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captainsimagines · 3 years

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To Topple A Giant || Chapter Two

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 2 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this chapter: brief reference/hint to past sexual assault.

Word Count: 7,500+

A/N: Thank you so much for your excitement about this series! I always smile when I read your comments. Sorry for such a long chapter, but it’s only ten parts and I gotta fit all somewhere lol

Unknown Location, 2015, 10:46pm

The tightness of the rope wrapped around your wrists was excruciating, each movement causing it to rub against the already damaged skin, leaving more angry, red marks. You whipped your head back and forth, anger and fear coursing through your veins as you stared your father down. You watched as he carefully maneuvered his way around the room, every back straightening as he walked past them, every gun cocked and pointed right at you. Your nose twitched up as he walked closer, inspecting the ropes tying your feet to the chair and so on. You accumulated all the spit you could and aimed it for his face, pride washing over you as it hit him perfectly. But as quickly as that pride built, it shattered, a stinging sensation on your cheek now overpowering any other sense.

“You cost me ten million.”

You bit back a laugh, careful not to let it slip as you did not want another beating. “I did what I had to do. You would have done the same!”

“Don’t tell me what I would have done!”

You flinched inwardly, your face still blushing with growing madness. If only you could loosen these bonds…

“You will know to not mess up again.”

And as your father left the room, the men lined up against the wall finally let their shoulders fall forward, their once blank faces now donning sadistic smiles.

The Compound, 2018, 2:07am

You sat up from your mound of pillows, kicking them to the side as well as the heavy blanket. Your ears rang impossibly loud, and it wasn’t until your feet touched your bedroom floor that you could hear yourself screaming. Your body was drenched in sweat, sliding easily on your wood floor as you kicked to escape the blanket.

Sharp knocks against your door startled you, sudden ‘please, don’t!’’s escaping your mouth. Hyperventilating was always tiring, you thought, and the air was now super cold as you sucked it into your lungs.

“Doll, please? I’m coming in.”

The light from the hallway blinded you so you lifted your arm up as a temporary shield.

“No, no! I’m good… I didn’t lose it. Please, trust me!”

“Y/N…”

You lowered your arm and stared at your nighttime intruder, instincts kicking in upon settling your teary eyes on him and causing you to groan in displeasure.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Y/N.”

“I said don’t look at me.”

Steve sighed in defeat and walked back to your door. You thought he was going to simply leave you be, letting you ride out this panic attack alone like all the others. But he shut the door and made his way over to your couch on the other side of the room, plopping himself down and leaning his sleepy head in his right hand. It had been six months since the world literally fell apart, an unknown feeling of terror that simply sat at the pit of stomachs eating away at whatever sanity its host still had, plaguing the world. Tiredness was second nature, never actually reducing its power no matter how much sleep one got. But leaving you here to suffer each individual thread being pulled from your remaining sanity, alone, wasn’t an option.

“Why are you staying?”

“I have nightmares, too. You aren’t that special.”

You rolled your eyes, hands now massaging your aching chest. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Y/N, you were screaming for help.”

“I scream for a lot of things.”

You figured Steve would succumb to his growing annoyance, but he stayed patient.

“Was it about…?”

You sighed and pulled yourself up to your feet, knees wobbly and thighs alerting you of the droplets of sweat that beaded down your legs. “No. I don’t dream about the snap.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You let out a rather angry sigh. You were now rubbing your eyes, cleaning them of the accumulation of hard mucus. “I seriously don’t want to talk about this particular incident.”

Steve huffed through his nose and you were ready to pounce on him to tear that beard from his face, but stopped when you saw his small smile and genuine empathy in his eyes. “Okay, I won’t push you.”

You just stared at him, eyes wide and confused. But you nodded slowly, eyes now diverting to the blanket below you.

“I’m just so fucking happy the snap took my father.”

Steve’s lifted his head quickly by your abrupt confession, eyebrows furrowed and lips frozen, as if wrapped around a lost word he couldn’t verbally address. He understood, but it shocked him nonetheless.

He ignored it, or at least chose to avoid an immediate discussion about it, and stood from your couch.

“Are you going to be okay?”

You wanted to throw him out. Him being across the room and near the wall was starting to trigger more flashbacks.

It’s Steve. It’s just Steve.

“Can you stay?”

Steve stumbled slightly in his step, clearly uncomfortable with your request. But he was a good man and when one of his teammates needed help, he would do whatever he could. And you were one of the only teammates he had left.

“Okay,” he said. But as he made his way back to the couch and away from you, sudden racks of itchiness stretched from your wrists to the middle of your chest. You stumbled from the bed, arms extended outward as if you were still shielding yourself from some incoming attack.

“No, no! Just…”

Steve watched your movements carefully, trying to discern between fear or awkwardness. He sighed and let you see his hands, turning them over in the air.

“It’s me. Tell me where you want me.”

You were in control. Just tell him where you want him.

“I’ll lay here,” you started, getting back into the right side of the bed and pulling the covers up to your hips. “You there, but upside down.”

Steve chuckled and followed your commands. You watched him walk, feeling the dip of your mattress as his heavy body lay down. You were grateful when his sock-covered feet touched your left side pillow, his chuckles gaining volume as he tried to get comfortable.

“Do I at least get a blanket?”

“Oh!” you leapt from the bed and to the closet. He listened to your soft pitter-patter as you shuffled across the cold floor, shutting his eyes to relish in the childish melody. You passed Steve two heavy blankets, mindful of the cold weather outside. Then you climbed back into bed, passing Steve a few pillows, and snuggling back into your own.

A few shifts of the blankets made you open your eyes again. Steve was not as stiff as you expected him to be - almost like he wanted to help you - and you mentally slapped yourself remembering that he would do this for Bucky.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

You took solace in the fact that he couldn’t see the tiny grin on your face. “Thank you.”

Steve smiled up at the ceiling, thankful that he could still help others even when he himself was falling apart. “You’re welcome.”

Present Day, 2025, 9:45am

If anyone were to truly study Steve, they would see he was starting to act his age. He enjoyed fluffy socks, tea instead of coffee, sketching in the secluded garden of the new compound - anything a man pushing a hundred would truly enjoy. And he found himself shaving less, watching every new movie released regardless of genre, and eating much more oatmeal than usual. He remembers how whenever Bucky had saved up just enough for them to splurge on items they never usually indulged in, oatmeal would always be his go to. It was still a common ‘peasant’ meal for the two young bachelors, but Bucky would heat it up with fresh milk he had bought that morning, added the fresh strawberries and dates that were in season, and sprinkled brown sugar - damn, Steve loved brown sugar - on top. Bucky would place the bowl in front of Steve, ignoring Steve’s constant blabbering about ‘Buck, we can’t afford this’, or ‘you don’t need to spend your hard-earned money on me, you jerk’. But he would quickly shut up once Bucky’s perfected oatmeal recipe landed on his eager tongue and filled his happy stomach. Regardless of those past memories of young roommates searching for loose change in their couch and more recent ones of two reunited best friends sharing looks of awe whenever they saw how much milk and brown sugar now costs, Steve was certain the old man in him was just barely emerging.

He definitely didn’t skip the irritated attitude phase every old man seemed to develop as the years passed, his resting facial expressions and movements starting to match those of his best friend. Grumpy, tired all the time regardless of the serum, and asking each other instead of the modern people around them how to work their phones. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, or go on a jog, or watch a movie - anything - rather than having to give a briefing about something he hadn’t had to think about for seven years. And although he had the chance to use the stones before and didn’t, Steve couldn’t quite help wishing that he was transported back to his and Bucky’s old and crumbling apartment, fighting over that one knitted blanket Bucky had bought for the both of them with his last dime.

You seemed happier with your whole family situation after the snap, but he never wanted to ask. Whether you were putting on a brave face for him, he was rid of it momentarily only to be pushed into the chaos all over again. But this time was different because you were finally going to end it all. Finish what you had started all those years ago - then maybe Steve could take that afternoon nap he wanted.

“Talk to me. How are we doing this?”

Fury pulled up a screen with all the photos and biographies, essentially a powerpoint prepared by both you and Steve.

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me, sir. But I know my family and their schemes better than anyone,” you said. Fury knew this was true and the plan would ultimately be mapped out by you. His input was always welcome, but you knew the small details - their personalities, their weaknesses, their strengths, even the way they took their coffee. You even knew which of them sampled their product before sending it off on a cross-country road trip.

Steve stood beside the monitor, using this finger to change the screen. “So, we’re looking for our physical proof. A paper trail detailing land and their product, contacts, storage units, aliases - the works.”

You nodded at Fury and your teammates. “Exactly. The hardest things to obtain will most definitely be evidence about my father’s involvement. Proof he gave the orders and profited from them.”

“Your word isn’t enough?” Sam asked.

“No, not unless I throw myself under the bus as well. It’s his word against mine unless I can prove these things were all his doing,” you responded, taking a sip from your water.

The only other people in the briefing room besides Steve and Fury were Sam, Bucky and Scott. Everyone else would get a brief overview later on this week, but these three were specifically chosen by Fury to help aid you in the actual physical fight.

“The wedding is the perfect distraction,” Scott spoke. “Almost like this was made for a heist.”

Steve released a heavy sigh, his patience already wearing thin. “Not a heist.”

“Close enough,” Scott shrugged, gaining a grin from you across the table. He smiled at your reaction and sent you a wink.

“Agent, we have to go over the basics and any new information you can provide,” Fury encouraged.

You motioned toward Steve to bring up the photos on the monitor, “Let’s start with the basics.”

Steve took over for the first portion of your presentation. You didn’t mind - in fact, the more control he had in this would certainly help ease his mind and you definitely did not want a stressed out Steve Rogers accompanying you on a twelve hour road trip.

“Ernesto Vega, father of Y/N Y/L/N, born 1950 in Guadalajara, Mexico, but because of the snap, the 80 year old is still only 75.”

“Damn, your father is old!”

You laughed at Sam’s outburst, “Yup, and I got like ten half-siblings.”

Sam sat up straighter, “No way?”

“Way.”

“Daniel Seda,” Steve continued, his voice louder. “Vega’s second in command, born 1970, currently 55 years old. Took over as top commander after the snap, and according to Y/N he didn’t take it well when everyone was brought back.”

“Hmm, threatened to put another bullet in me,” you teased, pointing at your stomach where the scar underneath your shirt had already long healed. You could have sworn you heard Steve’s breath hitch, but even if it did, he had quickly covered it by swiping the monitor.

“But her father saw this as proof of loyalty. Because no matter how much he knows Y/N hates him, she still brought him back.”

You lifted your shoulders, arms in the air as if imitating the nonverbal form of ‘oh, well!’, and your thin smile caused your cheeks to pop out comically.

“So, Seda hates you?” Bucky asked, chuckles still vibrating in his chest from your previous childish movements.

You brushed your hand through the air, “Not the first man to hate me and not the last.”

Steve snickered. You could say that again.

“The wedding will be held at Vega’s personal and private ten-acre ranch in Northern California-”

“A lovely fall wedding!”

Steve bit his tongue, eyes never leaving the monitor. “Sure… and it’s perfect. He’s wanted and he’s going to be on U.S soil.”

You stood from your chair and grabbed the electronic marker from the desk. You circled the main points of entry plus the directions of secret exits hoping to emphasize the ‘private’ part of Steve’s statement. “And since it’s his most private getaway and no one would suspect he would hide important shit on said U.S soil, I’m about ninety-eight percent sure our proof is there.”

You pulled up the blueprints and marked a giant ‘X’ on the farthest corner room in the west end. It was your father’s office.

“Ninety-eight?” Sam asked, reviewing the printed blueprints himself.

You twirled the marker between your fingers, “My dad is clever. My other two percent is telling me there’s no evidence at all.”

Scott clutched his chest in relief, “Okay, at least one outweighs the other.”

You shared another laugh with the ‘regular-sized man’.

Steve continued listing the basics, all while Fury sat toward the edge of the long table reviewing the screen. “The other two big names in the drug game are Omar Ramirez and Marcus White. Ramirez runs most things from Mexico City to San Antonio, Texas and he’s probably the least evil of them all. White runs Europe, specifically Germany and England.”

You interjected, “Ramirez focuses on the product. He orders his men to focus on the business instead of the outside world - meaning, no unnecessary kills, no violence toward women and children, no killing cops or citizens. Just producing and transporting.”

Almost forgetting he was there, Fury’s voice somewhat startled you. “Vega has lost men to Ramirez, men who wanted a change in scenery.”

You nodded in confirmation, “They aren’t necessarily enemies but they’re no besties either.”

Sam rolled the blueprints back up and handed them to Bucky. “So, we’re taking them all down?”

“The big three. Plus Seda,” Steve declared, finally taking his first sip of water in what felt like forever. If he didn’t want anyone to know he was nervous about this mission, he was for sure failing.

You hummed, “Vega and Seda are also the only ones who know of Steve’s involvement.”

“How’d that happen?” Bucky asked.

“Because Steve only ‘transports’ my father’s product. Not the others. Steve’s role is essentially to green light the passages and is my main pull,” you clarified.

It was true - Steve didn’t do or touch anything. And you thought this best considering he was America’s golden boy - you couldn’t possibly bear real involvement from him. This wasn’t his world and never should have been but it was yours.

You dealt with people directly. You took out the snitches. You handled the product during inspections. You did it all - and not because you thought Steve was some fragile soul who couldn’t achieve the same results - but because you brought him into that mess during a time in his life when he definitely didn’t need it.

“But how did it happen?”

You shrugged, hoping your answer would suffice for the rest of the group as it never does for Steve. “When I first started out as a field agent, my father didn’t trust I was doing it for him. The more I promoted, the more suspicious he got. It wasn’t until we exposed SHIELD as half-HYDRA that he was done with me.”

Fury interjected once again, “So, Y/L/N here had to pull rank out of her ass.”

You snorted, “Thanks, Fury. That sounded nice.”

“I told them that I had the literal symbol of America by my side. That defeating HYDRA was only to get his friend back, not to save the world. Plus, I told them that HYDRA was targeting all of them. And once I could get proof - a forged recording made by Fury before he went into hiding - well, it was like the greatest example of submission.”

“Why didn’t you say Tony?”

That certainly was a question Steve always had and wanted answered. God, he really hoped you had said Tony.

“Because I got the literal symbol of America as a partner-in-crime. My father almost told me he loved me... almost.”

You sat back down in your chair, a tiny puff of air escaping your lips. “And that made Seda furious. I may hate my father, but Seda is the main threat to blowing this whole operation.”

If anything, you wanted your father deader than dirt, silenced by the one child he always regretted bringing into the world. He had tortured you in more ways than you thought possible.

“Now, I thought my dad was bad.”

You fell back onto the couch before retrieving your cup of coffee you had placed on the table. Nebula gave you a tiny chuckle in return.

“Yes, mine has eradicated half the universe. I win ‘worst father’.”

You sipped your coffee, trying and failing to block out the banter between Rocket and Tony as they discussed the location of the space stone. “You know, I wouldn’t have put it past him.”

Nebula chewed her dinner slowly, listening to you ramble on about anything that popped into your mind. She knew this was your coping mechanism - to just keep talking until someone shut you up. But she enjoyed it, really, because you spoke of topics that she didn’t quite understand or know about. She learned something new everyday simply by listening to you.

“I should have thanked Thanos for dusting his ass, though.”

Nebula stopped mid-chew, blank expression but the hint of a twitch in her lip visible.

“I’m joking.”

You had asked her once why Thanos had spared her and Tony when he snapped his fingers. But Nebula had no rational answer, only responding that he must have spared her out of last minute pity and Tony to live through the consequences. And the tiny voice inside your head knocked again, reminding you that ‘maybe this snap was overall a good thing - your father can’t hurt you anymore!’, but you shut it up as quickly as it came.

“So, how many planets are there in the universe, really?”

Fury began piling files in one folder, making sure to hand out the sheet with names and contact numbers of agents stationed close to the venue and your chosen hotel.

“We’ll get into mission specifics at a later date once Rogers and Y/L/N are settled and scope out the place. For now, study up on your targets and perfect your acting skills.”

You assumed you would only need one big suitcase for the trip, only packing essentials and extra shirts just in case. You rolled your clothes tightly, securing your signature perfume and some jewelry inside some sweaters. You hid identifiable items in the small compartments - your passport, journal, old SHIELD tag, driver’s license, etc. It was the paranoid side of you taking over, the possibility of having your cover blown likely and frightening. The amount of times you had ventured into the general vicinity of your father and his crew always proved safer than you expected. But there could always be that day he simply didn’t want you around anymore.

So, you prepared in the smallest and even cringiest ways possible - resorting to drafting letters for those you wanted to remember you after you had been taken out. You paused your packing to grab your spare journal. You spent a good hour writing. A letter to Wanda, to Bucky, to Peter, to Rhodey, to Sam. Some were shorter than others - others extending to over two pages. But your mind was racing with things you hoped they would never have to read, scattered thoughts and only hints of identifiable wit penned on paper.

You tucked the letters behind the fabric you had recently ripped open. You planned on duct-taping the rip, your eyes drifting back over to your journal. You tapped your foot rapidly for a few seconds, fingers twisting in anticipation, mind still clear enough to draft one more. You quickly picked the pen right back up, sitting on the edge of your bed and starting the letter you might regret later. But at that moment, with the horrible prospect of dying on this mission, you wrote.

‘Steve,

Believe when I say that I was so sure I would put a bullet in my father before he could. Whoops…’

You wrote and wrote until your handwriting grew sloppy at the edge of the paper, and signed it. You tucked the final letter into the hole and taped it shut. You really hoped you would be able to survive and burn those written words later.

A soft knock sounded from across the room and your bedroom door opened to reveal Steve, light blue dress shirt tucked into his jeans like the old man he truly was. You couldn’t help but grin at that, cursing your involuntary actions for this man.

“Hey.”

“You doing okay?” you asked, continuing to fold clothing into your suitcase. He leaned against your door, hesitant. Steve often wondered why and how he could go days, weeks - one time even a whole month - without speaking to or seeing you. He was an expert at one word answers by now, opting to always have someone else around whenever he seriously had to carry a conversation with you. But what struck him the most was that you didn’t seem to care anymore. He witnessed the change - hell, he was the one that caused it - but it was a change that he both wanted and didn’t. How was it so easy for you?

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he responded and walked over to your couch to sit.

You cleared your throat, hoping to make this conversation the least awkward you could. “Because this was literally sprung on both of us after almost ten years of waiting.”

“I’m okay.”

You accepted his answer. He looked comfortable enough, shoulders relaxed and genuinely interested. There was a part of you that wanted to rush over and shake him, yell at him for being so clueless and fake at the same time. There was no possible way he was fully okay with everything - he hadn’t been himself since the snap, and when Natasha and Tony died, he was someone else entirely. You had brought it up with Bucky several times, but he assured you that Steve was just dealing with things his own way. That he was still a man out of time, they both were, and battle after battle could take its toll. And Bucky would hype their therapist up, that they were the reason he and Steve are able to walk in public without that constant voice warning of danger in the back of their heads, and that you should schedule a visit sometime. You always declined, asking him to call you if he truly needed another person to talk to. He would smile, taking you up on your offer whenever a day was particularly triggering.

“I’ve been waiting for this day since I was sixteen. Ten years really just flew by… considering.”

Steve nodded, “Is there anything I should know?”

You hummed, “If you mean things about my family, then I’ll just tell you on the way there or at the hotel.”

He chuckled and stood to lean against your bedpost. “No, I mean like, what should I pack just in case?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed at such an innocent question, “Um, comfy socks. It’s pretty cold in California in the winter. Gas money, it’s pretty fucking expensive, too.”

He smiled, “Good to know.”

The two of you packed in silence for several minutes. Steve helped you roll your clothes and gather your toiletries, even asking you if you wanted to bring your current toothbrush or the new one in your bottom drawer.

You knew you shouldn’t have spoken about the topic burning in your throat, but you felt like you had to say something. If you mentioned it during the mission, you risked a larger argument than the one you would get now. So you formulated your next sentence carefully, already bracing for impact as it slipped.

“Look, the elephant in the room should be addressed. Once my father’s dealt with, I have no reason to stay here.”

Steve clipped the belt over the top of your clothes, securing the items tightly. He seemed disoriented, your sudden proclamation startling him. “What do you mean? You did the work, you trained, you helped us literally save the world.”

You shrugged and kept your voice light, “Yeah, but I started this gig when I was sixteen. I didn’t join the Avengers until I was freshly in my twenties. I’ve literally known nothing else but fighting.”

Steve sat at the edge of your bed, furrowed eyebrows and all as he chose his next words. He felt both angry and sad, a mixture of feelings that he never quite grew accustomed to whenever he was around you. They ate away at him slowly, creeping into his brain to wrap around his common sense, his sense of self, the man he was before the snap.

“Are you saying you just need a break?”

“I think,” you shrugged, zipping the suitcase and tugging its weight off your bed and onto the floor.

“What about Wanda and Bucky?”

You scrunched your face in amused confusion, a playful smile resting on your lips, “I’m not falling off the face of the Earth, Steve. I’ll visit or something.”

“Or something.”

He stood and walked back to your couch, restless and even more stressed than he was before he entered your room.

“Steve, we lost so much. It’s been two years since we brought everyone back, but… it took its toll.”

He snapped his head up, “You don’t need to tell me about shit taking its toll.”

You felt like you stared at him for several minutes, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach and traveling up your throat. That familiar lump constricting your airway as you forced yourself to swallow it and the forming tears. And once again, your mouth spoke before your mind could approve.

“Why didn’t you use the stones for yourself?”

Steve sat, shocked into silence temporarily. “What?”

“When you and Carol put the stones back - why didn’t you stay somewhere you really wanted to be?”

You remember watching him step onto the platform holding the briefcase of infinity stones and holding Mjollnir, - because of fucking course he could wield Mjollnir, he was a good man even if you were on his bad side - simply minding his own business and waiting for Carol to join him. You remember thinking he would return with a different story, only after he got some of that life Tony had always encouraged him to find, that he would go back to Peggy and live the life he always wanted. But as quickly as they disappeared into thousands of timelines did they reappear, Carol joyful and content while Steve trailed behind her. Your heart had pounded erratically, Bucky looking at you with wide eyes because yes, I thought he would do exactly what you were thinking, too.

“None of your business.”

“I’m not trying to pry-” you reasoned, but Steve stepped toward you with flushed cheeks and a cracked voice.

“But all you do is pry, pry, pry. God, do you ever just shut up?”

All you could hear behind the ringing of your ears were Steve’s quick breaths, slowing as each second passed and he realized what he had said. A moment of weakness, in his opinion, but still uncalled for.

“Pack some snacks for the road and get out of my room.”

Steve straightened his back, eyes practically yelling for you to look at him again, pleading for you to see the remorse swimming in them. But you just tugged your suitcase to the corner of your room, ignoring him completely. “Gladly.”

You and Steve were mature enough to keep your arguments at least a hundred miles away from any mission you were conducting or when around your friends. A quick quarrel in the morning was basically nonexistent a few hours later when the whole group suggested a board game or movie night. Although this impromptu road trip would be the slightest bit awkward, you two were smart enough to not compromise the mission.

And you had to drive as flying and airport security was too risky, especially with the amount of weapons attached to your body and in the trunk of that rented car.

“Call us when you hit the first checkpoint. After that, we’ll be monitoring your hotel check-in and any new ones, police reports filed throughout that week, anything that directly involves your stay,” Bucky said, handing you a burner phone.

You stepped forward to hug him. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He gave you a tight squeeze, releasing you slightly to whisper in your ear. “Try not to kill him for the next twelve hours, will ya?”

You pulled away and gave him your best grin, bumping your bracelet with his. “You know I can’t promise that, Bucky.”

He rolled his eyes, “You kill him, I kill you.”

“Ugh, don’t tease me.” Bucky almost burst out laughing from the fake, pornographic moan you let out because of his threat.

“No, but seriously - just… lay low, trust each other, and we’ll be there in the next few days.”

You slid the burner into your sweater pocket and patted it, checking if it was secure. You waved goodbye to Bucky and pulled the passenger door open. You blew him a kiss, red lipstick now on your fingers. “Can’t wait to see you!”

Bucky stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, an embarrassed but happy smile on his face. He caught the floating kiss mid-air. “Already miss you!”

“Stop, I’m blushing!” you teased, your left hand resting palm up on your forehead in an exaggerated manner.

“Go!”

You obliged, falling into the passenger seat and clicking your seatbelt.

Twenty minutes into the drive and Steve finally decided to speak.

“So, you and Bucky?”

You giggled, thumbs currently flying over your phone screen as you tried to beat your high score in some awful video game you discovered last week. “Yup, I got him wrapped around my finger.”

Steve’s hand fidgeted on the steering wheel, “Seriously?”

You closed out your video game, “No, Steve. It’s mindless flirting. He’s one of my best friends.”

“Ahh…” he nodded in understanding, a lazy smile resting on his face. He focused on both the road and you, your head leaning against the foggy window. “About earlier-”

“Don’t mention it,” you interrupted. The second you peaked through your heavy eyelids did you lock eyes with Steve, regret visible in them.

He continued, “I blew up at you and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Cool, you’re forgiven.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned quietly, but you weren’t getting angry. You were just tired from the day already and having to sit for twelve hours straight wasn’t going to help. So, you took the high road. “Look, it’s a twelve hour drive until our first stop. Let’s forget about it or else I promise you, I will jump out of this car when you push eighty.”

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled in his chest due to your absurd promise, but he accepted your answer.

“...Okay.”

By hour two, there was a restlessness between the both of you. No matter how much you extended your leg, the cramping wouldn’t go away. No matter how many times Steve would twist his neck to the side to get it to crack, it would just tighten again. So, against protocol but still on your best behavior, you and Steve made a couple stops along the way.

The first was a burger joint in the middle of buttfuck Ohio, you had commented, earning a choking sound from Steve as he tried to contain his laughter. It was a hole in the wall type of place, perfect for lying low and out of sight, and you had enjoyed your meal in the car. You listened to Steve’s playlist on low volume, stealing each other’s fries to simply piss the other off, and hit the road after your meal.

The second stop was around hour eight, and the sun was already starting to set. You desperately needed to use the bathroom and once you saw a tiny town that ‘looks so much like the town in Gilmore Girls!’, Steve pulled over and parked in a diner parking lot. Donning caps and ordering a coffee and a tea to go to seem less suspicious, you hurried from the diner and back to your car. You stopped dead in your tracks, eyeing a gazebo with a black miniature fence around it. You begged Steve to snap a photo, promising that this would be the only favor you ask of him for the next few hours, and went to hitch one leg over the metal fence. You settled yourself on top, hands gripping the railing and trying not to fall. You started to laugh uncontrollably as the fence started hurting your bottom, begging Steve to snap the photo quicker.

‘Take the damn picture, you big oaf!’

‘Well, then hold still!’

‘It’s hurting my ass!’

‘Smile!’

The third stop was the final one, somewhere in Iowa and deep in the forest. You complained about how Fury warned you of motels, that you would have to seek shelter elsewhere to avoid being recognized. You could easily blend in, but the mountain of muscle beside you would blow your cover. And you wanted to arrive in California undetected by the media.

Steve drove the car into a dark and secluded part of the forest, ground that seemed used by campers often and had an emergency phone and landline nearby. It was secret enough, so you parked the car and retrieved the blankets from the trunk.

“You taking the back?” Steve asked, jumping back into the car and rubbing his hands together because of the chilly weather. His face was flushed from just a few seconds out in the cool breeze, nose frozen and the tip red. He looked younger, you thought, somewhat resembling those renditions of Greeks in renaissance art.

“You’ve been driving all day. You should stretch your legs,” you answered, already wrapping the blanket up to your shoulders and securing it around your neck.

“You sure? We can alternate.”

You smiled, already feeling the effects of the warmth on your tired body, “I’m sure, Steve. Get some rest and I’ll drive in the morning.”

Steve exited the car after turning it off - sucks that you had to save the gas - and hopped into the backseat. He kicked off his shoes and lay across the connected seat, facing you. He could see the outline of your nose as you tilted your head slightly to the side, the blanket wrapped around your neck and hiding the real length of your hair. It resembled a bob cut by how half of it was hidden, and Steve thought that hairstyle would suit you.

Your personal phone rang, cutting through the comfortable silence and startling the both of you. You fumbled it in your hand and looked back at Steve, face falling as you showed him the name.

Seda.

“Answer it on the third ring.”

You did as Steve told you, answering the phone on the third ring and preparing your voice. He scrambled for the tape recorder, pressing ‘play’ as soon as he could.

“You rarely call me. To what do I owe the pleasure?” you answered.

His voice sounded hoarse over the phone, almost like he had just finished smoking a pack of cigarettes. “Are you attending?”

“My dear sister is getting married, Seda. Of course I’m going to embarrass her.”

He paused for a few moments, sounding like he was directing the people around him to finish something. But he responded to your answer in a serious tone. “I hope you’re being your usual sarcastic self and aren’t serious.”

You rolled your eyes and pointed at the phone, and Steve’s lips spread into a smile. “You’ve known me long enough to know, I hope.”

“Sadly.”

“I’m hurt,” you joked, voice still light and cheerful. Seda paused on the line again, the sound of papers rustling letting you know the line was still active.

“I need to know if the Captain is attending too.”

“He was invited,” you responded, laughing a little at the fact that Seda hadn’t known this information you were sure the rest of your family knew.

He chuckled, a slight whistle sound letting you know he was smoking another cigarette. “Mm, guess your family is finally meeting your lover, huh?”

The air in your mouth didn’t make it down to your lungs and you looked at Steve with equally wide eyes. But you didn’t stay fazed for long, responding to such an accusation with ease. “My lover, yes. I’m so damn giddy about that.”

Seda hummed in satisfaction, “Your father always told you to not get involved with the product. Scrambles your brains from thinking straight. But he applauds you on this one.”

You put a finger in your mouth and mimicked gagging, causing Steve to cover his mouth to muffle his laugh. “I’ve never mentioned the Captain as my lover before. Why is my father always right?”

You knew exactly what to say. The more backhanded praise you gave your father only fed into the truth and lies everyone knew - truth being you hated your father because of his power and the lie being that you were just as power hungry as him. As long everyone assumed you wanted this power, the more you had to act like you hated your father’s.

“He knows more than he lets on. You know that.”

“I know a lot of things.”

Seda continued, “No friends allowed, anyway. So, if the Captain isn’t your lover then… we may have problems. Is there a problem?”

You kept your voice at a steady volume, “I said I was with him, didn’t I? Have you seen the man?”

“Seen him, heard him speak. So righteous and dull. Not really your type.” Seda was growing impatient with the conversation, clearly angry that he hadn’t caught a slip or lie from you.

You scrunched your face in disgust, “Ew, don’t think you know my type.”

“Buck, ‘my type’ is back home with a warm chicken noodle soup in my lap and a couple of loose papers at my disposal,” Steve whined, trying to keep the same pace as his overly enthusiastic friend as he hurried down the sidewalk.

“She’s such a knockout, Steve! I’m sure she’ll love you.”

Steve couldn’t help but blush at Bucky’s kind words, the hype always repairing some parts of Steve’s broken self-esteem and reminding him of his worth. But it was his third date this month and rejection was starting to seem like his favorite sport. No matter what he did - offering a girl some peanuts, accidentally stepping on her (once!) feet while dancing, or simply not living up to Bucky’s gracious advertising - women just weren’t interested.

“You know that’s not true, Buck. Can’t we just have a quiet night in?”

Bucky stopped and guided them into the nearby alley, both to knock some sense into his friend and to give Steve a break from the tiny jog.

“Listen here, Steve. Any girl would be lucky to be with you-”

“Buck, we’ve been through this-”

“Let me finish,” Bucky shushed him, hands on Steve’s shoulders to steady both him and himself. “Any girl would be lucky to be with you. If this one doesn’t see you how I see you, then she’s just insane.”

Steve smirked, “Don’t insult the girl before I’ve even met her, jerk.”

Bucky smiled, his high cheeks pushing up to create crinkles by his eyes. “Trust me, pal. You just need to find a woman with as big of a mouth as you.”

Steve swatted his friend across his chest, laughs rumbling in both their chests and down the once quiet alleyway.

“What hotel are you staying at?” Seda quickly asked, ignoring your quip. You were done with this conversation as it was leading nowhere.

“Staying at one where no one can hear the Captain scramble my brains. Goodbye,” you replied, an annoyance in your tone that even Seda would believe as natural.

“See you soon.”

You let Seda end the call, a little power play you allowed him to have. God, it was gonna feel good to take him down.

Steve shifted in his seat, stopping the recorder in time for his question. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Why did your dad assume we were a couple?”

You gave him a tiny chuckle, pulling the blanket back over your shoulders and settling back into your seat. “I don’t know why that man says anything anymore. I guess they just expected it.”

“Why?”

No matter how many years passed, both awake or frozen, Steve never did quite understand the sexual appeal that lingered around his name. No matter how many times Bucky joked about it, no matter the amount of social media posts, no matter anything - he just didn’t seem to understand why people thought he was a ladies man.

You snuggled deeper into your blanket, scanning the outside woods one last time just in case. “You wouldn’t risk your reputation and status for me unless you were fucking me, I guess.”

“Crude.”

You turned your head to him and sighed, “They think I’m the whore of the family. It’s just too funny sometimes.”

Steve’s face fell, “I’m sorry about that.”

You shuffled in your blanket to pull your arm out and wave it in the air. “Used to it.”

Steve didn’t press further, deciding to lay back finally to find a cozier position. It was quiet for a few minutes, just breathing and slight motion disturbing the silence. You opened your eyes and stared at the moonlight hitting the steering wheel. By the sound of Steve’s breathing, you knew he wasn’t fully asleep yet. So you allowed yourself the smallest confession, a crack in the door Steve was figuratively standing outside of.

“My sister is his prized possession, though.”

Steve didn’t respond, but from the sound of the blanket moving you could tell he had turned to face you.

“Never knew why.”

Steve pondered your words for a long time, long after your breathing became slower and tiny snores left your mouth. He didn’t exactly know what to say or what to do. It wasn’t like you dropped top secret information on him or anything, but it made him wonder just why in the world your father hated you so much.

You had done everything asked of you. You were controlled, tortured mentally everyday, having to endure and make decisions that Steve knew you didn’t want any part of. Your father should be thanking you for keeping his business afloat, for expanding it, for roping Steve’s own name into that life. As he contemplated any rational reason for such hate, he heard your soft snore turn into an innocent purr, and he felt himself leaning more into a mutual understanding. It frightened him, gripping his reality by the throat, because Steve actually knew why. That innocence he saw with you, no doubt had presented itself to your father involuntarily and your father knew.

He knew you were good at heart.

Taglist: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 3 years

Text

Speak your Heart | Cassian Andor x Reader (Oneshot)

Words: 2395

A/N: Hey, look, it's another "not exactly unrequited love, they're just idiots" fic starring our favorite grumpy captain.

May the fourth be with you!

Summary: You may or may not have a crush on your longtime friend, Cassian, but he thinks that you may or may not have a crush on his friend Bodhi. It's up to your friends to quickly fix that.

When you laugh so hard, you would laugh with your whole body, clutching at your stomach or rubbing your cheeks when they grew sore. Your laugh was the most amazing sound Cassian had ever heard. It wasn’t a soft melodious sound, but it was a genuine, wholehearted laugh that would make anyone smile and join in. But, right now, he hated it. If it was caused by Jyn, he would have been fine. He knew you enjoyed her sarcastic humor and banter. No, it was caused by his other best friend. The quiet pilot that was always full of surprises.

You finally regained your breath and slapped the pilot’s shoulder. “Bodhi, Bodhi, tell them about the time you had to lead a small team of new recruits,” you said.

Bodhi rolled his eyes. “Oh, that one. So, there was this new guy who was acting all big, bragging about his knowledge of ships and how he fought numerous stormtroopers on his own. Long story short, he almost caught one of the Skippers on fire from his failed attempt of hot-hiring it and when the troopers came, he screamed and flung his blaster across the docks.”

“We had to go and save him,” you added. “Bodhi made it so we were able to get the cargo and save the guy all in one piece. He can think of plans so quickly under pressure. I don’t know how he does it.”

Bodhi ducked his head and laughed. “Well, I had an idea of how stormtroopers think. It wasn’t too difficult. The way they acted, it seemed like they were also new recruits, so it wasn’t too hard to take care of them.”

“Better watch out, (Y/n). If Bodhi ends up being full himself with all those compliments you’re stuffing him, then Cassian will have another handful to deal with,” Jyn said.

“Yeah, the other being you, of course,” Bodhi shot back. “I don’t think I’ll ever be like that, though.”

Jyn smirked. “But, can you even imagine the two of us ganging up on Cassian like that?”

He nodded with a wide smile. “He’d go insane. Probably abandon us on the nearest moon.”

“Guys,” you said, shaking your head, “that would mean I’d never hear the end of it about you two.”

Jyn wrapped her arm around your shoulder. “That’s right. Cassian tells you everything, doesn’t he?” She exchanged a knowing look with Bodhi.

“Not everything,” you muttered, crossing your arms as you thought about the numerous times where Cassian would avoid you for no reason when he had been telling you almost everything about the missions he had in the past and the ones he had recently come back from. You weren’t sure when your friendship with him had reached the point where the two of you would exchange stories late at night before finally attempting sleep, but it felt effortless.

You sighed, leaning your back against Bodhi as he carried off his conversation with Jyn and the others. There were times where you’d slip deep in thought and it occurred often enough that your friends learned to let you be unless they knew you were in a bad mood prior to it. Your eyes drifted away from the group, looking around the canteen nonchalantly.

All those faces, new and seasoned. The war never cared which ones they were, it just takes. Many would have sworn off on sentimental attachments and at one point, you did, too. That is, until you met Cassian and Kaytwo. You rarely saw them apart and it wasn’t until you were assigned to assist them as their technician did you have any close contact with either of them. Many spoke about the stoic spy who always got the job done, no matter the cost.

Cassian Andor. A man who had been in the fight since he was a child. You thought that a man like him wouldn’t want to get close to anyone unless they were solely a means to an end. So, when you saw Cassian panic after K-2SO got shot and damaged his arm and wiring, you were shocked to say the least. You had to help him drag the droid back to the U-Wing and try to stabilize him with the resources you had on hand while Cassian powered up the ship and flew away from danger. He had let out a sigh of relief when you told him that Kaytwo would be fine and repairable once the three of you reach base. Since then, you realized that living beings always end up getting attached to something or someone no matter how hard they tried.

Your eyes ended up landing on the very captain that occupied your thoughts more than half the time. Without realizing it, a smile slowly spread across your face. You were definitely attached to someone, alright.

Bodhi nudged your back and smiled. “Go talk to him.”

You turned your head to Bodhi and shook it. “I don’t know. Last time I did, he stormed off. I don’t know why, though. Maybe it was something I said, but I’m not sure what would have caused him to do that.”

Cassian froze as you looked at him with a smile. His heart began to beat fast as he thought of how to respond. But when he decided to settle for a smile, you turned your head away and towards Bodhi whose face was inches from yours.

“You should go talk to them, you know,” Kaytwo said. “There’s a ninety-five percent chance that you are misinterpreting (Y/n)’s and Bodhi’s relationship.”

“And what is that five percent?”

“That misinterpretation percentage used to be much higher, but given how long you want to prolong your lovesick yearning, that percentage would only decrease with time.”

Cassian grunted at this, walking away from the droid and out of the canteen. “And what are the odds of this biting us in the ass in the future?”

“Depending on what you choose.”

“I don’t have time for this. There’s a meeting in half an hour. Are you going or not?”

“Of course I am, Cassian. Your mind will be too preoccupied to pay any attention. But, remember what I said-”

“Let's start going.”

You stood up just as Cassian and Kaytwo began to walk out of the canteen. There was a sour expression on Cassian’s face as he spoke to Kaytwo, making you sink back down in your seat. “He’s busy,” you muttered.

Bodhi glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “But that’s just how Cassian looks most of the time.”

“I don’t want to bother him.” You swung your legs around so you were facing everyone again.

“I don’t think he’d ever mind if it was you.”

“Bodhi’s right, (Y/n). Maybe you can try when his meeting’s done,” Jyn said.

You sighed. “Alright.”

The Rogue One crew was being sent off to another mission off planet for who knows how long. It was risky as it was within enemy lines near a major Imperial facility. You knew that they were fully capable individuals and together they were unstoppable, but you couldn’t help but worry whenever your friends left the tarmac of the base.

Maybe you should tell him before he leaves. Everyone’s been telling you to make the first move, since Cassian wasn’t budging any time soon. You were scared of the rejection, of him putting up and fortifying the walls around himself, and you would be losing a really good friend.

You had waited for Cassian outside of the meeting room. It took longer than you expected, but as soon as it ended, you jumped up from the crates and rushed over. Cassian halted as soon as he saw you. As you stepped towards him, he looked up at Kaytwo, then brushed past you. Your eyes widened as you watched him leave.

“I would tell you what was wrong, but Cassian told me not to,” Kaytwo said, awkwardly patting your head before strolling over to where Cassian had gone.

You collapsed on Jyn’s cot as soon as you entered her quarters, wondering why he was suddenly acting this way towards you. Jyn continued to talk about the time she was able to meet Princess Leia and how they had to rescue themselves when they were separated by the crew. You hummed along to show that you were listening, absentmindedly helping her pack as she threw clothes and gear onto the cot.

A heavy piece of cloth was thrown at your face, your surroundings falling into darkness. You pulled the jacket off and saw Jyn standing in front of you with hands on her hips. She raised an eyebrow, snatching the jacket from you and shoving it into her pack.

“We’re leaving tonight, but Cassian typically gets to the U-Wing an hour before us,” Jyn hinted.

“So… should I go now or…”

She sighed in frustration. “Run!”

“Okay, okay!” you shouted as she chased you out of her quarters with a blaster.

You weaved past tired pilots and mechanics as they retired for the night, only a few bothered to spare you a glance before yawning and continuing on to their respective quarters. There was a lamp shining next to the U-Wing where Cassian was loading the ship and checking to see if he had everything for the mission. Kaytwo took care of the heavy load and went to check on the ship’s condition.

“Cassian!” you called out.

His head shot up, a series of emotions flashing across his face when he realized that it was you. He was always happy to see you, but he wasn’t sure that you’d be friendly with him still after he had been giving you the cold shoulder lately. He set down his datapad and crossed his arms as you skidded to a stop right in front of him.

“You should be asleep. I heard that they had given you a pile of projects to work on this week,” he said.

His eyes widened as you gripped his shoulders and pulled him away from the U-Wing. Kaytwo popped his head out of the ship and shook it before going back to his tasks. You found an area behind stacks of crates where the two of you could be alone. You took a moment to catch your breath before opening your mouth for the rushed speech you had made in your head on your way to reach him.

“I’ll look after Bodhi if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.

“What? No! I’m not worried about him. Well, I am. I’m always worried about you guys. Why would you say that all of a sudden?”

His eyes looked everywhere but you, your hands slipping from his shoulders as he stepped back. “If that’s not what you ran here for, then hurry it up. We’ve got a mission to go to soon.”

So all that gossiping that Chirrut and Baze had been doing with the others were true. Cassian was jealous. Apparently, he thought that you had feelings for Bodhi instead. “You know, I always thought that you were one of the smartest people I know. I guess I was wrong.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What-”

“Captain Cassian Andor, the leader of Rogue One, the very team that helped steal the Death Star blueprints, the spy who could get intel out of anyone, yet he can’t tell whether his friend is entirely in love with him.”

It took an extremely long and grueling long minute for that information to process, but he wasn’t sure if he was processing it correctly. He frowned as he looked at you. “Do you mean…”

You sighed, placing your hands on his shoulders again. “I. Am. In. Love. With. You. You. Idiot,” you said slowly, shaking him with each word. “Just thought I should let you know before you leave. You don’t have to respond, but I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to tell you.”

“(Y/n), I…”

“Just kiss them, Cassian!” Kaytwo shouted.

Cassian turned to scowl at his droid, but you pulled him towards you and smashed your lips on his. He stumbled back in shock, his back hitting the crates. You pulled away in concern, checking to see if he was alright. He glanced at the screen of his datapad, then turned back to you.

“We have half an hour left,” he said before pulling you in for another kiss.

The second kiss took your breath away as he pressed himself against you. His heart pounded in his chest, a giddy feeling spreading throughout his body as you eagerly returned the kiss. He wasn’t sure when he fell, but it was gradual and natural and it had caused a conflict in him when he thought that you were in love with Bodhi instead. Bodhi was his friend as well, and if the two of you made each other happy, there wasn’t much he could do but let it happen. Yet, here you were in his arms, reciprocating his feelings.

The two of you finally pulled away for air. Cassian rested his forehead against yours and sighed in content. “I love you, too.”

“Finally!” you heard Jyn’s voice shout.

You and Cassian walked away from your secluded crate corner and saw that the crew had already gathered. They all grinned widely before loading their things onto the ship.

“I… I need to go,” Cassian said softly.

You nodded. “I know. Better come back to me in one piece, captain.”

“Of course I will. Wait for me?”

“Of course.”

He was glad that you had made the first move. If not, then he would have ran off from one mission to another without telling you how he felt. Then, who knows where the two of you would be. He would have probably lost you.

As he entered the U-Wing, all of his friends turned to him with a smile. Bodhi stepped forward and patted his shoulder. “It was about time,” he said.

“Yeah, we were going to lock the two of you in a dark room together for two hours if you guys didn’t make a move,” Jyn said.

Baze snorted. “I think sending them out on a mission together would have worked as well.”

“The Force would have found a way,” Chirrut piped up.

He was definitely glad that you made the first move.

#cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #rogue one #rogue one imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #may the fourth be with you #oneshot #lol why do I always write Cassian like this

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raineeskiesabove · 4 years

Note

What about angsty Venlumi like Venti taking an arrow for Lumine?

Hi anon, I made this into a oneshot if that’s okay. I’m not sure what I wrote, since I did it while I’m feeling ill so uh;;; enjoy? eheh...

The Stars Will Not Take You | Venti x Lumine Oneshot

It was supposed to be a simple commission. Take out the hilichurl camp, remove any leftover structures, collect and go home. Venti had been there. He was supposed to protect her. So why, instead of singing and laughing with her that evening, he was holding onto her lifeless hand, with the fleeting hope that she would awaken?

As the walked along the road bordering the outskirts of Monstadt, Venti hummed playfully, practicing a new song as they walked. Despite being on their way to a potentially dangerous commission, Venti was as happy as ever. Lumine chuckled to herself, stealing glances at his cheerful smile. She increased her grip around his fingers slightly, relishing in the warmth of his skin against hers. It was moments like this that made her feel at ease. He made her feel like everything would be alright, which is something she desperately needed to stave off the flood of doubts and fears that plagued her mind.

“Venti,” she placed her index finger against her lips, emphasizing for him to quiet himself. They had reached the hilichurl camp.

Huddled in a nearby bush, Lumine’s eyes widened upon seeing the horde occupying the camp. The commission paper stated that the group would be small, not an entire tribe. Maybe more.

“Lumi I don’t know about this. There are too many for simply making a pretty penny. And there are only two of us,” he whispered, the singsong tone in his voice now gone.

Lumine shook her head, “No, we need this money. I’m running low from buying supplies and we must move forward soon. We can’t waste time, Venti,” she explained, face and voice steady as stone.

Venti sighed, his grip now tightening around her slightly smaller hand.

He shook his head, “I cannot allow this. What if something goes amiss?” His words rang in his ears, the realization that he trespassed on his own principles made him bite his tongue.

“We’ll be alright, I can take them. As long as you support me from the rear, that money is as good as ours.”

The bard looked away, his eyebrows knit in a slight scowl. Who was he to stop her? Lumine was free to make her own choices, even if it meant putting herself at risk.

“Fine. I shall support you. Please be careful,” he pleaded.

She brushed a hand against his cheek, kissing his forehead softly in reassurance. Offering him a small smile, she whispered that she would be careful, before standing to lead their small siege.

Initially, the attack went well. Venti used his winds to knock the hilichurls off their feet, giving Lumine more time to clear the way. She fought gracefully, her sword slicing through her enemies effortlessly, her footwork more akin to a dancer than a fighter. Venti consciously told himself to focus, for fear of growing lost in her performance, and yet, the windward god still failed.

“Venti, look out!”

He heard her, but it was much too late to react, the next moment bringing him back to a harsh reality. A sharp pain erupted at his shoulder, an arrow imbued with pyro had struck him. The bard let out a yelp in pain, the arrow burning him from the inside out. The chants of the hilichurls grew louder, now closing in on his vulnerable form. He used his other hand to channel Anemo to hold them off, but it proved difficult to cast with only one arm.

“Venti!” Lumine shouted through a crowd of hilichurls, the monsters falling at her hand as she drew closer to him.

“Lumi, don’t! There are too many! Retreat before- ” his sentence was cut off by another arrow, this time one imbued with electro, sunken deeply into his thigh. His leg twitched at the sensation, the jolts of electricity making his leg grow limp and numb.

“Venti, no!”

For the first time, Venti saw fear flash through Lumine’s golden eyes, her complexion growing pale from seeing her beloved being slowly chipped away. It was impossible for her to reach him, the hilichurls creating an impassable barrier between them. He offered a small smile, mouthing for her to go, praying that she would follow his orders. As he did so, yet another arrow struck his small frame, this time cryo against his side. The impact made him cough, blood spilling from the corners of his lips. She couldn’t stand it anymore. With a strangled cry, she used all of her power to summon a tornado, the sheer force causing many of the monsters to grow caught up in the storm. The larger mitachurls, however, remained unfazed, only growing irritated by the gusts of wind. In her worry, Lumine failed to notice this, ignoring them in favor of making a mad dash towards the staggered Venti.

As a seasoned archer, it was common knowledge that arrows should not be pulled out, for fear of excessive bleeding. But gods, did the added elemental damage hurt. Admittedly, he grew more hopeful as Lumine grew closer, happy that she had fought so hard to protect him.

His happiness quickly dissipated, however, upon seeing a mitachurl charging straight for her. Lost in her emotions, Lumine’s reaction was slowed, her sword only enough to reduce the severity of the major slice the monster inflicted across her midsection.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

Immediately, Venti pulled all three arrows from his body, blood already soaking through his clothing as he drew his bow to fire. His shoulder burned as he released Wind’s Grand Ode, the force of the bowstring making him hiss in pain. With the mitachurl out of the way, Venti rushed to Lumine, her form now twisted and lifeless against the bloodstained grass.

“Lumi!”

Her entire chest and abdomen had been sliced open, blood pooling around her unconscious form. He placed his hands against the wound to curb the bleeding, but at this rate she didn’t have long to live.

“No, no. Celestia, no! Lumine, you can’t die on me!”

Already, his hands were dyed red with her blood, her breathing growing extremely shallow and faint. He felt tears begin to stream down his face as he wailed hopelessly. They were miles from the nearest statue or Monstadt, and he himself could barely walk, let alone carry her.

“It is unlike you to be bested so easily in battle, Lord Barbatos,” a voice thundered.

Venti looked up, finding himself face to face with Dvalin, a previous member of the Four Winds. A dear friend of his.

Venti sniffed, trying to wipe away the snot running down his face. “D-dvalin. My friend, I plead for your aid in this hour of need. Not for myself, but for her. Please, help me to protect what I hold most dear,” he sobbed.

Dvalin blinked. Never had he seen the archon so vulnerable. So devastated. The warm smile and bouts of laughter that typically sounded from him were nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by a look that made his heart grow heavy.

“A statue, or Monstadt, my lord?”

“Monstadt. This wound is too complex for the statue’s effects.”

He never left her side. Regrettably, he snapped at the clerics when they asked him to leave and return in the morning, to which he refused to do so. Now, alone with her sleeping form, Venti sighed, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper at them. They were only trying to help. Just like how you were back there. That’s something I love about you. But at the same time... it frightens me. Deeply. What would I do if you were to suddenly disappear?” he whispered to her, his voice trembling with fear from his own words.

As he held back another set of tears, he heard a faint whisper, “...not going anywhere,” she said. She moved her hand to hold his weakly, her eyes opened a crack to see his crying face.

“Lumi? Oh, I’m so sorry. I- I failed to protect you, and I should’ve pulled the arrows out sooner and gone to help and-“

She cut him off with a bandaged finger to his lips. “Venti, love, don’t blame yourself,” she assured, offering a small smile before attempting to sit up.

She winced from the movement, Venti feeling powerless in only holding onto her hand and the small of her back. He leaned in closer to take her in a gentle embrace, his tears now staining her white infirmary shirt. His free hand moved from her back to her hair, gripping it protectively.

“Lumine, promise me something,” he choked, ignoring her previous remark.

She combed her own hand through his hair, saying nothing.

“Promise me, please don’t disappear,” he whispered.

She didn’t say anything for a long time, and Venti began to wonder if she had fallen back asleep.

“Venti, look at me,” she said, pulling away. “Do you see me?”

He nodded, “Every beautiful bit.”

She smiled sheepishly, trying not to get sidetracked. “Yes, and thus, my promise is already fulfilled, my love,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Even if I am gone, you will always remember me. I will not be forgotten, and that’s enough for me.”

“But it isn’t for me! You need to live, Lumine!”

“Of course I will, I wouldn’t want to live a day apart from you. But someday, we will be forced apart. It will happen, Venti. But I promise, that somewhere among the stars, we will meet again,”

“Lumine...”

“People are separated, but never for forever, my dear,” she placed her forehead against his, looking into his eyes earnestly. “Do not worry, my archon,” she half joked, letting out a small chuckle.

He sighed, smiling from the influence of her laughter. “Your words indeed ring true, my disciple,” he replied, nuzzling against her soft cheek. “But I will protect you from harm’s way, so that the stars may claim you another day.”

#venti x lumine #venti #genshin impact #lumine #venlumi #genshin impact lumine #genshin impact traveler #genshin venti #genshin impact venti #venti headcanons #traveler x venti #venti x traveler #venti x reader #venti x mc

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mochibrokenheart · 3 years

Text

SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort.

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself.

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death.

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position.

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

#svsss #svsss fanfic #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang

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staarshines · 4 years

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adhjdjs yesss!! very happy that i found smone else writing for karev haha. could you do number 6 from the frozen prompts with him :’))

Surprises, Surprises, & More Surprises || A.K.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1.6k

After a sleepless night, Alex decides you’ve had enough and pulls off a surprise for you, which surprisingly leads to feelings being revealed.

[A/N]: I’m only on season 14 of Grey’s, so if you want to send me a request with a specific scene that happens in the show, please make sure it’s not a spoiler!

Disney Prompts | Nat’s 500

“Hey, wake up.” Your head snaps up and you blink a couple of times, finding yourself standing over a nurse’s station desk. Groaning, you rub your eyes, checking the time and finding that you hadn’t even been asleep for one full minute. “You okay?” You turn to Alex, finding him with raised eyebrows and a concerned look on his face.

“I’m fine,” you yawn, pressing the save button on your file and placing the tablet that you had been working on before you fell asleep on a charger stand.

“You were literally asleep standing up. We have on-call rooms for a reason.”

“The mattresses in there are shit. I still gotta pester Webber to replace those,” you mutter, sighing.

“Were you up studying for a surgery or something?” You shake your head, running a tired hand through your hair to tame it as best you could.

“Meredith and Derek were at it all night. I should’ve known to not take the room under hers intern year,” you state solemnly, sticking out your tongue playfully when Alex laughs at you.

“I told you that you can come sleep with me if that ever happens.”

“What a very tempting offer, Karev, but I’m just not interested. Must be hard for you to face rejection?” you tell him sarcastically, flipping your hair exaggeratedly.

Honestly? That was the furthest one could get from the truth. You’d had a crush on him since intern year, and you knew you loved him the second year of residency. Those feelings had failed to dissipate, and they haunted you every day. Watching him get with Izzie, then Olivia, next came Addison, then Rebecca, Callie, Lexie; the point is evident. He’d gotten with all of them, but he couldn’t see that the person who’d loved him for years was right in front of his face.

“Oh, shut up. But really. I don’t want you falling asleep on the job when you can just get a good night’s sleep next to me.” For some reason, his last sentence makes butterflies go crazy in your stomach, which is probably the millionth time that’s happened. You wished there was something under those words, you really did, but you’d come to terms with the fact that he didn’t like you a while ago.

“I’m not falling asleep!”

“Oh, please. You were literally asleep standing up.”

“I was resting my eyes,” you defend yourself. “I was just giving my spine a break from supporting my head for a bit.”

“Yeah, right,” he chuckles, making you push his shoulder.

“I actually went up to your room. You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you, though,” you lie with a straight face.

You had gone up to his room and even sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath. He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping. Not stressed or snappy like he’d be on most days, but genuinely peaceful. Eventually, you’d left because you knew you’d get more sleep in your own room than Alex’s; you’d just be staring at him the entire night.

God, you really could never get enough of that face.

“We both know damn well that I’m a heavy sleeper. Just don’t steal the duvet, yeah?” You laugh with a nod.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What’s this, the fourth time this has happened?”

“Sixth,” you correct with another yawn. “Or seventh. I honestly don’t know.” He tilts his head, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Whatcha thinking, evil spawn?”

“That’s Cristina’s thing. And I’m thinking…” he trails off, prompting you to raise your eyebrows and wave a hand in front of his face. “You know what? I have a surprise for you. You get off at nine today, right?”

“I do, but why? What’s the surprise?” you question, genuinely intrigued as to what he was gonna pull off.

“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” You pout, watching him wink at you and walk off. “I’ll pick you up at the ER entrance once you’re done!” he calls out to you. You nod and realize there’s a patient you need to get to, but you’re deep in your thoughts as you walk the hallway to the Cardiac ICU.

What the hell was he gonna pull off?

“Put this on.” Alex hands you a blindfold and you look at him with a disbelieving expression, slapping it out of his hand and raising an eyebrow.

“I should’ve known there was something wrong when you sent me that text to meet you in your car,” you laugh, watching him huff.

“If you don’t put on the blindfold, then the surprise is gonna be ruined. You’re gonna know as soon as we pull into the damn lot, so just put it on?” You give him a weary look and pick it up from where you slapped it onto the dash of his car, slowly wrapping it around your head. Hearing him start the car, you sigh and bite your lip.

“I swear, if you’re playing some kind of joke, I’ll land you in the E.R., and not even by accident.” He chuckles before reversing the car and driving out of Grey-Sloan’s parking lot.

“Can I take this thing off now?” you whine, holding his hands and steadily walking—well, you don’t really know where. He’d just led you up a flight of stairs, so you’re pretty sure you’re walking down a hallway now.

“Just a couple more steps and we’ll be there,” he mutters, holding both of your hands and guiding you—again, you don’t have a clue where. “All right, stop. I gotta open this door.” You can hear keys jangle and you’re even more confused. “Okay, come on.” He leads you into the room, presumably, and puts his hands on the back of your blindfold, untying it. “Voilà!”

You flinch at the sudden change of light, putting a hand over your eyes and slowly blinking until you can open your eyes without any pain. An apartment—maybe a loft?—meets your gaze, and your jaw drops at how beautiful it is. Perfectly catered to your and Alex’s tastes, almost of like he had it custom-made.

“This—Holy shit. This is beautiful. What—How? Wait, why’d you bring me here?” You turn around to find him with a proud grin on his face, and you can read everything just from that. “This is ours?”

“Remember when we went apartment hunting because you started having the same problem with Derek and Mer and we came across that really musty loft that you said you wouldn’t move into in a million years?” He waves around, and your eyes widen.

“That’s this?” You walk slowly further into the loft, still awed by how much it had changed. What once used to look like a place where druggies would go to hang out now looked like a dream apartment. “How the hell did you manage this?”

“Well,” he walks up right next to you, admiring the loft, “you know I don’t like being told I can’t do something.”

“You did this? By yourself?” The surprises keep coming and coming, and you’re pretty sure your jaw is permanently unhinged because of how wide your mouth is open in shock. He nods proudly, putting his hands on his hips. “Let me get this straight. You renovated this by yourself?”

“Not too bad, huh?” You scoff disbelievingly, still not believing what you were seeing. “What? Do you not like it?”

“Are you serious? ‘Not too bad’?”

“We can find a different—”

“No! God, you can be such an idiot at times,” you laugh, pulling him into a hug. “It’s perfect.” He pushes you back by your shoulders but so much so that your arms are still around his torso, eyes darting all over your face to see if you’re kidding.

“You really like it?” You fight back a grin—and fail—at how cute he can be at times, nodding your head eagerly.

“I love it! I could kiss you! I could. I mean, I’d like to. I. May I? We me? I mean, may we? Wait, what?” The gravity of what you just said slaps you right in the face, and you remove your hands from his figure and start to let your mind race for an excuse. “I didn’t mean to say that—”

“You want to kiss me?” he asks in a soft whisper with the smallest smile on his face. You get lost in how awed he looks, nodding slightly.

“I’ve wanted to. Since intern year…” you trail off, thinking it won’t hurt if you tell him a bit more. You’ve already caused enough damage.

You realize it’s definitely not damage when his lips come crashing down into yours and he pulls you into him, hands gently cupping your face.

It’s not a soft kiss, but it’s not a rough kiss, either. It’s a kiss that’s full of longing, emotions, and “I’ve wanted to do this for so long”. You’re so in shock that you don’t actually register when he pulls away, so your eyes stay closed for a couple seconds longer than they should. When you open them, you’re taken aback again by all the adoration swimming in his eyes. Your eyes are having their own conversation with his, silently telling each other everything you two couldn’t communicate verbally.

“You like me?” You’re almost sorry his words break the nearly magical moment, giving him a light slap upside the head.

“No, I just kissed you for the hell of it. Of course I like you, dumbass!”

“And you’ve liked me since intern year.” Even the insufferable grin on his face isn’t enough to make you regret kissing him, which is a first.

“Oh, shut up about it and kiss me again.”

Masterlist

All taglists are open! Send me an ask or a message :)

Permanent: @becausewhyknotme, @criminal-cookies, @theladyoffangorn, @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad, @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @talk-geek-to-me, @letsmellowjello, @thescarletknight2014, @wemisshim3000, @arabellathorne, @brooklynsmorales, @marvel-dameron

Grey’s Anatomy: @arkofblake, @asianravenpuff

#alex karev x reader #alex karev x you #alex karev x y/n #alex karev fic #alex karev imagine #grey's anatomy fic #grey's anatomy imagine #my writing #request #nat's 500: requests #nat's 500 #100

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ramblingguy54 · 4 years

Text

Webby’s Serious Vulnerability & Need For Happiness.

The McDucks meant everything to me. Not just because of their great name, but because they were a great family. One I thought I could be apart of, but now it’s gone...Guess the name, McDuck, didn’t mean much after all...

Webby’s desire for making others happy has been her greatest strength as a character. A beckon of hope others can be drawn to, much like it was for Lena’s case being best explored. Webby even helped Penny find her place in their big crazy world of Duckberg, but what happens when she tries to help a personal matter that, as Dewey said, could only make things worse? Even though this episode wasn’t the angst trip I was speculating it to become for our second visit to Castle McDuck, it shines an interesting introspective upon Webby’s emotional vulnerability once again. Something we saw before in Lost Harp Of Mervana once Webby realized Beakly had lied to her about trusting people in general. It’s not just one part of her character, but the entirety of who she is as a person when it comes to her unwavering philosophy of hope. Webby’s newfound confidence toward facing unknown stuff after getting outta the mansion helped because of others supporting her, too. Webby feels like she owes so much of herself for what this family gave to her life emotionally because she didn’t have much of anything in a long awhile, other than Beakly, obviously. It’s no surprise Webby Vanderquack has been a pretty lonely kid as evidenced by her particular episode quote from Woo-oo, “Ehhh, my granny is a bit overprotective. She trains me to be ready for anything, but then says I’ve got everything right here...”, showing how much solitude she endured socially. Webby got this idea into her head she owes her life to Clan McDuck’s lineage, basically. Which is why she tried everything in her power to manipulate the family into making up.

Webby’s helpful friendly morality has been played up for laughs before, like in New Gods On The Block, but here Webby is very controlling attempting to force moral solutions upon a complicated situation, revolving around inheritance of who’ll become the next statue pedestal. For good measure, Webby pulls upon Dewey’s strings for being noticed as the “best child” and formulates another idea ending in more escalation upon an already feuding family. Doesn’t help Huey & Louie stumble into this room at the worst possible time for added consequences. They were both already getting on each others nerves, so it sent them into adding fuel upon this bigger fire becoming a gigantic one as an end result. All of this was moral karma for Webby’s need to make others happy, even if it meant using her own methods to force a solution. Webby is certainly Scrooge’s biggest fan alright, considering his severe need for control rubbed off on her. The kid wants people to be content she’ll go so far as to push that idea, so Webby can feel happy about herself, too. Webby’s optimism was greatly praised in They Put On Moonlander On Earth and the writers wanted to criticize why putting so much stock into an idea of, “Everyone needs to get along, so I can feel happy!”, can also be a double edged sword in its own right. Sometimes you do need to step away from an already bad situation making things simmer down. Dewey did have a point to an extent about family fighting being a tricky situation. However, it’s not until Webby cuts all the bullshit simply to speak from her heart. No more lies or tricks, but a simple sentimental statement about why she feels the need to repay a debt to the Duck Family. Only then, could their squabbling actually stop.

I set out to preserve their history, but I destroyed it all. The past, the present, and the future...

Webby gets stricken with serious guilt seeing how much damage her meddling around has caused. Besides feeling awful about how she tried taking advantage of the situation, it made her question if they were all their name was cracked up to be. All the studying she did by herself about Scrooge’s ties and legacy are being called into suspicion. If their historical achievements are great, than it can be argued in turn this causes more harm than good for a future together. When you’re at each others necks about who will succeed whatever they’re getting handed it stirs up more issues down the road. The McDuck pride is their greatest strength, yet weakness, from what this episode study displays. Remember Dewey’s research into Della’s disappearance and questioning whether or not she was a genuinely good person? Consider Webby’s introspection as a callback to it, reflecting upon her own value, where if she has put so much faith into who they are seeing them like this, than what does that make her? I’m definitely keeping this as an important mental note for future reference in the next last batch of episodes. She keeps seeing the ugly side of how people can act, including her own family, making this poor kid question everything Webby has held true to for a lot of her life. Dewey had that exact dilemma in Season 1′s episode, The Spear Of Selene, being so terrified of the possibility Della was a self centered traitor to his family. He was scared of being related to somebody who didn’t care for her family at all, making him wonder if that too makes him bad for solely being biologically tied to Della?

Webbigail, no doubt, feels a similar weight of seeing an uglier truth she’s afraid to accept. That not everyone means well in their intentions all the time. She got a taste of that back in Impossibin with Beakly’s extremist behavior about preparing for FOWL’s inevitable threat upon their lives. Now, yes, Beakly did mean well, but she showed a type of ferocity Webby is used to seeing her direct at their enemies, instead of the girl’s general direction. It terrified her for that period of briefness watching Beakly not pull her punches, at least until the end anyway. Factoring in all those variables showcases Webby’s greatest obstacle, her unconditional faith. Although, save for what happened in Mervana, Webby’s not one to doubt people often, since she was quick to forgive Beakly’s oversight a couple of episodes ago. The scary thing though is Webby did doubt everything these McDucks stood for in this moment and that’s very concerning for what they’re foreshadowing in her future conflicts, particularly with Beakly.

That girl believes the best in people, especially Merpeople. If she finds out they’re lying, she’ll be devastated.

When you’ve got her crumbling up a deeply cherished photo Webby held dearly to heart, that’s a big red flag going up there in my mind. If Webby’s already going that far in how hard she’s taking harsh reminders of stuff, then Beakly’s secrets are gonna destroy her emotionally. Food for thought to consider. Mirroring this picture with Beakly’s line from the Lost Harp episode really puts it into perspective about how truly sensitive Webby is to facing an unkind world.

#the fight for castle mcduck!#ducktales season 3 #ducktales 2017 #webby vanderquack #scrooge mcduck #matilda mcduck #huey dewey and louie #fergus mcduck #dt analysis

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tangledstarlight · 4 years

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days go by and seasons change (lets try again next winter)

julie's ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke's about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they've just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

ok hello hi so this is my wild ride of a fic that i’m working on, a scene (much later on) came to me in a dream, and much like how smeyer wrote twilight, i just had to find out how they got there fhbdj there’s some drinking which would be classed as underage in the us but is legal in the uk which is where it’s set so

trigger warnings!! alcohol and swearing

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

winter

There was a line almost outside the door for the coffee shop, people wanting something to warm them up or just to avoid the sudden downpour of rain. Julie had been in England for just over a month now and she still wasn’t used to the randomly changing weather, how were you supposed to plan an outfit for the day if it started mildly sunny and ended in a thunderstorm? It was January! She had come prepared for snow, not rain, damn it.

From her table in the back corner of the cafe, hands wrapped around a mug and headphones blaring music, Julie people watched. Sure, she was supposed to be working on an essay, but she’d been there for half an hour already. She deserved a little break.

Even through her music she can hear the sounds of the cafe around her. Customers placing orders and rain on the windows and cups hitting tables and people laughing and it’s comforting. The sounds of life going on around her while she pretends to be doing work.

Pretends, because she’s been trying to work on this essay for a week now and getting nowhere with it.

When she’d signed up for the study abroad scheme her mind had been on experiencing a new country, on the places she could visit, the new friends she could make, the thoughtful looks she could escape.

She hadn’t thought much about the work she would have to do, the essays that would need to be written, the awkwardness of settling into a new place, the strangeness of hearing new accents.

The actual creative side of her course she found easy enough, but when it came to writing about her stylistic choices and her themes and her influences and how they all tied back with what they’d been reading about? She was drawing a blank.

Blowing on her drink, Julie let her eyes wander around the coffee shop. It was a fairly small place with an extensive collection of teas and fresh baked cakes and free wifi. She’d found it by mistake while looking for a music shop her first week in the city, they’d lured her in with carrot cake and coffee and she’d been coming back at least once a week ever since. A group of boys push through the door, shaking off hoods and laughing at something as they join the queue.

Something about them seemed vaguely familiar, like she’d seen them from a distance in a dark club, or scrolled past a group photo of them on her instagram suggested posts. Or maybe it was because they just looked like every other group of young adults she’d come across, both back home and in Liverpool. One thing she had learnt pretty quickly was that boys were the same everywhere.

She was saved from mulling it over by her phone vibrating on the table with a text, Carrie’s name popping up on the screen and Julie swapped her cup for her phone, a small smile already tugging at her lips as she read the series of texts on her screen.

Julie’s attention is dragged away from her phone by something – someone – knocking into her table, sending her pen rolling off and her cup to shake. Pulling her headphones out of her ears she looks up as the culprits eyes widen, mouth pulling into a grimace as he stares at the coffee now running down the back of her jacket that had been happily sitting in the spare chair.

“Shit,” he mutters, already pulling a napkin out of his back pocket and dabbing at the mess. “I’m so sorry, I uh– wasn’t looking and the chair leg and fuck I’m so sorry about your jacket, can it be dry cleaned?”

And he looks so sincere in his apology, all wide sad eyes and words stumbling out too quickly and messy brown hair curling out from under a beanie and accent that sounds like home, that Julie swallows back the annoyed retort she had ready to go.

It was just an accident. Accidents happened. At least it wasn’t over her laptop. Blowing out a breath, Julie shakes her head at him once, pushing back her chair to inspect the damage.

“It’s fine, honestly. Don’t–” she pauses, holding up the denim on either side of the collar and frowning at the pretty large brown stain. “Worry about it.”

Can she wash it? She’s never tried, but well. She bites her lip as she looks at it, the stranger awkwardly standing just a short distance away with a wad of used napkins and his half spilt drink, and yeah, she definitely won't be able to wear it tonight.

“I’m so sorry.” He says again and someone must catch his attention over her shoulder because his eyes dart away from her, eyebrows shooting up and shrugging his shoulders and, it’s kinda cute. The way he seems to be hovering, unsure if she’s going to shout at him.

“Seriously, it’s fine. Accidents happen, right?” She shoots him a quick smile – though not missing the way his cheeks turn slightly pink – before turning back to her jacket, carefully laying it out on the chair to hopefully dry out enough for her to stuff it in her bag before she needs to leave. She really hopes it stops raining.

“I uh– shit I’m sorry. Again. I gotta–” He gestures to the door where Julie can see his friends waiting for him, barely contained grins on all their faces that has Julie rolling her eyes. Boys. She looks back at him, raising an eyebrow even as her lips tick up into a small smile, she’s rewarded by his cheeks going red, the hand still holding the napkins rubbing at the back of his neck and a stuttered ‘goodbye’.

Sitting back down, Julie rolls her eyes again, muttering under her breath about ‘annoying cute boys’ and ‘favourite jackets’. Leaning down to pick up her fallen pen with one hand while the other tapped out a reply to Carrie. An hour more of sitting here, attempting to do her essay and then she’d have to go if she wanted enough time to get ready.

“So where are you?”

Julie couldn’t hear what was being said on the other side of the phone, but judging by the way Carrie was rolling her eyes the answer wasn’t correct. Flynn leans her head on Julie’s shoulder, their linked arms drawing them closer as they walk, it’s not the most comfortable way to walk, but they’ve already had a few drinks and Flynn gets a little clingy after one. Julie puts her head on top of Flynns as they stumble along cracked stone streets.

“She actually might end up killing Bobby at this rate,” Julie mutters and is rewarded with Flynn letting out a laugh that has Carrie looking over her shoulder at them, eyes softening for a moment before she’s rolling them again. If she hadn’t known the other girl as long as she had, Julie would be worried about permanent eye damage.

“Fucking hell. Okay. Yeah, okay we’ll be like, ten minutes then. Yeah, yeah, okay bye.”

Sliding her phone into her back pocket Carrie took a half step back so she was walking with them again, linking her arm on Flynns other side.

“They’re at the Cavern Club,” Carrie looks at Julie over the top of Flynn’s head and lets out a loud sigh, “I know. That’s where we were going to go anyway. They’re so annoying.”

But she says it in a fond sort of way. Like how you talk about your neighbour's dog that barks too early in the morning and wakes you up, but always runs over to say hello to you through the fence when you walk past and brightens up your day. Annoying, but sweet.

Julie’s only met Carrie’s cousin Bobby once, it had been a short ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ type interaction as he ran into Carrie’s house to pick up his bag and then run straight back out again.

She’s never met the other three members of the band at all, but she knows, after doing a little bit of internet searching, that their band isn’t half bad. They’ve got some pretty good songs and a small following that she is sure is bound to get bigger by the time they’ve finished being the opener for whoever they’re touring with and their first album is out in the world.

The three of them flash their id’s to the security on the door, slightly giddy smiles on all their faces even now, still not used to it all being legal for them to drink under the age of twenty-one. But the security guy doesn’t even blink and then they’re walking down a flight of stairs, the air getting warmer and the sound of drums and guitars reaching them.

Carrie grabs hold of Flynn's hand and Flynn grabs a hold of Julies and then they’re weaving through people and avoiding knocking drinks out of hands.

Her attention is pulled from the crowd to the stage at the back of the room, a band playing a cover of something she can’t name, they don’t sound too bad, and the part of her that used to fall in love with music every time she heard it wants to stop and listen. But that part of her is small and quiet and shy now, so she keeps her grip on Flynn’s hand and follows along.

Julie doesn’t know how Carrie knows where she’s going but all of a sudden they’re coming to a stop, her free hand reaching out to balance herself on Flynn’s shoulder even as a small part of her is still trying to work out what the song is.

Turning her eyes away from the stage she looks at the five boys sitting at the table, a collection of bottles scattered across the wood, and Julie smiles at Bobby who’s standing up to hug Carrie, opens her mouth to say hello before stopping. Her brows furrow as she locks eyes with a shaggy haired brunette who’s own eyes are widening in realisation.

“You!” She blurts out before she can stop herself, and if anyone asks she would blame it on the three drinks she had before leaving the dorms, detangling her fingers from Flynn’s to point at him. With the music blaring so loud only the boys still sat at the table and Flynn heard her, the latter turning to raise her brows while Julie can see the boys trying not to laugh.

“He’s the guy who spilt coffee on my jacket earlier,” she shouts over the music, hand gesturing wildly at the table and Flynn follows her hand, eyes resting on the culprit.

“That was her favourite jacket!” Flynn props one hand on her hip and almost glares at him, but it loses part of its ‘scare factor’ when she starts swaying a little in place to the music. Well, Julie thinks it should lose some of it’s scaring power, but the guy still looks kinda worried, so who’s Julie to know?

“I said I was sorry!” He puts his hands up, shoulder raising to almost his ears, and with his eyes already open so wide and his hair curling slightly at the ends, Julie has to wonder how much trouble that look has gotten him out of over the years.

“You guys have already met?” Bobby jumps into the conversation before Julie has a chance to reply and Carrie is looking between them, lips pursed.

“This is the girl whose jacket Luke ruined earlier,” the blonde one says and Julie vaguely recognises him as being one of the boys from the cafe.

“Dude,” Bobby raises his eyebrows at the jacket ruiner – Luke, Julie reminds herself – shaking his head in disappointment.

“It was an accident!” Luke turns his sad kicked puppy look on Bobby before looking back at Julie, his hands lowering but his eyes still drastically wide, “I really am sorry about it.”

Julie tries, she really does, to hold on to that small kindle of annoyance that she’d felt upon seeing him again. But well, the jacket is already ruined and she’s come out to avoid doing an essay and she’s finding it really hard to be mad at someone so cute. Blowing out a breath she shakes her head at him.

“It’s fine, I’ll forgive and forget the whole thing if you buy me a drink.”

“That I can do,” the furrow in his brows smooths out and his shoulders relax and suddenly there’s a smile spreading across his face that seems to light up his eyes.

“So, you’ve met Luke. That’s Reggie, he’s our bassist,” Bobby nods at the dark haired guy sitting next to Luke who grins and waves, and it’s such an infectiously happy wave that Julie can't help but wave back. “Alex, kickass drummer,” the blonde who spoke earlier ducks his head a little, an almost shy smile on his face as he nods at them, “And Willie. Officially he’s one of our roadies, unofficially he’s just here to hype us up and do cool tricks in empty arenas.” Willie, who’s sat pressed against Alex’s side, raises his hand in a wave.

“This is Julie and this is Flynn,” Carrie points at them each before claiming the seat next to Alex and looking at Luke, “We’ll take 3 vodka lemonades. Please.” She only adds the please on the end after Flynn sits next to her, nudging her elbow into her side, Julie notices with a smile.

There’s a moment of bodies moving as Luke gets up from his side of the table, pulling Bobby along with him towards the bar and Reggie is waving his hand at her, nodding at the empty space along the bench next to him that she slides into gratefully.

They can’t really see the stage set up from here, but the music is still just as loud and Julie starts nodding her head along to the beat, trying to focus on the conversation happening on the other side of the table. Something about Carrie’s group and choreography and convincing someone to add in a dance break to a song. She’s laughing at something Willie said when a glass is slid across the table in front of her, a bottle of something passing over her to Reggie and she looks up in time to see Luke sliding into the space next to her, a small smile on his face.

“Forgiven and forgotten?” He asks, eyebrow quirked as he lifts his own drink, tilting it towards her in invitation.

“Forgiven and forgotten,” she agrees picking her glass up and tapping it against his beer bottle, shooting him a smile of her own before chasing the straw of her drink to take a sip, trying hard not to blush at the intensity of his stare.

It’s two hours later, three drinks and a deeply regrettable shot later, happily on the precipice of truly drunk but hanging out in tipsy land, when Julie shakes her head at Luke who’s standing on the bench. Tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he writes on the curved brick of the ceiling.

“Dude no ones gonna be able to even read that!” Reggie complains from next to her, his eyes squinting as if it will help him to read their names better. It doesn’t, Julie’s already tried.

“Why did we let the one with the worst handwriting do this?” Alex tilts his head to look up at Luke, who waves the hand not holding the pen in his face, almost hitting him but missing by several inches to the left and it sets them all off giggling.

“Because the rest of you are cowards!” He wobbles a little as he shuffles his feet to change angle, and Julie reaches out on instinct to hold his leg, fingers wrapping around his calf as if it will stop him from falling. His head drops down to look at her, teeth biting his bottom lip as he smiles at her quickly before going back to the ceiling.

To leave his – their – mark on a legendary musical site. Luke's words, the rest of them hadn’t been able to talk him out of it so they’d gone right into encouraging.

“I think you’re getting cowards and idiots mixed up,” Carrie mutters, head propped up on her hands, elbows resting on the table. Well, Reggie and Julie and Willie had gone straight to encouraging, the others were still on teasing.

“Do you want your name added or not?” Luke grumbles but Julie can see his pen moving, going over the letters of what she assumes is meant to be Dirty Candi, and bites her cheek to not laugh.

“Don’t forget it’s an ‘i’ instead of ‘y’ for candy!” Flynn leans forward, eyes on the ceiling as she shouts up at him and Luke says something, but it’s too quiet for any of them to hear.

It isn’t until he moves to get off the bench that Julie realises she still has her hand wrapped around his calf, her fingers idly tapping along to the song some guy with a guitar is playing behind them. Heat fills her cheeks (that she’ll blame on how warm it is in the club and the alcohol in her system thank you very much) as she lets go, pulling her hand back into her lap, watching from the corner of her eye as he jumps down and back into his seat, a proud smile on his face.

“Now when we’re big and famous people can come and hunt our names down.”

“And finally realise that you have awful writing and question how any of our songs get written,” Bobby grins at him, elbow nudging his side which sends Luke leaning into her to try and avoid it, sliding along the bench until there’s no space between them, and she can’t find it in herself to be too mad about it. He smells like tequila and mint and aftershave all mixed together, not really a good combination, but one she finds herself liking anyway.

“Well why don’t you start writing the songs, huh?” Luke retorts, and starts a back and forth with Bobby, Alex chiming in and Flynn watching it all like a tennis match, and Juile tries to follow it, but all she can think about is how Luke hasn’t moved back. How his thigh is pressed against her leg and his arm is resting around her back, hand near her hip and how if she wanted to, she could rest her chin on his shoulder and kiss his neck.

Not that she wants to kiss his neck. Does she?

Julie furrows her brows, biting her lip as she examines those thoughts, tries to decide if it’s the alcohol or the music or her lack of sleep or if she just wants to kiss him.

Flynn says something and it makes him laugh, loud and bright and unrestrained, head thrown back and eyes closed. And yeah, she just wants to kiss him. Fuck.

Reggie slings an arm around her shoulders, the other going over Flynns and tugging them together until their cheeks are all pushing together and Julie giggles, poking at his side with her partially trapped arm.

“What do we think chocolate tequila is like?” He asks, eyes glued to the chalkboard menu above them.

“Not as nice as the summer fruits one,” Julie says back, wrinkling her nose a little at the memory of when she’d tried it. If you liked chocolate, it was a bitter disappointment in her opinion. But she was also drunk enough now not to mind.

“Alex says we can’t get the coffee one. Thinks we’ll have a repeat of the red bull incident.” Luke appears on her other side, pushing his body into the small gap between her side and the next group of people. He’s stood so he’s facing her – them – and rests one arm on the counter top.

“Man he’s gotta get over that, it was one time,” Reggie mutters and Julie wants to ask what the ‘red bull incident’ is, but then Flynn is sliding three shot glasses towards them, salt and limes following, apparently having ordered without any of them noticing.

“We’re standing with mango!” Flynn shouts, shot already in one hand and salt on the other, clearly waiting for the three of them to catch up. Reggie lowers his arms and Julie can feel Luke’s hand brush past her arm as he moves to lick the back of his hand, she can feel herself flushing as she watches him do it. And is happy to note that he flushes just the same as he watches her lick her hand in turn.

Idly, Julie notices that Reggie counts them down, that Luke inclines his head at her before he lifts his shot to his lips, that Julie lifts her own, the liquid sliding down her throat with a slight burn that’s not eased at all by the lime she bites into. She squeezes her eyes shut against it and when she opens them sees Luke grinning at her, eyes full of something she can’t name but makes her want to blush again.

“Y’know what? Screw Alex, four of the coffee my good man!” Reggie shouts next to her, waving a hand at the bartender in front of them who just rolls their eyes but puts out four more shot glasses.

“Okay, you gotta tell us about the red bull incident,” Flynn finally asks what had been nibbling at the back of her mind from the moment Luke had spoken so she pulls her attention away from him and back to her friends as Reggie launches into his story that even grabs the attention of the bartender for a moment.

But Luke is a warm presence at her side, leaning into her space and breath ghosting against her neck as he chimes in the story. If she stepped back, just a little, she could lean her back against his chest. She wonders if he’d wrap an arm around her waist to hold her steady? Julie blinks and blows out a breath, raising an eyebrow as Reggie talks.

“Wait, how’d you get onto the roof?”

“So why Liverpool?” Luke asks, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat as they aimlessly walk through almost empty streets, faint music coming from clubs and other drunk people giggling in doorways. The fresh air has helped a little to sober her up, but not enough for her to know where they’re going. But they’re following Carrie, who has a plan for the night and they’ve no option but to follow it.

Julie wraps one arm around herself, the other pushing hair over one shoulder as she thinks about it. There isn’t really a big fancy answer, no special reason for her choice, she shrugs at Luke, lips ticking up into a smile.

“It was the only place still with spots open,” she can see the slight confusion on his face and explains more, “I wasn’t going to take the study abroad year, but I changed majors and I needed to get away from home for a while. Carrie and Flynn had already signed up and the internet said the train didn’t take too long to get to Manchester or Glasgow.”

“You changed majors?”

Of all the things she’s said that hadn’t been the part she’d thought Luke would zone in on. It wasn’t really something she liked to talk about much, her fall away from music. She still loved it, still listened and wrote and sang, but the passion she’d once had, the magic she’d once felt whenever she sat at a piano? It had gone away. Had been gone for a long time. Had been gone for four years and she’d only been pretending she still felt the magic.

Everything she played or wrote was missing something and no one had seemed to notice but here.

It hadn’t been until one of her teachers in first year had pointed something out that Julie had finally confessed. And changed course and major the next week.

Everyone had tried to understand, had listened as she explained why she couldn’t do it. How her mom and music were so intertwined together in her head and her heart that it felt impossible to detangle them, to love and play music without always feeling like there was something missing. But she knew they didn’t really get it

So she’d signed up for the study abroad, and picked Liverpool because they had a good English Lit course and was close enough to her friends if she needed them. Okay, so maybe she’d lied a little, there was a fancy answer for why she’d moved, but picking Liverpool had just been random.

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’ and glances ahead of them, where Willie has Alex clinging on to his back, running through a puddle and laughing loud and clear. She can’t help but smile at them, at the carefree way Willie spins around and Alex holds tighter, face red with whatever he’s trying to say between laughs. Luke must follow her gaze because he lets out a soft snort of laughter, and she can see him shake his head from the corner of her eye.

“I’d hate them if they weren’t so adorable together,” he muttered, but his gaze is soft as they both watch the couple; Willie lets Alex off his back and grabs hold of his hand before he had a chance to get too far away. They’re all soft eyes and teasing smiles and vibes that scream about being in love, you’d have to be blind not to see it. Julie looks away, feeling like she’s intruding on a private moment as they share a kiss.

“Tell me about the tour,” Julie says, drawing Lukes attention back to her and it’s the right thing to say because his face lights up with a smile that she’s sure is going to drive girls wild one day soon.

Julie nods along with the song blaring through the speakers, mouthing the words so herself as she scrolls through her phone, ignoring the press of bodies crowding the smoking area as best she can. From her spot near the wall, opposite the door, she can see Carrie and Willie and Alex dancing together, wide smiles and heads thrown back.

Flynn and Reggie are talking to a group of people off to the side and Julie can see the way Flynn has pulled her braids over one shoulder and is gesturing to Reggie every few words the way she does when she’s trying to hype someone up (she knows, from having been on the receiving end of it, many times). Bobby, standing with them, seems to find the whole thing hilarious, grinning around the cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Okay, favourite book?” Luke asks, leaning in close to be heard over the noise and if he doesn’t move back, well Julie’s not about to complain. The little space heaters on the wall don’t provide much warmth, and it’s January and she’s cold and someone ruined her jacket.

“Currently or of all time?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she turns her head a little to look at him. Her heart stutters for a second at how close his face is to hers, she can see the small flecks of green in his eyes, can feel his breath ghost across her cheeks.

“Current,” he says and she can see as his eyes flicker down to her lips quickly before back up to her eyes and Julie really hopes she’s not blushing right now.

“Stardust. By Neil Gaiman. I’m reading it for one of my classes and it hits all the boxes for a fairytale.” She likes fairy tales, likes the idea of them, likes the message of true love and pure of heart and happily ever afters. This one just happened to involve lightning pirates which was a bonus. Okay, so maybe the lightning pirates were mostly a film detail, but still. “Favourite food?”

“There’s this little hole in the wall place down by the strip? They do the best cheeseburgers. If I could have one for every meal, I would.”

They’re still standing close together, eyes staring too intensely for a game of twenty questions and comments about cheeseburgers and Julie’s eyes flicker to his lips, can see the way they’re pulling up a little on one side. She wants to lean forwards, close the gap between them and press her lips against his. But then she shivers, shoulders hunching up around her ears as she rubs her bare arms, conscious of how close they’re sitting and how much she just kind of wants to steal his body heat.

“Are you cold?” He’s biting his lip, pulling back out of her personal space and Julie almost whines at the loss of contact and body heat and – well maybe she’s too drunk to be making smart choices right now if she’s five seconds away from whining.

“Well someone ruined my jacket,” she points out, eyebrows raised at him and is rewarded with his cheeks flushing and one hand rubbing at the back of his neck which she’s quickly coming to realise means he’s embarrassed or just a little flustered.

“I thought we’d agreed to forgive and forget about that?” He mumbles and before she can come up with a response Luke is standing up, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and then he’s carefully draping it over her shoulders, fingers tapping lightly on her arm until she holds it out for him to slip through one arm hole, doing the same on the other side and then pulling her hair out from under the collar.

It’s too big on her, but the faux fur inside is soft on her skin and still warm from Luke and she can stick her thumbs through the little gaps created by the fastened buttons and if she turned her head a little she could smell his aftershave clinging to the collar. Julie can’t help the little smile that graces her face, rotating her shoulders to let the coat settle better on her body.

Looking up at him her brows furrow a little at the look on his face (if she wasn’t so drunk and giddy and tired she’d say it was something like awe but that made no sense. Why would Luke be looking at her in awe while she wore his jacket?), but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared and he’s smiling at her, that wide smile from back at the start of the night when he’d handed her her drink and she’d tapped it against his.

“Thanks,” she tilts her head to the side, loose curls falling across her cheeks as she looks at him, a wide smile of her own and she opens her mouth to say something else – though she’s not sure what she’s going to say – when another voice cuts through and pops the little bubble they’ve created.

When did they even create their private conversation bubble? Julie doesn’t know, and from the way Luke’s head whips around to land on Flynn and Reggie and Bobby with wide eyes, he probably doesn’t know either. But it’s nice to know that he’d been enjoying their conversation as much as she had.

“We’re gonna get food, come on!”

“I wanted to be wrapped up in bed an hour ago,” Julie sighed but there’s no real annoyance in her tone as she hugs Luke’s jacket closed tight across her chest, shoulder brushing against his arm as they walk.

“But you also wanted pizza instead of McDonalds like everyone else.” And Luke has a point but she still pulls a face, sticking her tongue out at him and getting a laugh in return. She couldn’t even be annoyed at it, he had a nice laugh.

Plus, when she’d said she wanted pizza Luke was the only one who’d wanted to come with her, the rest of their friends going back to their hotels. He’d walked all the way to the takeaway with her, shared half of his chips and then started walking her back to her dorm, insisting on carrying her half eaten pizza too. It was all very sweet and kind and not helping her not want to kiss him.

“Where’s your first stop?” She asks, because he was about to start a tour and she had school and maybe if they were both back home they might have been able to give something a go, but they weren’t and Julie wasn’t really a one night stand kind of person.

“We’re heading up to Newcastle on Sunday to kick it all off,” there was a slight bounce in his step, his excitement almost palpable and Julie could tell that this was all he’d ever wanted. To play music to as many people as he could. A small part of her remembered what that was like, to want to share your songs with the world.

“Sing something!” She pulled him to a stop in the middle of the street, bouncing a little on the balls on her feet and grinning at him. Because she was still a little drunk and she missed feeling excited about playing music and here was this sweet charming guy who loved it so much and felt it with everything he had and Julie wanted to be like that again too. She wanted to think about music without it being tinged with sadness.

“What?” He laughed, eyes a little wide and glassy and with his hair looking more wild then it had when they’d started the night, but Julie was pretty sure she looked the same so she didn’t comment.

“Sing! Anything! Please?” Julie tried pouting at him, doing her best impression of Carlos and his puppy dog eyes and something about it must have worked because Luke huffs out a laugh as he looks at her, biting his lip in thought for a moment before he nods his head for them to keep walking before he starts singing.

His voice is a little rough, from screaming lyrics in the clubs and shouting to be heard in the bars, and his words are a little slurred because he’s a little drunk and a lot tired, but Julie’s sober enough to decide it’s one of the best versions of Mamma Mia she’s ever heard. As he gets to the first chorus she joins in.

They were just two slightly drunk young adults, singing in the street and if nothing else comes of his night she’ll always have this memory of unadulterated joy.

“You can sing,” he whispers and now it’s Luke’s turn to pull her to a stop with a hand on her arm and a look of wonder on his face. Julie shrugs a little and can feel her cheeks heating, but she keeps their eye contact and smiles at him.

“Only drunk in the streets.” Which is more true then he’ll ever know.

Luke opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off by pointing over his shoulder at the building behind them.

“This is me.” She’s not sure what to do now, take her pizza and run? That seems a little rude, and unsafe. Julie’s not sure she can actually run in these shoes without falling. Luke looks over his shoulder quickly before looking back at her, blowing out a breath and nodding.

“Right, right.” He seems just as unsure as she is about what to do now, which makes Julie feel a little better about it.

“I should–”

“Can I–”

They both start at the same time and then Julie is laughing and Luke is huffing out a breath while a smile grows on his face. The only thing between them is a pizza box and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep flickering down to her lips.

“I can’t kiss you!” She blurts out, a hand quickly going up to cover her mouth and Luke’s eyes widen, taking a half step back, retracting his hand like he’d been burnt.

“That wasn’t– I– this–” Luke started stuttering, face going red and Julie quickly shook her head at him.

“That came out wrong! Fuck. I–” She curled her hands into fists at her sides, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them, “I want to kiss you, but I can’t.”

The shock on his face had softened at the start of her sentence only to morph into confusion at the end.

“You’re gonna have to explain this to me, Molina.” Luke still looks confused, but he’s still standing in front of her and that’s enough for her.

“I like you,” she dips her head as she says it, because Julie’s pretty sure she could really like him if given the chance, “but I’m no good at one night...things and you’re about to go on a tour and I’m stuck here and I just, I think– I think I’d like us to be friends. I think we could be really good friends actually.”

Because they’d only spent a few hours together and she’d laughed and smiled more in that time then she had in awhile. Luke was sweet and funny and had something to say about every song the DJ picked to play but sang along anyway. Which is why she doesn’t want to risk a friendship for one night in bed. The confusion on Luke’s face turns into understanding and the soft, slightly sad smile that he gives her tells Julie that she’s right. A friendship with him would be better than one really fun night.

“I get it,” and he carefully puts his hand back on her arm, squeezing slightly before pulling away. “And, for the record, I’m not very good at one night things either.”

Her heart beat sounds loud in her ears and it takes Julie a moment to refocus her thoughts. Friendship. No kissing. Friendship.

“Well, maybe if we can keep a friendship going until we next see each other we can try this moment again,” she waves her hand around them with a small laugh. They could probably keep a friendship going long distance, but Julie isn’t so sure that they’ll ever get a moment like this again.

“Deal,” Luke grins down at her and pulls his phone out of his back pocket and unlocks it, Julie raises her eyebrows at him when he holds it out for her, “In order to keep in touch we’re gonna need to exchange numbers.”

“You make a point,” she agrees, putting in her information and handing it back to him in exchange for her pizza box. “Text me when you get back to your hotel, okay? So I know you didn’t get lost.”

“Yes, boss.” His smile is a little teasing now and Julie shakes her head at him as she brushes past him to walk into her dorm. She’s half way across the road when stops in her tracks to turn back at him.

“Wait, I’m still wearing your jacket.” Julie stars to shrug the item off when Luke shakes his head, already starting to walking backwards down the street.

“No, keep it!” He shouts with a smile, “Means we’ll have a reason to see each other again and have another go at this.”

Julie just shakes her head at him with a laugh, watching as he walks away before tightening her grip on the box and finally making it into her dorm. She’s still got an essay to write and a pile of laundry to put away and magic in music is still missing, but she’s gotten herself a new jacket and a friend who she thinks could make her life a little brighter. So she’ll forgive and forget that she's home an hour later than promised.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #carrie wilson #willie #flynn #rosie vs writing #i just. really like making fake texts and igs and tweets lmoa #*fics

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dovahkiin796 · 3 years

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Digimon: Three Days with the King of Vampires Day 0

To those who play the phone app game Digimon ReArise. Will only truly know what I'm talking about. Even before playing season 2 of the story, I knew about Michi, one of the main characters and her partner Angewomon. Become mind-controlled by the great GranDracmon and becoming his minions. When learning of that I was excited to see that in the story and see how the characters will save them and see what kind of role the vampire digimon will give to the pair. But when playing the next act, I was greeted with disappointment. The act starts off with the cast in a downcast mood as they haven't seen Michi and Angewomon in three days. I was surprised by that and hoped to see what the duo were doing within those three days. Spoilers! We never learn what they did. No flashbacks, no dialogue or anything of the sort. So, my best guess is GranDracmon took Michi and Angewomon back to the Digital World and had them do nothing while he came up with his next plan. Now when it comes to the present, Michi and Angewomon are destorying things that made Michi sad in anyway or pretty much anything Michi holds dear... so just causing pure chaos. Ok, kinda boring but makes sense for GranDracmon as he wants humans to express the negative emotions as he treats things as if he's watching or directing a play. Now when it comes to the mind-control it's written weirdly for Michi as she sometimes expresses her true feelings despite not fighting against it... at least, I think. Anyway, I'm writing this story to explore more of Michi under GranDracmon's control. Now I'm writing this more for myself rather than trying write some grand story. So I'm keeping the writing simple. Hope you enjoy.

Day 0

"Eye of the Gorgon!" GranDracmon exclaimed, his right eye glowing a menacing orange color. Michi, a teenage girl who has been hearing the Vampire Digimon's whispered voice within her own mind. Is unable to save herself from the digital monster's dark influence. From within she can feel the darkness her heart had generated spread out through her entire body. If Michi wasn't in such a perilous state right now she could describe the feeling as a cold stream that broke free from its dam. Though the feeling of coldness was quickly replaced by a feeling of pain when the darkness reached her head. In a firm grip she places her hands on both sides of her head in hopes to soothe the harmful feeling, but it was a completely futile attempt. The pain continued to grow and grow till she couldn't handle it anymore and let out a loud scream. Then suddenly her screaming stopped. She falls onto her knees, her head drooping a little, which made it difficult to see her face.

From where he is standing. GranDracmon watched in glee has he saw a purple aura manifest itself around the human and envelop her. Letting him know that the human is now susceptible to his brainwashing. "Stand Michi." He mentally ordered through the connection that he now had with the girl. She does so and pretty stiffly one would add. As if she was being puppeteered by some invisible strings. The sight causes a chill to run down the other human and their Digimon's spines. Michi puts her hand on her head again and starts rubbing it and speaking in a livelier tone than anyone would think she would. "Ow! Why does my head hurt so much!?" She asked to really no one. She then starts looking around her surroundings. "And what was I doing that has me in the park?" Her gaze eventually lands on the human and their Digimon partner. "Oh, that's right! I remember now! Angewoman, attack their Digimon!"

Angewoman, who already fell under GranDracmon's control, obeyed her partner's order and attacked the digital monster with more power than an ultimate level should have. The Digimon sustain so much damage it reverted back into its Rookie form. GranDracmon watched with great amusement as saw and sensed the despair the other human was giving off. And despite how much he wanted to continue it. He decided to leave it at that for the time being as he wants to plan for more excitement in the coming days. "Let us close the curtains for this evening. Come now, Michi and Angewoman." He said.

"Okay... See you around, friend." Said Michi. With that done GranDracmon left the area with the brainwashed Michi and Angewomon following close behind him. When they got far enough the brunette asked him a question. "So, what's the next step in the plan?"

"For now, my dears we'll head to the Dark Area in the Digital World. I have a castle there established in very center. We'll use it as a place to be left undisturbed by your former friends and those pesky Devas or any other righteous Digimon that might try to stop us. I must come up with the next act in the play." He answered.

Despite her current state the female human couldn't help but express her excitement. "Really?! I never been to a castle before in either world. This is going to be so cool!" It couldn't be seen by the pair but a very small smile formed on the centaur-like Digimon's face. Nighttime eventually arrives in the Real World and using the darkness to his advantage. The Vampire Digimon opens a portal to the Digital World.

The three walk right into the newly created portal, only to then exit out of it a few seconds later and find themselves inside the interior of a reddish stone made structure. The room they were in specifically is gigantic and decorated with amazing pieces of art. Up against the center of the backwall seems to be a throne for the owner of the place to sit on. The giant digital monster turns around to face his new guests and gestures his arms to his sides. "So, my dears. What do you think of my home?"

Angewomon was the first to answer the question in a more cool, business-like tone. "It will suffice for a resting place for when the day is over. But I'll admit the art you have is very nice to look at." Michi agreed with her partner. "Totally! Can't wait to see more of it!"

"Your praise of my humble abode fills me with much joy. And as much as I'll love to give you both a tour of the place, I sadly must tend to other matters. But feel free to familiarize yourselves with the layout of the castle." He said. Both said ok and left to head towards a nearby large corridor.

While watching them leave GranDracmon's right eye glowed orange again. He can see that the purple aura surrounding the two is still there, keeping them in his control. GranDracmon was most excited to have them take part in his next act as it'll be the grandest sendoff he'll have for the humans. At least for now that is. 'My little stars, soon you'll both shine brighter than the others in the pitch-black sky. Only to then be pulled down into darkness.'

Back with the pair, their self-tour of the massive castle eventually led them to a balcony that is overlooking the Dark Area. As far as the eye can see were the numerous dead trees, rocky terrain, dark sky, purple water, and a purple fog covering the ground below. "So, this is what the Dark Area looks like." Said Michi, "It's actually not that bad as my old friends and the Devas kept describing it as. I was expecting something more, R-rated."

"I agree Michi. The Devas clearly exaggerate whatever they don't see fit in a pure negative light." Said Angewomon in a sour tone. Before more could be said, the holy Digimon sensed they weren't alone. Doing a quick 180, Angewomon summons her light bow and pulls back the string to create a light arrow. Standing, or a better use of words, flying in place, just several feet away from them is a DemiDevimon.

The little creature jumps in surprise. "Wait! Don't hurt me!" He begged. His pleading didn't have any effect on the female Digimon. She simply pulls the string back further and says in a firm voice. "State your business for being here! If it's to hurt my partner, I'll grant you no mercy." The purple aura manifests itself around her. The brunette, who turned around to see what the commotion is all about says the following. "Why not grant it now? I mean, I doubt GranDracmon will miss such a weak, common Digimon." Michi said this with a smile that was neither wicked, sinister, or evil. But her usual casual smile, which makes it that more disturbing. Just like with Angewomon, the purple aura manifests around her.

Sweating bullets, the small digital creature stutters out his words. "Pl-please listen! I was sent by L-lord GranDracmon to tend to, to any needs you might have along with answering any questions you might want to ask."

"Really?!" Exclaimed the human. A little surprised by the news. The DemiDevimon nods by tilting his whole body downward a little. "Yes. My lord's orders were very specific. Whatever you require, I'll see that it happens." He said. "Cool!" Said Michi and then motions to her partner, "Stand down Angewomon, be a shame to lose my first servant before getting a chance to give him orders."

The angel Digimon makes her bow and arrow to disappear from her hands. Causing the spherical monster with wings to let out a sigh of relief. "So, Mistress Michi and Mistress Angewomon. How may I be of service?" He asked. The brunette softly laughed at her new title. "Well, I'm a little tired from today, it's been very... busy to put it lightly. Is there a room here I can sleep in?" Just as she finished her sentence. A yawn escapes her mouth. The Digimon says there is and told the pair to follow him, to which they do.

Unknown to the duo. For the next three days Michi and Angewomon will be tested by their new master. To see if they're ready for what he has planned for them.

#Digimon #digimon rearise #angewomon #grandracmon #michi #prolouge #fanfic #fanfiction

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meetmeatthecoda · 3 years

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Coda, how are you doing?

If you have time, can I ask about Director’s Cut on “Epsy”?

Hello, my dear friend!! 😄 I'm doing well, thank you so much for asking!! 😍 I hope you are doing fabulous!! 🥰 I certainly have time for this (at least now I do - I'm sorry for the delay on this 😂) & I am flattered you want to hear more about Espy - I had fun with it! - so I'll put my notes under a read more for convenience!! ❤️

So, I basically wrote this fic around the idea of Liz having second thoughts about her revenge mission on Red, him getting hurt in the crossfire, Liz panicking about it & rethinking things, & - ultimately - Liz observing Red when he can't see her, like in the end of the Borne Supremacy where Jason Borne is looking at Pam Lundy (unbeknownst to her) & tells her to "get some rest, you look tired". Weird inspiration, I know, but I just loved that twist at this point in season 8 for Red & Liz. (That's also why I chose the title "espy" 😁)

I had specific settings in mind for both scenes in this fic & I loved the idea of Liz, Skip, & Agnes at a fountain for the first scene with Agnes having fun looking at the ducks 😊🦆

I remember having a hard time writing Liz's mental state in the beginning of this but, at this point, I find it kind of necessary to always define the current mentality of either Red or Liz, given that writing Lizzington always comes with a certain amount of mental gymnastics & AU 😒😒😒 But I think I established what I wanted to, which was Liz feeling confident but - overall - that the physical distance is giving her some mental clarity & making her question her motivations which imo it definitely should have.

I also really enjoyed putting Skip firmly in the role of bad guy/T*m replacement in terms of sliminess. He rubbed me the wrong way from the start, so it was super satisfying to draw parallels from him to T*m & establish Liz's mistrust of him which imo she should have had.

I also got tons of petty satisfaction from writing him completely horrible with Agnes & having Liz make the parenthetical observation that Red would never treat Agnes that way, tee hee.

I wrote Liz's scheme falling through mostly bc this was on the heels of the ep where she endangered a whole plane full of innocent passengers for her own stupid goals, while the only chance of saving them rested in the completely uninformed Task Force's hands, so it could have easily been a disaster. That was appalling to me at the time (way to go TPTB) so this scenario was meant to be a bit of a reality check for Liz while keeping innocent people out of the way & only banging up Red a bit, something which would serve as a wake-up call for her in more ways than one.

I loved writing the ultimate confrontation between Liz & Skip, occurring over her feelings about Red, & for some reason I adored the line about Liz feeling a bland satisfaction at being able to push around Skip & parenthetically wishing that "Tom and all the damage he did would stay dead where they belong." I thought that line hit different & I liked it.

(I had fun making Agnes understanding & agreeable & excited about playing princesses on the plane, cause we barely got any decent mommy!Liz moments in canon & it's really sad 🥲)

And the "she has someone she needs to see." line before the break was meant to be a nod to the title, as well as foreshadowing.

I remember having a little trouble writing Red's opening paragraphs, establishing his perspective on what happened & more so on his injuries, which is something - along with action - I'm not very good at writing LOL

But I liked the mental image of Red booking it out of an empty building while Aram is counting down on the phone stuck in his pocket. Poor thing.

(I also needed Dembe strictly in the role of caretaker while not being technically in the fic & I got a chuckle out of writing that he dropped Red off to investigate the empty building & peace-d out to go get a cheeseburger, cause he has such a canon love for food 😂)

I also liked the idea of Liz's apparent betrayal hurting Red more than any injury he sustained cause I love angstttttt 🥲

I loved the idea of Red being too tired & sore to even get a drink when alcohol was surely something he relied on in that time when Liz was out to get him, meanwhile him collapsing in the chair instead of a bed was more of a necessity plot-wise so Liz could see him through the window wall - which I also remember was hard to describe. I kept fiddling with the description.

The attempted verbal sparring & Red's befuddlement over Liz's unexpected concern was very fun to write.

I couldn't help but include that whiplash line, it made me snort 😏

I liked the lighter, softer conversation of Red asking where Liz is, Liz calmly declining to answer but bringing up Agnes, & Red asking how she is.

I almost didn't include Liz saying that Agnes asks about Red, that was a last minute addition, but I once I thought of it & realized it fit in pretty well, I liked the added emotional depth & it being the climax of the conversation with Red's desperate "it doesn't have to be this way -" followed by Liz just not being ready for the next part of the conversation & Red accepting that & letting her go with a wish for her to be safe.

And of course the little twist of the Jason Bourne-esque ending - I remember tweaking and re-tweaking that paragraph & the subsequent ending bc it's the real center of the fic & I wanted it to be good.

And the last line is a reference to the title as well 😊

Well, there you go, my friend, I hope this was interesting/entertaining for you to read!! 😅 Thank you so much again for asking about this fic, I really appreciate!! 🥰 Much love to you, my friend!! ❤️

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #fanfic #espy #ask games #fanfic writers: director's cut #mine #ask #sweetangelpalacebagel #here you go my friend #:D #i hope you like this #:)#much love to you!!#<3

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

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End of Sanctuary

Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins Characters: Mael, Meliodas Tags: Post-Canon, Character Study, Canon Character Death, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort written for @nntzine Summary: After the defeat of the Demon King, Mael returns to the only home he knows and engages in a festival to honor the ones who were lost.Originally written for Nanatsu no Taizine: Volume II and published in celebration of autumn.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sun is low in the sky when he reaches his home. Former home, he supposes, landing lightly in what was once the grand courtyard: the immaculate marble has cracked and fallen, the flowers overgrown by thistles and weeds. Mael tilts his head back, taking in the ruins of the spires of the Supreme Deity’s palace, listening to the wind whistle forlornly through the shattered windows and holes in the walls, and wonders if this is their punishment for their hubris. Dead leaves whisper through the grass, like the voices of so many ghosts; with a sigh, he kneels, sweeping dirt away from the walk. This is the place of his birth, and he remembers with a fond sort of ache the feasts and festivals that were held here, one in particular which was always dear to him.

The Feast of All Souls began as a prayer. To remember those who’d come before, goddesses lit candles within their homes and laid offerings of food and wine on their doorsteps. Eventually, with the war looming over their clan, the Supreme Deity had made it a public event, one which all were encouraged to attend. Private offerings were still left, yet the majority of the evening was spent in the city streets, buying masks and scraps of finest parchment upon which to write hopes, dreams, or words of remembrance. And, once the sun had set and the world was cool and quiet, in the grand courtyard a chosen member of their race would light the torches and dance, and those little bits of people’s lives would be fed to the bonfire, to reach the next life. Mael rubs a dandelion between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. There is no one here, and yet . . .

He has no place in Britannia, nor a reason to return there. Too much suffering is on his shoulders, too much grief for him to express his own. And with the role he played in Escanor’s passing — how foolish he had been to believe that Elizabeth could heal the damage inflicted by Sunshine, how naive to trust in Escanor’s words over his own understanding of the man’s life — he would no doubt face scathing ire from the Sins, who loved Escanor as a comrade and a friend. And the Celestial Realm is in ruins, hardly fit to live in. Mael is well and truly alone in this world, and he presses himself to his feet and lifts his gaze to study the first blooming stars. He does not know where he will go from here, but he decides that, before he meets whatever fate is in store for him, he will honor those who lost their lives in this senseless war.

He will reignite the flames of the Feast.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Mael stands in the center of the courtyard, watching as the sun begins its slow trek below the horizon. It is cold now, the seasons caught between autumn and winter, and the ivy that climbs the stone pillars is a vibrant, otherworldly green against the tawny hues of the rest of the world, and his breath condenses on the inside of the mask he wears. Only the Grace that had returned to him keeps him from truly feeling the chill; he is shirtless, his feet bare, and without Sunshine he would be trembling. Surrounding him are torches, burning brightly against the oncoming gloom, plates of food and wine at their bases, and a pile of dead branches waits for him to set it alight. His mind is as clear as it can be, his limbs tense for the dance he will perform. When the sun kisses the edge of the sky, he leans over and presses one of his own torches to the kindling, and the bonfire, soaked in oil, roars to life.

Then Mael begins to dance.

It is Ludoshel he thinks of first, the brother he had all but worshipped in his youth. He remembers his first flight—more of a glide, really, his wings too small and his feathers too new to hold him aloft for more than a few moments—how Ludoshel beamed with pride as he landed awkwardly on his feet and ruffled the hair that never laid as prettily as his own. Nights passed with stories, his brother tracing the constellations in the sky and telling them how they came to be: the Warrior, forever chasing the Queen he loved; the clever Fox that marked the beginning of autumn, the Saint and the King and the Dove, until Mael’s head was full of starlight and dreams. Ludoshel’s comfort when he was injured, his hands calloused yet soothing as he bandaged scrapes. Ludoshel, his voice hoarse with held-back tears as he clapped Mael on the shoulder and congratulated him on becoming an Archangel. His brother, and confidante, who had his flaws yet was always good to him.

Mael flicks out an arm, the torch in that hand dangling by his fingertips. To my brother, without whom I would not be. I thank you.

Escanor comes next. Though they had barely known each other at all, the man had been full of kindness and love, the type of person Mael wished he had been three thousand years ago. Their meeting had been violent, to be sure, but even then, even as Estarossa, he had felt a genuine respect for the one who stood against his decree, and knows now that Sunshine did not aid him in that feat. Escanor had not been capable of hatred; his heart was too pure, his capacity for understanding too great. Even in his grief, he had not been cruel, each action meant to end Mael’s life as quickly and cleanly as possible. Well, perhaps that is too generous, but whether or not Escanor knew that Cruel Sun would cause a slow death, Mael does not know. They had been bound by Sunshine and Mael had found him, and Escanor had pleaded with him, not once but twice, refusing to accept the self-loathing brewing within Mael’s chest.

He crouches, twisting the torches over his head in a shower of sparks. To Escanor, who was all that I hoped to be and more. I thank you.

Sariel, who taught him to read the affection that lurked beneath abrasive words, and Tarmiel, the one who had never given up his hope that Mael was good, both dead by his hands. Sariel’s tongue had always been like sandpaper, yet he had been the one to teach him how to be agile, how to stay moving in the air so no one enemy could get close enough to do him harm. Tarmiel, gentle and sweet, had encouraged him, shown him the proper way to grip a sword and how he could use his size to make his opponents think he was slower than he was to keep the upper hand. Monspeet, an unwilling victim of the illness that had festered within Mael as the decree at away at his sanity; Derieri, who sacrificed herself in an attempt to save him; Oslo, who was Rou, a loyal companion that devoured Mael’s magic so that the Fairy King could live.

Without that, without them, he would not have survived, and he lets the fire lick his shoulders as he draws the torches along his chest. To those who gave themselves so that I would be free. I thank you.

In one fluid movement, he lunges forward and places the torches atop the fire, his magic working to heal his hands even as they burn. Then he steps back, removing the mask he had carved from silver aspen and the ceremonial trousers woven from red-dyed wool before placing them within the pile as well, the flames devouring the hopes and prayers held within the objects, turning them into smoke that will hopefully reach the souls they are meant for. The sun is long gone now, the moon at the apex of its journey, and the sweat that had formed as he danced grows cold along his legs and back. Mael picks up the flask of wine he’d brought for himself and opens it to drink, uncaring of his nudity. He must watch until the fire dies, and then he can rest until dawn. Checking the offerings will come in the morning; so he sits and drinks and fasts till only embers remain, smoldering against the shattered stone.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The next morning, he exits his makeshift home, exhausted and more than a little hungover. A quick Invigorate cures him of the latter, but his bones ache as he treks by to the courtyard to clean up the remnants from the Feast. It is an unusually bright day, the sky clear and free of clouds, and the sun warms his back as he kneels down to inspect the first of the offerings, finding it nearly gone. With a faint smile, he moves to the next, and the next, and the last, and each of them has been disturbed more than the birds are capable of, the gifts picked thoroughly and more than half-missing. The sign of a good Feast and answered prayers lifts a weight Mael hadn’t realized he was carrying from his shoulders. He knows that he is by no means forgiven for the atrocities he committed, yet the sight of empty baskets puts him at ease; perhaps now those left behind can begin their healing. He pauses next to the remains of the bonfire to tilt his head back, studying the clear blue stretching endlessly above his head.

“Autumn,” Ludoshel says, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile, “is a time of rest so that we can be reborn anew, like all that the Supreme Deity’s light touches.”

“I miss you,” Mael replies.

His voice echoes flatly in the air, and he closes his eyes against the grief that swells within him. Rest to be reborn anew.

Footsteps crunch over the dirt, drawing Mael’s attention to the ruined stairs. To his surprise, Meliodas is standing there, his hands in his pockets as he surveys their surroundings, his brows furrowed with what can only be contemplation. Then his green eyes cut across the theater to Mael, and his usual grin slides into place. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says cheerfully, crossing to him. “Or hoped, actually, but Elizabeth said this is where you were most likely to go.”

Mael can only stare at him while his mind tries to comprehend Meliodas being in the Celestial Realm. “Why?” he asks.

He supposes it could have meant why are you looking for me, or why did Elizabeth send you, and Meliodas chooses to answer the former. “I have a proposition for you.” He scratches the back of his head. “Well, the Sins do. With Escanor gone, we’re short one, and all of us are used to fighting with Sunshine around. So we want you to join us. There probably won’t be much fighting,” Meliodas adds when Mael stiffens, “since the war is over, which means you’ll mostly be helping run the Boar’s Hat and keeping the peace when we have to.”

He isn’t sure what to make of the offer. “I’m not sure I’m suited to becoming his legacy.”

Meliodas waves his hand dismissively. “No one’s asking for that, or for you to become the Sin of Pride. We’re offering a home, and a chance to do something other than stay here, alone.” His gaze is calculating now as he looks at Mael, almost as though he is daring him to refuse, and he nearly smiles as the old, Estarossa-like desire to meet the challenge swells within him.

“Alright,” Mael agrees. “I’ll go with you. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Buy me a drink.”

Meliodas grins, holding out a hand that Mael clasps warmly within his own, and there’s a rush of fear, longing and hope that makes him tremble. Be reborn, he thinks. I’ll try my best, brother.

#nnt #nanatsu no taizai #mael #nnt mael #nnt fanfic #nnt fanfiction #my writing #myfic #oneshot #zine work

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you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 4 years

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Hola Mishamigos! It’s Friday and I am here with more nonsense from my SPN rewatch - dudes, we are all SLEEPING on Season 11, in both good and bad ways. There is so much in just the first trifecta of “Out of the Darkness, Into the Fire;” “Form and Void;” and “Bad Seed” (since “Baby” deserves her own analysis) - so come relive my rewatch with me. This is a summary of some things that stood out for me (few are analysis, most are clowning; basically this is a pared down live tweet - you’re welcome/I'm sorry); copy/paste from the script is included with my own emphasis:

OUT OF THE DARKNESS INTO THE FIRE [11x01]

-There’s lots more to this episode, but really this is the most important and relevant part (also it’s too soon and I am offended, damaged, attacked and hurt) -

DEAN: Yeah, whoa. All right, take -- take it easy, okay? (gesturing to the deputy’s wound) Bad guys?

JENNA: Rebar. I sought cover. I fell.

***LIKE EXCUSE ME, but what in the actual fuck. Did they just decide to pull that from the episode four years later to emotionally traumatize us in the subsequent rewatches? I know it’s probably coincidence but my sad soul has not recovered *enough* for rebar’s first SPN appearance to be right now in this moment when I am blissfully 5 entire seasons away from the dead end in the road.

- The only other important part of this episode - when Dean takes the call from Cas privately first before putting it on speaker for Sam, and something about this exchange is so endearing-

(Dean’s phone rings)

DEAN: Where the hell are you, Cas?

(The scene flips between Sam and Dean at the hospital, and Castiel in the woods.)

CASTIEL: I'm...I'm okay.

DEAN: You don't sound okay.

CASTIEL: Dean, I am fine. Besides, what I have, you can't help me.

DEAN: What do you mean, what you have?

CASTIEL: Just please tell Sam -- Rowena escaped with the Book of the Damned and the codex.

DEAN: Okay, forget Rowena. Where are you?

CASTIEL: Now, you tell me -- the Mark . . .

DEAN: Oh, really? You're worried about me after everything that I’ve --

CASTIEL: Dean, is it gone?

DEAN: Yes. I'm good. I mean, I'm not great.

CASTIEL: Makes two of us. (Dean puts Cas on speakerphone) This is good news.

SAM: Hey, Cas.

CASTIEL: Sam.

***It’s just so poignant that Dean wanted privacy for the first minutes of that call, probably because he is still haunted about the beating he gave Cas in 10 and *other things,* and Cas is literally being torn apart by Rowena’s curse but he only cares about Dean getting rid of the Mark, and the world is ending but Dean only cares about Cas and where he is - honestly this scene - I’m -

***Further thoughts on the Animal Curse/Cas/Dean below under 11x03

FORM AND VOID [11x02]

(love the Genesis call back to this verse in the title - “And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”)

-speaking of emotional trauma, this fucking shit again -

JENNA: Yeah. I pretty much grew up here. Learned to ride my bike down the road. Had my first kiss at that blue house over there. Lost my virginity up there (pointing to different house).

DEAN: I'll bet blue house was pissed.

JENNA: She was. (handing Amara to Dean) Do you mind?

***This frustrated/disappointed/angered/saddened me to NO END despite already knowing that it happens constantly on the show, because what was the reason?! Did they have to point out that she had a female love interest for this brief moment just to turn her evil and kill her off? There was no need to include this detail. It’s either blatant homophobia or willful ignorance (so also blatant homophobia) that this is what representation means. I won’t go on because obviously we are aware of this and much has already been said/written about it, but still, fuck this.

-we meet Billie and there is more “FORESHADOWING”-

QUEEN IS SINGING “OH DEATH” aka Death’s entrance song from Season 5 and I am BLOWN AWAY by this almost as much as her amazing voice - like did they know at this point she would become the new Death season later? DID THEY KNOW? I need answers.

Seriously, go listen to it immediately; bask in its glory:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFOm5i6b56o

We also get our first mention of the Empty, so that’s cute that they referenced both Dean’s and Cas’s Season 15 ‘demises’ in the same episode (it’s not cute really and I am crying again now) ->

BILLIE: You and Dean . . . Dying and coming back again and again. The old death thought it was funny. But now there's one hard, fast rule in this universe. What lives . . . dies. So the next time you or your brother bite it, well, you're not going to Heaven . . . Or Hell. One of us -- and, Lord, I hope it's me -- we're gonna make a mistake and toss you out into the Empty. And nothing comes back from that. I know you're dying. I can feel it. You're unclean in the biblical sense. So I'll be seeing you again, Sam . . . Seeing you real soon. Name's Billie, by the way.

-another reason for me to continue denying the flaming trash heap that they tried to call the series finale-

Sam is dying here because he has been infected by the Darkness-vein-animal-exploding-people-plague so he goes to pray about it

SAM: So . . . I know it's been a long time, but . . . Dean and I, we've -- we've been through a lot of bad. But this is different. This is my fault, and I don't know how to fix it. And if I have to die, I've made my peace with that, but . . . Please. Dean deserves better. Dean deserves a life. There are people out there, good people, who are going to suffer because of me, and I am not asking you to clean up my mess. Hell, I don't even know if you're out there, but . . . If you are . . . And if you can hear me, I, um . . . We need your help, God. We need to know there's hope. We need a sign.

**DABB WROTE THIS F-ING EPISODE. How are you going to write Dean deserves a life here to just do what you did Dabb. Don’t get me started on my feelings about this scene in the dark depths of my finale-denying soul. DEAN DESERVES BETTER INDEED, SEASON 11 SAM.

To rub salt in this particular wound, they show us THE cutest scenes of Dean with this damn baby so we can have feelings about how great of a parent he could be (also I ADORE that whenever Jared, Jensen, or Misha have scenes in later seasons with young children/babies it is SO clear they slip into their own natural dad mode without even noticing it; these guys just all seem like excellent fathers and it makes me mushy) and even Crowley picks up on that shit and makes his little ex-boyfriend joke (after Demon Dean and most of season 10 there is no way I will ever NOT believe that Crowley and Dean did not take a tumble; I will take no criticism):

CROWLEY: The child likes you. No surprise, really. You're very maternal.

LIKE WHAT IS THIS:

Speaking of King Jackles, next comes the episode he directed ->

BAD SEED [11x03]

-Cas/Dean parallels with the Attack Dog Spell/Mark of Cain-

This arc appears in the 10 finale and then runs through the first three episodes, culminating in this one. Despite it hurting my heart to see our angel so bloody eyed and feral, I LOVED this parallel; it’s truly brilliant - Cas’s reaction to the attack dog spell is such a mirror to the way Dean dealt with the Mark most of 10. It’s also beautiful that Dean is the only one that can pull Cas from the spell’s control at the end of this episode; that alley scene between the two of them in 11x02 is so tender and sweet. I like to think this brought an entire new layer of depth to their connection, because no one truly understood how Dean felt under the influence of the Mark until now (someone write a fan fic about this exchange!!!!!!) I *love* this journey for them (please say that sentence in Alexis Rose in your head). Bonus that the episode containing my most favorite of *domestic* phone calls with Dean and Cas follows this one, and also Dean’s SHORT SHORTS follow because now he is just walking around the bunker in short shorts while Cas is there and I maintain this is because of this new level of closeness. As previously stated I ACCEPT NO criticism.

ALSO OF COURSE THE FACE CUP THAT JENSEN HIMSEF DIRECTED HIMSELF TO DO. I STAN A KING. I HEREBY DEMAND AT LEAST ONE FACE CUP PER EPISODE OF THE MINI SERIES JENSEN.

***I just saw something posted by @watchthebeesandfish back in 2015 when digging around the internet re: this episode - that this was the first time both Dean/Cas had seen each other as “themselves” since that heart wrenching bridge scene in 9x10, when Dean walks away from Sam/Cas after the Gadreel possession reveal (he goes on to take the Mark of Cain in the following episode, and has it the rest of the season through season 10 finale). That is brilliant and accurate and I BOW DOWN in humility to that parallel. I now love this scene a billion times more. *single [wo]man tear* Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this little trip down memory lane, thanks as always for getting through my rambling, and HAPPY FACE CUPPING FOREVER.

#destiel #deancas #spn #spn family #spn fandom #sen season 11 #spn recap #spn analysis #spn clowning #heller #jackles #king jackles #but why not write an entire live tweet dissertation of my spn rewatch #spn subtext

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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I’ve been thinking all day about this post that I saw and reblogged about Snow’s desire to have another baby and how that hurt Emma. While it is completely understandable for Emma to feel that way as the lost girl that she is, I don’t think Snow is evil or a bad mother to want another baby. I’ve even read fics where people delete the birth of Snowing’s son altogether, seeing them having another child as a betrayal of Emma. I disagree completely. It isn’t them having another child that is problematic, it’s the way it was written in the show. Snow’s words in the echo cave that what she has with Emma isn’t what she wanted is a poor choice of words, but as a mother myself, I get what she was trying to say. Every mother wants to experience all the special moments as their child grows: the squishy baby against their shoulder, the first steps and words, the gap toothed six year old smiles - all of it. It’s what’s so tragic about the curse and what it did to Snowing and Emma. Snow having another baby doesn’t mean she’s “replacing Emma” because, by that logic, every mother who has more than one child is a bad person. Every mother who has a baby after losing a child is a bad person. That’s ridiculous. Any mother will tell you that ten babies can never replace the one you lost (or the ones you have for that matter). And if the Snowings should never have children as some sort of penance for giving Emma away, then by that logic, Captain Swan should never have children either because Emma gave up Henry.

Soooo, the problem isn’t Snowing having another baby. It’s the show’s writers doing Snowing dirty time and again by sweeping Emma’s emotions under the rug and having David and Snow cater more to Regina than their own daughter. We’ve heard the shows creators and writers use the excuse that they didn’t have time. Well, it wouldn’t have taken much. Dozens of little moments could have done the trick, they just didn’t take advantage of the opportunities they had to include them. So here are some quick scenes I wrote that either tweak canon or add to it and fix what the writers botched. These are written like scripts because I just needed to get them out of me. If anyone is inspired to use these as prompts for fics, feel free!

In Neverland:

Snow: If you can’t leave this place, then I’m staying with you. I’m not losing you again.

Charming: No, you can’t do that, Emma needs you.

(tears fill Snow’s eyes)

Snow: You’re right.

Charming pulls her close

Charming: I have hope that you and Emma will find a way to bring me home. We always find each other, remember?

Later, Emma is alarmed that they are leaving her dad behind. Snow takes her face in her hands.

Snow: We’ll find a way to bring him home - together.

Emma and Snow have a conversation in 3B ( did they ever get this chance in canon? I don’t think they did.)

Snow: (rubbing her belly) I get the sense that this is bothering you.

Emma: Why would it bother me?

Snow: (touching Emma’s arm) You can tell me.

Emma: I know it sounds silly, but I feel like . . . like I’m being replaced. (her voice hitches)

Snow: Oh sweetheart, we always knew we wanted you to have siblings. You could never be replaced.

Emma: But in the echo caves, you said I wasn’t what you wanted.

Snow: (eyes widening) Oh baby, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I meant that being separated from you wasn’t what I wanted - as a mother. We deserved so much more than we had - you deserved so much more. I wanted a chance to hold a baby, see his first steps, hear his first words. I’m sure you understand.

Emma: (chokes on a sob) I do, actually. I wanted all that with Henry, but I knew he needed more than I could give. And the worst part is, these false memories of raising him? Now they’re torturing me.

Snow: (pulls Emma close and holds her) I put you through that wardrobe because I had no idea what the curse would do.

Emma: (chokes out laugh) I would still be a baby now, for one.

Snow: (pulls back and cups Emma’s face) And who knows if Regina even would have let us be together. Your father was in a coma in the hospital. I shudder to think where my precious baby Emma would have been. (She presses her forehead to Emma’s.) Nothing could ever replace you, not now, not ever. Do you hear me?

(Emma nods and smiles through her tears.)

While Charming and Emma are putting together the crib, Snow gets quiet and wistful, then tears fill her eyes.

Snow: You were supposed to be so much younger when it was time to get ready for a new brother or sister.

Emma: (pauses in what she is doing to give her mother a watery smile) I know.

At the naming ceremony:

Snow: David and I thought about all of the many people who have loved us and supported us over the years. There are two special people who have not only been our friends, but also sheltered me when I needed a home. (chuckles) And didn’t hold it against me that I was hiding in their barn stealing their eggs. So we would like to introduce: Prince Lucas!

(Ruby and Granny gasp tearfully, then rush over. Ruby hugs Snow tightly and Granny gently takes the baby.)

Granny: Well, now that he has a name, I can finally finish that baby blanket.

(The crowd in the diner laughs.)

(Now Emma doesn’t have to be reminded of her painful past/awful ex every time she says her brother’s name.)

Emma realizes she’s made her baby brother’s bottle start boiling - ignore my alliteration :) - all the other mothers in the mommy & me class gasp or recoil, but Snow reaches out gently to her daughter.

Snow: It’s okay, Emma.

Emma is freaked out that she could have hurt her brother and runs from the room while Snow shouts after her, frantically getting LUCAS (not Neal) into his stroller so she can go after her. This sufficiently establishes the fear Emma has that she will hurt her family or push them away - Snow recoiling wasn’t necessary just as it wasn’t necessary for Hook or Henry to recoil from Emma to convey the plot point.

Instead of teaching Regina to dance:

Snow: (in her chambers, sees her husband rushing to leave) Where are you going?

Charming: I just realized I never got a chance to teach my daughter to dance, (harkening back to the dream he had in 3b - HELLO writers!) and this is her first ball.

Snow grins at the excitement on his face and in his voice and rushes out with him, baby LUCAS in her arms. But when they get to Emma’s chamber, the door is ajar, and they see someone has beat them to it:

Hook: It’s a waltz Emma, remember? You’ve done this before, and splendidly I might add.

Emma: You did it splendidly, you mean. Remember, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing?

(Hook laughs, and in the doorway, Charming deflates, smiling sadly and wistfully.)

Charming: (whispering to his wife) I forgot, this isn’t her first ball after all, and she already has a teacher.

(Snow touches him in a comforting way. Across the room, Hook looks up and sees them. He catches Charming’s eyes, and a look of understanding crosses his face.)

Emma: Besides, there will be other dances besides, waltzes, right? How will I learn those in only a few hours?

Hook: Well, love, I believe reinforcements have arrived. Someone else would like a dance.

(Emma looks up as her father approaches, a smile beaming across her face. Charming is visibly choked up as he takes Emma in his arms to dance. Hook and Snow exchange emotional smiles.)

Snow: And after the dancing lessons your mother is going to help you get dressed and do your hair.

Emma: (pretending to be embarrassed) This isn’t the prom.

Snow: No, but it is our first ball together. (She’s choked up - they all are.)

In addition to these, I believe the writers should never have done the “darkness was taken out of fetus Emma” storyline. I could write an entire post on this, but all I will say here is that it harmed Snowing’s established characters and did further damage to their relationship with Emma. For no reason at all, really. (And does Emma really seem like a pure snowflake with no darkness in her? Does that even fit her character? Please.)

They also never should have added the plot point in season 6 that Snowing could have gone to little girl Emma and chose not to. Why in the world would them going to her prevent the curse from breaking? That makes no sense! They could have raised her from that point, preparing her for her 28th birthday, when they could have all returned to Storybrooke TOGETHER to wake everyone else up from the curse. The only reason that couldn’t happen was - plot. You change the entire show. So why even include this plot thread? It did nothing but make Snowing look like bad parents. I’m a mama, and let me tell you, nothing would be keeping me from my kid, curses be damned. I would have gone through that portal in a heartbeat, telling Rumple, “we’ll figure it out, see ya!” So - yeah - never should have included this. And Emma’s reaction to this revelation? Completely out of character! Ugh!

Um, so there ya go - “How the show could have been better” by Melanie.

And reading back over this, it’s kind of a mess, but I just had THOUGHTS that needed to come out.

#once crit #fix it ideas I guess?#kind of me rambling about this show that I love but also drives me crazy

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lloydskywalkers · 5 years

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Ahhh thank you so much!! 💕sO the lack of season 5 aftermath is possibly one of my biggest issues with Ninjago because like...there was no way. There was no way Lloyd just walked all that off, Morro had him pretty much the whole season and we saw what five minutes did to Ronin. I think it took a fair amount of time for him to bounce back, and it likely left long-lasting effects, but because this is season 5 angst u get a fic explaining my thoughts instead :’’D

(Also answering this in it’s own post because guess who spiraled out of control again! It’s s5 angst u guys i’m weak)

The aftermath of the battle is, as it usually goes, incredibly underwhelming. And by that, Cole means incredibly slow, because the Preeminent ripped the motor off their steamboat, and even with Nya pitching in every now and then, their pace across the seawater is glacial. By the time the nearest Ninjago shore comes into view, everyone on the boat’s on their last legs of sanity — some for…slightly different reasons than others.

The thing about being stuck on a crammed steamboat for hours on end, is that you can’t really hide. There’s only so far you can get, unless you take a dip in the ocean, which is a hard pass for Cole — not that he was trying to hide, anyways.

No, the only one who looks like they’re actually considering jumping off the side of the boat is Lloyd, and that’s because instead of vanishing off to who-knows-where to have his inevitable breakdown, he’s stuck smack in the middle of his very protective family, who get an up close and personal view of the exact moment the color starts to leech from his face.

Lloyd’s making a valiant effort. He’s been making a valiant effort, ever since they pulled him from the Caves of Despair. He and Kai had cornered Sensei in what turned into a near-shouting match alone at letting him fight in the battle against Morro in the first place, because Lloyd had looked two degrees from dead when they’d gotten him back. He’d only looked moderately alive when he’d stepped out with them, hoodie hanging too loose from his shoulders as he’d handed off the green gi to Nya, and it had burned Cole to let him take the brunt of the fight as he did.

Not that Cole feels much heat now anyway, but — metaphorically.

Either way, Lloyd holds up valiantly until the combined toll of Morro’s possession and the battle with the Preeminent finally hits, at which point he goes a sickly shade of white and keels straight over into Kai with a migraine so bad Cole can’t even manage to pull his fingers free from where they dig into his skull.

“What happened?! Did Morro hurt him?”

“Did Morro hurt him, where have you been this last month—”

“I meant right now, don’t snap at me—”

“Would you keep your voices down, you’re only causing him more pain.”

This quiets the commotion that’s sprung up in their corner of the boat, all of them hovering anxiously over Lloyd, their salt-water hair and wind-swept clothes and already-forming bruises leaving the entire team a vivid mess. Kai’s left holding a lapful of whimpering brother, looking two seconds from crying himself as he tries to soothe Lloyd before he tears hair out, so Cole takes a shuddering breath, pulls himself together, and takes the lead.

It’s easier than he’d thought it would be, allowing himself to fall into the removed sort of autopilot. Shoulders back, emotions locked up tight, put on a brave face and make the calls. Leading has never been an easy position, but it teaches you to compartmentalize, to suppress, and to delay.

That delay is what Lloyd is paying for now, Cole thinks soberly, as Zane and Kai carry Lloyd up the steps of the Bounty, Sensei already darting inside to brew up whatever tea’s supposed to help this time. It’d be easier if Cole took him — he knows that. He’s the strongest of the team, even in this state.

But he can’t bring his ghostly fingers to touch him. Not with the flinch that had run through his younger brother earlier.

Cole swallows thickly. Lloyd hadn’t meant it, he knows that. He wouldn’t even hold it against him if he had.

The turnaround from regaining Lloyd to the battle with the Preeminent was terribly quick, and it only takes a look or two to gain an understanding of the damage wrought on their youngest brother. Lloyd is bruised and gaunt and horribly thin, and the normal shine in his eyes is hollowed-out and haunted. There’s an unspoken dread among them all, a heavy weight that sits on their shoulders, that Morro has actually managed to break Lloyd with his possession — that the longs weeks spent trapped in his own mind, beaten and neglected and alone — have snapped the unfathomably strong willpower Lloyd’s always had.

And Morro, for all that Cole hates him for that, was a ghost. Cole isn’t stupid enough to miss that. And he’s certainly not stupid enough to ignore what the repercussions of that might be on Lloyd, toward anyone else who might be a ghost.

Cole feels his chest tighten as he watches Nya run a hand through Lloyd’s tangled hair, her eyes a million miles away as she sits beside where he lies on their couch, tucked firmly into the layers of blankets he recognizes as Kai and Zane’s.

He bites his cheek. It’d be better if they used his. It’s not like Cole needs them anymore.

“He’s overtired,” Sensei Wu says quietly, his hand drifting briefly across his nephew’s forehead. “He pushed it too far in battle, and he has yet to fully recover from the toll both the possession and his injuries took on him. He will be fine, with rest.”

There’s a quiet exhale of relief at his words, but it’s a weary one. Kai doesn’t look at him, his stare only growing hot where he sits at Lloyd’s side, refusing to move even to change from his battle-stained gi.

Cole’s eyes flick to Sensei Wu, then back to Lloyd. There’s a bleeding kind of pain in Sensei’s words, his voice shot through with loss. There’s a crippling edge of guilt in it too, though. Cole knows Sensei is mourning Morro — he knows their relationship was different. But as much as Cole prides himself of being sympathetic, it’s really, really difficult to feel any sort of grief for Morro, when his baby brother’s curled in on himself in pain on the couch, eyebrows furrowed tightly in stress and exhaustion.

Lloyd murmurs something inaudible, shifting in his sleep before settling again, his expression still pinched in weariness. He somehow looks both years older and so very young at the same time, and it makes Cole’s heart hurt.

He’s yanked from his staring as Jay’s head suddenly presses against his shoulder. Cole starts, almost forgetting to remain solid before Jay yanks his head back up, eyelids fluttering from where they’d drifted off to sleep.

“Sorry,” he yawns, rubbing at a bloodshot eye. “Didn’ mean to fall asleep on you.”

Cole blinks at him, then glances at the rest of their team. Lloyd isn’t the only one succumbing to exhaustion — the entire team is barely hanging on, all dark-circled and hazy eyes. Beside Jay, Zane looks like he wants to shut down for a month, Nya looks like she’s close to tears for some reason, and Kai looks like he’s steadily burning through the last reserves of his energy just by staring at the floor.

Something weird shifts in Cole’s gut. He feels exhausted, stripped raw and worn, but he doesn’t feel tired, not like the others look. He just feels that same, cold kind of numbness that has yet to leave him since Yang’s temple.

He swallows again, and tries to ignore how useless the gesture is.

“You should head to bed,” he tells Jay gently instead. His lifts his head, addressing the others. “We all should.”

Kai opens his mouth to protest instantly, then shuts it. He glances at Nya, who’s practically asleep where she sits on the couch, seconds from tipping over. He looks at Lloyd. “I’m sleeping out here,” he finally says, firmly.

Cole guesses that’s the best he can ask for from him, right now. He nods to Zane, who gently helps Nya up, knocking Kai lightly on the shoulder as he does. “At least change,” he orders, and it’s a sign to how tired Kai is that he complies without arguing.

Cole tugs Jay up by his arm, patting him on the back. “C’mon, zaptrap,” he murmurs. “I’m not your pillow.”

Jay grumbles inaudibly at him, but he staggers to his feet, yawning as he plods toward the bedroom. Cole looks to Sensei Wu, who is still hovering by Lloyd, staring at his nephew with a look Cole can’t quite figure out.

“Sensei?” he finally dares, hesitantly. “It’s been a long day, so…”

“Ah, of course.” Sensei Wu blinks, shaking his head. “I would let him rest here for the night,” he says, nodding to Lloyd. His voice is quiet, and Cole can easily find the pain in it this time. “Better to let him rest.”

That doesn’t exactly settle well with Cole, because the idea of leaving any of his brothers apart for the night, even if it’s just in another room, turns his stomach. Especially when one of them is the brother they’d lost, and only just barely got back, so—

Well. Cole doesn’t need to sleep anymore, does he. He can keep an eye out.

“Of course,” he says instead, dipping his head as Sensei Wu heads off after the others. “Goodnight, Sensei.”

Cole moves to follow him, figuring he can at least change his clothes, but he hesitates over Lloyd, footsteps faltering. For a brief second, he lets his hand hovers over the top of his brother’s sleeping head, barely ghosting the pale blond strands. He swallows, then pulls his hand away.

Lloyd had told him once, when he was younger, that he was scared people would hate him for what he was. Never who — just what. Cole had never understood the phrasing, but now…

Now, Cole desperately, painfully hopes Lloyd doesn’t hate him for what he’s become.

***********

It’s the third nightmare that finally manages to pull Lloyd from sleep, because somehow the first two weren’t exciting enough to warrant waking up for.

At least he hasn’t woken up Kai with it, he thinks miserably, still trying to catch his breath, his heart racing from the nightmare. He exhales shakily, glancing over to where Kai’s sprawled out on the couch across from him, snoring quietly and dead to the world. Kai looks exhausted, even in sleep, and Lloyd feels guilt digging its claws into his chest again.

Your fault, a voice in the back of his head reminds him. You hurt him, you hurt them all, Green Ninja—

Lloyd swallows, wincing as he shifts, sitting up quietly. He won’t wake Kai up for this. His older brother has suffered enough for him already.

Besides, his throat feels like he’s been swallowing sandpaper, and he doesn’t; really trust his voice, anyway. Lloyd sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and tugging his blanket over his shoulders like a cape.

In all honesty, he’d like nothing more than to stay on this couch for the rest of his life, because Kai let him have his really warm blanket — which, granted, says a lot more about the state Lloyd’s in right now than he’d like, but still. Lloyd is comfortable, tucked in the corner of the couch like he is. And comfortable isn’t something he’s been in the last few weeks, at all.

But he’s not — he’s not supposed to be thinking about that, he reminds himself, furiously shoving the memories back into their little Do-Not-Touch box in the corner of his mind, as he gingerly tests his legs out. His right leg shudders precariously when he stands, and Lloyd bites his lip, frowning. He could’ve sworn it was his left that was hurt, since that was the one the Preeminent had nearly ripped off pulling him into the Cursed Realm, and Morr—

Aha, nope, Lloyd reminds himself. Back in the box. He can think about that — about him — later.

Much, much later. Right now, he just wants a glass of water, then he wants to go back to sleep for another twenty hours straight. He’d like to just go back to bed as it is, because his limbs feel as sluggish as melting butter, but the water’s important, because he’s ‘severely dehydrated’ or something. Whatever Zane had declared as Lloyd tried to stop his brain from imploding on him earlier.

So glass of water, then back to bed. Lloyd just has to make it to the kitchen, which should — should be easy. His leg isn’t shaking that badly, and it’s not like his ribs are actually broken. Just bruised, and Lloyd can walk off bruises, easy.

He just needs to remember how, he thinks, as he takes a shuddering breath where he stands frozen. He blows it out, closing his eyes to steady himself. He immediately snaps them back open, trying not to keel over to the side. Oh, mistake. Every time Lloyd closes his eyes he’s falling through realms again, the world spinning and leaving him loose and shaky, which is only moderately better than the alternative thing he’d see, which is…

Well, he left Lloyd with a lot of things he could see that would keep him up.

Back in the box! Lloyd scolds himself, frantically tearing his mind elsewhere before he can slip down that particular slope, one that he knows is only going to send him spiraling into icy fear and panic.

Lloyd shakes his head furiously, bare feet padding quietly as he makes his way to the kitchen. His skin crawls at the darkness that presses in from all sides, and he feels his power press against his fingertips, begging to light his way. Lloyd presses his lips together and shoves it down. His control over his powers is tentative at best right now — he’d learned that the hard way earlier, when he’d exploded all the police floodlights that were just trying to get them safely to shore.

The reminder causes his cheeks to heat, and Lloyd bites his lip. He doesn’t want to think about how much he’s lost, how far behind he’s fallen, because of…this. His powers feel wild and fragile now, like they did when he was just beginning to train, and Lloyd hates that. How is he supposed to make up everything to his team when he can barely even—

A cold chill of air suddenly licks against the back of his neck, rustling his clothes and blanket and tugging at his hair, and the chill that slides down his spine is all the warning he gets. The whistling sound from the broken kitchen window should have warned him, but Lloyd’s still unprepared.

It’s just — it’s the wind.

That’s all, just a little breeze, and Lloyd’s slammed so hard by a dizzying vertigo of terror that he falls right to his knees on the spot, his vision going hazy as a dull roaring echoes in his ears.

He’d scream, but his lungs have suddenly quit on him, sputtering uselessly in his chest as he wheezes, panic blotting out every other rational thought. The phantom fingers of the wind are still grasping at him, still pulling at his hair and wrapping around his neck, forcing into his mind and tearing him apart form the inside and no, no no no, he can’t do this again, he can’t—

Some part of Lloyd’s mind knows perfectly well what’s happening to him. It’s not like he hasn��t had panic attacks before. But the rest of his mind—

Lloyd’s teeth press together so hard his jaw aches, and his eyes burn as he forces shaky breaths to rattle from his chest. The hot shame of how pathetic he has to look right now is only drowned out the absolute sense of terror rooting him on his knees.

Kai, he thinks desperately, his hands shaking so violently that his fingernails clack against the floor. Kai is here, Kai will save him from Morro, he won’t leave him to spiral back into that darkness. His whole family is here, just in the other room, if he can only—

A muffled voice forces its way through the roaring in his ears, echoing oddly against his brain. Before Lloyd can place it, there’s a touch on his shoulder, gentle but cold, like a wisp of freezing air, just like his touch.

Lloyd looks up, and through blurring vision sees that same unearthly shade of green, flickering and translucent, and his entire being slams into panic.

All he’s able to get out is a rasping croak, but he’s still able to snap at the figure.

“Get away from me!”

He tears his arm from their grasp, stumbling back. He’s not going to be taken again, he’s not going back in the darkness, he’s never letting someone touch him like that again—

Lloyd wipes at his eyes, his vision clearing, and he freezes dead.

— oh. Lloyd’s eyes go wide in horror. Oh no, oh no, it’s not him. It’s not any of his ghosts.

It’s Cole, his hand pulled back to his chest, staring at him with the most heartbroken, hurt expression on his face Lloyd has ever seen in his life.

Lloyd’s heart drops all the through his stomach to his feet, and he goes cold.

“I-I—” Cole’s eyes are wide with hurt, but that hurt quickly melts into a horrified kind of despair. He pulls back further, swallowing thickly. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away. Shutting down. “I’m sorry, I should have realized—”

“No—” Lloyd croaks.

“Obviously you’d — I’m sorry, just being stupid Cole as always—”

“—no, no Cole—”

“—just making things worse, I’ll leave.”

“N-no, Cole, I didn’t mean — Cole, I’m so sorry—”

Cole isn’t even looking at him, his shoulders hitching tightly as he turns away. “I’ll get Kai. Or anyone else.”

He moves to his feet, leaving Lloyd where he’s still sprawled uselessly on the floor, and Lloyd’s stomach turns.

No, no, no! he thinks frantically, fumbling to find feeling where his legs have gone numb. Cole can’t leave, not with that look still on his face, not before Lloyd can fix this—

“Cole wait, stop—!”

Lloyd moves to rush after him, to grab him, to pull him back and apologize — but his ankle is still weak and his balance is still shaky and the panic’s left him wobbly, and he gets one step before his foot twists in his blanket, the ground’s yanked out from under him, and he slams front-first into the floor with a muffled grunt, knocking his chin against the floor and biting straight through his lip.

“Ow,” he manages into the floor, somewhat stunned, his voice muffled as his face throbs.

“Lloyd!”

Oh good, Lloyd thinks hazily, as his mouth fills with tangy, metallic blood. It worked. Cole came back.

Hands wrap around his shoulders, hauling him up and setting him upright before quickly pulling back. Before Lloyd can protest, Cole’s back, all up in his face where he’s now sitting on the floor next to him.

“Aw, Lloyd, why’d you do that,” Cole’s voice is pained as his hand ghosts over the blood dripping down his chin, thick eyebrows tense in worry.

Lloyd shakes his head, wiping a hand over his mouth and grimacing. His lip stings something horrible, and he’s appalled to find that his eyes are tearing up from the pain.

“I wan’ed to match the rest’a my face,” he manages out though his busted lip, before cringing.

Cole gives him a look. Lloyd doesn’t feel bad at all. It’s better than the look he’d had on a second ago.

Cole sighs, sounding weary. “I’ll get Zane. He can help you ice it, and I’ll—”

“No!” Lloyd yelps, grabbing for his arm. He latches around Cole’s wrist just before he manages to escape, and Cole snaps his eyes to him, looking panicked.

“Lloyd, I-I…I get it,” he says, gently prying at his fingers. “What you went through — it’s…it’s okay, just—”

Lloyd doesn’t let him get any further, because he finally gets past the giant chunk of completely irrational fear in his chest and manages to throw his arms around Cole’s middle, hugging him tightly until Cole’s forced back down with an oof.

For a second, Cole’s about as receptive as a rock, sitting all stiff and rigid. But he finally, finally relaxes, breath whooshing shakily out of his chest as he slowly, carefully returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around him.

Lloyd’s prepared for the unusually cold touch this time. He focuses instead on how gentle it is, how it feels like family and home and safety. He’s an idiot for mistaking Cole for anyone else, Lloyd thinks hotly to himself, his eyes stinging with tears.

“It’s not,” he whispers. “It’s not okay, you’re not— you’re not Morro, and I shouldn’t—”

Lloyd’s breath hitches. Oh no, he’s opened the box. He’s opened the box and now he’s thinking about it, his mind is reaching in and pulling out every memory of what Morro did to him, every action he took that Lloyd couldn’t stop, all the words he’d forced from his mouth, all the awful things—

A dizzying rush of fury smashes into him. How could he, how could he, it wasn’t enough that he took Lloyd’s body and his mind and his strength and left him a hollow shell, no, he had to dig his fingers far enough in his brain that Lloyd’s scared of his own family now—

“—hate him, I hate him, I hate him—”

“I know, buddy, I know—”

Though Cole’s holding him tight, he shifts him slightly to the side with a quiet hiss of breath, and Lloyd belatedly remembers — tears. Water and ghosts do not get along. And here Lloyd’s crying enough for a river on top of him.

He jerks back with a gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” he blabbers, wiping frantically at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

It’s Cole’s turn to grab his arm before he pulls away, his gaze firm. “Don’t,” he says, sounding pained. “Don’t apologize for that. I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me.”

Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry, you’re a ghost and it’s all my fault.”

Cole stills. “What?” he finally says, his voice incredulous.

Lloyd doesn’t reply, crying harder as he tries to absorb himself into his blanket, maybe to suffocate, because at least then he won’t be weeping all over the kitchen floor like a child, and — and—

“Lloyd,” Cole sounds agonized now. “Lloyd, this wasn’t your fault. None of this was. You can’t blame yourself for it, you can’t. Please don’t.”

Lloyd gives a keening whine in reply, burying his face in his blanket. Yes, he can. He can, just watch him. Lloyd can blame himself for the whole sorry thing, because he went to that museum alone when he knew full well he was still a mess, and now?

Cole’s a ghost, his family’s hurt, Lloyd’s a worse mess, and his dad is dead, for real dead now, and none of it would’ve happened if Lloyd could’ve just—could’ve just—

Lloyd feels a bit like he’s exploding, except it’s all coming out in the tidal wave of tears he’s been stockpiling somewhere, and darn it, he’s supposed to be dehydrated now, where’s it all coming from—

Cole gently lifts his blanket, folding it up as a barrier between him and Lloyd’s running eyes, and pulls him back in, holding him tightly. Lloyd unashamedly clings back, because he’s got no dignity left at this point anyways, and he’s lived with the idea that he’d never see his family again now, and it hurt so much worse than anything Morro could do to him.

“It’s not your fault,” Cole tells him again, his voice thick. “We’ll fix it. We’ll figure it out, Lloyd, we’ll work through it, all of us together this time. You’re going to be okay. I promise, I promise.”

Lloyd just folds in on himself further, burying his face against Cole as he tries to choke back sobs.

Going to be okay. He wants to laugh. His dad’s gone. Lloyd’s entire being feels like a bruise. He could get past that before, maybe. Probably. But—

Cole’s dead.

How on earth are they supposed to fix that?

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #cole brookstone #answered #there's a tiny bit of blood in this but not much just warning!#i have a lot of Feelings about s5 that's all #also NW i owe u my life >:D #my fic

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