jean let out a loud yell, and his canned coffee came crashing to the floor with a loud clank. From the scorching sensation on the front of his shirt, Armin knew that he must have spilled some of the liquid on his uniform. Not wasting any seconds, he proceeded to his next act with ease.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry!" he said. "I was in a rush.. didn't see where and I'm going… and I spilled your coffee too… sorry, I'll buy you a new one… wait here."

He handed a piece of handkerchief to Jean, who was wildly confused, still processing what's happening.

"T-that's alright," he stuttered a bit, taking the handkerchief out of Armin's hand, and watched wordlessly as the blonde boy hurriedly made his way to the vending machine, and came back a few minutes later with the exact same drink.

"Sorry again," Armin said, handing over the coffee to Jean. Jean thanked him out of courtesy, and began to observe the boy more carefully.

"Aren't you Ackerman's friend?" he asked, taking the canned coffee from Armin a little mindlessly.

"I'm Armin Arlert," he said, opening his own can of coffee and slipping in casually beside Jean. "We have met before."

"I remember," Jean replied in short. That event might be last year but the disastrous date with Mikasa was still fresh in his memory.

"I – I want to apologize for that time," said Armin quickly. "I really had no idea what's happening… Mikasa just told me to come along with her, so I agreed. And…"

"All good," said Jean. "It's not your fault. The look on your face when you knew what you got yourself into… it was quite amusing, though."

They exchanged short, awkward smiles for a while, and Armin felt Jean began to tense less at his presence.

"Things haven't been calm around Ackerman lately," Jean remarked after a while, seemingly trying to find topics to continue his conversation with Armin.

"Certainly," Armin replied, sighing. "Somebody's really got grudges against her. And decided to bring the whole school into it."

Jean stared listlessly into the distance. "Figured. But Ackerman's been a good feed for the rumor mills even before all of these. People scrutinized every aspects of her life no matter what she did. Maybe not a day has ever passed peacefully in her life…"

"Tell you the truth," said Armin, "She's quite happy people's been ignoring her existence these days. Helped her to keep a much lower profile." Jean looked at him, rather surprised. "Was that really what she said?"

"No, but I know Mikasa," said Armin, looking back at Jean, smiling slightly. "She's about tired being in the center of everyone's attention for well over a year now."

Jean regarded this point carefully. "Whoever's doing this must be not so happy now," he said after a while, voicing Armin's thoughts out loud, and Armin remarked how notably sharp Jean was. "Ackerman's not exactly playing on their favor."

"She doesn't," Armin agreed. "All the more reason they might try something different… and more desperate, soon."

"Yeah," Jean grinned slightly in frustration. "Anyway… I have to go, thank you for the coffee…," he made a start to get back to his own classroom but paused, flicked a glance to Armin and hesitated for a while, before speaking.

"Is she really dating Yeager? Not that I'm being nosey about it –" Jean added quickly. "I'm just… just curious."

That was a poor excuse, and even Armin could tell Jean's real intention. But the boy responded in kind.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Mikasa never really talked much about her personal affairs. But they've been really close lately, and out of us all… I know that she trusts Eren the most."

Jean's heart sank even further at this revelation. "I see," he mumbled under his breath. Armin watched in silence as Jean looked pointedly at his toes, shifting uncomfortably for a while. Then Armin started again, "I'm sorry to ask, but… are you still… you know…"

"Huh," Jean seemed to have lost his focus. "What?" he asked to Armin, and the boy, turning a bit red now, repeated his question.

"You still have a crush on Mikasa?"

Jean looked embarrassed with Armin's straightforward way of asking it. But he looked even more embarrassed as he tried to answer it.

"Maybe," he muttered vaguely, "I don't… I could… yeah, maybe."

"Sorry," said Armin immediately, "I – I shouldn't have asked."

"That's about the fiftieth 'sorry' for the day, Arlert," Jean replied, with more genuine humor this time, and Armin looked relieved. "It's just that… I've seen you around lately with this girl," Armin admitted. "I just wonder… maybe��"

"With a girl?" Jean seemed to be thinking for a while. "Oh, you mean… Toda. Yes, I've been spending time with her." He looked back at Armin, who nodded. "I don't know her name… but I know she's Mikasa's classmate… short brown hair, rather small build?"

"Yeah, that's Toda alright," replied Jean. "She's in the drama club with me… nice girl, she is… we had good times… she gave me lots of advice on life and helped me make my homework. She –" he stopped when he saw Armin's expression slightly changed. The blonde boy suddenly looked a bit sick, like he was forced to watch people throw up in front of his face. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Armin lied. His expression was quickly back to normal. "I just thought, maybe… maybe you got over Mikasa already."

"Honestly, I never stood a fair chance against her," Jean remarked flatly. "And if she's happy with Yeager… so am I."

Jean waved to Armin. "See ya later, Arlert." Armin kept his cheerful face until Jean was safely out of sight, then returned to his own classroom, his expression full with worry.

***

"Things have been really weird in this school lately," Ymir remarked crassly as she sat together with Historia one day at their club practice. The petite blonde girl looked up from their next drama script which she had been reading intently and regarded her friend with an inquisitive look.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Things look perfectly normal to me."

"For one, Horseface's been screwing around with a new girl," said Ymir, and Historia looked a bit reproachful. Ymir knew she shouldn't have used that kind of language in front of her, Historia's got a refined taste after all – she's part of the Reiss household, easily one of the richest family in the entire Japan. She used to receive strict education in a private all-girls college in Tokyo, one of the best in the country, until some inner conflicts overtook the Reiss family, and she was forced to split from her parents. She lived in Shiganshina now with her sister Frieda, a much more modest life than what she used to have. She was better in every aspects now, one could say she was cruder, but much closer to a commoner lifestyle than when she first arrived in Shiganshina a year ago.

Historia's friendship with Ymir was the primary driving factor behind this change. Ymir was unquestionably crude, crass, with a no-nonsense kind of attitude that was sometimes considered as rude, and a mouth that would have been better remain shut since it had, more often than not, landed Ymir in various difficult situations when she opened it without thinking. As rude as she was, Historia loved her friend dearly, for Ymir had been the one who had been in Historia's side when she was lost and tried desperately to rebuild her life. For a confused girl at the age of fifteen, she was craving that best friend figure to help her through things, and Ymir was, and continued to be, that person for her.

"I still don't see why that's something weird, Ymir," Historia sighed, closing her drama script. "It's a good thing if Jean gets over Ackerman."

"I would say that… if only that girl who's been all over Horseface doesn't happen to be our newest member. You remember her, Historia… the one who suddenly joined after the new term started."

"Oh," Historia seemed to give it a thought, "Yes, bit of a strange time to join a club…"

Ymir scoffed. "A bit? She joined this club because Horseface was here. She was never interested in drama. Have you ever seen her paying any attention to practice? Or stayed behind voluntarily to do chores? Do you realize that she's only stayed behind when it was Horseface's turn to do club chores? And when he's not in practice, she never attended as well. She's all over him, it makes me sick." Ymir looked disgusted. "I don't know why Horseface is even considering her. If she ever breathed a word that's not a lie… I'd go ahead to Mr. Shadis and offer him a piece of steamed potato during class…. like our idiot Potato Girl did."

Historia giggled unexpectantly. "That was mean, Ymir," she said, but she looked rather amused. "That alone made Sasha our school legend though."

"You know I'm not good at reading atmosphere, but she's even worse," Ymir reproved. "She's thick."

"Not thick, just innocent," Historia defended her. "Sasha has this… childhood innocence on her. You just can't bring yourself to hate her."

"The same childhood innocence had her run thirty laps around the school court, Historia," Ymir reminded, and Historia looked glum.

"Oh yes, Mr. Shadis wasn't too nice with that… Sasha nearly collapsed out of fatigue. Good thing we found her on time," she recalled. "She's almost passed out. Miss Ral wasn't too happy when we brought her in… started saying all things about improper punishments at school and how she'd bring this to Headmaster Erwin… Oh, look… speak of the devil…"

Historia stopped just as Sasha Braus entered the sports hall. She walked straight for the stage where Historia and Ymir were sitting side by side, chatting. She waved at them, looking very excited, her hands are full of something, which, as she went nearer the stage, Ymir and Historia recognized as countless packages of chocolate puddings.

"Historia! Ymir! Look what I got for us! Puddings!" she said, and proudly put down the dozens puddings on the floor, some of them rolled to where Historia was sitting, and she picked it up and gave the object a suspicious look.

"Umm, Sasha," she tried to make her point as carefully as she could. "Where did you get these?"

Historia did know that these puddings were, in fact, best-selling items in school cafetaria, and it was unlikely Sasha could have obtained these many using any normal means, considering it was limited to two items per student, and was almost always sold out during the first ten minutes of lunch.

"Nevermind that now," she said, and Historia noted that she'd almost never seen anyone with such greedy looks on their face. She and Ymir exchanged quick looks, Ymir's eyebrows slightly raised, and Historia knew exactly what Ymir was going to say.

What was that about childhood innocence?

"Well if you don't want to tell –" Ymir said, and picked up a container. "Lets just say… that you found these."

"Yes, I found these. When I was done with my Archery Club duties and I made my rounds here… I found these lovely packages of pudding waiting for me in my locker. They're from… my secret admirer."

Historia was going to say something, but Ymir gave her a quick look.

"You know what… I guess… I'll have a dig. Finders' keepers," Ymir said casually, twirling the package in her hands.

"Finders' keepers," Sasha agreed, and began to scoop a mouthful.

Historia gave a sigh, and opened her own pudding container. If there was anything weird in this school, it's definitely Sasha Braus and her monstrous appetite, and how she never seemed to gain weight even though she kept eating.

"Come on, Historia. This pudding isn't poisoned, you know."

The petite blonde girl lowered her spoon and began to scoop a little of the gelatinous chocolate substance. If you can't beat them, join them.

***

She was unexpectedly witty.

Jean loved her humor. She was that kind of person that seemingly just clicked with him. Jean didn't think it was possible before, they rarely had any opportunities to talk. But now that he knew her, every time they conversed, he found that she could draw him right in.

They wandered along the school, spent their free hours together. She brought him lunch box from home, and they chatted about everything. He told her casual things about his life, where he lived, where he used to go to school, stupid things he did when he was younger – all kinds of unimportant things that he wanted to share just because he absolutely enjoyed spending time with her.

She was like a fresh breath of air to Jean. For once, he felt like his efforts actually meant something. For once, it wasn't only him – chasing emptily on someone's back who's never turning to him. With Mikasa, everything was… difficult. She had too high of a wall, too deep of an ocean to transverse. When they were together, it was almost impossible for Jean to guess what's on her mind, she was quiet, she kept to herself, and not a minute pass by between the two without Jean trying uncomfortably to find a topic to talk. And still, their conversations never lasted long.

Nanako was the exact opposite. She was… no other word to describe her – fun. She had interest in almost everything Jean had to say, she laughed at his jokes, and she seemed to like having his companion. Time seemed to fly when he was with her, and Jean regretted why he never knew her earlier. They could have had a good few months, a good year even, and instead of the pain of rejection he constantly felt toward Mikasa when again and again she turned him down, and again he waited for her heart to accept him, but his time never once came. For once, Jean now learned how it felt to have someone actually accepting him. And maybe, just maybe, after all of his bad luck was spent – maybe now life was going to be better for him.

And this one, he articulated to Nanako.

"I wish I'd known you sooner," he said to her one day when they were alone. "I mean all this time…," he said, "All this time you were that close to me. And I never knew… I wish I'd met you sooner but… I'm glad I met you now."

She turned slightly pink at his blunt honesty, then muttered indistinctly.

"I'm just glad you think of me that way, Jean," she said. "I'm glad I met you too."

She was silent for a long time, as they continued walking through the deserted school garden. The bitter cold were biting heavily into their cheeks and almost made Jean's fingers numb – it had been a week of bad weather in Shiganshina, snow was again falling heavily, despite February already coming to an end. Hurriedly, Jean tightened his scarf and put his hands inside his pocket to reach for his pocket warmers to keep his hands slightly warm. School regulation didn't allow students to wear overcoats or any other piece of clothing on top of their school blazers except for scarves, and in winter, sometimes it became so freezing cold Jean wondered how they could survive without an extra layer of clothing. Jean always thought it was a silly rule to not even allow students to dress warmly, and there were times he wished he'd graduate soon so he could go to college where regulations about clothing wouldn't be as strict. But for now, he knew he'd have to make do with another winter, before obtaining his freedom as early as spring next year.

Beside him, Nanako made a brief stop. Jean halted too. He was about to ask her what's wrong, when he heard her suddenly murmured "Oh I wish – I wish I could…"

Jean heard a hearty sniff which made him frown, and he turned to find the girl who stood beside him had, in fact, started crying. Beads of tears were falling down her face from her red eyes, trickled down her cheeks, and down to the front of her winter uniform.

"I'm sorry," she said, in uncontrollable big sobs, that left Jean gaping slightly. "Sorry… I'm so sorry…"

What exactly was she sorry for, Jean could never know. He felt surprised at the sudden turn of events, but at the same time thoroughly miserable. He didn't expect this, he didn't like tears. And especially when a girl cried in front of him it always made him wonder what he did wrong. He didn't know what to do, he wished she would just stop crying. He continued to stand there like an idiot while she was crying sobs after sobs that made her shoulders tremble, until he finally approached her, in his desperate attempt to put an end to this sooner, and awkwardly asked.

"Nanako? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said and Jean couldn't help but point out that nothing could possibly be not wrong the way she was crying like this.

"What's bothering you?" he asked again, hoping desperately that, at least he would sound less awkward than the last time.

"It was just….," she swallowed thickly. "I never… never imagined I would have heard you… I would have heard anyone… saying that to me. Nobody ever loved me… at home, anywhere. And I can't bring myself to love them. I'm just this invisible, unwanted person. It never made any difference whether I lived."

"No," Jean heard himself speak before he could stop it. "Please… please don't say that. Don't say anything about yourself like that." He felt pitiful. He had started this day feeling so happy – he had expressed to her how he was glad to have known her, he'd never have thought things would take their turns this way.

Nanako gave her a sad smile.

"Coming here to school has been my only source of joy. It's been the only times when I feel truly… happy," she sniffed, her voice hoarse with tears. "I'm glad to hear you say that you're happy to meet me, to be with me, but in the same time, I'm afraid… I'm really afraid…." Her face contorted and tears started pouring down her face again. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, harder this time, Jean had never seen anyone cry with such intensity before – actually, he'd never seen anyone cried in front of him at all, his mind went blank, he didn't know what to do…

"Please," he heard Nanako speak in between her sobs, "P-please… at least… at least say that you wouldn't leave me alone."

Nanako was looking straight at him now, her eyes were puffy, the tip of her nose was red due to cold, she looked so sad, so miserable, and yet… she was the definition of pretty in his eyes. Jean couldn't bring himself to look away, it was as if he was captivated by her, and time had halted to a complete stop.

"Jean…," she said again. "If you leave me alone, I wouldn't… I wouldn't have anyone."

Jean shook his head and swallowed, feeling his words gradually left him. He couldn't find anything to say, and even if he did – it seemed like his brain and his mouth just wouldn't cooperate.

"Jean…"

She had moved closer to him, she was too close now – Jean could see the streaks of tears on her face, her damp eyelashes, the tip of her nose, and her pale, quivering lips…

"Please don't leave me alone."

***

Darkness had never quite left her.

Eren could feel it when he kissed her lips, when they made out, when she, for the briefest moments, albeit with a lot of doubts at first – allowed him to undo the buttons on her school uniform, one by one, until they revealed the beauty of her milky-white skin underneath. It was an inviting sight of beauty that otherwise would have been perfect had it not been for the marks of old scars here and there, traces of abuse that she used to endure during the years of mistreatment she spent in her house growing up.

The first time Mikasa let him undress her, he had been too stunned at the view, and certainly not for a good reason. He had seen her of course, that first night she was on his house, she let him treat her wounds as she told him her story. But that time he had seen only her back, and now that he'd seen her, almost naked, from the front, he could really comprehend how utterly brutal her life was. He paused for a few seconds, his attention completely taken by the dark marks, the old scars, and she, who had been anticipating his move, understood immediately. Hurriedly she clutched the front of her shirt which had been unbuttoned loose by him, trying to block her body from his view.

"They're ugly, aren't they?" she asked, seemingly ashamed at her state, and he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He didn't stop because they were ugly. He didn't give a damn if they were ugly, they couldn't have stopped him from wanting her. No. He stopped because these scars suddenly made him feel like there was something burning inside his stomach, and he felt a rising desire to punch something to release his anger.

"Wounds will heal, but scars will remain," she muttered slightly, more to herself than to anyone else. "Were you shocked to see these, Eren?"

She didn't sound quite sure, it was as if she was half expecting him to reject her, to call her ugly, as if he could ever do it. But he couldn't lie to her either. Gently he wrapped his fingers around her hands, which had been immensely clutching her shirt, and gave them a squeeze.

"I am," he replied quietly. She looked nervous, sad, and hurt. For a moment she looked like the girl who appeared in front of him that night on Christmas amidst the falling powdered snow. Lost and confused, trying to cling desperately to her one sense of reason. "I was. But it doesn't matter to me. You survived it. These scars are proof – that you have been there, that you endured it, and you came out of it… It's the proof that you are human. You have won your battle. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

She looked at him imploringly, but he only gave a wordless nod. You are not ugly, he said, and she relented, she put down her hands, letting her shirt hang around her body loosely once more. She was dressed in plain, simple white underwear – something of her taste, really. Somehow Eren knew she'd have preferred these than the frilly things, not that it mattered to him, her body was so beautiful, he could have enjoyed looking at her all day. He put his hands around her carefully like she's a delicate piece of artwork made of glass, she put her arms around his neck, pulled him close to her, and planted him a deep, long kiss. Something intoxicating, something endearing, something with a sense of longing. He was reduced to his very basic senses when he was with her, all kinds of reasoning had gone out of his brain while his instincts simply took over.

It was always right with her. They way she moved, sometimes she started with gentle kisses on his lips, sometimes she embraced him as she sat on his lap, kissing him fervently, and he returned with the same fervor, gradually growing more heated as she ground against him, hungry for his touch. She could caress him in a deeply sensual way that made Eren wonder whether she really was a first timer, he almost could feel all the screws inside his brain melt when she touched him, undressed him, and stroked him all over. He hadn't felt this good in a long, long time. He hadn't had sex once ever since he met her, couldn't find his release, and somehow, he knew that any kind of release would have been pointless when he wanted her all along.

The first time they were both naked in each other's presence, Eren was half expecting her to be clumsy, but she wasn't – she was experimental, maybe, she traced her fingers on his chest, stroking his back, seemingly getting herself familiar with the naked body of a man. Then she gradually went lower, found his length, and took it inside her delicate fingers. Soon, Eren found himself laying on the hard floor of their empty classroom, eyes on the ceilings as she put her lips around his hardness in such a natural way, caressing him in her warmth and ran her tongue over it, her hair swaying and her lips moving diligently until she heard his pleasurable groans. She was too good at this. She moved again, even more restlessly now, he didn't try to fight it and sure enough, he came.

She was panting slightly, her eyes looking at him now, satisfied that she brought him to his climax. He cleaned up, then they embraced for a long while. Her body was slick with sweat, her hair was sticking to the side of her face. They didn't say anything, just held each other closely in their arms as the sky outside the window was gradually getting darker.

They took turns satisfying each other's needs, soon it was her lying on the classroom floor, he was pining her down and planting kisses to her body, cupping her breasts in his hands, sucking her nipples gently and exploring her slowly, taking his sweet time to tease her nonstop, enjoying moans after moans that escaped her lips. He slipped his hand between her thighs and felt her through her panties. She was moist and wet, and he knew hecould make her feel even better… He slipped her out of her panties and dropped down and started to use his tongue. She gasped, and tensed at first, but he caressed her inner thighs, wordlessly told her to relax. She relented, giving in to him to do as he pleased with her. He licked, and teased, and kissed at her wet opening. Slowly at first, playfully, teasingly, but that grew more intense before long. He couldn't see her face but her shuddering breaths, her pleasurable squirms, and the way she moaned was more than enough for him. She seemed to enjoy it a lot, and so did he – she came not long after, her hands tensed beside her, her cry was the most satisfying sound of orgasm that he ever heard. Breathless, he emerged from between her legs. "Had a good time?" he grinned, but she was too weak to offer anything in retort.

They were being reckless, Mikasa knew that. She also didn't know what's going on in her minds. Especially since she knew how difficult their situation now was – they were being stalked once, they could be more than likely still being followed and monitored now. And if anyone was trying to spread scandals of her through the whole school, then this would be the perfect opportunity.

But there was a part of her that just didn't care – if Nanako or someone else wanted so desperately to show the whole school how she was far away from the perfect girl Mikasa Ackerman image she used to build, then by all means she would let them have their way. She didn't want to maintain that image any longer, she just wanted to become an ordinary person – she wanted to be put down from the pedestal where people used to admire her. The times when she was confined to her prison of hourglass was long gone, she had broken free from it now. And even if it was just to live in the moment with Eren, this was the only time Mikasa ever felt real.

This was the only time in her life when she knew what she wanted to do. And for sure she didn't want to waste any single moment with him worrying about anyone – or anything else. She wanted to be with him, she wanted to be by his side. For now, Eren was right there beside her and for Mikasa, that was more than enough.

***

People laugh for a variety of reasons. Mostly it was to display a sense of positive emotions: joy, mirth, or happiness. Other times, it could also display less than comfortable emotion: nervousness, sarcasm, or people might choose to laugh out of courtesy.

However, nothing might compare to the laugh that came out of a bedroom in a comfortable two-story house occupied by Toda Nanako and her family, as she explained to her friend Akiyama Emi what happened that afternoon, laughing in obvious satisfaction, for a cause that certainly was not a good one.

"You should have seen his face, Emi! I told him, don't leave me, don't let me go, Jean and he just stood there like some kind of idiot! He completely believed everything I told him!"

"And… and then you kissed?" Emi said, looking unconvinced.

"Of course we did! I gave him a looong and nice kiss that he wasn't able to deny! I've got him now, I know I've got him! Oh, this is going to be so good now…"

"But I thought…," Emi frowned slightly, beaming at her friend. "I thought you like Jean, Nanako. Why are you doing this? I thought it's Ackerman you hate."

"Oh, I like Jean alright," Nanako said cheerily. "He's tall… he's handsome… and he's so pathetic with his obsession with Mikasa. People like him are so easy – he's been chasing Mikasa for so long that he forgot how it's like to have somebody actually liking him back. Just use that against him and voila! He's on the palm of my hands now. I know exactly which buttons to push! Isn't this so amazing?"

"You'll hurt Jean, you know," Emi said carefully, "If he finds out about all these…"

But Nanako gave an obvious scoff.

"You're an idiot, Emi! That's not how it's going to work! See – that bitch Mikasa doesn't seem to care anymore about her reputation, and that Yeager bastard is putting a stop to all the bullying because people are too afraid of him. So I'm going to strip Mikasa off her power, one by one, until she has nothing left! Don't you see why she could act all indifferent, still coming to school with her straight pretty face, as though nothing ever happened?"

Emi shook her head.

"That's because… she had a damn good support system that continued ruining my plans!" Nanako carefully lined up four chess pieces on the table.

"That slut Ayako…"

She put down the rook

"That son-of-a-bitch Arlert –"

She put down a bishop piece

"That bastard transfer student, Eren Yeager –"

She put the knight piece on the table

"And… of course that bitch Mikasa herself."

She put the queen piece in the middle, surrounded by all three chess pieces.

"They're all different, but they're just as troublesome," she sneered. "Arlert and Ayako's been snooping around, sticking their nose in every places – almost caught Tachibana last time but he was clever and he informed me. Such a bad move for people who are trying to keep everything discreet… Now I have no choice but to take down one…," she flicked the rook piece and it fell sideways on the table, "… by one…," another piece fell, this time the bishop, "by one." The knight piece also fell, it clattered on the table and now there was just the queen piece standing tall in the middle of its fallen comrades.

"And where does Jean fit in all of this?" Emi asked wonderingly, and Nanako gave a small tut and a concerned look.

"Just picture this in your head, Emi… just as Mikasa was slipping lower, and lower, and lower… Jean's going to be more and more heartbroken, and lost. He's going to be confused, he's going to need someone… And what else does he need, if not for a person beside him, to comfort him, to tell him that she loves him, and it doesn't matter how long… she will wait for him." Emi regarded her friend with a surprised look on her face. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

But Emi didn't answer the question. Instead, there was a long, heavy pause before she finally muttered. "You have changed, Nanako…"

"Oh no, Emi dear, no…," she said, shaking her head and chuckling to herself. "I didn't change. You just started to know me better."

***

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

Ayako stirred sleepily and reached her hand to her bedside table, mumbling quietly to herself. She had been woken up by the sound of incoming chat messages from her phone. Not even halfway awake, she looked at her phone clock and it showed 32 minutes past one in the morning. Who was chatting her in the middle of the night? She unlocked her phone and read the incoming message, suddenly her face was lit up with a grin.

From: xxx

Operation Urd successful

Begin Operation Verdandi

El. Psy. Congroo

#eremika #hourglass #eremika fanfic #snk #aot #eren #mikasa

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sophiamcdougall · 5 years ago

Text

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART TWO) I am back. I have barely eaten or slept and Tumblr has tried to murder me and this post multiple times, but I have survived. Thank you for your patience.

Part One of my attempt to explain the seismic experience that is 2020 Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is here.

Ready? I assure you, you are not, but let’s proceed. So Sanremo rages pitilessly on. Now everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone, including your humble recapper, is exhausted, but doing the gay/chaotic best they can.

As the final battle to save Amadeus, Rancore, Italy and THE WORLD approaches, Achille Lauro has a last message for the troops. And I’m not deducing this, he literally said it on Twitter.

...Hold me I’m scared.

Meanwhile (sort of) (go with it) (time isn’t real at Sanremo) a minor drama has occurred offstage. Singer Tiziano Ferro made an ill-advised joke about Fiorello’s interminable comedy bits, some idiots on Twitter ran away with it, and poor Fiorello was upset! This is minuscule in Sanremo terms. But consider the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Consider hurricanes. But who is Tiziano Ferro?

Hold on. We’ll get to it. For now ...

Fiorello is dancing seductively for an absolutely delighted Amadeus while dressed as a rabbit. And wearing a blonde wig. Is there a rational explanation for this? I mean, sort of. But also no.

And then he worries Amadeus might give him herpes, which causes Amadeus to freaking snap.

“No, no!” yells the mercurial Fiorello. Amadeus isn’t worthy of his kisses yet. He ricochets out of Amadeus’s arms and into the audience and “passes on” the kiss to a guy in the front row.

“Incredible things are going to happen tonight!” yells Amadeus, who has no fucking idea. ”Beautiful things,” corrects Fiorello.

But just because Fiorello is a mayhem elemental on a mission of love doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings.

Enter Italy’s sweetheart, Tiziano Ferro.

Actually, Tiziano’s been there all along. He’s the specialest of special guests, singing through basically his entire back catalogue every night. Which why it really was unfair of him to pick on Fiorello -- it’s not his fault he’s literally got to stand there and babble nonsense for aeons on end, Tiziano! He’s just serving the hungry chthonic entity that is Sanremo, same as you.

While the gay mayhem (the gayhem, if you will) surges around him, Tiziano has been fighting the good gay fight in his own steadfast way, so far untouched. His mere presence is a message of hope in itself, he knows this, and is determined to make it count. Ten years ago he was closeted, convinced coming out would end his career, and suicidal. Now happily married and gloriously successful, he is here to demonstrate that “it gets better”. He radiates such wholesome joy and resilience that everyone loves him.

So anyway, Tiziano didn’t mean to hurt anybody because he would never, and now he wants to make things right. So will Fiorello forgive him?

Ah, what better gesture of reconciliation than to goofily sing a love song written by Fiorello himself. Of course Fiorello forgives Tiziano, because Fiorello loves everyone, good and bad, (after all he loves Amadeus the most). But he is also a chaos being, and he is working harder than anyone else to channel the divine madness of this deranged Sanremo Festival into anyone who gets close. Tiziano, watch out!

Seems TIziano naively thought he could lean in for a staged, nearly kiss, but Fiorello’s very soul is antithetical to “nearly” anything.

“My husband’s going to divorce me!” wails poor Tiziano, but Fiorello has never felt so alive. This is Sanremo, bitches. Rules like “sixty-year-old men can’t be danger twinks, Fiorello,” have ceased to apply. He is an apostle of Achille Lauro, he has accepted the sermon of Benigni into his heart: it is time for PHYSICAL LOVE. While not quite ready (yet) to fuck everyone in the orchestra pit, he is throbbing with readiness, to frolic all over the theatre giving all the guys he can get his hands on THE KISSES OF HIS MOUTH.

Naturally this sparks further firestorms of chaos. “Do it again!” begs grizzled rocker and high-ranking competitor Piero Pelù. Electrified by the touch of Fiorello’s lips, he is later to be found running shirtless through the auditorium where he steals a handbag.

Everyone is kissing everyone, age and orientation be damned. Summoned by the gay sorcery unfolding, 65-year-old queer rock goddess Gianna Nanini manifests and is kissed worshipfully on the lips by 36-year-old duet partner Coez.

There’s also some kind of song competition going on I guess.

This happens:

That’s Ghali, GUYS, IT’S NOT WORKING, rappers ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES ALL OVER THIS STAGE, WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.

(... it isn’t really Ghali and don’t worry. This is a gag? Which I still don’t really get? And nor does sweet anarchist cherub Fiorello whom we will later discover is currently being physically restrained from rushing onstage to tend to the fallen rapper’s wounds.)

The real Ghali raps in Arabic which among other things is a big old “me ne frego” of his own to Italian Trump-tribute act and failed wannabe prime minister Matteo Salvini. Then he gets close to Fiorello, which can only end one way.

All the boys are crazy for Fiorello’s kisses but Amadeus still can’t have any

It’s already a difficult night for Amadeus. TV presenter Antonella Clerici enters and far from standing a step beside him, righteously rips the piss out of him, which to be fair he accepts with grace.

And as for Achille Lauro ... ...No. Patience. The time to bear witness to the last stand of Achille Lauro is not yet come. There are other forces stirring at Sanremo.

Chaos has its dark side.

The gun on stage is cocked and loaded. This is it. ENTER MORGAN.

... and enter Bugo, who trails in behind Morgan, looking dazed and haunted. But whatever, it’s a million o’clock in the morning, aren’t we all.

They start to play. Italian Tumblr dozes fitfully on its sofa, idly crackshipping Amadeus and Fiorello. Utterly unprepared.

So most of us don’t notice what’s happening ...

... until the music just stops.

No one’s paid attention to the Morgan and Bugo in days. As far as I’m concerned Fabrizio Moro has already been avenged and my bloodlust is slaked. The song - apparently written wholly by Bugo - honestly, isn’t bad, but Morgan’s been tuneless throughout and their duet/cover last night was cringeable. There have been some major reversals in the rankings but at this point there’s almost no way they’re going to be one of them. And Morgan is not happy.

So Morgan changed the lyrics (and this isn’t even last-minute improv, he fucking printed it) to attack the one person who still had faith in him, blaming Bugo and Bugo alone for their poor performance so far. On live TV. In front of millions. After screaming at Bugo backstage just minutes ago. And he expects Bugo to just stand there and take it.

"Me ne frego to that shit,” thinks Bugo, and becomes the unexpected self-care hero of Sanremo as he vanishes into the night.

And that’s how I learned the Italian word for pandemonium.

Morgan has the absolute nerve to ask what’s going on. Amadeus breaks out in visible cold sweat. Fiorello is thrown bodily onstage to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING, OH MY GOD.

It’s long past midnight and a bunch of worried middle-aged men in sparkly jackets are scampering around yelping “Bugo? Bugo! BUGO? BUGO!!!” and that, I am here to tell you, when you are already delirious from exhaustion and shitposting-induced hysteria, is more than enough to tip you right over the edge.

Italian Tumblr resigns itself to never sleeping again.The memes aren’t going to make themselves.

youtube

Translation: ”Is Bugo there?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s Bugo gone?” “I have to go and see where Bugo is.” “Bugo left.” “BUGO!”

Morgan wants vengeance. Fiorello, adorably indifferent to the fact that he was shoved on stage to, you know, entertain the audience, wants to find the missing waif, wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup. So they both rush offstage and Amadeus is left alone in a living anxiety dream.

The audience are booing. The 70th fucking Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is falling to pieces on his watch. For all he knows murder is going on backstage and he picked known powder-keg and scoundrel Morgan for the Festival. The buck stops with him. And he has no lines, no back-up, no idea what to do about it.

And then Fiorello, angel of misrule, avatar of lawlessness and love, strolls back onstage. He looks confident and relaxed, like a man with all the answers. Which he is.

“Have you got Bugo?” Amadeus inquires desperately.

NO RULES, NO MASTERS, NO SPONSORSHIP MONEY. ME NE FREGO.

Everything is broken. And somehow everything is OK.

Everyone, Amadeus included, bursts into hysterical, cathartic laughter.

“Is this my fault?” Amadeus asks. “YES!” crows Fiorello, lovingly forcing Amadeus to face his sins and his nightmares in a healing atmosphere of radical acceptance and mass psychosis.

And that’s how Amadeus learned that the real Sanremo was inside us all along. And what he needs in this glorious maelstrom was never a beautiful woman standing a step behind him. It’s a chaos pixie dream boy at his side.

It’s time to cast out toxic masculinity and become a better man.

So Amadeus wraps up the show as best he can and then out of pure human compassion, he and Fiorello personally wander the streets of Sanremo looking for Bugo until four in the morning.

Bugo and Morgan are automatically disqualified

And now let us witness the final passion of Achille Lauro. Who is this Achlle Lauro kid anyway? How intentional is all this? Is he the Messiah, or a very naughty boy?

SO YEAH. Anyway, everyone’s wondering what the fuck Achille and his producer/guitarist Boss Doms (yes, really) are going to do, and BE, next. Achille’s first three looks were inspired by St Francis of Assisi, David Bowie, and Marchesa Luisa Casati.

So ... Freddie Mercury, maybe? Elizabeth I? Jesus Christ? And after the flurry of kissing Fiorello whipped up ..

Will they ... can they ... dare they...

Do you even need to ask?

I have no idea how the crazy bastards who guessed “Elizabeth I” did it.

Achille thrusts his hips against Boss’s backside. Drops to his knees before him and lets the shape of the microphone speak for itself. Briefly chokes him. And throughout they are tender, elegant, and utterly, regally dignified.

And then, at last.

A joyous chorus of maenad-like shrieks rings out across Europe. If you’re in the Greater London area and your ears are still sore, I’m sorry. That was me.

That’s it. Achille Lauro and Boss Doms ascend into heaven and pass into history.

Not even they can give more to Sanremo.

The dust settles.

The dawn breaks.

WE FUCKING DID IT! RANCORE LIVES! WOUNDED (as are we all) BUT SMILING AT A WORLD TRANSFORMED! (Not only that but, after starting at the bottom of the leaderboard he’s been catapulted up into the top ten and wins the special prize for Best Lyrics!)

And Amadeus?

Well, let’s hear from him in his own words.

Because Fiorello asked him to, Amadeus is wearing a blonde wig to look like legendary TV host Maria de Filippi. Amadeus doesn’t normally sing, but because Fiorello asks him to, he joins him in song.“A WORLD OF LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!” they chorus. It’s the hymn of the new day.

“He can make me do anything!” Amadeus sighs to the audience. So Fiorello asks him to slow-dance. And they do.

The prophecy has been fulfilled. Amadeus has let love into his heart. He has surrendered to the holy power of gay chaos. He is a man reborn.

He didn’t find Bugo on that long, gruelling dark night of the soul, because incredibly, poor Bugo never left the theatre and spent the night literally hiding in a cupboard.

But he found something else.

As Sanremo finally, mercifully approaches its end, Fiorello grapples him close and, all teasing cast aside, whispers fiercely in his ear:

And somehow it was.

And toxic masculinity?

To find out why don’t we - and I am sorry about this - check in on Matteo Salvini who would normally be rage-tweeting up a Trump-style storm by now. He loves bitching about Sanremo for being “rigged by the left” or occasionally letting a non-lily-white performer win, and this year he even tried to organise a boycott. Let’s see how that’s going.

This, the gayest-ever Sanremo in history, is the most-watched Sanremo in 18 years, with an incredible 60% audience share.

“Me Ne Frego” flies to the top of the Spotify charts. (And though the judges are still cowards and traitors who left Achille in 8th place, there is no doubt across the media who the real star of the festival was. ) And Salvini’s “boycott” just meant he effectively banned himself from making a peep about it.

So who won the festival?

ALL OF US.

Oh, you meant literally.

This guy. His name is Diodato and his song is called “Fai Rumore” (Make a Sound.) It’s fine.

And that was Sanremo. It wasn’t a dream, it was a place. And you, and you, and you were there.

#Explaining Sanremo #Explaining Sanremo Part 2 #Sanremo #Sanremo 2020 #Achille Lauro #Amadeus #Fiorello #Amadello #sanremo 70

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writings-of-a-crazy-lady · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible Ties

Word Count: 2,249

Chapter 14

My fingers glided across the ivory, the simple melody that I knew encasing me in a fantasy world. I was lost in my mind, unaware of my surroundings or those that came and went. I had a few human “maids” that would often check on me, asking if I needed any water or food. But I was entranced in the song, humming the words that I had practiced over and over again in school when I was able to attend.

Music was always an escape for me. Always a way for me to slowly lose myself, forget my troubles and pain. Even when I was nothing in my mind, in the world of song, I was something. I could sing away my troubles, my broken heart or soul. I was able to disappear and become something. Prove all of my bullies and cruel mother wrong in just a few minutes.

I heard the door open to the room, but my fingers did not stop the melody as I allowed my hands to move across the keys. I never allowed the words to fall from my lips, merely humming the tune until I felt hands touch my shoulders. I quickly stopped playing the piano, allowing the unfinished notes to ring in the air that left me feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“Yes?” I looked up, spotting the crimson gaze of Marcus.

“You seem troubled, little one.”

“Is it that obvious?” I sighed, scooting over to allow Marcus a chance to sit on the bench with me. He took the hint, sitting close to me. I had closed my eyes, but I could feel his concerned gaze upon my face, as if he was searching for an easy answer to his many questions.

“Not obvious, mia amore. I can feel the disturbance. It is slight,” he quickly corrected when I looked at him, my immediate discomfort of the others knowing that I was unhappy showing. “But none the less there.”

“I guess I can’t keep it a secret, can I?” I sighed heavily. Aro could easily discern it if my power did not block him and now Marcus seemed to feel our connection and could sense if something was wrong. All that is left is for Caius to have some secret ability at discerning my emotions and then it would be a losing battle to deal with my discomfort alone.

“Never keep secrets from us. If anything, then you can tell me whatever is bothering you. I do not judge, little one.”

“Why do you keep calling me that? Little one? Do I seem small to you?” I tried to change the subject, distract him somehow, but Marcus was as attentive as ever. His eyes gave that much away.

“I am much taller than you,” he pointed out, reminding me how short I was. I nodded before sighing again, glancing down at my hands before staring straight at a wall. I wasn’t sure how to tell him. How to explain my discomfort at what had transpired recently. After my panic attack at the pool, I spent the rest of my evening contemplating everything since I spent much of it alone. And being alone was apparently dangerous since I overthought everything. Every little detail of my life, my body, my hobbies…. All of it. And honestly, I was second guessing their attraction or their faith in me. Which was easy since my confidence was non-existent and the Volturi had a high level of it.

Still, I found myself unable to form the words, much less look at him. How would he feel if I told him that I had zero faith in them? That their affections could not be true? Marcus would probably feel hurt more than anything. Something I didn’t want him to feel. But I couldn’t help this doubt, no matter how much I wish I could.

A soft melody began to play, immediately gaining my attention as I turned to look at my partner. It was a tune I did not expect Marcus to know, yet he played it none the less. Long fingers glided across the ivory keys as I found myself hearing the words in my mind. It wasn’t a popular broadway musical, in fact, it flopped quite horribly. It didn’t live up to the expectations of its predecessor but one particular song always stuck with me…

“~Who knows when love begins? Who knows what makes it start? One day it’s simply there, Alive inside your heart.”

I started the tune, the words quick to fall from my lips. I didn’t realize I had gotten his attention, not seeing how Marcus’ gaze focused on me. He just continued the melody as I sang the song, the words meaning something to me.

It was simply about love. How it ensnares those around them. Love was a mysterious emotion, never knowing how it begins or ends, if it ends at all. And the fact that it can cause you great pain and lonely… Love itself was a confusing thing. It could bring happiness and destruction all at the same time. And in the end, it still endures. Even through all the breakups, there was always a little bit of love left.

During the song, as I allowed the music to consume my everything, I had allowed my eyes to close once again. My mind emptied of all my worries, every single thought slowly ceasing in my mind until nothing but a blank slate was there. Just the words of the song and the emotions I was feeling. And during that time, an audience began to form. Just 2 individuals, but still, an audience nonetheless. Something I wasn’t quite use too…

The melody surrounded me, my voice carrying through the room. Marcus never once missed a beat, keeping up with me as I hit the climax of the song, following the notes until I was able to reach the end of the song. And I couldn’t help but ponder on the words for a few seconds more as he finished the melody, allowing the tune to ring in the air as if it was a thick blanket surrounding us. Love truly was a strange concept. To appear, even when you least expected it. Doubtful anyone in the world could understand it. Especially surrounded by twinkling vampires.

“Brava! Brava!” estatic clapping forced my eyes to open, my whole body immediately standing to attention as I finally realized that it wasn’t just Marcus and I in the room alone. It took me a few seconds to finally realize that it was Aro doing the clapping, Caius not at boisterous but seemed quite impressed with my impromptu performance.

“E’stato magnifico, il mio amore,” Aro gushed over me, clasping his hands together. “Truly marvelous. You have such an enchanting voice.”

“Indeed, much like the siren we claimed,” Caius agreed. I found myself blushing, rubbing my cheeks to dull what I could of the red.

“It’s nothing really,” I tried to pass off the praise, the idea making me far more uncomfortable. But I could tell they didn’t want to pass it off, trying quickly to continue the compliments. Even when my stance turned to me hugging myself, forcing a fake appreciative smile on my face.

“Aro, enough,” a sudden snap from Marcus made him stop, the low growl not something I expected from my gentle giant. I had to look up at him to make sure he wasn’t angry, but I was merely greeted with a calm look. One that hid a small bit of worry underneath. But the compliments ceased, Aro and Caius sharing a very confused look. They didn’t speak, at least, not at an interval I could hear. I mean, they could be sharing some telepathic language that I am not aware of… right?

“Forgive me, I’m just not use to attention or praise. Truth is, I’m use to being exactly what I am good at, and that’s being invisible,” I started, knowing now that I had their attention. Truth was, I was debating with telling them about my past. I knew it would be difficult to explain, but Aro was right in a way. Perhaps one of them knew exactly what it was like. They were thousands of years old. Lived through a time that I could never fully understand myself. So perhaps someone understood.

“I grew up in a very chaotic life. My father abandoned us before I was born. Mom held some hope he would come back but he never did. And mom and I could never see eye to eye. She hated me. Hated that I existed and took away the one person she loved. We often lived in the poorest and darkest parts of town,” I paused, picking at a spot on my shirt. It took me a second to gather my thoughts in order to continue. “It was easier I suppose. Mom often performed sexual favors to get out of paying rent or if she was short. She drank a lot. Got into some heavy drugs. There was hardly any food in the house so I scraped by with what I could get ahold of. Mom, of course, never wanted to really see me out and about so I had to sneak around to avoid her.”

“I see,” Marcus’ voice held a sad note, his eyes void of any light that I was used to seeing. He probably saw the line that connected me to her. He had explained his gift once to me. So, it was only logical. I’m sure it didn’t look all that pretty either. Probably frayed and merely connected by a single thread.

“Yeah. It’s like I told the Cullens, I saw a lot of red eyes where I lived. Ran into a group that I guess activated my ability because they tried to attack me. But I disappeared on them.”

“Do you remember them at all?” Aro’s voice held a bit of retribution in it, my eyes finally connecting with his. I guess my ability blocked out that part of my life because I could tell this was news to him.

“I could recognize them if I saw them. But not off the top of my head,” I answered honestly. Aro nodded only once, sharing a look with Caius as if he could deduce anything.

“Rogues. They frequent the less fortunate areas. High crime rates, missing persons- any attacks can go unnoticed and unsolved by law enforcement,” Caius shook his head. “We cannot fault them for that. Or we would have to fault ourselves for not finding her.”

It only took me a minute to realize what Caius meant, knowing then that Aro held some animosity toward the ones that attacked. Which was odd. I figured Caius would be the one to throw some sort of fit about them. Not Aro.

“Alessandra,” a soft sigh made me look at Caius, the blond vampire having some sort of understanding in that moment. It took a lot for me to not bolt when he held his hands out. I didn’t know if I disappointed him yet I couldn’t feel that coming from him either. Caius, to my surprise however, didn’t rush me. It was as if he knew something the others didn’t. Something about me. Or about my situation.

“You do not need to blame yourself for anything that had happened to you. I can see it in your eyes,” those words made me stiffen. Aro and Marcus did as well. Which surprised me once again. I didn’t know what to think of those words. Perhaps the shock came from it being Caius, the most volatile one of the bunch. Yet he was not rushing, not snapping at me… what was going on actually?

“Masters!”

All three turned toward the doorway, Marcus quick to shelter me in his robes as they addressed the one who had bothered us. It wasn’t one of the normal guard, I could easily tell that. This one was probably of the lower ranks, though it made me wonder for a brief moment how large their army was. I mean, vampires couldn’t die of natural causes, so an endless army was possible to build.

“What is it?” the familiar snap of the blonde was back, though he was standing closer to my form. Aro had done the same as well, each standing unbearably close to my form as if they couldn’t trust the new comer. Again, made me wonder…

“Multiple visitors have arrived, requesting your presence,” came the news, the young vampire swallowed thickly, her focus quick to snap to me.

“Tell them it can wait. We are busy,” Caius’ words were not kind as he turned to face me. But his features did not match his words, as if he was hiding his displeasure from me.

“I understand, Masters, but-“

“But what?”

“One of them has asked to see Lady Alessandra,” she paused, bowing deeply before adding, “by name.”

“Who would ask for me? No one knows I’m here aside from the Cullens,” I countered, suspicious by the situation. No one knows but them. They were the only ones who mattered anyways.

“I am not sure, my lady. But she claims,” the vampire paused, again unsure of what else to say. At least until Caius snapped again, peering over his shoulder toward her. And that was when she uttered a single sentence that made my body go cold with shock and horror.

“She claims to be your mother.”

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reddrobins · 5 years ago

Text

robins spirit [d.wayne]

Older! Damian Wayne x Super! Reader

Request: I love your recent damian fanfic! 🥺 could you pls do another one with “I’d hurt anyone who ever left a scar on you.” with a reader who’s a vigilante that often spars/fights with him. They show up at the wayne manor with a bruise on their face after fighting with Robin over a stupid argument and Damian’s concerned. But then they figure out what happened and he feels rly bad. Thank you :) + *knocks on your door* so I just thought of something... What if a Kent/Super! Reader x Damian? Oki bye *closes door*

Authors note: This is so terrible I’m so sorry, I was really stressed today and I apologize for the shit writing

Summary: A new vigilante emerges in Gotham, one that's super. Batman and Robin find out and Bruce sends his son to confront this new suspected metahuman. After a rough night, Damian leaves ‘Spirit’ badly wounded, so when (Y/N) Kent comes over the next day with the same scratches, Damian gets suspicious.

You were tired of living under your father and brothers' spotlights. Hell, you were even under your mother's spotlight in civilian life. So, at the ripe age of seventeen, you decided to take matters into your own hand and became the vigilante known as Spirit.

The first few nights on the streets of Metropolis went horribly. Not only did you run into your father, who at the time didn’t know it was you, a multitude of times, but everyone seemed to think the ‘S’ on your uniform stood for supergirl.

You were enraged, could you just, for one night, not be a Kent or a Super? You needed a change of scenery, so you did your research.

As you searched away on your laptop, looking up distances between cities, you came to realise that the only far enough place for you to make a name for yourself was in Gotham.

So here you were, perched atop the Gotham National Bank building, on the prowl for any villain that deemed tonight a good night for trouble.

“Come here often?” You spoke out as you felt a certain presence behind you. You had to admit sometimes super hearing comes in handy.

The figure, that seemed to be walking towards you, stopped its movements.

“Listen pal, I know you’re there, why don't you make this easier for you and just turn yourself in.”

“Tt.” The figure gave.

You stood up from your crouching position and began to walk towards whoever this mystery person was. “If you want to do it the hard way…”

You swung your arm at the masked figure only for it to be caught. Damn, you thought. This isn't just any robber. The person caught a supers punch. I mean hey you were only half Kryptonian, but still.

“Impressive.” You quip as you go in for another hit. This time the assailant moves forward and you catch a glimpse of them in the light, “Robin?” You pause, what the hell was Damian doing here?, leading Robin's hit to go unblocked.

It hits your cheek and you scrunched up your face, fuck, he has a good punch. Once again, only half-super, so the sting was still there.

Robin grunts, going back on the attack when you put your hands up in a surrender, “Hey! D-Robin, we’re on the same team, calm it down!”

The masked teen doesn't listen and dives for another hit, “How do I know you are not lying.” He asks, landing another punch to your side.

You groan, not in pain but frustration, why did Damian have to be this stubborn, “I’m a vigilante, just like you. I’m trying to help out the town.”

Robin rolls his eyes, though you can’t see it from behind the domino mask. “Prove it.”

You blankly stare at him, “How?”

He finally resists from landing another hit on you, “Why are you at the bank, unless you plan to rob it?”

It's now your turn to roll your eyes, “I could ask the same of you short stack.” You hated to admit it, but Damian was in fact taller.

If there’s one thing you got from your mother, it's your attitude.

This seems to catch the young hero off guard as he sputters, looking for an answer. “I’ll have you know I am the same height as you, If not taller.” Then he grits, pointing his now unsheathed weapon at you, “Answer the question.”

You gently tap the katana away with your fingertips. “Fine. I’m not from Gotham, but I know about your high crime rate and I just wanted to help out, okay?” You lie. Metropolis’ crime rates weren’t peachy either but at least in Gotham you had a name for yourself.

“Batman and I have it covered.” He said lowly.

“Listen if you don't want me here, I’ll back off, but I just wanted to help those in need.”

Robin squinted at you, unable to figure out your m.o., were you really who you claimed to be?

“Gotham isn’t looking for more amateur heros, so go back to wherever you came from.” With that, he grappled off of the roof and off into the night.

“Father. We have an issue.”

Bruce didn’t bother to look away from the batcomputer, this wasn’t the first time Damian had barged in with that sentiment. “What is it Damian?”

The teen took his cape off, as well as his kevlar chest plate, “There’s a new vigilante. I’m not sure what she calls herself but she has immense strength, I believe she may be a super or maybe a metahuman as her punch was difficult to block.”

The older man nodded at his son, of course he already knew this, Bruce was aware of every person that came into Gotham, even those unannounced.

“I’m aware. She calls herself ‘Spirit’. I’ve deduced she’s no older than you, Damian. I’d like you to get to know her. Or at least what she stands for.”

“Should I take her down?” Damian asked.

Bruce spun the chair around, a stoic look on this face, “No. just purely find out who she really is. No violence.”

The next day soon became night and here you were, back in Gotham. Damian really thinks he can just ban me from a city? You thought to yourself, hah, good luck with that bird brain.

You looked around your area, scoping out to see if the coast was clear. After a thorough check, you did a super jump and landed atop a building.

“Nice jump there, Spirit. I thought I told you not to come back.”

You spun around, Robin? Was Damian seriously following you now?

“Going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to stop fighting the good fight.” You crossed your arms, “Listen, I don’t know your problem with me. I’m just trying to help out, just like you. Just like Batman.”

Damian clenched his fists and stomped toward you, “you are nothing like me, I’m welcomed in this city. You are not.”

You frowned. Oh if only Damian knew who he was actually speaking to - “Seriously, why do you hate me? Afraid I’ll steal your thunder or something?” You pushed his chest trying to get him to back up.

Apparently, you also forgot you were half-kryptonian as when you pushed him, he stumbled back, hard.

“Tt, watch it you freak. I don’t want to fight you, but I will if I have to.”

Your heart hurt at the name but you brushed it off, Damian didn’t know who you were.

You rolled your eyes once more and sat down into the ledge - just like the night of the bank. “I’m sure you would. Listen Robin, I’m just trying to help those in need. Can you really hate a girl for trying?”

The teen vigilante paused, she did seem sincere, he thought, maybe he could trust her.

“Fine. But if I find out you’re only in my town to cause trouble, I will end you.” He glared at her and she smirked back.

“I'd like to see you try. But fair enough. Consider this a partnership.”

Sticking out your hand, you eyed him to shake it.

Damian refused and simply took out his grappling gun, once again disappearing into the night.

You poked your cheek in the mirror. It was times like these you wish you had all of your dads powers as this bruise was very ugly to look at.

He fights very well. You thought as you pinched the sore skin. Even though it had been a day since the incident, the bruise forming was still as purple as ever. You didn't know how you were going to make it through today. Tim and Conner had a planned hangout and after your mom said you needed a little more ‘Conner time’, you had to tag along. What would Damian think of the bruise?

“(Y/N)! It’s time to go, we’re going to be late!” Your brother yelled from the living room.

“I’m coming, Conner, just hold on!”

You tried to put some concealer on the bruise but it just wouldn’t mask the ugly discolored skin.

“(Y/N)!” Conner yelled again.

“Alright, alright, hold your fucking horses.” You whispered to yourself.

Bursting into the living room, you kept your head down so as to not alert any of the Kent household of your new shiner.

“Holy shit! (Y/N) what happened to your face!?” Exclaimed Jon as he flew past you.

You looked up, annoyed at your twin brother's antics.

“Jonathan Kent, No flying in the house.” Your mother yelled from the kitchen. She then turned to you, “(Y/N), where in the world did that come from?” Reaching out to brush your cheek, you swiftly pulled away, avoiding her eyes at all costs. If there was one thing you didn’t need your family to find out about, it was your late night trips to Gotham City.

“Nothing mom. I just fell in my room is all. Promise, it’s not a big deal.” Looking up to your older brother you signaled to the door, “Time to leave?”

He gave you a toothy grin and nodded, “Yeah c’mon. Tim’s waiting for me.”

Conner ran up the steps to the Manor and pounded on the door, far too excited to see his best friend. Meanwhile, you slowly made your way up, really not wanting to have to hang out with the two.

You still didn’t get why you had to come. She claimed that you and Jon hung out too much and that you needed to get closer to Conner. You rolled your eyes at the memory, you were 17 not 7. Plus, now you had to face Damian.

The two large doors swung open revealing an ecstatic Tim Drake, “Conner! My man! So glad you could come.” He then leaned in, “Did you have to bring your little sister though?”

Thanks to super hearing, you knew exactly what Tim had said and you grumbled in response. Of course Conner didn’t tell him I was coming.

Conner laughed and gave Tim a hug, “Don’t worry dude. Just make her hang out with Damian or something.” He whispered.

You blushed at those words, mentally cursing Conner. That fucker knew you had a crush on the youngest Wayne. Why would he do this to you? Especially when you looked like this.

“Alright alright, come on in guys. Bedrooms upstairs to the right but you already knew that.” Tim winked. You followed Conner when he stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Um not you though. Sorry (N/N) today’s bros only day. I’m sure you can stay down here and find a book to read.” He smirked at you knowing full well what Tim would say next.

“Actually,” Tim said, “Damians in the library painting if you’d like to join him. I’m sure the devil child wouldn’t mind a buddy.”

You glared at the two of them but then sighed, walking towards the large house library.

Knocking on the door, you called out to see if anyone was in there.

Unluckily enough, Damian came to open it. You kept your head down as to avoid attention from your killer battle wound. You did not want Damian to find out about your nightly activities, he would never stop nagging you then.

“Kent.” He greeted, “To what do I owe the pleasure.” Damian said mockingly.

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him, finding a seat on the sofa.

“My lovely brother decided to ditch me for yours so here I am.”

Damian chuckled, walking back to his paints. “How poetic.” He remarked. Then asked, “How’s Jon?”

You shrugged still looking at the floor, “He’s good. You know just being the same goofy asshole he’s been since he was 10.” The young Wayne teen laughed at that in agreement.

“And you? How have you been Damian?” You asked.

“Annoyed. There’s a new vigilante in town. Claims to be the ‘Spirit’. She’s been challenging me while on patrol. I’ve been having small spats with her here and there, but they’re driving me insane. She's almost as bad as Todd.”

You couldn’t help but look up, smirking, after all, it's not everyday you got the oneup of Damian.“Awe does little ol’ Damian have a crush?” You teased. Hope glimmered in your eyes.

Damian was about to roll his eyes when he caught sight of your face. His focus latched on to the large black and blue mark on your cheek. His heart stopped, he knew where that came from.

Because he was the one that did it. Then the dots clicked.

“You! You’re Spirit? What the hell Kent? Do you know how dangerous Gotham is?”

Damian marches over to you in annoyance, “Do you know how difficult you have made my life? Not only do I think about you daily as (Y/N) Kent, but now nightly as Spirit!?” He blurted out.

You froze. Damian thought about you? Does that mean…

“Damian, does that mean you like me?”

His cheeks flared a pretty red color as he looked at his shoes, “If I were to say yes, would you be in agreeance or make a fool of me?”

You chuckled as you stood up from the couch and placed your hand in his. “Damian I’ve liked you for such a long time it’s unbelievable, I just can’t believe you like me-“

He interrupted you, “Beloved, you are the sun in my life, and I pray that I can make you mine.”

You blushed furiously, “Of course.”

Smiling, Damian leaned in and captured your lips. He kissed you desperately, like he’d been needing this for years.

He went to further the kiss and put his hand on your cheek, causing a hiss of pain to erupt out of you.

You pulled back, holding your bruised cheek. You laugh, “You pack quite the punch.”

Damian scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I truly apologize beloved, if I had known it was you, I would’ve gone lighter, I’d hurt anyone who ever left a scar on you or a bruise for that matter.”

You rolled your eyes, though flattered by Damians words, you could handle yourself. I mean you were half-kryptonian after all.

“I appreciate the sentiment Dami, but I can handle myself. Really, you saw how good I fought firsthand.” You squeezed his hand lightly.

“I know. I would never question your strength. I love that about you.”

You pecked his lips “Good. Just remember who kicked your ass last night.”

Damian wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, “I don’t think I could ever forget that. It was quite humbling.”

You scrunched your nose at his sarcastic tone, “You’re a jerk.”

He smirked and then leaned close, forehead pressed into yours. “But I’m your jerk. And that’s all that matters right now.”

#older!damian wayne #older! damian wayne x reader #older!damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #jon kent #conner kent #tim drake #batman x reader #batman imagine

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carebooks · 4 years ago

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right so, after i binged-watched Find Me in Paris and the whole ‘Chosen One’ trope was introduced, i started thinking back as to how many chosen one’s there have been before and used in shows (specifically kids-based in this case, not including buffy and merlin) so then like any rational person i started placing them in slots of the six Infinity Stones from Marvel

and then after that, i rewatched Julie and the Phantoms for like the tenth time, and then the usual replaying their songs for the hundreth time, and i started like doing that mind thing where you picture a scene as the song plays, and i started a weird crossover between them and FMIP, i dont know why?? dont ask?? because i dont know??? i just kept picturing two things:

JATP were touring and were currently in France and maybe the POB crew caught a show of theirs?? that’s alright with me OR: JATP were visiting the POB because reasons?? like i legit didn’t know what else, i had this idea that maybe they were there to be taught by some ballet teachers for a music video maybe? i mean Julie already dances and has taken dance before and i can imagine her and Luke taking the class for Perfect Harmony

Lena, Frank, Ines, Jeff, and idk who else but that’s everyone I like that’s still there, somehow travel to an alternate reality and their time pieces don’t work and Lena’s powers don’t either and Frank deduces that they must be in a different reality and to get back home they need the help of that world’s chosen one. Just like their world, there are four possible ones, and to their surprise, they all know each other. In fact, they’re a band. So yeah, Julie and her Phantoms are possible chosen ones and ofc it ends up being Julie. (i wouldnt put too much thought into it like at one point Jeff would go ‘how can they be choices if they’re dead???’ and whateves but idc)

like that’s basically it for that little mashup since in this list, Julie isn’t a chosen one, she’s been assigned one by me, (but this doesn’t mean i want it to happen, chosen one tropes are so overused, this is just for fun)

as for the others,

Merlin is Power mainly because out of all of them i do think he’s the most powerful, i mean he’s Merlin, forget about Lena’s time travel powers, this guy has been around for eons. Anyway, Merlin is his shows chosen one, but funny enough, his destiny is actually to babysit and advise his world’s chosen one: Arthur Pendragon.

Emma is Space, she is also from Every Witch Way (an average but addicting show that ran for 4 seasons on nick) On the plus side, this show introduced the chosen one in S1 (unlike other shows, looking at you FMIP) And tbh there’s no big reason for her to be Space, it was kinda the last one, but i did find a sorta connection: in the show it’s a running gag that whenever she tries to teleport herself (or anything really) she always ends up at her school’s pool. So you could say she still has to master space?? (plus, us fans got this show to 4 seasons, we demanded it and we got it, anyone else?)

Buffy is Reality, Buffy the Vampire Slayer also introduced the chosen one early in S1, she’s mainly referred to as ‘the one’ or ‘the slayer’ etc. I didn’t really have a reason to make her Reality, she and Merlin were up for Power and I gave that to him, and when it came to Reality or Space for Buffy, I went with Reality (plus its red, and y’know vampires and blood and stuff)

Julie is Soul (again she’s not really a chosen one) but idk whenever I tried to assign a stone for her, the others just didn’t work, plus I mean, Soul is one of the most difficult ones to get and a lot of people thought it didn’t even exist. (so in other words it’s the most special) and yeah i figured why not, Julie’s my favorite

Lena is Time (i’m not even gonna explain it, it’s perfect, bye)

Nina is Mind, she’s from House of Anubis, another show that introduced the Chosen One early on and also had us think it was someone else before figuring out it was Nina. I thought Mind was a good fit, she’s really smart at solving mysteries and figuring stuff out, her seasons were really filled with research and thinking outside the box and whatnot.

anyway yeah, if someone has a better order for these Chosen let me know

if anyone has a better Chosen One that fits a stone better, let me know

also, yeah, i mainly included live action TV Chosen Ones. I already had Nina, Emma, Lena (and Julie in my head) so I just needed two more. Ngl, I was considering Aang from ATLA, the sisters from Charmed, Emma Swan from OUAT, even Harry Potter at one point.

and yes, i do have too much time on my hands because not only did i plan all this out but i actually spent time making those edits to be all symetrical and complimenting each other at 3am

@dionysuswearsanorangetracksuit @edge-of-great @perfectharmony @julieandthepodcasters @theosirianischosen @frobisher-smythe @incorrectsibunaquotes @butchnilescrane @everywitchwaycast @seriouslyobsessed @iamdarthbader

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #marvel #find me in paris #merlin #arthur pendragon #buffy summers #buffy the vampire slayer #every witch way #jemma #emma alonso #house of anubis #nina martine #sibuna #infinity stones #polaroized

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capricornus-rex · 4 years ago

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A Shadow of What You Used to Be (3)

Chapter 3: Two Ends Meet | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

4 of ?

22 BBY

Several months after their emancipation, Cliegg had asked Shmi’s hand in marriage—to which she happily said yes. Irele had just turned nine that time; she and mother had grown quite close to the Lars father and son. The joy in her little heart of having a bigger family was overwhelming, it’s almost as if she forgot that she and Shmi were ever a slave. That life of theirs was now past. Irele now has a father figure, and a brother to boot—and she was content.

Eventually, Irele had known friends who were the children of the other farmers that Cliegg worked with. She was also introduced to Beru Whitesun—a fair-skinned brunette who caught her stepbrother’s heart—the two girls grew quite close too quickly. The Lars siblings still helped around with the farm, Shmi had started going to the fields with them as well; though the toll of their debt to the Hutt was slowly catching up to them, having them to work extra hard and persisting to yield more crops so there’s enough to sell and to keep for themselves.

One day in the middle of working in the fields with her mother and stepbrother, Irele’s gaze trailed to her mother—bent down to pick the crops and vegetables that were ripe for the taking, she smiled to herself as she stared at Shmi, until a mild pang pierced her head.

“Irele, are you alright?” Owen noticed and caught his sister by the arm.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she groaned. “Just the heat, maybe.”

“Do you need something to drink?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Pausing from work, she isolated herself from one of the canopies they’ve put up if ever one of them decides to rest. She continues to examine the scene of the field: the farmers including Cliegg, her brother, and her mother working. Though she always focused on Shmi; her grip on the waterskin faltered, causing some drops to spill over, and then sighed and decided to close her eyes to doze off for a bit. As echoing screams in Shmi’s voice haunted her mind, she woke up in a jolt—a single scream escaped when she woke and it alarmed the workers in the field. Shmi ran up to her daughter under the canopy, Cliegg followed behind his wife.

“Irele!” Shmi gasped. “Irele, are you alright?”

Shmi brushed up the loose strands of hair dangling over her daughter’s forehead, sweat smeared on her palm. Irele gasped when she opened her eyes once more and saw Shmi.

“Oh, Mom…”

“Darling, what’s happened?”

“Nothing, I…” Irele shook her head, incapable of explaining what she had just experienced. “This heat is making me see things.”

“Oh, Irele, dear,” Shmi clicked her tongue and sighed. “It’s alright. You can sit down for the rest of the day. You don’t need to work anymore.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Shmi smiled, though it was a worried one. She brushed Irele’s hair back to her ear and returned to work.

“If you need anything, Irele, don’t be shy to call, okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Not wanting to worry her family with such episodes, Irele decided to bottle it up to herself—even if the visions mostly revolve around her mother. But there was something else—something that she cannot pinpoint. She was seeing things that are about to happen, which she dismissed as pessimistic imagination, though she doesn’t know that these are events that are about to unfold. Little did she knew that the Force was making its way to her, to warn her of something horrible that has yet to come.

The next few months have been difficult for Irele herself—the visions and the voices persisted—oftentimes she wakes up in a cold sweat when the nightmares have become more jarring. She pretended that everything was fine, though she’s become increasingly worried for her mother, most of the time she pleaded Shmi not to work in the fields and just stay at home—even offering to help around in the house. Shmi detected this new concern from Irele, and then unconsciously recalled the same words that Qui Gon Jinn uttered about her son: seeing things that have yet to happen.

A Jedi trait.

Shmi shook her head and granted Irele’s request, staying at home when the ten-year-old pleaded so. It eased her for a bit whenever Irele’s expression changed when they spend the day at home, however, it worried her that her daughter was perhaps foreseeing events that could spell disaster for the family and ultimately damage the poor girl.

There was one day where Shmi went out alone, before the break of dawn, to the fields. It took her half an hour to scrounge and pick up mushrooms that she needed for her family’s meal today. The chore became her undoing. Tusken Raiders have been prowling the ridges as a vantage point over the fields, they have been scouting the fields in the hopes of raiding the crops. They saw Shmi walking off from the fields, carrying a satchel of mushrooms and other vegetables; not wanting any witnesses, they sprang out on her in numbers—their primal grunts echoed across the empty dunes, Shmi’s scream was short-lived and drowned out by theirs.

The Tuskens incapacitated Shmi by hitting the back of her head with the pommel of their long rifle. They bound her ankles and wrists, and mounted her like a ragdoll on the saddle of their Bantha.

Their echoes have died down, leaving the desert as desolate, quiet, and empty as it always has. Irele gasped, wide awake, beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

“MOM IS GONE!!” She announced with such a loud voice that it was heard throughout the entire homestead, up to the outdoor rotunda.

Cliegg was awakened by the sound of Irele’s voice, but only registered it as a loud sound; he was alerted when his free hand patted his right hand side and found Shmi’s side of the bed empty. He knew that it was her routine to leave early to pick out crops before everyone else gathered in the fields. There was daylight already. Normally, Shmi would have returned even before the sun had risen. When he stood up from bed and comforted Irele in her bedroom, a look of concerned veiled his face as he saw his stepdaughter all wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

“Irele, it’s okay, your mother just went out to pick out mushrooms, it’s okay.” he shushed but it was futile.

“Sorry, Dad, I need to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

Irele spoke while she prepares herself—putting on her overshirt, slinging her bag across her body, and producing a staff that she procured on her own.

“I’m sorry, I just really can’t say. But I do have a gut feeling that I just can’t ignore. Something’s not right, Dad.”

Cliegg was speechless. Irele joined him on her bed, sitting beside him.

“I’ll contact you with the comlink, okay? Keep the lines open.”

The man held his daughter’s cheek, taking a good look at her made him realize that she greatly resembled her mother.

“Be careful. And come home quick.”

She nodded and then left with a small speeder bike. When she had gone a considerable distance from the homestead, Cliegg commanded Owen to call the men and tell them to stand by. Going in the direction of the fields, Irele’s worry grew and grew with each passing moment. When she had caught sight of the vaporators’ silhouettes sticking out, she slowed down the speeder bike and hopped down even before it had gotten into a full stop.

Irele spotted Shmi’s tracks—a straight line from the fields to where she stood—and then discovered more. The footprints were jumbled, indicating struggle, and an impression that might have suggested that a person fell over to the ground—the girl was certain it was her mother. She searched for more tracks, propping her staff in a cautious, offensive position, and then stepped forward to the fields but was immediately stopped when she heard a shuffle amongst the sand and rock.

“Tuskens…” she muttered.

She examined the sand once more—a trail of a neat, single line, with impressions that make it too hard to guess how many have walked in the exact same path laid out before her. Tuskens, alright. She surveyed the surrounding ridges, the distance from the fields to the openness of the desert, and she thought it wise to deduce that it was indeed them. She produced her comlink and reported back to Cliegg before heading home. She already had the presumption her father had prepared a search party.

–

Anakin Skywalker is in a perpetual unrest with himself. Mainly because he had been having nightmares of his mother—the haunting echoes of her agonizing screams, her calls for help, and the quick jab of dead silence had been keeping him awake at night.

That morning, he strolled out of his bedroom and found himself alone in the garden veranda of the guest house that he and Senator Padmé Amidala are staying in the Lake Country of Naboo. He basked in the morning sunlight, the cool breeze wafting through the sleeves of his long beige shirt and drying the sweat smeared across his chest. Padmé found him there and quietly turned around to leave him alone.

“Don’t go,” he simply said, though pleadingly. It stopped her in her tracks. “Your presence is soothing.”

The young Jedi Padawan opened up about his nightmares to the Senator, she hints at the shakiness in his voice, imagining what kind of dreams could he be seeing in the middle of the night. When push comes to shove, the senator insisted she will go to Tatooine with him.

“I’ll go with you.” despite the softness in her voice, there was the conviction that cannot be persuaded anymore.

Upon their arrival, they hired a carriage into the town to escort them from the docking bay. Returning here brought back memories for Anakin—many of which are bittersweet. The carriage had brought them to the market district of the town, where it had passed by a lonely stall—or lack thereof—manned by a single Toydarian.

“Chut-chut, Watto,” Anakin greeted.

The blue, aging Toydarian grumbled at the robed stranger who took the component and started tinkering with it after speaking in the local dialect. Watto greeted back the young stranger in his raspy, aggressive native tongue then transitioned into a bumbling mess when he recognized the Jedi robes; Anakin ignored all this as he was focused with the machine component.

The Jedi spoke once more, again in dialect, “I’m looking for Shmi Skywalker.”

One more minute passed and it hit Watto.

“Ani…?” the Toydarian gasped. “Little Ani?”

Anakin didn’t speak. He simply put down the component back on the small table between him and Watto.

“You are Ani! It is you!!” Watto burst.

Following a few more compliments and one-sided catching up, Watto cut to the chase in the hopes that he can have the boy catch some people who owe him money.

“My mother.” Anakin demanded.

“Oh, right, of course… Shmi!” bumbled Watto. He scratched the back of his chubby neck as he arranged the words in his mind. “She’s not mine anymore… I sold her.”

“Sold her?”

“Years ago. I sold her to a moisture farmer named Lars. And believe it or not! I heard he freed her—and married her! Whaddaya think o’ dat, eh?!”

Both the Jedi and the senator’s reactions were identical: their lips parted and their eyebrows furrowed. Anakin licked his lips and leaned closer.

“Do you know where they are now?”

“A long way from here,” but Watto should have known that is not enough to deter the boy. “Someplace on the other side of Mos Eisley.”

“I’d like to know,” he spoke through the grit of his teeth.

Nervous, the Toydarian gave in and filled him in with all the details. Inside his newer yet smaller shop, the hovering creature produced a small ledger with a tattered leather cover. Running a clawed finger lightly on the page, careful as to not rip it, he stopped after two taps on a specific line of writing.

“I was right, it was Lars!” he chortled.

“Where does he live?”

Watto groaned, poring over his ledger again, and then moved his finger to another part of the page.

“He lives in ‘da Salt Flats, eh, you’ll find it close to Anchorhead. You know Anchorhead, eh, Ani?”

Without answering, Anakin turned tail—with Padmé walking by his side, trying to keep up with his strides—and mounted their rented carriage. Anakin ordered the droid that pulled it to bring them to a point-to-point transport service to get to Anchorhead.

Along the entire trip, Padmé could not find an opening to speak with Anakin; it began to sink into her that she’s only tagging along with the young Jedi’s personal mission.

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androgynousblackbox · 4 years ago

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Where Light gets a friend (Lucky Light AU)

The AU where Light has exchanged all his braincells for luck continues.

Light *trying to follow a video tutorial about how to tie his necktie, more or less getting the hang of it until the voice of his moms takes him out of it* Sachiko: Light! We are going to get late! What is taking you so long? Light: I am going! *realizing it was a lost cause, took a pre-tied neck tie and ran downstair, only to his mom to fix the collar of his shirt and hair* Mom… Sachiko: Not a single word, Light. Today is a very important day! You are going to be giving the speech for the new freshman! You must have worked so hard for that perfect score and that deserves be celebrated! Light:… It’s not that big of a deal, mom. I mean, I am not going to be the only one standing there. Apparently some other guy also got perfect score and is going to be reading his own speech, so, really, it’s not that impressive. Sachiko: But what you are talking about? Of course it is! That other student probably worked just as hard as you, but I bet you will get the better grades at the end of the year, right, Light? Light: Sure, mom. Sayu: Aww, almost so modest, Light! So modest that you will have no problema letting your little sister be front seat! Light: Hey, I didn’t say any… She is already there. Sachiko: Don’t worry, Light. Today I will have your favourite dish prepared for dinner. Today is your day and Sayu understand that too. Light *feeling himself sick* Great. *among the other students, Light feels like wanting to ran away until he feels a hand over his shoulder and he almost jumped on his seat at the fixed stare of some pale guy with black hair, who tilted his head at his reaction. He did know him, he had see him on the examination room, but still was surprised at suddenly having sit at his side.* L: I apoligize, maybe that was too abrupt from my part. Light: No, no, it’s fine. I am just a little bit nervous, that is all. I am supose to give the speech and, well, you know. It’s fine. L: I know. Light Yagami, son of chief of police Soichiro Yagami, perfect score out of everyone else. You helped your father years ago to stop a trafficking gang. Impressive for a young student. Light:… Thank you? I… that is a bit of an awkward introduction, huh? I am sorry, I don’t think I remember your name.

L: It’s okay, I haven’t said it *the other extended his hand to him, shaking it firmly and staring into his eyes as he pronounced the next words* I am L. Ryuk: Welp, that is new. Light *blinked a couple of times, still shaking the hand on a mechanical movement* What.

L: I am L. I would have hoped that would warrant some kind of reaction, but maybe I overstimate things. Light: No, no, I did hear you. I am just… like L-L? The L? The detective L? That L? L: Yes. Light:…

Ryuk:…

Light: Can I get your autograph? L *this was the time for the other one to blink*… no. Light: Okay, okay, like but. Like… Oh, god, I am like… such a big fan of your work, if that is really who you really are! Like, that case on Los Angeles was so amazing, I must have read that book like four times and that is saying a lot, really! L has always been such a cool and misterious character and, like, I don’t know if you are joking or not, but actually getting to meet him would so amazing! Although that wouldn’t really make sense because why would L be here? Ryuk: He could be here to investigate you himself. Since you are a suspect and all, in case you forgot. Light: Oh… *realizing he hasn’t let go of his hand on all that time he finally released him* Sorry, I got a little too excited there. Are you really L? L: Yes. Light: Wow… The announcer: Light Yagami! Ryuk/L: They are calling you. Light: What? Oh, right, sorry!

The announcer: And the other student with the perfect score, please come to the stage, Hideki Ruyga.

Light *he instantly recognized the name, just like everyone else, when L came to give his speech while staring at a blank piece of paper* He is so cool…

Ryuk: You do know that he could find you out, right? Light *cover his mouth with his hand* I still have eyes and see he is cool. He was going to caught me sooner or later anyway. I already knew that. I just didn’t thought he was actually come to talk to me directly. Ryuk: You sound like your sister when talking about her idols. Light: Shut up.

*after the ceremony and greeting some friends, Light found L just as the man was walking to him* L/Light: Hey. L: You first. Light: Want to have something to eat? There is this really cool place nearby that has the best strawberry cake. L: Curious. I was just about to suggest you the same thing. Light: Then we should go! Do you like strawberry cake, L?

L: Yes. And would prefer if you used Ruyga Hideki, if you don’t mind.

Light: Sure, sure. Sorry, you are right.

*on the little place, Light points at a comfortable place close to the windows and they sat to make their orders. Light can barely contain his smile as he suggest L the best cakes and teas there are* Light: I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but somehow I imagined you were taller. Wait, it does comes out wrong, right? Sorry, I just… really can’t believe that you are really here. L:… To be quite honest, I didn’t came here merely for socializing. Ligh: S-sure. Right. Of course. You are here for the Kira case, right? L: What gave you that impression? Light: Well, it doesn’t take much to deduce that since that is the case of major profile right now and both Kira and L had this whole confrontation on TV. It was… so shocking to see that guy die like that. L: Mmm. You shouldn’t feel too bad about it. That guy had murdered her wife and three daughters before being caught and send to his execution. The only reason he accepted play that role was the promise of getting a full release in case he came out alive. He never expressed any regret for what he had done. Light: Wait, really? That… that is horrible. Still… L: Mmm? Light: He shouldn’t have died like that. And he shouldn’t have let be freed either, so I don’t know. I guess you didn’t had any other choice. L: Indeed. It provided important information about the way Kira kills. Light: Oh, and that is why the fake name, right? Ryuk:… you just now realized that?

L: Yes. Kira seems to need both a name and face in order to do what he does. I still have yet to figure out the way in which he does it. Light: You probably will. Sooner or later. Ryuk: Hehe, suddenly that cake seems to have make you sick, Light. L: I think so too *ate absentmindly the cake and then stared at the plate, the fork still on his mouth* Light: Good, right? I almost wish I knew how to bake just so I could do stuff like that and see people reactions. But I would probably burn it if I don’t burn the kitchen.

L:You should still try it. A intelligent guy like yourself could manage. Then send me a piece. Light:… being good at school doesn’t mean someone is good at everything, you know. You… you are smart. Really smart. If you wanted I am sure you could do all the cakes you want, exactly how you want them. I am just… lucky, I guess? L:…

L: You are way too modest. That is unexpected of someone with your background. Light: Not really? I mean, when you think about it, knowing what some text book said or marking the right circle on a piece of a paper is not as big as, say, knowing how to make cakes people like and can enjoy. I am sorry, I am probably speaking nonsense. L:… L: If you really feel that way, then that is all the more reason to attempt to do something you do feel more satisfied with. Light: You really only want more cake, don’t you? L: … maybe. Light: Alright. I will give it a thought at least. I don’t promise anything, though. L: Mmm. Fluffy. Light: Yeah, right? L: Changing subject. I imagine you have dedícated some thought to the Kira case as well. Having your own father on the investigation team could make it difficult to ignore. Light:Sure, but I think is difficult to ignore for everyone else with how much the news talk about it.

L: Fair enough. According tothe information we have right now, what conclusión do you make? Light: About Kira? Mmm. I don’t know. More than him I don’t really like the way people are treating the whole thing, but maybe it was inevitable. L: What do you mean? Light: I mean like Sakura TV calling him Kira-sama or people getting into fights deciding if they think is right or wrong. Again, it was more likely inevitable considering nothing like this happened before.

L: People are dying. That is naturally going to open discussion among the public. Light: People were dying before and nobody made that much of a fuzz then.

Light: I-I mean, um…

L: That is probably a fair assesment too. Although the way people are dying is note worthy. What do you think about Kira yourself? I am interested in hearing your thoughts about the way he operates. Ryuk: Ooh, you are being interrogated, Light. Better not lose your composture now. Light:Mmm. Light (FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I AM FUCKED, I AM SO FUCKED, WHAT THE FUCK DO I SAY, WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO ANSWER TO THAT, WHAT IS HE WAITING FOR ME TO SAY, DO I LIE, DO I SAY WHAT I THINK, THE FUCK DOES HE WANT, IS HE GOING TO ARREST ME NOW, WHY THE FUCK DID I OPEN MY MOUTH) L: Light? Light: I… This is probably going to sound too out there. It’s probably stupid.

L: Let’s see.

Light: Well… I am thinking about the fake L on TV. If we are to assume that L and Kira are two different entities, and not one person playing games in front of everyone, then it’s reasonable to conclude that Kira really wasn’t aware that wasn’t the real L and that L himself had nothing to do with the killing. L probably prepared it very carefully and has known for a while that the victims don’t die through any kind of poisoning or any kind of contact. The killing is always centralized. And as you said, he needs a face and a name, not just one or the other. If he is not touching them but they are still dying… Maybe there is a… uh…. Supernatural force there? There is something definitely weird about how all these criminals are dying. I don’t think it’s possible we will never understand his way of killing by normal means, and so try to capture him through that deduction is probably fruiltless. L:…

Ryuk: You have been reading the conspiracy theories forums about Kira again, didn’t you, Light? Light (SHUT THE FUCK UP, I DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM DOING HERE)

L: That… makes sense. Light: It… it does? Ryuk: User KiraIsGood69 will be happy to hear. L: You are right, we have examined the bodes of many of the victims of Kira and found no trace of physical handling. Not to mention that the distance between the deaths and timing makes it impossible for one person to be present during for each of them. I am not really still at the point of thinking all rational explanations are off, but if the way Kira kill is so unique to him it’s not impossible to believe it’s a hability only him posses. Do you think Kira is human? Maybe a god like some have said? Light: Of course not. A god wouldn’t have made that mistake on TV. Besides, a god doesn’t really care about human lives. To them they are all the same, good or bad. Ryuk: Why are you looking at me? L: So it’s a human with a supernatural hability according to this theory. Inborn or given? Light (Wait, did I say a bad thing?) In-inborn, maybe? Because… if it was given, why Kira, right? What makes him so especial something would want to give him that skill? (Because a dumbass shinigami was bored and you were the idiot who caught the notebook, that is why).

L: Mmm. It’s a line of thinking, I suppose. But if he is human, as we both agreed on, then he can make mistakes and it can be stopped. What do you think about the times of death? Light: Well, they don’t happen all the time, obviously. Kira still has to eat and sleep. I haven’t followed on every case, but probably will get something out of seeing what could correspond with the times of death. L: Already tried that. We came to a conclusion that very quickly Kira turned down himself. How do you think that happened? Light:…

Light (Fuck): He… must have access to the investigation. How… horrible to think about. I hope no one that didn’t do anything ends up getting branded as a suspect *he put his hands on his lap when realized he could start shaking. L just then was talking with the waiter to ask her for another piece of cake for taking* L: We have a few names but I would say there is barely any porcentage of certainty right now. Light (don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth, don’t…) Am I a suspect?

L: You have a terrible concerned face right now, Light. You don’t have to get worried. We are still doing our investigation and whoever Kira is, we will catch him regardless. I won’t put anyone scrutiny unless I think there is a good reason for it.

Light: So yes. L:Yes, to put it briefly. Light:… well, makes sense. Can I ask something, though? L: Of course. Light: What will happen to Kira when he is captured? L: Once I gain definite proof of who he is and knows how he kills, I will make sure he is send to execution without any press ever releasing his name. With any luck he will forgotten by the general public and by the internet eventually. Die in complete anonymity, like Lyndon should have done. Light (That… is actually not that bad. If only that anonymity was extended to one’s family…) I see. It’s fair. L: Agreed. *he grabbed the box that the waiter brought for him and payed her* Well, was nice talking to you, Light. Hope to see you around the campus and maybe go to another place like this one if you happened to find it. Light: Really? Yeah! That sounds fun. Ryuk: And now you look like a happy puppy right after talking about your own execution.

L *nods and then walks outside as Light finishes his own cake, wondering what restaurants with good cakes he heard about* *late at night, Light walks with Ryuk behind, thinking. On his room again, and after Ryuk confirmed there weren’t more bugs, he sat on his bed as he throws Ryuk a new Apple he had bought on the way* Light: Ryuk. A question. Or two. I am sure yet. . Ryuk: Sure, sure, shoot it out.

Light: What happens if I want an out? If I don’t want to do this anymore? Ryuk: Well, you always can. Just give up the Death Note. But that would be kinda unfair for me, now that it was starting to get interesting. Light: So you will kill me? Ryuk: Mmmm. Probably. You told me to do it as soon your luck ran out. Did it? Light: No, but like… I just now I am realizing that when it does, it won’t just be me. If all happens behind doors I can imagine that papa won’t want to tell mom or Sayu what happened to me, but him… Fuck, why didn’t I think of that before? If I die now then I am still just Light Yagami, his son. Maybe it’s for the better. Ryuk:… Well, I can’t force you to change your mind. Are you sure? Light *nods* Ryuk: Say it then. Light *opened up his mouth when suddenly the voice of his mom cut him off* Sachiko: Light! A girl is looking for you! Light: Isn’t a little late…? *he comes down, to find a girl standing on the entrance, waving at him* Girl: I brought your notebook from today, Light! Hope you don’t mind the hour! *she pushed a black notebook to him and he took it without thinking, thinking he didn’t had any black notebook like that one before he looked up to a new Shinigami* Light: I-I-I.. thank you! Yep, very nice of you! *he closed the door, knowing Sayu and his mom were listening and walked to the girl a bit more, still whispering just in case* This is a Death Note. Girl: Yes! My name is Misa Amane and the shinigami that you see with me is Rem. You have no idea how long I have been waiting to meet you!

#lucky light au #death note #parody #i think i am not entirely sure if this is that

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