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murderousginger · 4 years ago

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Standing in the Ashes

Angel on Fire part 2

John Shelby x reader

Word count: 3,214

Warnings: They're criminals, guys, they do bad things.

You fell into a comfortable silence next to John. His presence was an anchor in the crowded room and it annoyed you to realize it. You sipped your second drink, knowing that you wanted to stay a steady tipsy rather than belligerent. In all honesty, you would have preferred not to drink at all but choosing not to drink caused too many questions. Your nerves could not take it today.

John sat beside you, you both watching the other from the corner of your eye until you had Harry top off your glass. You looked over to John and tilted your head as you raised your glass.

"Been a pleasure," you said as he took a drink from his glass. "But I do believe I have some men to bait and your brother and Isaiah to entertain."

"I doubt there'd be an argument if you stayed sat with me."

You faltered, mouth open as the words swam in your head.

"You're kind, but the silence can't be that entertaining," you stammered. "I'm sure you have business or a missus to get back to. Finn talks about his wild nieces and nephew."

John's eyes softened and he tilted his glass in his hand, watching the whiskey roll about.

"Martha," he said loud enough to carry but only that, "she passed years ago. It's just me, the maid and my children."

"Oh," you dropped your eyes, "I'm sorry."

You weighed in your mind what to say next when his sad eyes flickered and he smiled.

"You can do what you want, (Y/N), I won't stop you," he said as he leaned back. "But my life is fuckin' screaming and chaos, so don't think I can't appreciate two people sitting in comfortable quiet."

You nodded as your lip curled up in a half smile. You gathered your drink, John offering you a quick nod before you disappeared into the fray.

The next hour or two you nursed your drink as you flirted and brought men to the boys, dropping them at the table for a transaction like a dog with a dove. When you sent about a half dozen to Isaiah's friendly and knowing smile, you decided you had done enough and took your seat back at the table.

"Decided to take the night off to snog Michael?" You shot at your friend, who hadn't moved from under Michael's arm all night.

"Don't be jealous, (Y/N)," Isaiah said loudly as he wrapped his arm around you before he pushed his nose through your hair to your ear. "You know they'll tire of each other in a week. Give it time."

You hated getting testy with her but she did this every time. She'd find a boy -- this time none other than Michael Gray -- and she'd lose herself and your friendship as she batted her eyelashes. And a few weeks later when she became bored or he did, she'd come back and be your best friend again. You'd grown frustrated with the cycle. Was she really a best friend if she forgot you so easily?

Just another reason the night scene made you so tired. As much as you adored Isaiah and Finn, none of them were around until the sun went down. No one visited or asked to spend your lunch with you. You only ever saw them under the promise of whiskey and snow and you had grown bored of both.

"Everyone that's not a Shelby or fucking a Shelby, get out of my bar!" Harry bellowed as he whipped a towel above his head to get everyone's attention. "That includes the young Peakys in the corner!"

"Harry I'm a fuckin' Shelby!" Finn yelled back with a laugh, his arms wide.

"When you get hair on your balls, you can stay like your brothers. Til then, out!"

The boys booed as they laughed and finished their drinks, slamming the glasses on the table. You froze as you felt hands wrap around the back of your chair and warm arms touch your back.

"You lot not ready to pack it in?" The familiar voice said behind you. "Tell you what, if you can talk Harry out of a bottle, you can use my kitchen to wind down. Play a round of cards, drink, whatever."

Finn squinted up at his brother from your side as you fought yourself from doing the same. You felt heated with him so close to you. Agitated by his nonchalance at pushing himself into your space.

"You've never offered before," Finn said. "Why now?"

You felt his arms move up against your back as you circled the rim of your glass with your finger.

"Kids are a bit older and your ruckus won't wake them anymore," John said as he leaned down around you to come face to face with his brother. "Pretty sure you could bomb the house and they wouldn't stir. But if you'd rather go sit on a bridge in the cold…"

"A bridge," your friend said as she crinkled her nose at the very thought and leaned further into Michael and whined. "It's so cold out, Michael."

"Then it's settled," Isaiah grinned. "We'll head over to your place, John. Thank you."

"What about you, (Y/N)?" John said, his breath hitting the top of your head. "You haven't said a word."

You shifted in your seat as everyone eyed you. You could still feel John's breath in your hair.

"I do have to work in the morning," you started, earning a groan around the table. "But I suppose I can go for a little bit. I really should be home before dawn, though."

"Relax," Isaiah said as he bumped your shoulder with his and winked. "I'll take you home when you're ready. Get you all tucked in proper for that job of yours in the morning."

You snorted a laugh as you rolled your eyes at him.

"Right," John cleared his throat as he let go of your chair. "I'll see you lot soon, then."

You felt the pressure leave and it made you feel a little colder.

----

You all sat around a small table, passing the bottle around as the boys played some sort of card game. Everyone was too drunk or tired for actual rules, so the game kept changing as it went.

John's kitchen was nice enough. It was mostly clean and had little remnants of the children, a colored wall here, a high chair there. It felt honey with it's white washed walls and cozy atmosphere. You were all just able to fit, a small walkway around the table to be able to access the rest of the house.

John had immediately left once you were all situated, telling Finn to lock up when you were all done. You would be lying if you said you weren't a bit disappointed. Conversation with John was at least tolerable. You settled in, realizing you'd be subjected to more bravado, yelling, and stories of conquest rather than a decent conversation and actual thought.

The boys had drunk about half of the bottle when the room was a loud roar. Finn and Isaiah kept knocking into you, teasing and taunting, as Michael and your friend got closer and closer into their own world across the table. The loud noises and the constant knocking about had set your teeth on edge. You needed away. You stood up and shot a look at your friend.

"I need to use the bathroom," you said pointedly as she tucked into Michael's side.

"So go, then," Michael chortled. "You need an escort?"

You glared at him before looking back at your friend, who wouldn't meet your eye. You sighed.

"Some friend you are," you mumbled as you rolled your eyes and left to go find the bathroom.

It wasn't as hard as you had thought, thankfully. Bedroom doors were closed for the night and the house was covered in toys but otherwise easily figured out.

You went into the bathroom and flicked on a light, looking at your tired eyes in the mirror. No one else seemed to notice the bags under your eyes as of late. To you they shone so clearly, but no one mentioned them once. You shut and locked the door before you closed the toilet lid and sat on it, head in your hands. The roar of your friends was muffled, and for once you felt relief. Quiet.

You splashed your face with cool water, taking one last look in the mirror at your haunted eyes, and walked out only to run into something. Or someone. You looked down to see a small girl in a large white nightgown frowning at you.

"Who are you?" She said groggily as she wiped at her blue eyes.

"Oh!" You stepped aside. "I'm sorry. I'm (Y/N), your um, uncle Finn's friend."

"I'm Katie," she said slowly, eyeing you closely. "Didn't know daddy had comp'ny."

"We're all in the kitchen," you offered as your hands started to fidget. "Did you need the bathroom? Or your dad?"

"I just wanted water," she said as she pointed to the bathroom. "I can get it myself."

"Right," you said as you stepped around her. "Well it was nice to meet you, Katie, I'll get back to the rest now. Sleep well."

"Goodnight Miss (Y/N)," you heard Katie's small voice say behind you as you walked away.

"Goodnight," you said over your shoulder as you disappeared back to the kitchen.

You had known there were kids there, but it didn't occur to you that you could be bothering their sleep. Guilt washed over you as you returned to the kitchen where the noise was a booming roar.

"I want to go home," you crossed your arms as you reached the table. "It's nearly morning and I'd like to sleep. Some of us have work during daylight hours."

"So go," Michael said from behind his cards. "I'll make sure your friend gets home."

"You lot want me to walk home, in the dark, by myself?" You growled.

You looked to each one, your friend hiding her face in the crook of a smirking Michael's arm. Finn and Isaiah both were scratching their heads, staring hard at their cards. For once, the kitchen was silent.

"Fine," you gritted through your teeth. "Some friends you are."

"Oh don't be like that, love," Isaiah said as he grabbed for your wrist. "We're not ready to end the night, that's all. Tell you what, you go snooze on the couch and when we're done I'll come walk you home."

"How generous," you snapped as you twisted your wrist from his grip. "I'll take my chances on the streets. A few hours in my bed before work sounds better than a couch next to a party of loud idiots."

You heard them call to you as you stormed out and slammed the door, but you didn't stop until you were a few steps from the garden gate. The iron gate had been carelessly left open against the short stone walls. You looked at the ivy creeping along the stones as you took a breath and hugged yourself, realizing you had left your coat inside. Your breath formed a cloud in front of you but you frowned when you realized a different cloud was coming from the other side of the stone.

"Do you normally smoke outside of your garden in the wee hours of the morning?" You scowled as you rounded the corner to see John leaning against the wall, one arm wrapped around a propped leg as his hand pulled a cigar from his lips as the other leg lay flat against the ground.

John blew the smoke under the crook of his arm before looking back up at you with his boyish smile.

"Well hello again, beautiful," John eased. "Why, hoping to catch me alone?"

You felt the rush of heat to your face as you looked down and bit your lip for a moment, trying to compose yourself. You finally looked back to him, tapping his foot with your boot.

"No, I was just heading home," you said. "You're avoiding the question, though."

"Maybe I was," he said, sitting up straighter and tapping the ground beside him until you sat. "I figured a house full of kids would alert me if my children decided to come join them. Decided to take the free alarm system for what it was and enjoy a few quiet minutes to myself."

"I shouldn't bother you, then," you said, moving to get back up.

John's arm wrapped around you, rubbing the goosebumps on your shoulder as he pulled the smoke into his mouth.

"I can be myself with you here," he murmured around the cigar. "I'm not the only one that craves quiet."

You started to protest but instead settled under his arm. You watched as the cherry burned bright, illuminated his face in the dark before he pulled the cigar away and let the smoke roll from his mouth, always careful to blow it away from you. You hesitantly reached for the cigar as John went to bring it back up to his lips. He let you take it. You brought the damp end to your lips and puffed lightly.

"Don't breathe in too hard, pet," he chuckled. "It's not a cigarette. You just roll the smoke in your mouth rather than inhale."

You smiled as you handed it back to him before you exhaled.

"I know," you said with the last of the smoke. "Pa used to smoke cigars. He said he only had one on good days, which usually meant a holiday. Pretty sure that's the same kind. I'd know that smell anywhere."

"Your Pa has good taste," John said. "Should have known that by one look at you."

You faltered, unsure what to say to him. You weren't used to the compliments, especially when they weren't paired with a hand grabbing at your skirts. John sounded genuine and it confused you rather than flattered you.

John cleared his throat as he looked around the wall to look back at his door.

"Where's my idiot brother or Isaiah with your coat to walk you home?" John turned back to you as the shadows danced across his face to enhance his knotted brows. "I figured one of them would have been out by now."

"No one's coming for me," you stammered as you moved to stand up. "I forgot my coat when I stormed out."

"You're not walking home alone," John scoffed as he stood with you. "I'll take you if the idiots inside won't."

"You really don't have to," you said shyly. "I wouldn't trust them in your house by themselves, honestly."

You both chuckled.

"Yeah?" John laughed as he put the cigar out on the wall and laid it on the stone. "Probably shouldn't. Finn would just as easily set the place on fire boiling a pot of water."

"I'm taking you home," John said, more serious this time. "I'll go get your coat."

"No," you said quickly as you grabbed his hand before he could step away. "I just…" you let go of his hand as he turned back to you, "I'd rather not have you go after my coat like I tattled. I'm sure they'll pick it up when they leave. I'll grab it from them later."

John sighed, annoyance rattling through his teeth.

"Fine," he said, "but we're taking the car if you have no coat."

"You really don't have to--"

"I do and I am," John said firmly as he took your elbow to lead you around the corner to the garage.

He opened the passenger door for you and you silently slipped inside, rubbing your arm to rid yourself from the goosebumps as he climbed inside the driver's side.

"Thank you," you said quietly as he started the car and made his way down the street.

"You're not a bother, you know?" John chuckled, eyes on the road. "You're so damn polite and you ask for so little, yet you're so surprised if you get it. Just relax. I'm not sure what you're expecting but it ain't me."

You shuffled in your seat, shoving your hands between your legs to warm your fingertips. John frowned over at you, taking your hand in his.

"You're right frozen, aren't you?" He said as he pulled your fingers to his mouth and exhaled warm air on them, leaving a different kind of goosebumps to cover your skin. "Here, hold on."

He slowed the car to a crawl and let you go, wiggling himself out of his coat to hand you the warm wool.

"Oh, I--"

"Just take the damn thing and warm up, yeah?" He said. "How are you this stubborn for help? I've already told you I'm not out to stop you."

"What are you out for?" You said, surprise caught in your throat. You hadn't expected to be able to actually say it. John sighed, tired rather than annoyed.

"I've seen you, (Y/N)," he said, glancing at you as you put on his coat before looking back at the road. "You used to enjoy all this. The tokyo. The alcohol. The long nights. You spun in circles like a top. Now you still spin, but the smile is fake. You've put on a mask."

You froze, your head swimming with thoughts. He noticed? He cared?

"So?"

"So I want to know why," John exhaled. "I want to know you. We aren't that different."

"We aren't?"

"No."

The rest of the ride was silent. John puttered the car down city streets until he reached your flat. You never asked how he knew where it was.

Peaky business, you thought. They know everything.

When he stopped at your curb, you moved to get out of his coat but he waved you off.

"Keep it for the night," John smiled. "I'll trade you for yours another day."

"Thank you, John," you said softly before you turned and got out of the car.

You were halfway up your steps before you heard a car door open and steps thudding toward you. You stopped and turned around to meet John eye to eye.

He had pulled a toothpick out and started biting on it as he smiled at you. You waited in silence as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Um," John said as he looked to his feet and back up at you. "Can I take you somewhere?"

"Where?" You cocked your head, amused by his sudden shyness.

"Well it's a surprise but," he sucked in his cheek, "you said you're working tomorrow, yeah? When's your next day off? We can make a day of it. Or an afternoon, if you'd rather."

"I guess I'm off Saturday," you said slowly. "But I'm usually selling nights on weekends."

"Don't worry about that," John said. "The boys give you trouble, tell 'em I got another job for you. It'll keep 'em off your back. You hate it, I'll bring you home and you can go sell or anything you want. Take a night in, even."

"We can leave anytime I want?" You ask skeptically, watching John's easy smile as he lifted his hands up.

"Blinder's honor."

Masterlist

#peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #storytime with murderousginger #john shelby #john shelby x reader #isaiah jesus #finn shelby #michael gray

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needtherapy · 4 years ago

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The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #xue yang #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #Seattle #modern au #modern with magic #found family #the untamed fic #13k words #I just think teenage Xue Yang would have been very different with a family

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fea-warriorheart · 4 years ago

Text

Another Life

His heart pounds as he edges around the side of the barn, peeking out into the field beyond. There's no sign of his hunter, yet he's not stupid enough to think he's safe.

He's given odd looks as he sneaks across the gap between the buildings, from people and animals alike. One of the horses gives him an indignant huff as he brushes past, and he's probably lucky there's a fence between them.

He's in a bad spot. His hunter knows it better than him. He has to get to familiar ground before-

"Found you!"

Jaskier shrieks as strong arms wrap around his waist, lifting his feet off the ground. He can hear the smug grin as the boy behind him adds, "Too exposed, lark."

The hands dart down his sides, tickling him while also letting his feet touch the ground once more. Jaskier shrieks again, but there's no fear this time; laughter and mirth sound in every sound as he squirms in the stableboy's hold.

"Geralt! Stop it! I yield!"

A soft laugh comes from behind him, and the arms around him loosen, releasing him. Jaskier turns, face flushed and split with a grin as he takes in the redhead before him. Geralt's a good head taller than him, despite only being two years older. While Jaskier spends his days studying and being proper, Geralt spends his split between helping at the estate stables and learning medicinal practices under the watchful eye of his mother. He's lean from winter, as most of the village is, but there's already muscle starting to build back up on his frame with the scraps of food he's given by a sympathetic cook.

Laughter sparkles in Geralt's fern-colored eyes, a feature many might call dull compared to some of the other shades sported by humanoid races, but Jaskier was of the firm belief it fit him perfectly. Geralt was a child of nature, just like his mother, and it was fitting for such a prominent feature to reflect that.

"Julian! Get back here!"

The brunette grimaced at the sharp tone. Geralt's expression instantly smoothed into the neutral stance most of the servants took when a member of the house approached, let alone one of Jaskier's parents.

His father stalked over, scowling at him. "You're late for your lessons. I shouldn't have to come out here and drag you around. It's disgraceful."

Julian bowed his head slightly. "Yes, father. My apologies."

An iron grip latched on to his upper arm. His father sneered at Geralt as he started dragging him back towards the manor. "Get back to work, brat."

Julian didn't risk glancing back. Geralt would only get in further trouble; he knew his father already disliked the boy for being friendly with him, but kept him around because of his old friendship with Visenna. The woman had been there for Jaskier's birth, as well as his two sister's. Plus, Geralt had a way with the animals that no one could quite explain - or replicate - and it was too much trouble in his father's eyes to find and train a new boy for the job.

Geralt is one of the few good things Julian has in his life. He won't risk him by being stupid.

A fierce storm is raging against the windows of the kitchen. Many of the servants are fast asleep, but Jaskier paces the room, worry lines etched into his brow. Geralt is making them both a pot of tea; a messenger had arrived in the early evening, stating that Jaskier's father had been ambushed by bandits and that his location was currently unknown. Despite being reassured by his mother, sleep had not come easy to the young viscount.

Geralt rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts, and offered him a steaming cup. "Sit down," he murmured. "You'll do nothing for no one wearing holes into the floorboards."

He sits with a flop, tracing a finger along the edge of the cup as he waits for it to cool a bit. Geralt sits beside him, something they're only allowed to do in moments like this; moments of solitude in a life full of company. "You know I worry."

"Yes. It's why I knew you would seek me out."

Jaskier glances at him. Geralt's coat is drying by the fire; he'd accompanied the messenger to the manor through the storm, soaking both of them through, and his mother had insisted the poor boy stay the night. He'd taken a place by the kitchen fire to stay out of the way, and had been waiting when Jaskier slipped inside.

With Geralt, Jaskier is able to be... well, Jaskier. He's able to laugh and tell stupid jokes and not care about being proper, but only with Geralt. With all others, he must be Julian Alfred Pankratz.

It's no wonder why he feels drawn to the boy.

He sighs softly, leaning against Geralt. "What if they hurt him?"

"He's a hardy man, you know. This isn't the first time he's had to fight."

"That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

"I know, lark." Geralt gives him a one-armed hug-squeeze around his shoulders. "He'll be alright. Probably just lost his way in the storm, is all."

Jaskier shrugs miserably, sipping at his tea. They sit in silence for a while; Geralt eventually stands to clean their cups and dry them off. He's placing them back in the cupboard when the door slams open, startling both boys and causing the fire to give a threatening flicker.

Two figures stumble inside; one is unmistakably his father, while the other has broad shoulders and wears a thick cloak, obscuring all but the chestnut beard with gray flecks peppering it. The stranger slams the door shut, bolting it against the wind, and Jaskier's father stands there for a moment, breathing heavily as he takes in the two boys.

The stranger turns, then, and Julian's heart clenches when he sees the Witcher's medallion hanging around his neck. He pulls down the hood of his cloak, golden eyes reflecting the light of the fire. His gaze is on Julian, studying him curiously.

He turns back to Julian's father. "I assume you didn't expect either of them to be here. Which would fulfill your payment."

The man tenses, then shakes his head. "No, I expected my son to be here. He always waits up when I'm late. The stable boy, though- bah. You can take him."

Julian feels his world slow to a halt. When he looks at Geralt, he feels like he's moving through pine resin. The redhead's eyes are wide with shock and fear, and his mouth opens and closes a few times, though no sound leaves him.

"Fine. I doubt I have enough rations to bring both of them with me, anyways." The Witcher turns back to them, crossing his arms. "Your name, boy."

"No!" Julian's voice starts working again, and he stands between them. "You can't take him!"

"Julian," his father hisses, storming over to him and yanking him away. "He claimed the Law of Surprise for saving my life. It must be fulfilled."

"No! He can't take Geralt! Please, father, you can't let him!" Tears burn his eyes. Geralt still isn't moving, still hasn't looked away from the Witcher.

Golden and green gazes snap to them as Julian is backhanded. The Witcher is there in an instant, gripping his father's wrist enough to make the man cry out.

"I don't take kindly to those who would abuse a child for caring for a friend," the Witcher says softly. "Touch him again and lose your hand. Your oath has been fulfilled. Leave us, now."

"Wait." A small voice sounds from the corner where Geralt stands. He's trembling, eyes darting between the Witcher and Julian. "Can I- Can I at least say goodbye?"

Something in the Witcher's face softens, and he steps back, nodding. "Do you have any family?"

"My mother, she lives in the village..."

"You can say farewell to her as well and grab some spare clothes. Make it quick."

The Witcher leans against the fireplace, and Geralt rushes over, wiping at Jaskier's tears with soothing motions. "It's alright, lark. Don't cry... It'll be okay..."

"Geralt... Please, you can't leave me..." Jaskier gripped his shirt, twisting the fabric in his grip. A gentle hand brushes through his hair.

"You know I can't just ignore this, lark... I have to go, but we'll see each other again eventually, yeah...?"

Jaskier sniffles. Geralt lifts his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. He smiles gently, and for the life of him, Jaskier can't help but feel the truth in his words. He nods, even as his bottom lip wobbles. "Yeah."

The Witcher steps in again, a hand on Geralt's shoulder. He hands the boy his coat, and with one last look back, Jaskier's best friend vanishes into the stormy night.

He learns in Oxenfurt how few boys survive the Witcher mutations. He does not want to believe it, but part of him mourns his friend. Geralt was strong, but verging on too old for the Trials; his body would be more likely to reject them than to adapt to them. And besides, Geralt was a farmer, a healer, not a monster hunter.

So Jaskier does his best to move on. But there are nights, often dark with storms, where he curls in on himself and wishes things had happened differently.

He graduates Oxenfurt a master of the arts and top of his class, and then he just... wanders. He plays as a bard in taverns and inns, earning enough coin to stay the night and occasionally buy some new clothes. He takes lovers, but never partners; he loves too much and yet too little, flitting from person to person as his very being rejects each and every one.

He's nineteen, playing in some backwater village. The road there had been harrowing; he had been lucky to join a group of merchants at the last town. A nest of monsters - he wasn't sure what, he hadn't paid attention - had been terrorizing most travelers in small groups for weeks. They'd even been so desperate as to put up a notice for a Witcher.

Despite all of the stories, Jaskier hasn't seen another since that night. He's beginning to wonder if they're just a figment of everyone's collective imagination; perhaps the monsters just kill themselves off or migrate elsewhere when the pickings are slim.

He's just finished a song, collecting some meager coin as the door opens. Jaskier is retreating to his table when a hand rests on his shoulder; his mind runs through anyone he might have pissed off. He hasn't been in town long enough to anger any husbands, fathers or brothers, and no one would have followed him through such a dangerous area. So truly, for the life of him, he doesn't know why-

"Lark."

His world goes still in a way that has happened only once before.

He turns slowly. He's no longer a head shorter; his eyes are about level with his nose. His skin is paler than Jaskier remembers, contrasted with dark armor. A wolf's head gleams above it, snarling at his foes, and two swords are visible on his back.

Snow white hair brushes his shoulders, tied back clumsily. Jaskier can't find the strength to breathe as he finally looks him in the eye.

Gone is the green of ferns and grass in the spring; molten gold takes their place, slitted pupils darting in minuscule movements as he searches Jaskier's face. For all the differences, he's still the same boy - still the stable boy Jaskier knew.

He's still...

Jaskier is breathless as he whispers, "Geralt."

A small smile spreads across the boy's - man's, he's twenty, twenty-one now - face. He takes Jaskier's hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I told you I'd see you again."

//An indulgent thing that I came up with out of the blue. Lost steam at the end which is why it sort of trails off, but hey, if anyone's interested in a part two.... (bold presumption, I know.)

#witcher #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #geralt of rivia #fic #what-if

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anarchyduck · 4 years ago

Text

Fourteen Million Six Hundred and Six

Day 14: Peter Snaps

WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

AO3

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

The van explodes and sends a shock wave throughout the battlefield that knocks everyone nearby off their feet.

Peter rolls down a small hill, coming to a sudden stop against a pile of rubble that briefly knocks the wind from him. With a pained grunt, he stumbles to his feet, blinking as he fights to clear his vision.

The gauntlet. Where, where...

“Karen, do you see it?” he frantically asks his AI as he looks around.

His HUD lights up as Karen replies, “120 feet to your right.”

Peter turns his head and sees the gauntlet, outlined and lit up.

Unguarded.

Unprotected.

He can reach it if he runs.

Iron Man is closer though and Peter watches as his mentor rams into Thanos’ side. The impact knocks the giant purple alien only a couple feet back, not nearly enough. The giant backhands him hard, sending him flying back to the ground.

“Tony!” Peter shouts as he watches the scene, feeling rooted to the spot where he stands.

Thanos goes for the gauntlet again but is waylaid by Thor. Captain America leaps onto Thanos’ back, making the Titan stumble and kick the gauntlet. It rolls down a small hill, bounces off a pile of rubble before finally coming to a stop.

In front of Peter.

A flash of light catches his eye as Captain Marvel rushes past him to fight the Titan herself. Peter searches the grounds and sees both Thor and Captain America down, the latter not moving.

The gauntlet lies at his feet. He can reach it and then he can… he can…

Can what?

With the van destroyed, there is no hope in ensuring the Stones are out of Thanos’ reach. Captain Marvel could send it up to space or they could kill Thanos to prevent him from getting the Stones again.

The Titan is too strong, and Peter realizes in a flash of despair they cannot win this. If Thanos gets his hands on the Stones again, it is over. He will kill them all.

What are they supposed to do?

Peter looks up, catches a glimpse of Doctor Strange across the field. The man is preoccupied by holding back water from the busted dam, but he holds up a single digit, eyes focused on someone else.

“I went forward in time to view alternate futures. To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict”

“How many did you see?”

“Fourteen million six hundred and five.”

“How many did we win?”

Peter sees the gauntlet still on the ground and it is open for the taking. He moves without thinking.

The ground shakes and Peter’s sense spikes high as he hears the roar of the desperate and angry Titan. Heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline pushing him past his fear, past the pain, closer and closer until finally it is in his hands.

Peter spins on heel, sees the terrifying image of Thanos charging towards him. Mind blanks and all he can hear is Doctor Strange’s voice again.

“... all possible outcomes of the coming conflict.”

The gauntlet reshapes and reforms to fit his hand. A light flashes as the Stones settle in place and blinding pain courses through him. Peter’s knees buckle as he lets out an anguished cry. Power beyond his understanding thrums in his hand, snaking up his arm, over his chest like rivers of molten lava. Peter feels the fire carve into his face and it hurts so bad, please someone make it stop-

“How many did we win?”

“Peter! No!” he hears Tony’s scream as he brings his fingers together. His vision clears briefly, and he is struck with twisted satisfaction as he sees the clear terror on Thanos’ face.

“... One.”

Peter snaps his fingers, and the world goes white.

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

Thanos’ army dissipates around him, leaving only dust that the wind carries away before disappearing completely. The Titan warlord disappears with them with hardly a word.

The relief Tony feels as he watches Thanos turn to dust is not comforting. He runs, stumbling over rubble in a race to reach Peter in time. The kid somehow remains upright and only begins to collapse when Tony reaches him.

“Kid! Kid, I got you. I got you.” Tony eases them both down, holding the kid in his arms. “Peter?”

Peter’s right arm is mangled beyond recognition. The burns extend up to his face, leaving part of it charred and bloody. The stones twinkle and shine in the gauntlet where it lies on the ground beside his limp hand.

“Pete? Talk to me, kid.” Tony touches Peter’s unmarred cheek with his bare hand, panicked at how cool the boy’s skin feels.

Peter’s eyes flicker towards him, unfocused and unseeing. “‘ony…”

“I’m here, kid. I got you.” Tony’s throat tightens and he swallows past the sob that threatens to choke him. His mind instantly flashes back to Titan, of holding Peter as he turned to dust. Tony’s grip tightens around the teen.

Peter’s brow twitches. “May…” he whimpers.

A flash of blue catches his eye and Tony looks up, seeing Pepper kneel on the other side. Their eyes meet and he shakes his head. Her eyes glisten as she looks to the boy and sweeps her fingers through his matted curls. Tears fall from her eyes as she murmurs soft words of comfort.

“May…” Peter says again, quieter. “’ony…”

Tony’s heart breaks and it takes everything he has to keep composure. “Don’t worry, she’s fine. Everyone is fine. You’re going to see your aunt real soon a-and I’ll introduce you to my little girl, Morgan. She’s going to be so excited to finally meet you.” He feels Peter growing limp in his arms and he holds him tighter, forcing himself to smile while he begins to rock with the boy. “I’m so proud of you, Peter. You did so good. So good.”

Peter’s lips twitch with a ghost of a smile. His breathes grow shallower and sporadic until finally he takes no more.

Tony continues rocking him, holds him close as if Peter is his own. “It wasn’t supposed to be you… it wasn’t supposed…” he sobs. “Please… please, I can’t lose you twice. I just got you back, please…”

The battle is over, and the world is saved.

And Peter is gone.

#webpril 2021 day 14 #webpril 2021 #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spiderman #iron man #marvel #mcu #tw: character death #duckie's writing

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Ki-Adi-Mundi was sent to Tatooine to bring back Sharad Hett. Instead, he brings back his son and, following the pleas of a tired recently knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi, frees Shmi Skywalker.

Read on AO3

A’Sharad Hett didn’t have anything but his lightsabers, his mask and the Force when he followed his new teacher into Mos Espa. The port was busy with people of all species hurrying through the streets, but he still couldn’t shake the looks they were giving him. It didn’t bother him, they were right to wary. A’Sharad was strong and had fought many battles for his clan to protect their hunting grounds from all these outlanders who thought they could push his clan to the dead sands where cowards went to die.

“There is a ship here that will take us back to Coruscant,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said. “I have to run another errand before that though. If you want, I can take you to the ship first and you can wait there for me.”

His new teacher was a strong, wise and kind man. He assumed A’Sharad needed time to recover from the pain of the last days, and he undoubtedly would, but now was not the time to mourn. Tatooine was a harsh world where its very air and sunlight were your enemy and A’Sharad understood all too well that he couldn’t grieve here.

And, perhaps if he allowed himself to think of the honest cool and cutting truth of the moonlight, A’Sharad could admit that he didn’t want to be alone. He wasn’t used to it. Even if one’s fight was their own, a Tusken was never truly lonely.

“I’d like to go with you, Master,” A’Sharad answered.

Mundi smiled at him. “I am glad to hear that Padawan. Perhaps your presence might help make my venture a little easier.”

“What are we doing?”

Mundi guided them through the streets into the poorer districts of the city until eventually, they reached the slave quarters proper. A’Sharad’s clan never had any troubles with the slaves or Tatooine. Their people were hurting just as much as the Tuskens and when they crossed paths in the desert, they gladly invited them to stay a night. It took great strength to run away and take your freedom when you came from nothing. The slaves didn’t know to trust them, but that was no surprise. Their owners, rich businessmen, and moisture farmers alike claimed people and land with no regard to another’s autonomy or belongings.

They were all skaterkst, bad.

“About three months ago another Jedi was stranded here on Tatooine, Qui-Gon Jinn was his name. I mentioned him before.”

A’Sharad recalled that name. Mundi had talked about him with his father. Sharad Hett had held him in high regard. A’Sharad nodded and sighed for Mundi to continue.

“Qui-Gon found a boy here, Anakin. He is very strong in the Force, but was wholly untrained. He freed Anakin in a rather spectacular manner if the boy’s account is to be believed. However, his mother is still a slave. Anakin’s teacher asked me to take a slight detour on this mission to free his mother. We can hardly expect the boy to let go of his attachments if his mother’s torment looms over him like a cord.”

“You are kind,” A’Sharad said.

He had been taught to let go when the storms had claimed his mother when he’d been a young child still. He was an adult now, a warrior. He had slain a krayt dragon and he would become a Jedi of the Order and not think about parents left behind in the desert.

“I’m a Jedi,” Mundi replied, though his answer almost felt more like a correction. “I do what is necessary.”

Mundi then stopped when he saw a group of women talking. A group of children was playing around them, a game of catch or something similar, A’Sharad wasn’t sure. There appeared to be some rules the children followed, but the pattern made no sense to him. Mundi only smiled at the display, then walked over to the women.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I seek a woman by the name of Shmi Skywalker. I am Ki-Adi-Mundi of the Jedi Order and this is my Padawan A’Sharad Hett. We’re here on behalf of her son, Anakin.”

One of the women stepped forward. Out of the three of them, she was the brightest. A’Sharad was used to utilizing the Force as his compass when the storms got so bad, you couldn’t even see your bantha. This woman was so full of light, A’Sharad could be blind and he would still find her.

“Anakin? My Anakin?” The woman repeated.

“You are Shmi Skywalker then?”

“Yes,” Shmi said. A’Sharad couldn’t sense a lie. She was speaking the truth and she was telling it with so much hope, it was startling.

“I’m very glad to hear that. Lady Skywalker, I apologize that it took us so long, but we are here to free you.”

The children that had been playing around them stopped and all of them, with no exception, stared at them with big eyes. The two women with Shmi looked torn between suspicion and disbelief, but the same couldn’t be said about Shmi. She looked at them in relief and wonder. Her arms hung slack at her side and while she didn’t say a word, didn’t ask them a question, A’Sharad could feel it all in the Force. It must be similar for his new teacher who studied her in curiosity before producing a small pouch and giving it to Shmi. She opened it and slowly counted the money, piece after piece before she closed the bag again and closed her eyes for just one moment to take a deep breath. When she was finished, Mundi continued.

Then, in the same voice he had used to ask A’Sharad if he wanted to stay behind, he spoke to Shmi.

“Originally, I was just going to give you the needed peggats as a Jedi cannot be seen dealing in slavery. The political upheaval it would cause is unimaginable. Fortunately, my young Padawan has not been inducted into the Order proper yet and his actions before his introductions will not reflect back on the Order at large.”

Mundi’s eyes shone almost mischievously as he turned to A’Sharad. “A’Sharad, would you take ensuring the freedom of this woman as your first mission as my Padawan?”

Shmi Skywalker with her burning hope looked at him like he was the younger Sky Brother, ready to snap her iron chains and break her out of the cruel enslavement. He could do this, he had to do it. The Force was with him and had guided him on this path and his new circle of life started here on Tatooine with Shmi Skywalker’s name. He wondered if she knew what her name meant to his clan, that it marked her as a great warrior.

“I will guide you, Shmi Skywalker,” A’Sharad promised.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice just as strong as his.

She hesitated at first, but then gave the pouch to A’Sharad.

They bid Shmi’s friends goodbye as they made their way to the Builder that owned her. They didn’t speak a word for the entire journey, only when they arrived at a junkshop did A’Sharad saw it fit to talk again. Tuskens didn’t waste words. Their masks enabled them to speak, but it wasn’t pleasant in any form. Hence most of their stories being relayed through their sign language.

“I will free you,” A’Sharad said.

Shmi looked at him and nodded only slightly, then the two of them stepped through the entrance of the shop. Master Ki-Adi-Mundi stayed outside as not to attract attention of any kind. Inside the store, a Toydorian was flying around, counting his possessions. A’Sharad was glad that Shmi wouldn’t be a part of his calculations much longer. When he saw Shmi, his face twisted into an ugly snarl and A’Sharad knew that if he weren’t standing right beside her, the Toydorian would have said something as harsh a krayt’s claws.

Now, instead, he froze. He was undoubtedly aware of the danger he was in now. A’Sharad felt a grim satisfaction, the Builder deserved it.

“I want to buy your slave,” A’Sharad said.

“What?”

“I will not repeat myself. You will sell her to me.”

A’Sharad didn’t attempt to influence his mind, it wouldn’t work, but he could certainly outstubborn the Toydorian and let his reputation do the rest.

The Builder’s wings twitched nervously. “What do you want with her?”

“It does not matter.”

“It’s just that Shmi here is very dear to me… The price has to fit, I mean.”

A’Sharad wanted to take out his lightsaber and separate the Toydorian’s head from his torse. That too would be justice, but not the kind he could seek now. The way the Builder talked about Shmi was unacceptable, as if she weren’t there at all.

“I can pay,” A’Sharad replied merely. “So do business with me.”

Like all Builders, the Toydorian was a greedy creature, cruel and vicious. But A’Sharad had seen death and survived, haggling with such a bastard was nothing. After a discussion that felt much too long and too short at the same time, A’Sharad walked out of the store with a free woman.

“It is done?” Mundi asked when he spotted them.

A’Sharad wondered whether he had stood out in the sunlight waiting the whole time instead of searching for some shade.

“Yes,” A’Sharad replied. “She is freed and I have some money still over.”

“Well done, Padawan,” Mundi praised him. He gently put his hand on A’Sharad’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. The gesture reminded A’Sharad too much of his father so that for just one moment he resented it before accepting it as the support it was meant to be.

“Are you alright, Lady Skywalker?”

Shmi was still staring at the small black remote in her hand as if she couldn’t believe it. There was no telling how long she had been a slave for, but even just a minute in chains was a minute too long.

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I’m fine. I am… free.”

She began smile, happy, wide and mad like a spirit. Before A’Sharad could react, she pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” She whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. When she pulled away from him again, she wiped away the one lone tear that had rolled over her cheeks. With the very same thumb, she gently traced his right cheek. A’Sharad didn’t know the gesture, but he knew better than to disrupt it.

“I will not forget what you did for me,” Shmi said. “Jedi Mundi, I know I’m asking for a lot, but could you tell about my son? And give him a message from me?”

To A’Sharad it didn’t seem like Shmi was asking for much, but they had just freed her. She now had a whole galaxy to observe and travel if she so desired. It would take her time to figure out what her new limits were.

“Of course, Lady Skywalker,” Mundi assured her. “Nothing would please me more.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi was an honorable man. If A’Sharad followed his footsteps, he would certainly make his clan proud. And as Shmi Skywalker took her first steps into a world unbound, A’Sharad Hett set his compass anew and followed suit.

#star wars #ki adi mundi #a'sharad hett #shmi skywalker #fanfic

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tipsydipsydo · 5 years ago

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BTS HALLOWEEN SPECIAL 🎃

[You're wearing a scandalous Halloween Costume]

A/N: I know, I know... I'm too late. But better later than never!😜

Gender of the reader: female

Prologue

It's the 31th of October, Halloween. Because the boys unfortunately have to go to practice that evening, you're going to be all alone at home the entire Halloween night. So you spontaneously decide to go to a Halloween-Party with some of your girlfriends. But your boyfriend didn't expect that you dress up in a such short and scandalous outfit (more or less by your own choice ;D), which shows so much bare skin...

「© tipsydipsydo」

These following Scenarios are my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

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Jin

Costume: Bunny-Dominatrix

Jin just wants to go to your shared bedroom to get another hoodie he can put on after practice when he drives home. He didn't expect to find you standing in front of the mirror in such an outfit.

He stands frozen in the doorframe and his jaw drops, completely speechless. You're standing in front of your dressing table and concentrate to turning your hair into accurate curls with your flat iron, until you notice Jin in the corner of your eye.

"Jin, what are you doing and why are you looking at me like I'm from an other planet?", you ask, giggling slightly.

Secretly you're thrilled and proud of yourself to get such reaction out of Jin. Mr. Handsome, who always blabber nonstop, can't say a word right now.

Jin knew you wanted to go to a College-Halloweenparty with some friends of yours tonight. But he didn't know that you chose a Bunny Costume... like this! He thought, you were putting on your adorable Bunny Onesie you bought some time ago... and not that his usual so sweet girlfriend was suddenly dressed up like a Bunny-Dominatrix!

Jin bites his lower lip, trying not to show what kind of reactions cause this outfit.

"Not what you've expected, right, Honey?", you question and turn towards him with a teasing smirk on your lips.

Jin just nods slightly, his eyes are wandering over your body. The skirt is shorter than what he would've expected, what you're comfortable to wear and for the first time he sees you in fishnet stockings.

Futhermore, this latex rabbit mask gives you a completely different appearance. Much more ... dominant.

"I ... I didn't think you would wear... that," he says barely noticeable.

"Really not? Then you don't know some other sides of me yet.", you answer and tilt your head provocatively.

"Which sides?", Jin whispers in an airy trembling tone as he approaches you, lays his hands onto your waist and looks down at you. Your dark red lips twist into a devilish grin and you nudge his nose with your index finger.

"I think, we should find it out tonight when I come back home from the party. I think you'll look gorgeous when I tie you up to the headboard and let you beg for permission until I'll let you cum~

Hm? Would you like that, my big boy?"

Yoongi

Costume: Mafia Girl

Before you put your winter coat on and leave the apartment, you quickly go back to your bedroom and stand in front of the full body mirror to take a picture of your outfit. You want to send it to Yoongi, who gets stuck in his love-hated training once again. You hesitate a little bit before you press on the Send-Button. After that, you quickly put your phone in your handbag, grinning a little stupidly, as if you had been caught doing something forbidden. You know Yoongi and know that he will not like your outfit at all.

You don't know where this idea came from, but somehow you wanted to test your boyfriend, how he would react to seeing you in a ... very short outfit.

You like your Mafia-Bad-Girl-Look pretty much, especially how "dangerous" and at some point also lewd these two plastic pistols looks in your Garter Belts.

Just in the moment when you want to sit down in your ordered Taxi, your phone starts to ring. When you take it out of the bag, you already see Yoongi's profile picture. Oh oh, now you're definitely in trouble...

"Hm? My little Gangster Girl", Yoongi say these words in a mocking tone.

"What are you trying to tell me with this outfit? That I haven't fucked you good enough lately? That you can't remember that's me who fill your pussy up so good? Is that so? Well, then I'll make sure tonight that you know who you belong to. It's me, is that clear? I'm gonna turn you into my good Girl again. See you later, lil bad Girl."

Namjoon

Costume: Jane Bennet from Pride and Prejudice with Zombies

After some considerations, you've decided to dress yourself up as Jane Bennet from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. You don't like the movie very much, but at least it's about one of your favorite books and it's Halloween, so the zombies in there are okay too. You just want to leave your shared apartment when Namjoon comes through the door. In surprise you look at him, why he's here now, after all, actually he should be in the dance studio. But how Namjoon looks at your outfit is very much more disbelieving.

"You... want to go to the Halloween party... like that?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.

You look down at you, you are wearing a dress in the style of the 18th century with a corset, but in a modern cut and a waterfall skirt.

Yeah okay, the skirt slit on your left thigh may have gotten a bit too high, but after all, the Garter Belt with the fake knives should be able to be seen! And yes, maybe the corset is really a bit too tight, actually it shouldn't be shown that much of your breasts. But you don't have time to change that anyway.

"Yes why not?"

Namjoon takes a deep breath and presses his lips together.

"I'm not your father who tells you what you're allowed to wear and what not, I'm not gonna tell you what you should to wear, you're a grown up woman and you can choose your outfit for yourself!"

"Namjoon, are you mad?"

"No!"

"Why are you saying such things then?"

Namjoon ruffles his hair and doesn't really look like he's not angry.

"Damn, I don't have much time, I have to go back to practice, but I don't think it's funny how you press your beautiful breasts in this crappy corset and overall, that you'll be out there without me! You know, I'm not going to tell you stupid rules what to do and what not, you're an independent woman and can decide whatever you want to! ...but fuck, I would break this damn corset now if I only had enough time and show you how angry and horny I am! Be prepared when you come home tonight!"

Hoseok

Costume: Satans Daugther

Hoseok knows that you spontaneously decided to go to the Halloween party, now that it was clear he wouldn't get a free evening. He has no problems with it, he always prefers that you're with your girlfriends and around peoples, than to sit alone and lonely at home. At some point during the practice, he realizes that he hadn't asked you as what you are going to dress yourself up for the party. As curious as he is, he text you immediately during the break.

Hobi♡ [07:42 p.m.]: Hey Baby, I forgot to ask you as what you're gonna go to the Party? We'll move on in a few Minutes, have fun later!💕

You [07:44 p.m.]: Hey Hobi! A few days ago I ordered some things from Amazon and now I make my costume out of it. I'm going as Satan's Daughter~😈

Hobi♡ [07:45 p.m.]: So my little Girl is a cute Devil~ With Horns and a Tail too? In my metal Image it's pretty cute!😍

You [07:46 p.m.]: I'll send you a picture, give me a Sec!

You [07:58 p.m.]: *You have sent an image*

You [08:20 p.m.]: I arrived at the party, I'm not gonna look at my phone so often anymore. See you later💋

Hobi♡ [09:11 p.m.]: Baby ... please tell me, that's a bad joke that you're wearing this right now! You didn't leave the house in this...thing?! That's nothing you can call "Outfit"!

Hobi♡ [09:15 p.m.]: Baby... Answer me!

Hobi♡ [09:31 p.m.]: I swear to you ... if you come home tonight in this outfit, I'm gonna ruin you so bad, even Satan would start blushing from Embarrassment.

Hobi♡ [09:40 p.m.]: Be prepared for the fact that you will not be able to walk the next days!

Jimin

Costume: Snow White

"Okay, then I'll come to your house for 08:00 p.m. Okay great! But I have to hang up now, otherwise I won't get a costume for tonight! See you later!"

You press the red calling button and put your phone back into your pocket, go straight into the hall and slip into your winter boots and your coat. Quickly you reach for your wallet and the car keys and head in fast steps to your car. You don't have much time left to get a costume for yourself, in one and a half hours all the stores would be closed because of Halloween. You hope that luck is on your side.

When you finally stand in front of the mirror, you look at yourself critically. Actually, you wanted to have the Snow White Dress with a long skirt, but the store didn't have it there in your size. And because many of your friends are going as Disney princesses, you also wanted a matching dress for the Party. So you decided at the last minute with an uneasy feeling in your stomach to choose the costume with the short skirt. And, as it turns out, this outfit has a very short skirt!

When you were on your way home, Jimin called and just wanted to hear your voice and ask what you are doing on Halloween night, where he sadly has to stay in the studio for practice. You tell him about the spontaneous Halloween Party to which your friends and you want to go.

"Oh, sounds really cool, I wish I could join in. As what are you dressing up as?"

You tell him that you're going as Snow White, already searching for some pretty but also wearable shoes for the night. You want to enjoy the evening and doesn't want to think about aching feet.

"Oh my god, I think that fits you really good and it's gonna be look so cute on you, please send me a picture!"

You look at the wallclock and begin to panic slightly, say that you're already late and you promise him to send him a picture later from the Party.

Later in the evening, a little bit tipsy already and much more confident in your costume, you take a picture with your girlfriends and send it to Jimin, giggling softly.

You are awfully curious about how he will react to this picture and what he's gonna say about it. If he like it? You begin to blush when you remember his intense gaze when you walk around in clothes they're shorter than usual. Especially Dresses and Skirts. He's a little Pervert sometimes, but he's your little Pervert!

You [11:38 p.m.]: *you have send an image*

You [11:39 p.m.]: Jiminieee ... I'm going to jail for Breaking and Entering ... help me!😔

Jiminie💕[11:42 p.m.]: Firstly... why is this dress so fucking short and why does it have such a deep cutout?! And why does it look so sexy on you?!

You [11:44 p.m.]: Do you think? I was unsure at first because it's so short...

Jiminie💕[11:45 p.m.]: You look so damn hot in it and I really don't want to know how all these guys there are looking at my Girl. But... could you please come home soon? I got a problem here. Which only you can solve. So... please?

You [11:46 p.m.]: Let me think... hm, nope! 😜

Jiminie💕 [11:48 p.m.]: Well... then I'll just come to you at the party and fuck you in the bathroom. After all, I know how wet you can get when we do lewd things in public~ 😏

You [11:49 p.m.]: JIMINIEEE! 😳🙈 Don't text me such things!

Jiminie💕 [11:50 p.m.]: Love you Princess~

Jiminie💕 [11:51 p.m.]: I really can't wait anymore until you get home again. Oh God, I want to fuck you so badly right now!

Taehyung

Costume: Red Riding Hood

You [08:36 p.m.]: Hey baby, I just wanted to tell you that some friends of mine spontaneously picked me up for a Trick or Treat-Tour through the neighborhood. So don't worry if I'm not there when you get home.

You quickly write a message to Taehyung before you put the costume on that your girlfriends have brought extra for you. They bought it only for you, so you wouldn't have an excuse why you couldn't come along.

You begin to smile at the thought and roll your eyes. They've really thought of everything, to be on the safe side they have chosen a Red Riding Hood Costume, arguing that you can take Yeontan with you as your wolf and he gets an extra long Walkie.

Behind the locked bathroom door you can hear your girls squeal with delight and Tanni barks full of exitement when they call him a handsome boy.

After you closed the zipper of the dress, you get up and straighten your dress. Well... your friends have chosen a short dress for you! They probably didn't realize that you're a little bit taller than the average. You shrug with your shoulders, you're only wearing it for this evening and you're not alone on the streets anyway.

You make a picture for Taehyung and send it to him, jokingly complain about the short skirt, before you slip into your shoes and put Tannie's dog harness on, who is more than happy about the evening walk.

Tae💜 [09:21 p.m.]: Hey Darling! To be honest, I think the dress is pretty short too... Please stay safe when you're out there. Who knows what kind of drunken idiots try to chat you up?😕

You [09:35 p.m.]: Oh Tae ... I understand your worries, but why do you always have to think the worst of your own gender? 😅

We girls will looking after each other, Nicki is dressed as Harley Quinn and has a baseball bat with her! So nothing to worry about😘

You [09:37 p.m.]: *you have sent an image*

You [09:38 p.m.]: Moreover, Tannie is still there, my little wolf and will protect us!😉

Tae💜 [09:38 p.m.]: You took Tannie with you?!

Tae💜 [09:38 p.m.]: I hope he's a good boy and will protect you from evil weirdos!

Tae💜 [09:39 p.m.]: Because your real big bad wolf is waiting very impatiently at home and he's starving to eat his little Red Riding Hood out!🐺

Jungkook

Costume: Harlequin

"Hey Kookie, I just wanted to say goodbye to you! We all will meet up at Katy's House, before we make our way to the party together. You have to leave in 15 minutes, right?", you ask him and lean in the doorway of the living room.

Jungkook is sitting on the couch, playing one of his countless mobile games. He concentrates so much on his game, seeming at first to pretend that nothing and nobody can distract him and just wish you a good night out without even looking at you. But then he looks up and is so shocked by your appearance, that even the phone slide out of his hands and falls into his lap.

"Holy Shit ...", slips from his lips and he swallows hard.

A slight blush settles on your cheeks and you look away nervously, giggling softly. No matter how long you already are in a Relationship with him, his intense gaze embarrasses you again, as so often.

Today is Halloween and you decided to dress up as a Harlequin. And maybe your outfit has become sexier than expected...

You're wearing a black bodysuit with white small bobbles on it, in combination with a pair of long opera gloves and velvet Overknee-Boots. Around the neck you're wearing a Harlequin Collar in a black and white pattern. At the ends of them there are little bells attached and jingle gently with every movement.

Jungkook's eyes wandering over your body, he doesn't even try to hide his hungry gaze. Slowly, he gets up and walks towards you, resting his hands on your hips and gently pushing you against the wall.

"So you want to go out of the house like this?", he whispers softly into your earshell.

You're breathing out shakily, you didn't even realize that you were holding your breath.

"But not until I marked you up as my girl... and maybe also make you come before I let you go.", he growls, nibbling on the soft skin of your collarbone. His fingers start to move, they know exactly where they need to go.

Jungkook reach skillfully between your thighs, open the clasp of your bodysuit and push the bothering fabric upwards. He doesn't let any time pass and slips his hand into your panties.

A trembling moan escapes your lips, still trying to push him half-hearted off of you.

"Kookie ... I ... I can't do it now, I-I have to go, Katy-"

"Katy and the others have to wait. If you want to get out of this house, then just let me finger your tight pussy and mark you as mine, Baby. You can't present yourself in such a hot outfit and then still expect that I could keep myself under control. Give me only five Minutes and you'll come... Then I'll let you go."

My Imagines!

My Masterlist!

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lunarthedragon · 5 years ago

Text

Demon!Jaskier Part 3

Part One: here | Part Two: here

+++

He likes the quiet worlds. The worlds that are stuck between wars, between enlightenment, between art, between history. When people are just people, never to be written into their books or scrolls or tombs.

It is quiet. It is honest.

He thrives off the delicate moments of reality. The joy and entertainment not meant to sooth a wound. Not meant to pride over philosophy.

It is pure-honest-raw. Mindless laughter, never forced. A burn from an oven, not a pyre. A bruise from a toy ball, not a fist. A cut from a page, not an axe.

He likes these best.

+++

He does not wake slowly. He is unconscious and then not. There is little difference, little change, except how others perceive him, and he never cared much about that anyway.

His chest has been wrapped in thick bandages. Not to heal, but to keep blood off the lovely, fine sheets. The curse is gone, he can feel the push-pull on the wound has been relieved, and he begins to mend the hole.

There are still black veins along his bared limbs and his eyes are pitch black as they look to the sorceress sitting at the foot of the bed. Her back is to him. She does not know he is aware.

He recedes back into his body as the wound heals, feeling like wet wax in a mold, wanting to harden and take shape but never quite-right.

The black veins recede, but his eyes stay dark.

“Hello,” he says, his voice an echo in his cavernous body.

The sorceress stills, startled, but composes herself quickly as she looks around at him. There are designs, freshly painted, on her front, and he tilts his head at them.

“You’re awake,” observes the sorceress, slowly standing, attempting to look bigger than she really is. Chaos envelops her like an old friend, in a way he has seen so few sorcerers and sorceresses do – too frightened, too lost, too greedy – and he straightens back up.

“Yes,” he says. He would usually be more talkative, but he is flayed and speaking at a distance, far away in his own body, and he would like to slip back into an unconscious state. Make his body prone and receptive. Fill in the corners of that mold and dry until he can momentarily pretend that he fits.

“You are—”

“I don’t like you putting spells on my friend,” he cuts her off, black eyes blinking slowly. He never was spectacular with his filter.

The sorceress arches a brow, delicate and strong in a single motion. Impressive. “Now, how would you know about that? You were asleep,” she accuses without actually accusing. Jaskier thinks he quite likes her.

“Was I?” he questions, lips stretching into a too-big, too-thin smile.

The sorceress narrows her purple eyes suspiciously, turning to pace to the other side of the bed, like a prowling panther. “You are not human,” she says, then scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Clearly. Energumen?”

“I really would appreciate it if people would stop calling me that,” he huffs, pouting, and adjusting to sit back against the headboard of the bed.

“Demon, then?”

“Close enough,” he shrugs, setting his hands in his lap.

“Certainly something strong enough to pick a fight with a djinn and survive,” the sorceress observes. “I know you do not hold the djinn’s wishes. I know it is Geralt, despite him saying otherwise.”

“Likely attempting to explain the wound,” Jaskier nods.

“Claimed a wish gone bad,” the sorceress explains, “That you’d wished never to have your heart broken again.”

“And he calls me the dramatic.”

“And now, he has done what I needed done and waits where I can easily retrieve him.”

“Yes…” Jaskier pauses to look around the, frankly, lovely room. “Where is Geralt?”

The sorceress sneers, somehow still beautiful, and says, “What? Don’t know everything after all?”

“Of course not, Y̸͖̓̏ẻ̵̚ͅn̶̐͜n̷̳͒ę̸̒f̴̫̽e̷̖̜͝r̷͔͚͛,” the sorceress startles as he tears her name from the void, from her chest, from the past and present and future. “If I knew everything I wouldn’t bother living in your worlds. It would all be far too boring.”

Yennefer storms back to the foot of the bed, a firestorm in her eyes waiting to come loose. She glares at him, glares down to the pieces of him that still remember agony.

“Either you will help me,” she says, warns, commands, “Or I will fetch your Witcher and use the djinn.”

“You will never bear children, Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he says calmly, casually, as he slips sideway and sits on the edge of the bed. His doublet and chemise are missing, likely too stained with black ooze to ever be recovered, and he begins to unwrap the bandages around his chest. His skin is whole again, no flesh scar in sight, but he still feels it. Faint and fading. A ripple to be ironed out.

“Excuse me?” Yennefer says, hardly more than a whisper, the firestorm within growing so hot she coats herself in ice to combat it. “You have… No idea what I—”

“You are familiar with the conjunction of the spheres?” he cuts in, not in the mood for… whatever had been winding up there.

“What? Yes, of course!” Yennefer snaps, sharp as icicles.

“I predate that. Predate your sight and your books. Your cells and your marrow,” he says lowly, looking towards the sorceress as he wraps up the black-stained bandages. Dark veins that match his eyes reappear on his shoulders and arms. Comfortable. Familiar.

“I have lived far more lives than you can imagine. I have experienced heartache, fury, sorrow, euphoria. I have been a mother, a father, a killer, a savior. Do not claim I do not understand, for I understand more than anyone,” he heaves a breath he does not need, “Speak clearly. Your wild rage falls on deaf ears until it can be wielded.”

“Order to my chaos?” Yennefer snarls, a memory in her eyes that Jaskier does not dwell on.

“Sword to your knight,” he corrects, “Scythe to your reaper. You coat yourself in it. It is the armor you hide behind, when it should be a weapon you wield.”

Yennefer says nothing, glaring at him, her plan falling apart around her without her even realizing. Her mind is shifting, changing, adjusting. Reconsidering.

“My choices were taken from me,” she snarls eventually. “Stolen from me.”

“Some were,” Jaskier agrees, because it is partially true. The threads of Yennefer’s past and fate not all pulling towards herself. “This one wasn’t.”

She looks at him sharply, taking a step towards him as if to threaten. To hurt.

“It was your own choice that led you to this outcome, but that is what hurts the most, isn’t it?” he says and his voice twists, thickening and bubbling out as his hands turn black, too. ”It was always someone else’s fault for hurting you. Abandoning you. Leaving the scars that cannot be seen. You’re used to it. Used to letting someone else take the lead. You may not give them the sword, but you bare your neck.”

“Be quiet,” Yennefer growls, taking another step closer.

”But then, you finally have a choice. Your own choice. A choice with repercussions, but you take it because it is yours. You think you take control. You think you have rule over yourself. Yet all your actions are a cry for help. A cry for vengeance. A cry for pity.”

“Shut up.”

”You are a response, Yennefer of Vengerberg!” he roars, the windows shaking, the candles flickering, the stones growing moss. He pauses, staring at the furious, lavender eyes before him, and calms himself. He pulls back his veins, his claws, but leaves his eyes. “You could so easily be action. You do not want your womb. A child. You want to be loved, but refuse to love yourself.”

“Who says I don’t love myself?” Yennefer snarls, leaning towards Jaskier, who looks up at her from his seat. Completely calm.

“You wear a very pretty mask. My whole life is a mask, I know what they look like,” he replies, then begins to stand. Yennefer steps back, as if she expects him to attack, but he just stands there, holding his hand out in offer.

“I have lived as a mother for children I never gave birth to,” he says, his voice soft, cool as frozen dew, and Yennefer stutters in her spot. Her eyes widen.

“How?” she demands, stepping closer again, but not taking the offered hand.

“Many ways. Surrogacy in some places. Adoption in others. Love in them all,” he says and Yennefer’s lips thin, apparently not liking that answer. Jaskier narrows his eyes. “A child is not obligated to love you. To care about you. And they won’t if that is all you want out of them. But to love yourself and give love, you will always have it returned.”

“What happened to me ‘wielding fury as a weapon’?” Yennefer snaps.

“I do not see why you cannot have both?” Jaskier tilts his head.

They are silent, his hand still outstretched, and her aura thick. Thick with the unsaid. Thick with the reconsidered. Thick with the plans she thinks she hides so well from him. Thick with power and possibility.

She glares at him, glares with a purple wildfire, and slowly reaches out and takes his hand.

+++

Jaskier, after Cintra, makes sure to visit often.

The midday shadows are long and the night is thin, letting him bleed through the streets and alleys and people without them knowing.

They don’t see him come, don’t see him go, but they are resigned that he exists. That he is there. That he means no harm.

Calanthe attempted to throw him out the first few times she turned and he was standing beside her, but each time guards dragged him to the gate they found their hands empty as their queen’s enraged shriek echoed through the halls.

Eist thinks he’s funny. Jaskier likes Eist.

Pavetta always sees him like no one else does, sees the shadow of his shadow, the voice that curls under his skin, and she greets it like a friend. He always plays her the sweetest songs, assuring her the soul in her belly is strong and bright.

Then, when Cirilla enters the world, he sings for her too and makes her laugh with his tricks.

She has chaos in her core like her mother, not yet soured from repression, and she grows up fearless of boys or swords or dark eyes. She laughs when Jaskier flickers behind a guard, startling them when they turn. She begs him to “do the thing” and watches as a hand pushes under his skin, like pushing against a curtain, and strains the skin. He vomits black to scare off tutors when she grows tired of lessons.

“You spoil her more than me,” Pavetta smiles as she and Duny prepare for a trip on the sea.

Jaskier smells death, feels it in the back of his eyeballs, knows they will not return and the space in the shadows of Cintra will fill with sorrow and tears, red like blood. He can feel the void, closing around them, and it feels like he’s staring at a mirror.

It feels like him.

“Someone needs to,” he says instead, smiling, his blue eyes twinkling.

“She’s a princess,” Pavetta rolls her eyes.

Jaskier says nothing. He says nothing nothing nothing.

Only good-bye.

+++

“Good news, Geralt!” Jaskier announces as he walks out of the mayor’s house just as the Witcher comes towards it. “I have made a lovely new friend! You met Yennefer, yes? Gorgeous sorceress? Bewitched you to harass a few diplomats?”

“Got me thrown in a cell,” Geralt growls, looking dubious but also incredibly tasty. Jaskier has never seen him in the leathers he wears now.

“Charming woman, isn’t she?” He then notices Geralt’s own eyes flicking downward. At first, he assumes he is looking at the new shirt Yennefer gave him and he puffs up, preening at the attention, but then realizes the Witcher is likely concerned over something else.

He reaches to pull down the loose collar of the black top and show his bare chest. Something in Geralt jumps, but it is repressed so violently even Jaskier cannot see it.

“I am perfectly fine. As I assured you before,” he smiles and Geralt huffs, looking away. “Now, onto the subject of that djinn. We should sort out your last two—”

“One. I only have one wish left,” Geralt corrects, “Blew up a guards head.”

“Unoriginal, but very well,” Jaskier huffs and he can feel the swell of the djinn in indignation. He doesn’t hide his smirk. He is safe from any further attacks thanks to Geralt’s first wish. “Now, as for the third and final wish… I had an idea,” he smirks even wider, thinner, and glances back at the house where he can feel Yennefer in thought.

Her spell had been dispelled the moment Jaskier touched her skin, and she had begrudgingly accepted that. She had not changed her mind, but she had been given much to think about. He could feel the turmoil in her head, the fire raging white but compressing into a single point.

It worried him.

He did not do well with worry.

“It is your choice, of course, but hear me out…” he turns back to the Witcher, who watches him closely, standing closer than seems necessary. “I worry for what she will do. I worry she will do herself too serious a grievance before she can become something greater than her past. You must be careful with your wording, but…”

“You want me to make a wish for her,” Geralt finishes, looking thoughtful, and his own eyes flick to the mayor’s house.

“It is your choice, of course, and you really must be aware how you word it, but I think—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier’s eyes thin suspiciously, eying Geralt and feeling out his mind. His soul.

He is curious. Not like when he is given a particularly unique contract. Something lighter and sweeter. Something that doesn’t fit what Jaskier knows of Geralt, but somehow feels familiar on his skin. It’s…

Oh…

Geralt is smitten.

He tries to hold back his smile, but it leaks through anyway. It doesn’t feel happy. It feels anguished.

Geralt steps back, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, deliberating over how he wants to say his final wish. Considers for a long time. And then his lips move and the pressure in the air nearly knocks them back.

A storm on the ground, twisting and roaring. Something tethers, like an anchor caught on a stone. Heavy and unruly. Breaking and holding.

It pulls tight, braided with fire and ice. Geralt’s shadow stretches towards the sun.

And then the djinn is gone.

Jaskier feels it pulse once before it is fully free, the current taking it up, up, up. The euphoria is palpable, vibrant as a bird’s feathers. Refreshing as the open air. Warm like home cooking. Freedom.

Jaskier is staring up at the clear sky, clouds curling like a storm, but not with the same promise, when Geralt sucks in a sharp breath.

Jaskier looks at him, then follows his gaze back to the mayor’s house. The windows have been shattered from the release, but he doesn’t think there is anything to be concerned over. Still, Geralt pushes past him, speaking lowly, “I’ll meet you back with Roach,” before hurrying towards the building.

The tether – anchor crushing a stone, holding a ship still as a wave comes crashing down – fades as Geralt leaves.

Jaskier blinks. Whatever the djinn did, it clearly had nothing to do with him… But what could Geralt’s final wish have been? And how could the djinn have manipulated it for their own, malicious enjoyment?

The feeling of finally-here-colliding-obsession-infatuation-pleasure-pain-agony knocks the breath out of Jaskier and he steps back, staring up at the house in shock. Euphoria, but a different kind. A physical kind. Mounting and mounting in a way that feels too sudden. Too rushed.

He knows the feeling. Partakes in the feeling. Loves the feeling.

But this makes something in him roil and curl, contorting back and away until it pulls at his spine. Pulls at his veins like strings on a puppet. Pulls on his heart, strangling it with arteries and claws.

Why? Why does this hurt? Why does he care?

He moves without moving, the world twisting and spinning beneath him before he collapses in a field of flowers on the other side of the world. On a continent forgotten and abandoned.

The crushing on his heart becomes too much and he falls to his knees, raising a black, clawed hand, and plunging it into his chest. Ribs shatter like glass, red blood gushes before it turns black. Skin and eyes turn black, black, and blacker still. Not veins, an all-encompassing shadow eats over his flesh. A living-dead-vacant echo.

He rips out his lungs, throwing them out of the way, and tears out his heart with a shriek. He shrieks and shrieks and shrieks, black vomit and tendrils and hands erupting from his throat and his chest and his spine and his limbs. A mass of nothing and everything.

A single hand is held out, fingers too long, seemingly unaffected by the way the rest of him writhes and cries out. His red heart, still beating, sits in his palm, waiting and hurting and never going away.

He wants the end, but he cannot want himself.

With a shuddering, worldly crack, he pulls his hand in, cradling his heart close to the crater where it once sat.

Anguish. Anguish. So much anguish.

It was his own fault.

Shouldn’t get attached.

That’s why he’s here.

Kill the middle. End the lessons. The journey is death. The end is nothing.

Take him back.

Take me back.

+++

When he comes to, he is whole. His chest is whole and pink, like a fresh wound or a human, he forgets.

There are no organs in his palms, only dirt and ash.

Tears roll down his face. They taste like the ocean.

He’s crouched in a field of death and decay, dead flowers hanging over too-large corpses. Hands, larger than buildings, frozen where they fell in the distance. Ribs curve like archways over his head, closing him in.

He stands and turns and he is gone, smiling when Roach is there and nickers in greeting, the world green and lively once more. The mayor’s house off in the distance, but he pays it no heed. Instead, he pets the Witcher’s mare and waits. Waits. Waits.

A̵l̶w̶a̵y̶s̷ ̷w̴a̸i̸t̵i̵n̵g̸.

+++

Here are the people that asked me to tag them for this part! However, not all of them Tumblr would let me mention, so please make sure you’re not set as a private blog or anything like that. @so-damn-mishalicious @patrycjami-chan @matcha0milk @zoeyszone @katgirl05 @tokilabitch

It’s also on ao3 now: here

Part 4 to come soon. These are really fun to write!

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #nonhuman jaskier #demon jaskier #fanfic #geraskier

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writers-blogck · 5 years ago

Text

BNHA Imagines - MISC 01

Meeting for the First Time

Hitoshi Shinso:

He was pissed that he was put in the General Studies, he should be in one of the hero courses! Those tests weren't made for a quirk like his so there was no way for him to show off how powerful it could be. Plus, just to top it all off and piss him off further, he could hear a couple of students whispering about him. He could tell they were all support heroes, huddled up and gossiping. He thought that this would go away when he got into U.A. but guess jerks would always find a way. He was used to it by now. "He looks super creepy, it's like he wants to be known as a villain." The one girl spoke, obviously frightened by the purple-haired boy. "I know. Mind control is always bad, how could a hero have that quirk?" "I bet he'll drop out and join the League of Villains. He already fits the part." The words filled him with both anger and sadness. He had lived his entire life with those words and worked every day to prove them wrong. He had thought that since U.A. would be different since he had expected the students to be smarter but it was obvious that he was wrong. The three years here would be filled with voices and hidden stares just like the rest of his life. Why should he expect anyone to think differently? "You do realize that the number three pro-hero is a man-made up of fire, right?" A new voice spoke up, bringing Shinso out of his thoughts and made him pay attention again, "That seems pretty villainy to me. What about thirteen? I'm sure people thought that her quirk could only be used for villainy. Plus it has been scientifically proven that a majority of villains were students who either failed or kept being told they could only be a villain instead of a hero. So please, be my guest if you want to keep berating him but don't be upset when he treats you like a villain. Even the best person will be a villain if they are diminished enough. All it takes is one bad day." Your eyes glowed a medium blue as you stared at the girls. You were part of the support class as well but still had a powerful quirk. It was called Memory Card, allowing your brain to reach super-genius levels for up to fifteen minutes. You would remember anything you had ever been told and could use this power to access all of that knowledge. It helped that you were just super smart, to begin with, knowing your brain was made to support such knowledge. As your eyes slowly changed back to (e/c), the group of students scurried away. Before Shinso had the chance to talk to you, you were gone. At that moment, he made it his duty to go find you and at least learn your name.

Mirio Togata:

Panic began to fill your chest as you crumbled against an alley wall. The dim street lights were the only thing lighting up the world around you. Everything seemed so dark and like there could be anything just around the corner. Whispers swirled around you and you could feel she was on her way. Why did it have to be like this? You would prefer not having a quirk to having to go through this. It made your entire body want to shut down.

Most of the time you were able to control her. As long as you were able to keep yourself calm and collected, she couldn't take control. You were able to use your quirk as it should be used. It was able to make people see their biggest fears, something which kept you from training with it as much as you should. How could you train with someone when you would have to make them feel that way? You had vowed from a young age to only ever use it in emergencies and against bad guys. Yet, due to your lack of training, she was able to take over every now and again.

Nightmare felt like a demon at times. You had no clue how these types of quirks worked. The only other person who you knew who had something like this was Tokoyami and he didn't understand himself. Dark Shadow got stronger when he was in the darkness, Nightmare got stronger the more you lost control of your thoughts. Breathing hurt as you gasped, fingers scratching at your neck as if something was choking you. You had medication to keep these episodes from coming on but you had run out. The doctor said he could see you in a few weeks and that you shouldn't have any attacks. Well, obviously he was wrong.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, one of the only things you were able to feel at that point. The rest of your body felt like it was numb and wasn't in your control anymore. No matter how many times you reminded yourself it wasn't real, it didn't help. Her sharp talons had attached themselves deep in your back and were planning on staying there. She had never gotten control of your body but you were terrified one day she would be strong enough. "Hey!" An echo reverberated around your skull, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It was a male voice and while Nightmare could mimic someone, this sounded different. It felt hot, unlike everything around you that was freezing you to the bone. It seemed to only strengthen due to the voice but a patch of warm spread on your shoulder, shaking you. Loud thunder rumbled from above - she was angry. The talons tightened but you forced yourself to focus on the soft warmth until you felt your eyes open again.

The alleyway faded away as the light returned, bringing you out of your attack. The sun was shining down at your crumbled form against a tree on school grounds, your skin suddenly becoming quite warm. How long had you been here with the hot sun shining down on you? As you sat up properly, you could feel the sweat under your blazer and made a mental note to get some water as soon as you were inside. "Are you okay?" Your attention shifted to the boy standing above you, his voice exactly like the one you heard before. He was larger than you overall, suggesting him being an upperclassman. He wasn't part of 1-B, the class you had been assigned to. They told you that if you had more control over your powers, you could have made it into 1-A. You wanted to but you had no idea how to train without using someone else. What class was this boy in? General Studies? Support? Your mind was in a daze, slowly shifting your attention to the blue worried eyes looking down at you. Blonde hair was pushed back, though it was beginning to get messy with the heat. The first thought in your head as you saw his face for the first time was: Can the sun be a person?

Tamaki Amajiki:

Japan was so different than America. You knew you were lucky to be one of the transfer students to U.A. but it was intimidating with the entirely new country. The manners were so different here, they had so many ideas of what was polite and what was disrespectful. How would you learn it all? Would someone get mad at you because you were a foreigner? These thoughts filled your head until a shout rang out and you felt a large amount of force push against you. It was easy to regain your balance after stumbling back an inch or so. The sound of metal crunching up filled your ears as you began to focus back in on the present. What had happened? "Oh my god, are you okay?" A purple-haired boy that was much taller than you asked, running over in your direction before slowing as he got closer. His eyes moved from your figure to the crumbled car in front of you. A mixture of confusion and panic washed over his face as you casually looked down at the ruined vehicle. Luckily, no one was inside. What had happened? You glanced toward the direction it came from before you felt pale hands ghosting over your skin in search of some type of wounds. "I'm fine!" You smiled up at him, causing him to stumble back to put some space in between the two of you again. "That's a full car that just hit you. Maybe you have a concussion...Hm, you need a medic but the villain is still attacking...What should I do?" He mumbled the last part to himself, body rocking back and forth on his heels. This reaction was normal for you when someone saw your quirk for the first time. You were small, just reaching 5 feet (a symptom of your quirk), which often caused people to see you as fragile. It was rather ironic when they finally saw what you could take.

"I can take it. I am like super dense, you definitely can't pick me up. I'm 300 pounds if you can believe that!" "What...?" "My friends from home call me Buggie because of my quirk. I'm like an ant, do you know about them? I'm sure you do but some people don't think about how strong they are. They can carry up to 1,000 times their weight! I can do that too, isn't that really cool? I mean, lifting 1,000 times my body weight is straining but you know what I mean. " "Yeah, alright. If you're not hurt..." There was doubt in his eyes but he needed to get back to the battle. He would have to trust you if he could get back to Fatgum and help him. What if he was being hurt right now? His stomach twisted and he felt like he was ready to throw up. "No, I'm fine! I can move this car if you need, I could easily pick it up and-" "Ah- I don't have time. I'm sorry, I need to get back to that villain." A simple nod was all that you got as a parting before he was running off, white cape fluttering behind him. You wondered if he was a student of U.A. as you walked away, looking down at the address of the school that you were trying to find.

Nejire Hado:

When Ryuku decided to take you, along with Tsu and Uraraka for your internships, you were shocked. You were a quiet and shy individual, feeling a lot smaller than the two other girls. Both of them weren't afraid to speak out about what they think or how people are going to react. To you, this was your everyday life. Your quirk allowed you to see the future, multiple versions of the future. Sometimes it was good but you often saw so many terrible and dangerous things. Such simple things could hurt so many people. It had left you filled with anxiety, wishing you could turn off your visions. What was even more shocking was the member of the big three that also was part of your group. The three of them had spoken to your class, though you had a hard time paying attention, you still were able to remember her. Nejire, that was her name. She was so much nicer than you thought. She was so patient with you, it had to be due to Tamaki. She was used to dealing with someone with a fast-acting mind.

"Senpai..." You spoke softly, catching the attention of the blue-haired girl. The first time you had called her that was an accident but she seemed to like it. You couldn't help but wonder if she paid more attention to you than the other two girls. Was that fair? Were you just overthinking it and seeing things that weren't really there? "Yes?" She smiled and your heart couldn't help but skip a beat. Nejire was just so pretty and sweet, it was hard to keep yourself from getting flustered around her. She was what you dreamed to be but you doubted you would ever be as good as her. You didn't even have a chance, why did you keep trying? Shaking your head ever so slightly, you pushed those thoughts away to focus on the task at hand. "Are you sure you want to take me on patrol with you instead of Tsu or Uraraka? I'm certain they would be more suited for it...I don't want to mess up and make something-" "You are perfect for patrol, my little kohai. Plus, I want to get to know you better and you seem to be less nervous when there are not many people. Don't worry about it, I'm certain about my choices. I like to think I make pretty good ones, you know?" Her arm flung over your shoulders, leading you forward as you were left in silence. How could your face feel this hot? Was the air thinner? "O-Okay..."

How were you going to survive this girl?

All-Might:

The two of you were much younger when the two of you met for the first time. It was hazy to remember how it all went. It was strange to think there was a time you didn't know him or Aizawa or the others. They felt so permanent in your life now that thinking before them felt wrong. All-Might was one of the top heroes and the others were rising in the ranks just as much! Why would you want to focus on the past when the present was so good? It wasn't as magical as the press tried to guess. They said he rescued you from falling off a bridge or you had been a hostage but it was nothing that fancy. The two of you had met your first day of U.A. because the two of you were in 1-A. Toshinori attracted the attention of most of the other students and you would be lying if you said you didn't check him out like the others. He was handsome- a strong body with a dazzling smile. The full package. When lunch rolled around, you would be surprised when he approached you first, asking if he could sit with you. It wasn't that you approached him first and fell in love like the media believed. It was the exact opposite. If anyone asked him to this day, he would be willing to gush about you for hours if they let him. At first, it was a simple adoration as a friend who was proud but it began to change. It would all be out in the open when he ended up kissing you while a camera was pointing at the two of you. That was when all shit went loose. But it was much simpler back when the two of you were in school. It was no different than any puppy dog crush between two people. The two of you had no clue of the chaos and pain that waited for the two of you in the future. Who would expect their happiness to be on a timer?

Aizawa Shouta:

It wasn't rare to find Aizawa drinking at a bar in his free time. He was stressed and it was only getting worse as the year progressed. His students were being put in more and more danger and there was nothing he could do about it. These villains were getting ahead of the pro heroes and it was increasingly becoming hazier on if they could win. One would like to believe the good guys always will win but Aizawa knew better. He had lost that innocence long ago.

"Are you alright?" A soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, making him look up to see the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. They held no grief or guilt in them and instead sparkled in the dim bar light. They were holding a small glass of wine, their lips dyed with a faint hue of red. "I'm fine." He grumbled, eyes drifting to the whiskey in his cup. Was this his second glass? He didn't keep track, he just drank until those thoughts left. It was one of the only ways he was able to get some sleep recently. It wasn't healthy but he didn't know of another way. So much was happening and he was in charge of making sure his students were safe. Bakugo had gotten kidnapped, who knew what else was coming? They were children...

Without any warning, they sat down in the stool next to him silently. Nothing was said between the two of them at that moment or the rest of the night. Aizawa didn't have to do anything and yet, the person stayed. He had expected to get annoyed but the presence of another person helped. His mind was able to relax if only for the few hours they were able to spend together. The minutes passed as they sat together, drinking their respective drinks. The sun soon set and the darkness began to cover the city. The time of the villains. He needed to go, he had work in the morning. He may not get a lot of sleep but he was going to take advantage of the warm liqueur in his stomach and the calmness this person provided. As he stood to put his jacket back on, his eyes glanced over at the dark streets again and couldn't help but think about how dangerous it was outside. He was a hero, after all, he was trained to go out when it was like this but when he looked at the other person, they looked just like a citizen. Before they parted, he took a chance and offered to walk them home. He was considering taking it back but once they agreed, he was too far gone.

Hawks:

For your first two years of attending U.A., you were an intern under Aizawa. He would never admit it but he had a soft spot in his heart for you. When you first entered the school, you had no family and had self-esteem about as good as Tamaki's, one of your juniors. You could remember seeing him get into 1-A as you were finishing up your last year. That had been a hectic time for you but you were part of the top three of your own year and had to give a speech. You were proud when you heard the shy boy was in his own big three. You knew he had talent when you met him.

Most of your time was spent in your internships as you had two to do, something extremely rare. Your official internship was under Aizawa and you were training to become a teacher at U.A. but you wanted some more fieldwork under your belt. When you first started, Aizawa did have you go on missions and such but it had declined the older you got and the more concrete your goal of working at U.A. became. It was true but you wanted more. That was when you met him for the first time. He was amazing to watch! When hearing that he was only twenty, you decided that you would internship under him.

Aizawa tried to talk you out of it but he knew once you had something on your mind, you wouldn't stop until you got it. It took a lot to finally get the boy to agree to take you under his wing. He gave a long list of reasons why the two of you would be a terrible pairing but you kept coming back with reasons that destroyed his complaints. In the end, it was your determination that made him agree to let you tag along. What would your life be if he rejected you? Once you finished your final year in U.A., you were given a position as a teacher's assistant, to Aizawa as was expected. When you got a few years under your belt with him, Nezu would then allow you to teach first years. It was a dream come true! Training future heroes was amazing but you did have that tug every now and again where you wanted to help with more hero work. Hawks decided to let you come with him on patrols whenever you got that way, the two of you going through many sleepless nights together. The press even dubbed you as Hawk's 'semi-sidekick'. You weren't in the front lines a lot but you really appreciated what Hawks did.

Hawks had no clue what to expect when he took you in. He had never been a mentor to someone and it was strange when they were only three years his junior. The mentorship morphed into a strange friendship that only strengthened once you graduated. What he didn't expect was to begin feeling differently about you, no longer seeing you just a kid. Aizawa had accepted his soft spot for you during your second year but Hawks was still in denial about how he really felt. The two felt different types of love for you but without you even knowing, you had them wrapped around your finger.

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vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

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The Path to Happiness

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Characters: Ventus, Terra, Aqua

Terra awoke with a strangled gasp, fisting the damp sheets as he bolted upright in bed. Ragged, strangled gasps tumbled from his lungs, and cold sweat poured down his pallid, clammy skin. Slowly, the visions of darkness and icy rush of fear melted from his system, making him bonelessly flop against the headboard. He drew his palm across his face, catching the sweat in the ridges of his hand; he then dropped his arm against the mattress and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling with an exhausted sigh. He traced the patterns of the rafters through lidded eyes, trying to occupy his addled mind with meaningless drivel as the fear and doubt and guilt tried to creep back in from the shadows.

The sharp claws of nausea pawed at his belly, making bile bubble up into his throat. Reconciling with the fact that sleep would not find him for quite some time, he tossed the covers off himself and slipped out of bed. The tiled floor was cold against the soles of his feet as he shambled barefoot out of the room, allowing muscle memory to guide him through the gilded halls of the castle situated at the center of the Land of Departure. He couldn’t find his way consciously, as his mind was too spent from struggling with phantasms of past mistakes.

Moonlight streamed in from the stained-glass windows to dapple across his broad shoulders and throw dark shadows up in odd places. In a moment of lapsing mind, the darkness seemed to bulge up behind him in a hostile mass, latching onto his shoulders like a parasite ready to suck all the light left within him. With a strangled cry, Terra whirled around, unconsciously drawing his Keyblade. The hairs on the back of his neck rose to catch the sweat rolling down from his dampened brown tresses as he searched the darkness warily, terrified to find the glint of golden eyes lurking within. Only the pale starlight and the empty air of the long hall greeted him.

Terra groaned, rubbing at the clammy flesh at the back of his neck as he sheathed his weapon with a faint sparkle of light. He rubbed his face again, struggling to retain a shred of sanity. Ever since finally ridding himself of Xehanort’s parasitic presence, Terra had grappled with paranoia and night terrors. It was just so hard to believe that the nefarious pariah was truly no longer plaguing the worlds; Terra would see visions of him, stalking in the dark corners of his vision and melting out of the shadows. He’d have to convince himself that it was only a trick of the mind, a mere ghost that couldn’t hurt him.

The guilt was harder to reconcile with. If Terra hadn’t been so reckless, so weak to the beguile of the darkness within him, maybe things would’ve gone differently.

“Ugh. Stop that, Terra,” he chastised himself as he mushed the skin of his face with his palms. He teased into the fronds of his chocolate-colored hair and grimaced at the uncomfortable sensation of the sweat clinging to the strands. Suddenly finding the wide hall stifling, he renewed his pace to quickly exit the castle, stepping out into the starry night sky’s wide, welcoming arms. The glittering pinpricks of the stars and the endless expanse of indigo blue brought a weary smile to his face. Anytime things got tough, he’d recall that promise the three of them made to each other beneath those same stars, an oath that took much too long to fulfill.

Terra strode out into the nighttime tranquility, the long grasses kissing the fabric of his pants. The starlight enveloped him like an old friend, bathing him in pale whiteness. Terra inhaled deeply, and as the cool air flooded his nostrils, he almost imagined that he was inhaling the celestial light itself, the stardust nourishing his bones and blood to lull him into a sense of peace. A gentle smile worked onto his face as he finally felt the tension melt from his shoulders.

Just as Terra made it to the iron-wrought fencing, leaning against it to gaze into the Land of Departure stretching on before him, he heard a sleepy, “Terra…?” He glanced behind him to see Ventus shambling tiredly down the sloped grassy hill, rubbing at his eye as a yawn split his face. “What’re you doing up so early?” Aqua strolled behind him; her blue eyes narrowed in an acute sense of worry. Terra found himself chuckling. He’d escaped the castle to find some sense of solitude, but it seemed the universe had other plans.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Ah, Aqua, perceptive as always. Terra smiled defeatedly at the tall, lithe woman as she strode up, head cocked to the side in curiosity. There was no point in lying to her, so he just nodded. Aqua smiled sympathetically and leaned her side against the iron railing. The somber look in her sea-blue eyes told him that Aqua herself was no stranger to the night’s unnerving terrors. Terra exhaled deeply and pressed down against the railing, pushing his weight down onto his outstretched legs as he balanced his crossed arms and torso onto the metal structure. His eyes reflected the glittering landscape of the stars, hollowly, like opaque glass.

“Ten years. Ten years I wasted as that man’s slave,” he breathed. His voice fogged in the air as if metamorphosizing into the ghost that his soul was that long, dark decade. “All because I wasn’t strong enough.” His head dropped as he uttered the sentence, chin thumping against his sternum.

“Terra!” Ventus interjected, jumping forward to grab onto the hem of his form-fitted shirt. Terra had to smile; spending ten years asleep as a fractured heart didn’t make him any less childish. Ventus’ blue eyes regarded him worriedly as he pawed at the shirt. “It’s not your fault. It’s Xehanort’s.”

“Yeah. I know, Ven,” Terra chuckled and reached out to affectionately ruffle the younger boy’s hair. Ventus’ giddy smile was infectious, curling Terra’s lips upwards subconsciously. However, the hollow shadow of doubt pulsed in Terra’s chest. So how many times he tried to convince himself that the decades-long sequence of events resulted from forces out of his control. Then, he’d think back to the Mark of Mastery examination, to the flicker of darkness that intrigued Xehanort and made the old man zero in on his newest pawn.

Even if Terra had been pure and rejected the darkness completely, the guilt would have stayed. He failed to stop Xehanort, dooming a new generation of children to take up the mantle and shattering dozens of hearts in the process. If it had just ended there, the Organization would have never been created, nor all those souls twisted to darkness. If it had just ended there, Sora’s world never would have fallen into ruin to plunge him into a harrowing and dangerous journey spanning the worlds. If it had just ended there, so much heartbreak could have been avoided.

I should have been stronger. No one else should’ve had to clean up after us!

“Terra.” Aqua’s voice called to him like the shining light of a lighthouse to a vessel traversing a perilous sea. His head swiveled in search of her soft voice, her pale face, finding her sparkling blue eyes regarding him warmly. Her hand slipped up the meat of his muscular arms to rest just at the base of his deltoid, the gentle touch soothing him in ways words never could. “No one blames you. Please stop blaming yourself.” His eyes narrowed sadly as Aqua gazed intently at him. “If these long years have proved anything, it is that we cannot shoulder these burdens alone. It was always meant for us to come together to stop his great evil. The path to happiness is often paved with mistakes and heartbreak.”

Damn. Aqua was always so poetic.

“Yeah!” Ventus grinned, shoving his head underneath Terra’s arm to flash him a toothy smile. “So many cool things woulda never happened if things went differently. We never would’ve traveled the world and experienced all those things. Sure, Xehanort made the organization and split himself into two. If his Heartless was never created, Sora wouldn’t have gone on his journey and met all his wonderful friends. If the Nobodies were never made, Lea never woulda met his friends! Roxas and Naminé and Xion wouldn’t even exist. All of these connections and friendships that we can enjoy now would never have been made in the first place,” he pointed out. As always, Terra found himself cheered by the boy’s boundless optimism. Ventus giggled as Terra slung his beefy arm around the back of his neck and hugged him into his chest.

“Man, you’re so right. You’d be stuck with us boring grown-ups instead of all the kids your age, huh, Ven?” The blond laughed mirthfully as he wriggled in Terra’s grip.

“But I like you guys! You’re my best friends!”

“It’s okay, Ven. You don’t have to make us feel better,” Terra joked. Ventus pushed on Terra’s ribs to pry himself free, head popping up to display his pout and the more-poofy-than-usual tufts of honey-blond hair sticking up at odd angles thanks to Terra’s manhandling.

“I mean it! Anyway, why are you derailing from the conversation?” Terra snorted and resumed leaning against the railing, shaking his head. When he looked back up at the starry sky, the light had returned to his eyes, making his blue irises shine like the waves of the sea.

“I’m not. I’m just feeling better, I guess.”

“Well, that’s good,” Aqua offered appreciatively. Terra only hummed in response, appreciating the brilliance of the celestial bodies flickering above. All those words contained within the stars, traversed by generations of Keyblade wielders in a chronicle far from over. He wondered what the next stage of their journey held, what chapter would unfold in the coming days. He supposed it didn’t matter; as Aqua said, they were all tied by destiny, and their fates would unfurl soon enough.

Terra could now face the future bravely, bolstered by his two dearest friends in all the many, many worlds.

Tag List: @deliazeedork

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#wayfinder trio #terra #ventus #aqua #kingdom hearts #kh aqua #kh ventus #kh terra #kh fanfic #kh fanfiction #kingdom hearts fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction

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general-mahamatra · 5 years ago

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Beautiful Red Chrysanthemums

Pairing: Ralbert (one-sided)

Genre: Angst/Whump

TW: Angst, gore, graphic depictions of sickness, graphic depictions of injuries, hanahaki disease, body horror

Word count: 3710

It’s impossible to hide everything.

For a while there will be that sense of security, that sense of safety knowing no one knows. But soon enough that wall begins to crumple. At first it’s only bits and pieces here and there. A tiny secret about that one night after the party, the small cut from the fire escape; a torn picture that fell from an open wallet.

The fact that Albert has managed to keep his secret for so long is a miracle in itself. He’s managed to do whatever he could to keep it from the public eye. Whether it was blaming his coughing on the flu or swallowing everything that came up only to wretch later, he did what he could. If word got out what was happening to him, he’d be done for.

It was why he was now shaking behind a dumpster in some backend alleyway.

Albert collapsed to his knees, one arm clutching his stomach and the other propped up on the brick wall. Saliva dripped from his mouth as he struggled to breathe. Each inhale was ragged and short, barely getting him enough oxygen. His eyes fluttered while his head spun. Nothing was staying in focus. Not his thoughts or the pile of bloodstained chrysanths mixed with bile.

Beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck despite the cool autumn air. It was sickening, knowing that he was soiling his clothing with his own sweat and blood.

Another shiver passed over Albert. His stomach lurched and the next thing he knew, he was vomiting. The horrid mix of petals and his lunch gathered on the cement below him. The smell of it was enough to make Albert’s nausea grow.

Albert’s purging was quickly cut off by coughing. He was barely able to breathe in when he kept hacking. Soon, new petals came up and out of his mouth, dropping to the ground soaked in blood. They dropped like pebbles, each one falling as quickly as they came up. Petal after petal to the point when he managed to inhale, he only sucked them back in and started to choke.

The choking soon led to more vomiting to the point he could barely hold himself up at the same time.

His hand was now pressed against the wall, his fingers curling into the brick as he tried to hold on. A sharp pain soon burst down from his fingertips as Albert pressed his nails even harder into the stone. They bent and tore, leaving an open path to the rough stone beneath. Slowly but surely, blood started to gather there as well.

Finally, the flowers stopped.

Albert sucked in a ragged breath and closed his eyes. His hold on the wall loosened as he leaned forward, resting his head against the bricks. The familiar tingle of tears is what pulled him back to reality. With each one that fell, he was brought closer to awareness until he was thrown back into the moment.

He shuddered and opened his bleary eyes. The world remained out of focus, warping and twisting every time he blinked.

It took a while for his heartrate to slow. Albert sat there shaking for what felt like ages. A cool breeze bit at his arms and sent a large shiver throughout his body.

Eventually, he was able to sit back and look at the mess he made. As he stared, his vision began to clear and he could make out just what exactly lay before him: the petals of a red chrysanthemum.

Albert grimaced at the sight. How ironic.

It’s not like they’re anything new. They’ve been around the whole time, but he had been hoping that one day maybe they’d change to something less torturous.

It took him ages to figure out what they meant. He snuck into flower shops to try and find a match for nights on end. He even stole a booklet about what each flower meant at one point until finally he figured out what they were called. As Albert searched further, he soon came across their meaning:

The red chrysanthemum: a sign of love and accentuated passion.

Love. His love for that idiotic boy who always told those stupid jokes. The boy who always teased him in the mornings about stupid dreams; the boy whose smile made Albert’s heart flutter every time.

Passion. Oh how passionate Albert was about the boy. He always tried to get the boy to smile and be happy. He made an effort to be around him throughout the day and be the person the boy could turn to.

The boy named Anthony Higgins.

Albert wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. As he lowered them, he glanced down at his injured nails. All of them were torn and jagged. One of them had ripped too far, exposing the sensitive skin that was now bleeding.

Despite how unsanitary it was, Albert found it a better idea to place the injured finger in his mouth to clear the blood rather than wipe it on his clothing. It was disgusting but far less painful. As he glanced around what he could of the alley, he tried to remember where he was.

Albert barely recalled how he ended up where he now sat. All he could remember was running from God knows where to find someplace private.

His eyes landed on the bag of newspapers he had yet to sell. Albert tooks his finger out of his mouth and gently pressed it on his jeans. He then pulled himself to his feet using the dumpster and managed to stumble over to his bag.

When he picked up the bag, he slung it across his shoulders. He just needed to sell twenty more papers and he can be done for the day.

Albert didn’t even bother to wait until he could properly stand before he exited the alley. After all, looking like absolute shit might get him some sympathy. But first, he needed to find a place to clean up – some sort of store where he could just go into the bathroom and wash himself.

Anything to keep the others from knowing.

By the end of the day, Albert had successfully sold the rest of his papers.

It was difficult at first. Some people didn’t want to come near him considering he looked like absolute death. It also didn’t help just how much he found himself coughing. Every couple minutes or so Albert was hacking up petals.

He was able to be discreet at least. He spat them into the palm of his hand and shoved them into his pockets. Every once and a while he’d empty his pockets into a dumpster when there were too many.

It was a daily routine at this point.

Cough, hide, dispose, repeat. Whenever lunch or dinner came around, Albert would swallow whatever came up to the point he barely had room to eat. Not that anyone noticed.

It became so ingrained into his daily life that Albert didn’t consider it a disease. It was just part of him.

For a while, he thought he was going insane. He thought his sanity was slipping because there was no way he could be coughing up petals. Given there were so few at first, it was a safe conclusion.

Days turned into weeks which turned into months. It wasn’t long until two years had passed and he came across an article that caught his eye.

Hanahaki Disease, the Deadly Game of Love Me, Love Me Not.

Albert read the article the moment he got some peace. Whether it was fate or sheer coincidence he found the title appealing was up for interpretation. The simple fact he had found it was yet another miracle.

It was then that he learned what was wrong with him and why all he could ever do was spit out petals. He learned just how rare it was in America.

Yet, ironically, he never learned how deadly the disease was.

Oh, Albert was suspicious alright, but it only hung in the back of his mind.

The article was what brought the revelation to him. It was what explained that he was sick. No, not an illness. Lovesick.

Hanahaki Disease, the disease of unrequited love. Only curable by being loved in return.

He vividly remembers how the world seemed to fall apart around him. The moment he figured out what was going on was the moment he shattered. There was nothing he could do.

Now, four months later, it had gotten so much worse.

There were many nights Albert found himself stuck awake, purging all of the petals he swallowed and coughing up absurd amounts of blood.

At one point he felt like his insides were being shredded as he was thrown into a coughing fit. Seconds felt like minutes as he struggled for air. He clawed at his throat and soon felt like his insides were being pulled out through his mouth when entire flowers had ripped their way free.

That night lasted longer than the rest.

Luckily, the entire afternoon had gone alright other than when he was stranded in the alleyway. Albert had made it to Jacobi’s just fine and the evening was going well until he started coughing again.

The first one caught him by surprise, leaving him stuck with a handful of petals and bloody strings of saliva trailing from his mouth. Albert quickly closed his fist and wiped his face before shoving the petals into his pocket.

He managed to make the rest of them seem like he’s just clearing his throat and was able to get everything back down. After doing this multiple times within ten minutes, the other newsies were starting to make fun of him. They teased him about getting into Race’s stash of cigars and getting ‘smokers lung’. Albert simply laughed along with them.

For a lot of the night, Albert hung around Race. Only this time, it wasn’t as clean as usual. It started to hurt to breathe to the point if felt like his lungs were cloudy per se. It was a gradual change though, so it wasn’t too bad. It was just something he would have to deal with until he could get some privacy again.

Albert and Race joked around for a while. They bickered back and forth with light-hearted arguments and proceeded to tag-team tackle Jack. It was fun to say the least. Albert was enjoying himself for the first time that day.

At one point, Race let slip and absolutely horrible, inappropriate joke about Jack and Davey that made Albert and the few others listening crumble into maniacal laughter.

Laughter that sent Albert into a coughing fit.

He didn’t say a word as he covered his mouth and shot to his feet. He stumbled from the table, trying to keep himself from coughing too much as he made his way to the bathroom. When he was finally there, he locked himself in the small room and collapsed by the toilet.

Albert got his wish: he stopped coughing. Though, that wasn’t exactly a good thing.

He started gagging, unable to cough as he sat there clutching the toilet. He felt as though someone had jammed a rod down his throat and didn’t even bother to pull it out.

It wasn’t long before he was dry heaving.

Each convulsion was sporadic as his body contorted. Albert could barely control how he moved as his mind zeroed in on the fact he couldn’t breathe. Every airway was blocked just right.

His nose started to burn, making his eyes bulge in shock. The same excruciating pain that used to be contained to his throat was now in his sinuses as he started gasping. He began to grasp at his neck, trying to somehow alleviate the pressure to inhale.

Albert became frantic when darkness started to creep from the edges of his vision. The only thing in his mind was a repetitive chant. Need to breathe, need to breathe, need to breathe.

Another reflexive dry heave is what managed to push something into the back of his mouth. With the inability to cough it up or spit it out, Albert shakily reached into his mouth and shoved his hand as far back as possible. The action itself made him gag but he was able to snag a hold of what was in his throat.

When Albert started to pull, he began to choke. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he felt whatever he was pulling slice through his sinuses and throat. His gagging got worse as the tang of copper hit his tongue.

He kept tugging, even as he felt blood drip from his nose and mouth. Panic and adrenaline both became the driving forces that urged him to pull harder until he managed to rip an entire flower out, roots and all. Albert didn’t even get the chance to look at it before he fell into yet another coughing fit from trying to suck in air.

The adrenaline began to wear off when Albert was able to breathe around the blood pooling in his mouth. A pounding headache made itself known as he lifted the flower into his sight.

The red mum that lay in his hand was in perfect shape aside from the petals he tore. The stem that was attached was slick with blood, the roots even darker.

All because Race made him laugh.

Albert got up from the toilet and flushed it, wiping off the blood with his hands before proceeding to wash them and his face. It didn’t stop the bleeding within his sinuses but at least it wasn’t on his face anymore. He then bunched up the chrysanth and shoved it into his pocket.

He wasn’t sure what to do afterward. The last time anything big came out it was just the flower itself and it never left his throat. Never. Anxiety was beginning to latch on as his mind started to race with questions.

Why was there a stem? Why were there roots? How did it grow so fast into his head?

No, he couldn’t think about that, not now. It’s not important.

He needed to keep the others from knowing.

When Albert returned to the rest of the newsies, Race went out of his way to ask if he was okay. Albert nodded and assured the other he was fine, he just was coming down with a cold.

That seemed to satisfy Race for the rest of the evening.

For the rest of dinner and the entire way back to the lodging, Albert continued to try and clear his throat and just swallow it all. He barely touched the sandwich Race had ordered him or opened his mouth to speak. He was as quiet as he could muster.

When they got to the lodging, Albert made a beeline for his room. He’s had his own for a while now, ever since he moved in actually. Almost everyone else had a roommate but with his disease…

Albert counted himself lucky.

He ignored Race calling after him, asking if he wanted to hang out before they went to bed. He ignored how much he wanted to say yes, how much his heart ached at his wish to stay with Race

Albert was quick to go upstairs and enter his room. He closed and locked the door behind him before staggering to his bed. He collapsed onto it without bothering to kick off his shoes.

Exhaustion held him like a puppet, forcing him to close his eyes and lay still. For a while, it worked. The world fell away around him as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The fitful sleep didn’t last long. Albert woke to his stomach churning

In hopes of stemming the nausea, Albert curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to ignore the pain, but it only grew worse. It weaved its way into his throat by the time he started to get worried.

The awful tickling sensation poked at his throat, causing Albert to start coughing. It was a small one at first – the typical dry cough at the start of a cold – but it grew. Within moments he was leaning over the edge of the bed and hacking. It was nonstop.

Saliva slowly dripped from his mouth, strands hanging as drops flew with every cough. Dry heaves joined rather quickly, leaving very little time for him to breathe normally.

The dry heaving took a turn for the worse as bile forced its way up. It fell to the floor in larger quantities, the sour fluids stinging his tongue as it carried large bunches of petals with it. Over and over, more petals and blood shoved its way out as Albert lay stranded and helpless. He couldn’t move as he wretched.

He was stuck.

The vomiting shifted back to coughing when he accidentally inhaled his own fluids. He was a sputtering mess that soon found his throat clogged once again.

Fear took hold and sent him into a frantic frenzy. Despite the fact he was convulsing and wheezing, Albert was able to get out of bed and fall to the floor. He landed on his hands and knees as his entire body shook with another ragged cough.

Cough after cough after cough, all getting stuck in his throat trying to dislodge whatever was there.

The moment it came loose, Albert gagged and spat up dozens of petals. They kept coming, each one managing to tickle his throat just right to stimulate even more coughs.

Drenched red petals fell below him, some sticking to the sides of his face. They covered the hardwood floor as well as his hands. Bile mixed with blood dribbled down his chin and seeped into his shirt as his hands were covered in even more bodily fluids.

At any other time, Albert would be outright disgusted. He would try and clean himself up and make a conscious effort to keep himself from messing everywhere. Alas, this was definitely not one of those times.

A weird feeling of something slithering up his throat made Albert gag yet again. It twisted its way up until it stabbed its way into his sinuses.

He tried to reach into his mouth like earlier that night but there was nothing he could grab. He merely sent himself further into a fit with more petals.

The pain was becoming unbearable and his airways were getting blocked. Whatever had come up was now weaving into his nose and ripping the sensitive tissue.

Albert gasped and crawled over to the door. He was growing delirious, unable to think and only following his instincts. He had no idea where he was going to go, but he knew he had to get out.

He reached up towards the lock and flipped it open before falling into another fit. A piercing pain blossomed in his chest, sending Albert into a moment of shock. It gripped his lungs tight, feeling as if hundreds of needles were stabbing them without hesitation.

Using this as motivation, Albert pulled himself to his feet using the door handle and opened the door. He stepped into the hallway and fell against the wall, unable to support himself. He used it to keep himself upright as he stumbled along.

He came across the door he was looking for and twisted his handle. By his luck, it was unlocked and he fell inside.

The boy that was on the bed might’ve been asleep for all Albert could tell. The hacking grew worse until it cut out. He couldn’t get a single noise out as what could only be full flowers completely shut off his airway.

Strings of saliva continued to fall as the flowers started to push their way out. As they did this, the needles in his chest turned to knives. He felt as though he was being shredded from the inside out, every attempted cough sending jolts of pain through his entire body.

Whatever was sliding through his head continued to move, now reaching for his ears and mouth. It poked and prodded everywhere until the next thing Albert knew, he couldn’t hear. A sharp pain radiated from his ears soon followed by the sticky flow of blood.

Albert wouldn’t have noticed that he had been moved if he hadn’t tried to blink away his tunnel vision. With his pointless attempts to breathe and everything he felt across his body, he didn’t feel the pair of hands that had grabbed him.

He almost didn’t see the worried face above him either. What Albert saw barely registered, though, as he tried to reach for his mouth again. That was when he truly began to choke.

His eyes shot open as the fully-bloomed flowers lodged themselves in his throat. He began to claw at his neck, the jagged nails slicing into his skin. Cut after cut, if he could just get it out-

Strong hands grabbed Albert’s and held them against his chest. Though, those soon disappeared when he felt something slimy trail along his face. From his ears to his nose to his mouth, it slid around and down to his neck.

Albert managed to blink away the darkness again to see the terrified boy above him one last time before the slimy tendrils slipped over his eyes. With one last splurge of energy, he tried to tear whatever it was off his face.

Except, his movements were weak. They grew slower despite Albert’s growing panic.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t hear.

He was left clawing at his own body trying to free himself with one last frantic spark before that too faded.

A hand slid into Albert’s, their fingers interlocking.

Agonizing pain burst from his chest. Tendrils slid across his body.

And then, there was nothing.

Anthony Higgins sat there holding his best friend, tears streaming down his face as he fell into silent shock. Albert lay limp, beautiful red chrysanthemums blooming from his mouth as many more weaved across his face and body, twisting into a messy flower crown.

And they say love doesn’t kill.

It does. Just with it’s own cruel, ironic twist.

39 notes · View notes

takaraphoenix · 5 years ago

Note

Dr who for the ask game

Thanks for playing! This is also a big, fun one! :O (I do love that the majority of these asks hit target on my own biggest obsessions x3 We checked off like all the live action shows at this point, I think, the only things left are anime/animated xDDD)

Again with a cut due to the sheer size. ^^°°°

Top 5 favourite characters: CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS, Martha Jones, Donna Noble, The Doctor, Yasmin Kahn

Other characters you like: Rory Williams Pond, Graham O’Brien, Mickey Smith, Bill Potts, Sarah Jane Smith, Craig Owens

Least favourite characters: Rose Tyler by a landslide

Otps: not realy any actual OTPs but ships I guess I’m fond of would be Vasta/Jenny and Rory/Amy

Notps: every ship involving the Doctor, because I just honestly find it weird and uncomfortable to look at the Doctor as a romantic or even worse yet sexual being, but most of all Doctor/Rose and Doctor/River, also Jack/Ianto

Favourite friendships: I am living for the current team dynamic, 13-Yaz-Graham-Ryan are really good but my forever favorite is the Doctor and Jack, also the best team-up was the Doctor with Donna and Martha, that was perfect

Favourite family: THE FAM! 13′s team

Favourite episodes:oooh mmh, I do have multiple favorites, so let’s do this!

Blink: it is such a good episode, there was a time I just popped that one in when I had 40 minutes to waste

Utopia/The Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords: for me personally, this is where Doctor Who peaked. My absolute favorite storyline and episodes and team-up - my favorite Doctor with BOTH my favorite companions in an episode with my favorite Master as the enemy. Amazing. There was a time when I would regularly rewatch this, just these three

Turn Left/The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End:Suuuch a satisfying conclusion for a four series plotline, all of the companions coming together like that? It was so good

The Lodger & Closing Time: I love Craig and I love how these two episodes switch things up!

Favourite season/book/movie: Rather obviously, series 3 - the return of Jack, the series where Martha is the companion, a series with my favorite Doctor and four of my favorite episodes in it!

Favourite quotes:THE ANGELS HAVE THE PHONE BOX! xD And the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff! I got that one on a necklace even! *laughs*

Best musical moment: uuurgh the soundtrack of this show is actually so good? I listened to it on a loop for years. Series 3 and 4 being my favorites, they make you feel things, man.

Moment that made you fangirl/boy the hardest: Just this series when Jack returned. And let me elaborate to just convey how hard I fangirled at that, because it wasn’t just “oh a fave!”.

You see, Jack is... kind of why I’m here? I watched the first series with my mother back when it started airing in Germany. But they kind of... stopped dubbing it and it stopped airing in Germany and eh, I was okay with it because this show seemed weird like they just switched out the actor of the MAIN CHARACTER who does that what the fuck and I really liked Jack but he was gone now too so oh well.

However, then I read online about how Jack was in series 3. So... I went online and Doctor Who is genuinely the first TV show I ever watched in English, because I wanted to see Jack but there was no dub.

Then series 3 ended and both Jack and Martha left and I was very meh because I remembered that this is the show that constantly replaces its whole cast.

You can probably guess what happened next, but Jack was in the finale of series 4. So I went back into Doctor Who, rewatched what there has been so far all the way up to the series 4 finale - and that was when I was sold, because holy shit even with the switching of companions, they just bring them back! They just brought them all back! That was such a good pay-off.

Ironically, that was when I actually stuck around and started watching the show in real time instead of waiting for the next Jack appearance to bring me back from hibernation. Ironically because - well, that was the last we saw of anyone. (Aside from 10 in the 50 year special.)

That hard, hard cut from 10 to 11, no return of any companions...

Needless to say that when 12 came and went with no care for anything pre-11, I kind of... came to accept that this was it. Especially when they announced yet another hard cut - as in Moffat would finally be replaced and with the new era, both a new Doctor and new companions - I was so sure we’d never get to see anyone from the old crew again.

So when, after literally ten years, Jack Harkness returned and was so... so... Jack, I made the loudest, most unholy sound and the excitement of them actually acknowledging that he would be back for more and he would be there when the Doctor needs him? Tears of joy.

(but aso pls #LetMarthaMeet13 okay? Okay)

When it really disappointed you:YOU’RE MAKING A 50 YEAR ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL. YOU HAVE SOOO MANY GOOD COMPANIONS. BUT. BUT YOU BRING NONE OF THEM BACK. ONLY ROSE TYLER’S FACE. OF ALL OF THE FACES. OF EVERYONE I COULD HAVE SEEN AGAIN IN THAT SPECIAL, IT HAD TO BE BILLIE PIPER’S MEDIOCRE ACTING. REALLY? REALLY??

Saddest moment: When 10 regenerated

Most well done character death: Surprisingly enough, this show makes me care even about the one episode characters to the degree that I find their deaths frustrating. It’s pretty good at character deaths overall

Favourite guest star: Does Craig Owens count? Because he only had two appearances in total. And the second one was genuinely a surprise to me; I was sure that The Lodger would be a stand-alone, never to be seen again kind of deal

Favourite cast member: John Barrowman! David Tennant! Freema Agyeman! I love all three of them and seeing them in other things always makes me really happy!

Character you wish was still alive: I mean, Bill. Can you imagine if the lesbian companion had gotten to meet 13?? Death :D

One thing you hope really happens: Martha. I mean, come on. Jack is back, Jack warned the Doctor, promised to be there when needed. There’s no way Jack lost contact with Martha and Mickey, even with those two off in space fighting aliens alone. I’d love for this... very, very big plotline that is currently happening to include the Doctor’s old friends coming back once more to help.

Most shocking twist: I mean... I mean it’s gotta be this series’ Surprise Origin Story. Like, I still can’t quite comprehend that one.

When did you start watching/reading?: As mentioned above, when it first started airing in Germany

Best animal/creature: Does the TARDIS count as a creature? Because then Sexy wins!

Favourite location: THE TARDIS. I wish they’d show it more often just casually. I wanna see the companions hang out in there, I wanna see their rooms, see that indoor pool and stuff

Trope you wish they would stop using: "OH NO THE DALEKS ARE STILL ALIVE AFTER THE LAST TIME I TRIED GENOCIDE ON THEM *gasp*”... Like. The very first time they brought them “back from the dead”, it was really cool because as a newbie you never met them before but you get they are important. Then they were wiped out. And then they returned again. And okay, sure. So they were wiped out again. And miraculously survied again.

Look, I get it. Doctor Who has three recurring entities in the villain gallery who are like... obligatory - the Master, the Daleks and the Cybermen. But for the love of everything, stop trying to show it as a “surprise twist” that the bad guy is a Dalek like we all knew they’re coming they’re the cockroaches of the universe, they ALWAYS surprise, stop acting like we should be shocked that they’re back again.

Every time, the Doctor goes Pikachu meme but with sad eyes and like just... have the Doctor groan, kick a Dalek and go “not you again”, instead of “how did you POSSIBLY survive THIS? :O” because after the sixth miracuous survival of a genocide, it stops being a surprise twist... -_-

One thing this show/book/film does better than others: Clearly something, because it has me come back for more like a masochist despite me being a character-driven viewer - me, abandoning the show after the first series was very in character, because I’m attached to characters and if you routinely replace all the characters, that’s... not really my thing. Somehow, this show defies the odds there

Funniest moments: JACK FLIRTING WITH PEOPLE AND THE DOCTOR GOING “NO STOP THAT!” xDDD

Couple you would like to see: NONE. NO ROMANCE. KEEP THAT SHIT OUT OF MY DW!!! Urgh. Just give me fun found family space adventures. I swear ever since the cast announcement I have had a twitchy eyebrow waiting if they’ll push for Ryan/Yaz and so far I am sooo glad they are NOT. I just... want friendship and space adventures, no fucking romance. At all. Not with the Doctor, not between companions. No drama

Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: ...to stay in character, I have to say Dominic Sherwood. Partially because I am obsessed with him, but also because I WANNA HEAR HIS BRITISH ACCENT FOR A WHOLE ASS SERIES PLEASE

I would also like to see the return of James Marsters though. Time Heist teased by showing his face and acknowledging his existence in Doctor Who (it’s not like DW has acknowledged a whole lot of Torchwood canon so far, considering the catastrophic events TW has dealt with without the Doctor...), so that had me kind of hopeful he may at least cameo for an episode...

Favourite outfit: I looove Martha’s red leather jacket and Jack’s coat

Favourite item: The chameleon device

Do you own anything related to this show/book/film?: *clears throat awkwardly* ...Yes?

a metro card holder thingy with the TARDIS on it,

an I pin I have on my pencil case,

a necklace with a miniature TARDIS,

a necklace with the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey quote in a swirl on it,

a necklace with a Weeping Angel pendant,

a mug with the 10th Doctor as a cat on it,

a lanyard with Police Call Box written all over and a miniature TARDIS dangling on it

a TARDIS dress,

a whoosh-sound making door opening TARDIS with size-fitting figures of the 10th Doctor, Jack, Martha, K9, Idris, 11, Rory and John Hart (it’s James Marsters’ pretty face, okay?),

a Funko Pop 10th Doctor,

another TARDIS but this one is smaller and can’t open,

a larger TARDIS that can open (and is the right size for my Doctor Whooves),

a Doctor Whooves (if that counts since he’s technically My Little Pony but also he’s the Doctor so like...),

a TARDIS-blue stuffed owl with Police Owl written on it,

the first four series on DVD,

a poster from the 50th Anniversary with the War Doctor walking away from an explosion and 10 and 11 on either side of him,

a pocket watch that is the chameleon device

What house/team/group/friendship group/family/race etc would you be in?: Mmmh I would like to be on the current team the most, I think? Generally speaking, their adventures were less intense than most others and I dig the family vibe

Most boring plotline: Boring, huh? There are always a couple stinkers, at least one in each series, but a really boring plotline was... Clara’s post-Impossible-Girl one. I LOVED her as the Impossible Girl, she was so interesting and I think that after she went into the Doctor’s timeline, the character should have been retired. Have her, I don’t know, dissolve there, since she is spread out through time. But that she stuck around was... not good, for her character? Her love drama with Danny was incredibly boring and not fun to watch (especially when she tried to kill the Doctor :D)

Most laughably bad moment: THAT FUCKING MOON EPISODE. THE FUCKING EPISODE WHERE THE FUCKING MOON TURNED INTO A FUCKING EGG AND AN ALIEN HATCHED TO THEN LAY A NEW MOON EGG IMMEDIATELY AFTER BEING BORN AND HUMANS JUST FUCKING SHRUGGED THAT SHIT OFF. Urgh. There are a lot of cringey things happening on this show, but this takes by far the crown. It was so stupid, so dumb, so ridiculous

Best flashback/flashfoward if any: Every time we learn more about the Doctor’s past *^*

Most layered character: I... I mean the Doctor. So many layers, so many lives, so many years

Most one dimensional character:Mh, this is harder... Among the not one-episode-off characters? I guess Nardole. Like, sure, good guy, but... not really all that deep that one

Scariest moment: Blink with the Weeping Angels. They lost A LOT of their scariness the more they were used - Moffat really overused them, in my opinion; they would have done better only appearing very rarely. But that first episode with them was just daaamn

Grossest moment: Cassandra?? Woman only made of skin?

Best looking male: CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS

Best looking female: MARTHA JONES

Who you’re crushing on (if any): Martha Jones

Favourite cast moment: John and David being cute behind the scenes is always amazing, but the bes moment is definitely the 500 Miles video!

Favourite transportation: The TARDIS, that’s not even a question!

Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): Whenever we get to see (not destroyed) Gallifrey? It’s so gorgeous??

Unanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you:SO MANY AFTER THAT LAST SERIES. But also things like: Where did Clara fuck off to in her flying diner? What exactly is Jack doing now that there is no Torchwood anymore? How in the world did Torchwood ever even work like how was the Doctor just never around during these gigantic problems?? WHO WAS THE DOCTOR’S FIRST WIFE? And what was the Doctor’s child like? Because the only one ever even mentioned is the Doctor’s granddaughter Susan, but a granddaughter implies one more generation between. WHERE IS JENNY? Since she is also the Doctor’s daughter but also just fucked off into space and like why is she not trying to track her parent down??

Best promo: I mean, it clearly works when they show me Jack’s face so that’d be it for me :D”

At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: At the series 4 finale, as above more elaborately explained

IN DEPTH FANDOM QUESTIONS

#Doctor Who #In-Depth Fandom Ask Game #send me asks #fantasylover16

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ultrakeystotheheartblog · 6 years ago

Text

Not So Alone (Part 2) (Teen Titans x Reader)

Part 2 of 2

Request: Requested by multiple people.

“Uhm, your teen titans imagine was?? so great?? I would totally love a sequel omg (only if u want obv)”

“Omg please I just read the fic and want a sequel too so badddd you don’t have to if you don’t want to but I’d be super hype to see it and read and scream because the first parts great” - @laneygthememequeen

A/N: I’m back! I’m not dead! And I am definitely going to write an update some time soon to explain everything that’s happened, but for right now I’m just gonna go ahead and say thank you again for all the positive comments and support that the first part received. I wasn’t expecting so many people to enjoy it, so I was over the moon at the response. With that said, I hope you all enjoy this part too ♥♥♥

(PS: This was the imagine that got the most votes, so the final part for my Jason Todd fic will be coming next! And, uh, It’s already turning out like a novel guys, prepare yourselves).

Warning: Swearing. Little bit of angst, but mostly a whole lot of fluff.

*********************************************************************************

You can’t help but feel that something is not quite right today.

Things are quiet.

Too quiet.

There’s no bouncing music or flashing video games, no arguing, no laughing, no daily echoes of training or disastrous calamities unfolding in the kitchen. No doting, friendly teammates to regale you with their presence (as what’s been the norm for the past few weeks while you’ve begrudgingly, slowly, began to heal from your injuries). No, the Tower is practically, for lack of a better or less ironic term, dead. And has been for most of the day—a husk of boredom and loneliness and one too many pieces of cold, leftover pizza.

Not to mention that looming cloud that’s followed over your head, a suspicious kind of quiet that’s been pressing in all around you like a swarm of invisible hands, seeping into the very foundation of the room. It’s been keeping you teetering on the edge of a pinpoint for literal hours—your fight or flight response practically grinding its teeth in preparation for an inevitable...something. And all the while you sink further into the entertainment room’s monstrous, curved couch and try to focus on ‘relaxing’.

Ha.

You’d be more relaxed if you knew where everyone disappeared to.

But alas, you do not—no matter how much the urge to snoop is (and you so want to snoop), because that’s not what friends do. At least, you think it’s not. You have to admit, it’s been a long time since you’ve considered anyone a friend, but you’re trying. Trying to let go of the past. Trying to be vulnerable. To be good. To be open. And you very much find yourself liking all the ensuing, chaotic changes in your life recently. But you’re rusty and unsure, and always, always, waiting for some other shoe to drop.

You don’t want it to.

You really don’t want it to.

But sometimes you wonder if it would give you some sort of relief from all the waiting—if that metaphorical shoe just got it over with already and put its ugly, metaphorical foot down. So you could breathe without all this pinchy, backwards kind of guilt you’ve been storing up inside for years, waiting to finally punch out into the world like a nest of angry wasps. Like you should feel bad for wanting to be a part of something....something more.

You’ve always hated just waiting for something to happen. But here you are now; alone, completely over-thinking the meaning of life, and left to stew in a concoction of sulky feelings that leaves you nauseous in a way you’ve worked so hard to forget.

So.

With your sore legs propped up onto the coffee table for comfort, you just continue to glare at the blank TV screen and watch your faded reflection in the shine of the glass, biting bitterly into the last of the pizza crust from the plate balanced in your lap.

ZuZu (as declared by Star the morning you’d first woken up—words tripping in a rush of excitement and a stream of breathless chatter about some sort of inspiration from an earth movie—while she gently sits the little creature into your lap with a ceremonious flourish of her arms) flops onto their belly to find a more comfortable position beside you.

Their front legs tuck underneath their bulk, long, spiked tail curling around their body in looping circles, before they come to rest their head on your hip, staring intensely at the leftover crust between your fingers.

They’re about the size of a small dog, heavy and wide, with the hybrid body structure of some sort of lizard and a...well, a bear. Their face is coated in silky auburn fur, snout ridged and twitchy, large heavy-lidded, expressive pink eyes set deep in their sockets. The majority of their torso and back legs are scaled and shiny, while three stripes of that autumn colored fur zigzag down their back, their front legs thick and capped with massive fuzzy paws and hooked dark claws. But the most distinctive features are the large, pleated creases of skin which usually lay folded back against their head and neck.

A frill, like you remember seeing once, adorning a lizard from some travelling petting zoo. It’s supported by long spines of cartilage connected to each side of their jaw bone, and when spread to encircle the entirety of their head, is lined in pink and filled with bright orange scales.

Beast Boy called it a ‘deimatic display’ that first day, a behavior or reaction of patterns and colors used like a defensive bluff—akin to beady eyes on the back of a moth’s wings or selective changes in the body pattern of a cuttlefish—manipulated to startle, display a warning, or distract predators. But it seems ZuZu is able to use it a bit differently—a slight alien twist to the reaction, which allows them to communicate solely through a language formed by varying flashes and multitudes of color.

You’ve all been scrambling to figure out the meanings behind each display lately, trading yes or no questions with the creature at any given point throughout the day, before documenting any noticeable details in the Tower’s staggering, inexhaustible database.

Red, you’ve found quickly, suggests that they’re annoyed, or angry, or generally, exceedingly, unhappy about something. Yellow, on the other hand, simply implies content in the most peaceful sense. And pink? That’s become their version of taunting—something smug and annoyingly self-assured, which seems to be their more….colourful version of resting bitch face.

You grunt at the heavy weight of ZuZu’s head as it presses more firmly against bruised muscles and skin, hidden away beneath the cozy, cotton sweatpants you’d wrestled from the bottom of your closet. It doesn’t keep you from slipping deeper though, into the clouded memories shrouding that first dreamlike morning after finally waking.

Robin—grinning, more relaxed then you’d ever seen him, and already lying back in his spot beside you on the bed—had leaned over when Star finally took a moment to find her breath, voice dipping low as he casually filled in the most obvious, glaring blanks in her story. He explained how they’d come upon ZuZu while rushing you back to the tower for medical attention—left behind by their master, defensive and shaking, and hidden away beneath the burning hot rubble from unlucky buildings crushed during the Jump City attack.

You can vaguely recall those creatures and their part in the invasion, as you hold the curious, unwavering stare of your new housemate. You pinpoint a fuzzy recollection of hundreds of similar alien hybrids, large percents of them being used as cannon fodder against the city’s responding defense—some sort of attack dogs or bloodhounds originally breed for what seemed to be an unparalleled sense of incoming danger. And a lethal aptitude for sniffing out and marking targets, even in the most extreme of circumstances. All to make the invading attack’s that much more…. precise.

Equally as shaken and heartbroken, both Starfire and Beast Boy insisted on giving little ZuZu a home, one without the need for cold masters and needless sacrifices.

Robin admitted that it took some convincing to get him to agree, but that he caved to them rather quickly, like the truly soft-hearted dork you know he is on the inside. The one, you’ve been noticing, that is no longer carefully tempered behind masks both metaphorical and literal (like those you’d learned to cultivate for yourself, to ensure your own survival among the flocks of good and evil in this world)—all veils of enigmatic charm and cool leadership, strategy and logic.

(While for just as long, you had mused, you refined your wall of sarcasm and teasing, and strained, plastic smiles. Even as fate saw it fit to laugh and thrust you into the role of cosmic punching bag in both a figurative and literal sense).

Because Robin is never really one to deny a safe haven to someone, especially an orphan, in need.

And it’s not too hard to understand why.

It’s one quality you’ve only caught glimpses of, before the attempted invasion and one too many near-death experiences changed everything.

Your once positive opinion on lizards.

Your practical, humanly limitations regarding the ability to eat your weight in cold, cheese pizza.

Your mostly cynical take on all the possible wonders of this life.

Your team and their conduct—their outreach of friendship, their measure of trust and willing openness towards you.

Your place among them. Your.... the need for the permanence of those masks.

All while you’ve been learning to come to terms with this warm, slowly blossoming….strange feeling of finally belonging.

ZuZu shifts to find a different angle, and then they’re sliding their head further into your lap, situating themselves just underneath your hovering hand. Your sullen gaze darts down to examine them again in the cresting evening sunlight, their lithe body bathed in an orange light that softens the harsh lines and edges of bluish-green scales, until they’re all but glittering like some magnificent, stain-glass fish below rippling water.

Shit, they’re so wonderfully unique, maybe too much so, for a world that tears down all that’s different in the name of fear (and this you know all too well). They’re intelligent and hardheaded, and kind of an absolute dick if you’re being honest. But you can’t help but feel close to the little creature, and hope, however possibly (awfully) misguided, that it’s at least somewhat mutual. After all, for all their rough edges and guarded, worldly acceptance, they were learning to fit in here—just like you.

The flash of a long, forked tongue startles you from your thoughts, and you catch sight of it in your peripheral, snapping out towards the piece of half-eaten crust in your hand before you can even process where it’s suddenly emerged from. You jerk away clumsily on reflex, letting the crust plummet back to the plate in your lap as you lean to the side, trying to avoid the persistent little alien. You hoist the plate up and out of their reach at a safer distance—though not without a twinge of pain that bursts like fireworks in your shoulders.

You glare down at them in admonishment.

Well then.

Earlier sentiment revoked, actually.

ZuZu narrows their intensely bright eyes right back at you, their frill rising from their neck like the hackles of an angry dog. The trim pleats of skin folded there flutter in anticipation before finally sweeping open with the rippling, fluid grace of a hand-held folding fan. The pretty scales lining the exposed frill change colour almost instantly when they hit the open air, flaring a deep red when you stick your tongue out at ZuZu in an act of childish defiance.

Yeah, someone’s no longer a happy camper now, are they? Well, join the club, pal.

You can’t always get what you want. Because no matter what you do, life just likes to screw you in the—

It takes a total of three, distracted seconds.

The offending tongue snaps out at an impossible length to hit the surface of the plate. It’s like some cartoon frog catching a fly that’s far enough out of reach to be considered natural, the appendage wrapping around one end of the half-bitten crust, before proudly reeling it back down into a waiting mouth. Their jaw snaps shut again with an audible click of teeth, and they swallow their prize whole and much too slowly, flashing you a fanged smile that gives you the creeps.

Or you do, you find yourself bitterly amending in the wake of defeat, especially when you’re a terrifying space gremlin with freakish mouth biology. Why are you even awake again today?

You sag into the couch cushions with an unexpected wave of soul-weary tiredness, a full body and mind exhaustion creeping upon the fringes of your being, though you’d been fighting it off rather successfully for most of the month.

You lower the empty plate to sit on the surface of the coffee table—while grumbling under your breath about the reigning injustice of such snack-stealing gremlins in your midst—and lean even more precariously forward. Much farther than you normally would consider doing without others around, but you persist in you reach, getting a good grip on the propped up crutch you’ve left leaning against the table.

You struggle to your feet then, deciding to leave the main living room to find something more productive to do (rather than wallowing and getting your food pilfered from beneath your slowly healing, broken nose). ZuZu watches you silently from their cozy napping spot, gaze tracking you as you begin to hobble around the couch on your way from the room. You toss a half-hearted, parting wave to Starfire’s first adopted friend—a chunky, gooey, mutant moth larvae dubbed little Silkie, snoring away beneath an open side table near the couch.

It’s good going, until something unexpected flutters down from the ceiling with the grace of falling snow—just as you’re about to cross the threshold into the hallway. Your gaze follows the swirling path of the shiny, red and black length of foil as it lands near your feet. A candy wrapper.

Huh.

Strange.

You pause in your journey and peer down at it for a moment, bewildered enough to take a full step back before finally looking up to retrace its fallen path.

And okay, so in hind sight, you kind of wish you hadn’t left the couch.

A single, suspiciously green, bat drops like a stone from the ceiling once it’s seen, swooping down over your head with a panicked flutter of leathery wings. You shout and unashamedly curse like a drunken sailor, ducking in surprise to further avoid the little needle talons that brush across the top of your head. Beast Boy turns human once he clears your form and hits the floor, once again completely, frustratingly, naked when he hops up to his feet.

He tries to quickly console you, only to jump back in order to dodge the fear-driven swing of your crutch.

“Hey! It’s just me!!” He exclaims, hands held out towards you. You sling your cast over your eyes and wonder just how bad it would be if you bleached them clean of the searing, full-frontal image that lingers just behind them.

“WEAR PANTS.” You demand in alarm.

“They’re not comfortable!” He complains. Eyes still tightly shut, you shake your head and gesture wildly at him, throwing out your plaster covered arm to wave it around in loose, frantic circles. “PANTS!” You insist in a higher voice. “Fine!”

He mutters something else, low and displeased under his breath, and then goes to dig out a familiar non-descript bag you’re used to finding at random—usually full of extra clothes and stashed around the tower, or other frequent hangout places around the city—hidden away within the grassy, potted plant next to you both. You choose to ignore the obvious sass he’s exuding in protest, cracking open an eye just a bit to make sure he’s following through.

He smoothly tugs his purple and black uniform free from the depths of the shiny leaves, wrangling on the bottom half with a pout as quickly as he can, and before you know it, he’s already shrugging the fabric up over his narrow shoulders.

(Though to your satisfaction he’s careful of the stitches still lining his spine). You sigh in relief, “Just—oh my god, what were even you doing up there in the first place?!”

Beast Boy works his mouth in silence as though he can’t find the right words to explain at the moment, bottom canines glinting as he squints up through the fluorescent lights and tosses the empty bag to rest beside the plant. He seems to be thinking hard about his answer (you hope), his gaze dropping to you after a few seconds of awkward, disbelieving silence. He shrugs, apparently deciding it’s appropriate to simply respond with a pair of finger-guns and a strained grin. “....hanging around?”

…..

You think you’re starting to miss those dragon-tailed, sumo alien’s from space-hell.

Your shoulders slump as the pent up energy from your frustration and sudden scare seeps from your body all at once. You groan, lifting your crutch up to point at him, the tip barely brushing against his chest. “You’re dead to me.” You proclaim lightly. Beast Boy rolls his eyes, and after securing the clasp on the back of his suit with a small chuckle, reaches out to gently lower the makeshift weapon. “Oh, come on—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, moving to hobble around him and retreat to your room. You shouldn’t have gotten up today. Nope. Call it a bad feeling. Something is going on around here and you are getting the hell out while you can. He slides into your path immediately, cutting of your escape with a smooth glide across the hardwood flooring. You narrow your eyes, shuffling to move around him again. He meets you like before, lunging closer still with each attempt to counteract your movements. You huff and stare him down, feeling like a Spanish bull in the ring, ready to charge the moment you see an opening. “BB, move.” You warn lowly.

He throws out his arms to either side of him, blocking your way when you take a threatening step forward. “Can’t do that.” He chirps, puffing out his chest to seem more confident in his current position, while beginning to look as though he’s starting to regret his life’s choices, what with the way you’re gaze is cutting into his very soul. (Positively icy. You’d practiced that, rest in peace).

But he doesn’t move.

You frown and glare at him suspiciously, forcing your heavy limbs to cooperate with you for a moment. You take a step to the right, and as expected Beast Boy mirrors your movement, but your body isn’t as fast as you remember it. And he knows it. You careen to the left to try and complete your fake-out, but Beast Boy anticipates the slow sway of your body, following the uneven momentum like a puppet on strings to block your way yet again.

He reaches out to steady you when you wobble, legs shaking with the sudden quick strain on your knees, and you wince at the flair of pain. Crappy broken body. You shake him off angrily, more upset at yourself then at him, and strike your crutch against the floor with a wave of strength (propelled simply by the heated frustration you feel festering in your chest like icky, wriggling worms). “Beast Bo—Gar, I’m serious.” You hiss in annoyance, ignoring the ricocheting twinge of pain that shoots up into your shoulder at the action.

“Believe it or not, so am I!” He defends, hands flying to his hips.

“Debatable.” You snap back.

“Rude.”

“Twenty bucks on (Y/N).” A new, deeper voice declares with obvious amusement. You spin to face the living room again, Beast Boy peeking around you to get a better view. Cyborg and Starfire are standing before you, having appeared out of thin air and quiet as can be, the latter of the duo looking as though she could just burst with excitement. More than usual. Cyborg’s gaze cuts to you when he notices the way you’re staring at her in confusion, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently to sooth the absurd tremble of her body.

Okay. Double suspicious.

They’re dressed in casual clothes; Starfire in high-waisted, purple shorts and a stylish pink sweater that hangs off her shoulders, her wild red hair tied back into a ponytail and her feet bare, smile wide. Cyborg is donned in sweatpants and an old blue and yellow football jersey you think might have seen better days once, newly buffered limbs gleaming under the lights. Beast Boy pursues his lips and squints up at his friend when he catches sight of the teasing smirk Cyborg trains on him.

“Thanks, dude.” He responds as sarcastically as he can. Starfire spins to face Cyborg with glee, hands clasped in front of her.

“Friend Victor, I too wish to attribute money to the outcome of this argument.” She reveals enthusiastically, leaving you to trade an exhausted look with Beast Boy at the spiraling situation. Cyborg’s grin grows larger, and he winks at you both before giving Starfire his undivided attention.

“Okay.” He relents, staring down at her curiously. “Bettin’ on (Y/N) then?”

Starfire pauses, nose crinkling as she considers the question. “Can I not take part of the betting for both?”

“No, Star, it doesn’t really—” Cyborg begins, sighing with reluctance when she only continues to look up at him expectantly. “You know what? Sure.” He amends with a shrug, rubbing at the back of his head. Starfire claps her hands excitedly and laughs, her feet lifting from the floor in her in a rush of elation.

“Glorious!” She exclaims. You almost miss it when Cyborg turns away from her, but you’re able to barely catch the sly way she throws a wink at you too, the quick gesture leaving you reeling in amusement.

Oh shit, what a hero.

You can definitely appreciate a good swindle win you see one. And that was great.

You slump against your crutch and chuckle tiredly, massaging your forehead with the tips of the fingers peeking stiffly from your cast, before raising your arm up to draw their attention.

“Alright, seriously, what’s going on with you guys today? Where’ve you all been? Some secret club within our secret club?” You question fervently, on a new mission as you hobble closer towards them. “I have to admit, I’m kind of offended if that’s the case.”

“Oh, you know, out.” Cyborg says much too casually and unhelpfully for your liking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. Simultaneously, Starfire responds much too quickly.

“In my room!” She declares loudly, unable to stop herself from flinching at the sharp, wide-eyed look Cyborg cuts her. She mouths an apology at him and flashes you a sheepish smile, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

Oh, something is definitely going on. Not on my watch, secret keepers of the crypt.

You squint at them, “Sure. I’ll believe that. But why do I suddenly have a five-foot-furry shadow? One who doesn’t seem to know the concept of the word shame?”

Beast Boy gasps as though he’s never been so insulted in his young life (okay, so you may have possibly taken it a little too far that time. But in your defense, there’s a lot of stressful things going on right now, and the bat thing may have thrown you a little too far over the edge), scurrying around you to passionately wave a random, uh, peace sign in front of your face.

Wait, what?

“Five-foot-two.” He stresses firmly, wiggling both fingers for emphasis. You lean your weight on the single crutch keeping you gloriously upright, reaching out to tug his hand down with a groan.

“So not the point, batboy.”

“Hey! Bats are cool!”

“Ha! You know what else is cool?” You question sarcastically, nestling your casted arm against your chest as you lean forward to regard him with an arched eyebrow. “Not scaring the living shit of a person who’s already legally died twice from heart failure.”

Beast Boy concedes to your logic with a grimace, no doubt fighting off a burst of vivid memory on the subject.

“Point taken.” He agrees.

Cyborg pads over to you with a muffled laugh, giving your upper back a hearty, friendly slap that propels you forward a few steps. “Aw, B.B.’s just doing his job. Lighten up, (Y/N/N).”

You stumble with a strangled sound and work to regain your balance yourself through burning muscles, gripping the handle and uprights of the crutch as tightly as you can. You always forget how strong he is. And sometimes, though not often, so does he. Cyborg winces, flexing his fingers while he graces you with an apologetic smile. You raise an eyebrow at him; eyes locked intently on his face, as though you could simply reach into his mind and know all with a simple blink, and subtly tilt your head towards Beast Boy.

"And that means I can't leave one single room?"

"It was more to keep you busy." Cyborg admits with a grin that makes you all too nervous.

Okay, red flag. Were you sweating? You might be sweating. They weren’t the…vengeful type, right? It’s not really your fault you tend to stress eat. Though….

"What are you all planning?" You ask again, unconsciously scanning the corners of room behind them for your two missing team members. Why do you feel like you’re about to be ambushed? Starfire hops forward like she’s stepping on air, looping her arm through yours and shaking it gently as she leans into you. Then she begins to drag you forward the smallest bit.

"Something wonderful!” She responds in that giddy way of hers, green eyes simmering with something impassioned and restless when they focus on your dumbfounded expression—fire brimming from her touch and her very being. She leans in closer and continues in a secretive whisper, which you think was meant to be soothing at some point between her thought process and strange execution. “But you must come to the roof to see it, my friend."

The….roof?

What’s so special about the fucking—

Oh.

….

Sonuvabitch.

To be completely honest, you knew it would somehow end like this. Betrayed by a moment of weakness and reduced to seething shame and broken trust, only to be real-life ghosted and then unceremoniously Mufasa-ed by your own team. A dramatic, imminent doom of Disney proportions. Ugh, what an embarrassing way to go. You really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning like some normal, model citizen with an inane urge to contribute to society. What an idiot.

Still….maybe you’re just being a little over-dramatic here. Heroes usually have non-murdery morals, don’t they? Which is a big step up from your last group of…yeah….they weren’t even close to friends. Still, you can never be too careful these days. Right? Right.

You pull back from Starfire, trying to sound teasing as you respond, while barreling through your baseless internal panic and sprinkle of sugar-riddled guilt. How do you always get yourself into these messes?

"Is this the part where you throw me from the top? For finishing off the leftover cake without telling anyone?"

Beast Boy’s jaw drops.

"That was you?!"

Of course it was.

You laugh nervously and much too awkwardly to be convincing while you scramble to backtrack, "What?! Of course not!"

It was so good.

Starfire looks kind of horrified at your earlier insinuation about the roof, and she pulls away from you completely, eyes wide and unbelieving. She gasps, "We would never!"

Cyborg’s eyebrow shoots up as he studies your reaction. He frowns, lifting a hand to rub at his chin with an exaggerated sweep of his arm—as though he’s taking a moment to think more deeply about the matter—his metal fingers clunk-ing in the blanketing silence when they meet the thick, metal plate covering it. He sounds playful when he speaks up, and you know he’s not taking the news as hard as Gar currently is.

"Well, now you've given me a lot to think about." He says slowly, amusement thick in his voice and vibrantly pulsing beneath his already crumbling, disappointed façade.

You wonder when it was exactly—when you’d unconsciously began to find his eagerly outspoken and protective spirit, his overly intense and personal pride (in all manners of technological tinkering and projects), and awful, awful acting, somewhat endearing. Maybe it was around the same time you’d grown rather fond of Beast Boy’s organic simplicity with life or perfectly-timed wit, his endearing, steadfast spirit and dorky, down-to-earth charm (though you would deny any accusation that says otherwise, pretending to find his endless stream of puns nothing but annoying).

Or Starfire’s unfathomable warmth and, mostly smothering, overzealous passion in all things, no matter how small—a burning, extraterrestrial sun with a warrior’s soul and an open heart. Or Raven’s sarcastic calm and quiet disposition, a hopeful kind of darkness—as encompassing as it mystifying—which brings peace in ways one wouldn’t expect or think they needed.

Or Robin. Noble and kind, brooding, insufferably stubborn, Robin—with an annoying competitive streak that rivals even you. Your outwardly, fearless friend and leader, a little birdie who keeps you from slipping back into your cold, old ways while still wanting to be a part of something better. To be a Titan. Time and time again. And—

Ah, fuck. You’ve gotten so sappy lately.

Near death experiences are the worst.

You roll your eyes at Cyborg, regardless of that grating, growing itch of sentimentality crawling up from your chest and into your throat like a rock, all the while fighting down the upwards twitch your lips.

"Oh, shut up.” You mutter, ducking your head so he won’t see as you move to hobble past the group back into the centre of the living room. “Even though I'm at my weakest right now, it doesn't mean I won't fight you."

Cyborg drops his arm and laughs, "I don't doubt it."

Beast Boy ducks around him; sparing no time as he shrinks down to the form of a chattering, green squirrel. Without breaking stride, he dashes towards your slowing figure, leaping forward to scale the rungs of your crutch.

You jump at the sudden weight and list sideways, the vibration of his hurried ascent and the clattering of his nails against metal throwing you out of your concentrated state. You lean back too fast in surprise, catching the back of the couch with the underside of your cast to keep yourself somewhat upright, and wait with a raised brow as he moves to pull himself up onto the crutch pad at the top.

"Besides, you proved you’re anything but weak when you kicked Death’s ass! Multiple times.” He chirps proudly, settling back onto his little hind legs to stare up at you, bushy tail twitching and dark eyes round and glinting when they catch the light. “You're a survivor. Always have been.”

You grin, feeling satisfied that he finally seems to be more…relaxed about your injuries now (as opposed to the annoying, but much appreciated, panicked mother-henning you’d experienced throughout the first few weeks back on your feet). You have a sneaking suspicion Cyborg had a hand in this recent development—bless his beautiful, understanding soul—and you make a mental note to treat him to a pizza night soon. Or just hug him really, really tight in relief.

You heft your cast from the couch to hold out two fingers towards Beast Boy.

"And always will be." You agree. He reaches out with a shrill, happy squeak, tapping a front paw against them in a painfully adorable semblance of a high-five. Starfire joins you by the couch and lays her hand against your upper back, right between your shoulder blades, the swelling heat of it soothing the ache and strain of your poor muscles. Her gentle touch slides up, mindful of the bruises still splattered like patchwork across your skin, until you feel her lightly squeeze your shoulder.

"Very much like the warriors of old from my planet." She tells you softly, a smile pulling at her lips when your eyes dart up to look at her. It’s then you realize that all three of them are now looking at you rather expectantly, attention solely trained on your face as the room falls into an eager kind of silence. One that is quick to twist your abdomen into fluttering, nervous knots.

Right, you think with a start, there was something about the roof—something they wanted me to see. You hesitate (is it getting hot in here, or is that just you self-combusting?), gaze jumping to each of your friends in turn. They continue to stare you down with purpose, waiting for your consent to be dazzled and thoroughly surprised, before you catch the barest hint of movement in your peripheral vision. You glance down at the back of the couch, wanting to scream your frustration to the sky, when you take in the wide, furry face peering back up at you.

Oh, not you too, ZuZu. You traitor.

She locks those intelligent eyes on you. He glowing pink gaze is intent and reprimanding, and god, you’re actually—silently, awkwardly—getting told off by an adorable lizard-themed care bear, who hails from the far reaches of infinity and beyond the known galaxy. What has your life come too? And the worst part is you don’t think you’re strong enough to—oh, goddamit. Peer pressure is a bitch.

"Alright.” You relent with a groan, throwing ZuZu a pointed, disgruntled look (which she simply counters with a glowing pink frill and mischievous wink, a move that has you breathing deeply to avoid just chucking your crutch across the room in defiance of it all). You turn to gesture at the others, “Fine. Let's get this show on the road then."

Beast Boy leaps down from the top of the crutch before you’ve even finished talking, his tiny shape shifting into the much larger form of a tiger once he touches down (more gracefully than you’d expected him to). He gives a little throaty growl in excitement, circling in place to get his bearings. And then with a sudden focus that makes you laugh, he’s bounding in a rush to slink between Cyborg and Starfire—his gaze already intensely trained down the hallway that leads towards the elevator.

"Sweet! Now you’re talking!" He exclaims with a swish of his tail, pausing only for a moment to throw a look back at Cyborg, the familiar imitation of a fanged grin even more terrifying with larger, sharper teeth on display. "Dibs on the donuts!"

Uh, donuts??

Cyborg groans and scrubs a hand over his face, stepping forward with his other hand outstretched, as if he could keep his excited friend from moving with just sheer force of will. "No! You don't get to just—Gar!"

Starfire tilts her head and watches until Beast Boy disappears around the curve of the hallway, "You have to admire his will power up until this moment." She points out, reaching out to brush a soothing touch to Cyborg’s shoulder.

He gives her a solemn nod in agreement. "...true." "Hi, yeah, still confused." You slowly iterate, when it’s clear they’re going to say nothing more on the manner, and looking hilariously haunted, just stare out into the middle distance like some kind of dramatic dork-asses. You can’t help it though—you want answers. You’ve been officially intrigued (donuts are always a good sign and nothing will convince you otherwise) and that cat-damning curiosity in you can never be quieted for long, so help you.

“Are we still going to the roof?”

Cyborg is the first to shake himself to attention, and he swings around to look at you with a knowing grin that tells you’re probably about to regret opening your mouth again. Probably. You guess?

…..

Okay, so you might be already exhausted enough now, with all this moving about and floundering, moral turmoil, to deal with any mysterious roof meetings and their possible consequences—and there’s no truly hiding it, or just burying it away for future you to worry about come morning (damn, why is past you always such a dick?).

Which leaves you decidedly awash in a ‘My mind is an emotional dumpster fire and all I want is to hibernate for forty years’ kind of way, unable to completely distinguish the nuances of your feelings on anything happening within a 10 foot radius.

Especially since you’d….broken that quiet morning after the attack, finally reconciling with a screeching realization you’d been pushing back for years—even with all that damaged purpose, all that strength and determination and precious time you’d flooded into looking after yourself and only you, instead of worrying about others and how they might screw with you this time, you’d left yourself open anyway. Unwillingly, accidently, raw—like an exposed nerve adrift in the cosmos and crying out for relief.

Someone in power must have had mercy on you at last though, because you have friends. Good friends who are good people. And you love them in your own rough-around-the-edges way (is that the right word here? Love? You hope that’s the right word—it feels like the right word); but there’s no chance you’re ever going to tell any of them that. It’s become too embarrassing to even think about in your own mind, let alone out loud where they could actually...hear you.

But you’re not going to let all your personal baggage stop you now. Not while there’s the promise of donuts anyway.

Yeah, your priorities might need a little sorting out.

"Come on." Cyborg says, already treading backwards in the direction Beast Boy had gone. Starfire zips past you with ease, cutting around the corner like a fish would dart through deep water.

Her laugh echoes through the hall as she vanishes from sight, "Oh, this is going to be such a joyous occasion!"

Cyborg takes his time to snicker at the nervous grimace on your face. But you valiantly choose to be the bigger person here (no matter how much you want to knock your head against the nearest wall and see if your middle finger still works within the stiffness of a cast), simply rolling your eyes as you hobble to catch up to him around the bend in the hallway. He slows his pace without a word until you’re following closely at his side.

“So why aren’t we taking the elevator?” You inquire, watching as the thick metal doors slide past in your peripheral. It’s then you spot the other two loitering around by the door to the stairs.

The plot thickens.

Cyborg struggles to squash his playful grin, “Occupied.”

“By...”

“A second surprise. Now come on.” He diverts smoothly, waving his hand over the sensor for the door once Beast Boy and Starfire step away to make room for you both. It slides open from left to right with a mechanical hiss, and you peer in to the brightly lit stairwell with a raised brow. The glaring, white fluorescent lights are already giving you a headache.

“How do you expect me to get up the stairs?”

“Easy.”

“Oh, really? Easy? What are you even—”

The world shifts like a seesaw in your vision and you can barely comprehend the next few seconds: the way Cyborg stoops low enough to knock out the backs of your knees, the simultaneous rush of weightlessness—a fluttering, dizzying drop in your stomach that stalls the very breath in your chest—or even the jumbled burst of restrained laughter and disapproving click of a tongue which dissipates almost as soon as it starts.

And you tip backwards into his arms with flailing limbs and a startled yelp as you’re gently scooped up, hanging shocked and boneless until he swings you up to cling onto his back like some sort of panicked koala. Cyborg laughs more boisterously as you lose your crutch in the commotion, grip loosening in your surprise until it slips entirely from your hold and vanishes from reach, the telltale clattering of metal against ground echoing from somewhere off to the side.

“—goddammit, Vic!” You gasp when the world stands still again, sucking in air for your breathless lungs. “A little warning!”

He simply cups the back of your knees and holds your legs tightly over the ridged, triangular slab of metal casing his hips, slowly straightening to his full, giant height again. It gives you a moment to throw your arms around his neck for safety and squeeze with all your reprimanding might. Cyborg turns to look at you with a teasing smirk you’re all too familiar with, before stepping further into the doorway.

“Comfortable there, Grumpy?”

“You’re the worst.” You announce without any real bite, leaning back to scan the floor for your missing crutch. It doesn’t take you long to realize that Starfire has already rescued it, hugging the dented metal pole to her chest with a look of determination. She catches your relieved gaze over Cyborg’s shoulder and nods as if reassuring you that she’s got everything handled now, gently patting the cushioned padding at the top of the crutch.

And then her eyes eagerly snap to Cyborg.

You can’t see his face from your vantage point, but you think he’s relaying permission with the way he tilts his head towards the stairs. Both Starfire and Beast Boy rocket forward in any case, barely sidestepping around you in their race up the first flight of stairs. Cyborg follows them without hesitation, and you can hardly wait another moment once your little group hurriedly passes the third floor, before the mystery of the roof becomes too intriguing to avoid any longer.

“So...are Rob and Raven in on this too?” You carefully begin, speaking to no one in particular but hoping someone might answer you anyway. “Cause they've been more mysterious than usual.”

"Grumpy and observant. You know…you'd make a pretty awesome detective too—give Dick some healthy competition around here." Cyborg returns in an innocent manner, which you know for a fact is bullshit. So you lamely thump a fist against the point between the heavy, metal plating circling his neck before it tapers down into his chest, and grumble your displeasure.

"Annnd you're dodging my questions, big guy. Again."

Cyborg says nothing this time and simply uses the firm hold he has under your knees to toss you up a few inches, jostling you free from your comfortable koala cling as though he`s trying to readjust your position. Only you know that’s not what he intended at all—evidenced by the irritating way he starts to laugh while you groan at him and shimmy urgently at his back, trying to right yourself from the haphazard tilt you’d landed in.

"Ugh! I miss being able to walk up a flight of stairs like a normal person!" You whine, bonking your forehead against the smooth, climate-controlled casing covering the back of his head, the vibrations of his full-body laughter rattling straight through you.

Beast Boy goes still ahead of the group, front paw hovering above the next step up. That unsettling tiger grin as he turns to regard you is the only warning you get before the inevitable.

"Eh, I wouldn’t trust these stairs though,” Beast Boy drawls with terrifying purpose, “They always seem like they're…up to something."

Starfire pipes up from her place hovering beside you and Cyborg in perfect comedic timing, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"Well yes, up to the roof—oh...that was..."

Yeah, Kori. Damn.

He waits in the ensuing, hollow silence of the stairwell for a reaction, gaze expectantly darting from person to person until you don’t know whether to laugh or just get mad.

....both?

Alright, okay, here’s the thing.

Though you may have...secretly....begun to appreciate Garfield’s endless arsenal of jokes and puns as much as that next person (you’ve got a reputation to uphold after all), that....was not so good.

You’d face palm if you had complete confidence in your upper body strength as of late, but you definitely do not—especially after that embarrassingly sad attempt to escape to your room earlier (feat. the interference of your awkwardly unexpected, five foot-two bodyguard). And you’d very much like to keep securely clinging for your life atop mount ‘Victory’ Stone instead, rather than somehow (ridiculously) finding some way to slip from his back and fall to a more permanent death down the tower’s two-hundred stairway to hell.

So, you’ll just lock away this existential breakdown for another day and move on. Be the bigger person here, again.

....

Or.

"I think I'm starting to miss the coma." You deadpan with unabashed pettiness (because you’d actually had to listen to that with your own two ears), refusing to give him even the slightest satisfaction of a job well done.

Step up your game, Gar.

You can pinpoint the exact moment Cyborg winces with regret for his friend—his chin dipping down, the glowing blue machinery encasing half his skull whirring with a soft, discomforting humming like he’s finally reduced to just screaming on the inside.

"Oof,” He eventually adds through a long exhale. “I've heard better stuff from you, man."

Beast Boy sniffs in displeasure at your less than positive reactions, "Yo, give me a break; I'm still getting over the pizza thing."

You heft your body up straight to stare him dead in the eyes and lift your unbroken arm, wiggling your fingers over Cyborg’s head in a teasing way. "Let it haunt you for the rest of your daaaays~"

You don’t think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing a hulking, green, murder cat roll its eyes so hard before. But there it is—in all its uncanny, cartoon-like glory. Beast Boy shakes his heavy head and resumes slinking up the stairs, leaving the rest of you to catch up while he throws another line over his shoulder, in a way you know is meant to be a playful declaration of war.

"Which reminds me...” He purrs slyly, “….what did the ghost say when it arrived at the party?"

Starfire taps at her chin in thought, "Ummm hello?”

Beast Boy’s enthusiasm swells with her genuine attempt, and he turns to coax his best friend into answering as well.

"Not quite. Come on, Cy, this is all you dude."

"Can I get a—"

"Victor don't you dare!"

Cyborg merely hums at your desperate interjection, "Uh-oh full name. That's never a good sign."

"Oh!” Starfire’s expression lights up in a way you’re entirely used to by now, and she leaves your side on the flutter of a giddy laugh, hovering quick up the next few steps. She smiles down at Beast Boy once she reaches him, titling her head as he looks up at her with an animated flick of his tail.

“I believe I know this one. May I?" She quietly gushes, twirling to lounge back gracefully in the air beside him. His head bobs once, long and slow, still flashing that sharp grin.

"Dazzle me, Star."

"Can I get the Boo-ya!!?"

"HA! Yeah, that’s wassup!"

You thunk your head against Cyborg’s shoulder this time, wincing at the brief pulse of pain from pounding metal against skull. "Oh my god, are we there yet?"

"As a matter of fact..." Cyborg mysteriously trails off, hopping up the last step to the top landing of the stairway. You peek up in interest and immediately want a better look when you see that the access to the roof is propped open the slightest bit, squishing your cheek against Cyborg’s as you lean forwards with the anticipation of it all. It’s easy to spot the flickering movement from just beyond the door—shadows moving fast from one end to the other. Is someone already there?

You suck in an anxious breath when Cyborg lowers himself to one knee and releases his hold on you, carefully helping you dismount from your cling, and Starfire is all too eager to return your crutch, pushing it into your arms and waving you forwards. Your friends let you nudge open the door then without another word, following you out as you bravely take your first few steps and—

…..

You think you might’ve blacked out for a moment in shock.

Beast Boy circles your legs as you silently take in the state of the roof, rubbing against them with a gentle brush of his body before he exclaims, "Surprise! Did we getcha??"

You blink a few times to get your bewildered mind working again. Because out of any possible scenario you could have—and did—invent within your imagination….it was nothing like…well, this.

The smell of hot food wafting through the summer-like air reaches you first, and you’re drawn to admire what is definitely Starfire's touch in your unexpected surprise.

There are two tables set up across the roof directly ahead, side by side and pushed flush against the lip of rectangular ledge boxing in the space. Each wooden surface is filled with cutlery, food and drinks in jade colored bowls and glasses, and adorned with fun, rainbow coloured table cloths—the cheap, plastic kind you’d find from a dollar store—and regal centre pieces among the clutter. These consist of wreaths with beaded jewel strings and alien metal shapes, forms that remind you of branded symbols you’d once glimpsed from the hilts of her homeworld weapons.

There’s a fancy new boom box sitting on the ledge, just to the left of the food tables. It’s silvery and shiny in the late evening light, akin to the small heap of patterned presents sitting below it, or the bouquets of metallic balloons weighed down by sandbags in each corner of the roof.

Cyborg’s own creative touch is more quiet, but still obvious in your racing mind, reflected in the large blue and white fairy lights the size of your fist, strings of them hooked beneath the ledge and spaced along the entire perimeter of the roof. They remind you of mini lava lamps—slowly swinging, each casing filled with swirling, pulsing energy, casting loops of light and shadow which dance across the sleek stone of the rooftop ground.

Your gaze finds four, dark green bean bag chairs next, moved from the game room to sit in a circle further down the left side of the roof. A neat, tent-like canopy, reminiscent of Raven’s more gothic looking style, is set up over them and affixed with steel piping, made of sheer dark sheets in purple, blue, and black—a cozy, magical lounging spot that makes you long for the calmness and dark that only sleep can bring.

You slowly turn to your right, noting that access to the elevator on the other side of the roof is surprisingly clear for once, the usual pile of rickety telescope gear stored away to make room for dancing. And through an odd urge to cast a look behind you, you easily catch sight of the cute, homemade banner dangling above the door you’ve just stepped through, green and bubblegum pink letters scrawled across a white strip of poster board: Party Like It’s Your Birthday!!

You recognize Beast Boy’s handwriting the moment your eyes trace the first few letters.

It takes you a moment, still staring out at the culmination of your surprise, to realize that it all clashes terribly, although you don't find yourself caring in the slightest. It’s beautiful and endearing and makes sense to you in every way that matters—and you wouldn't have it look any other way.

Huh…look at that.

You're actually getting a hang of this sappy feelings thing. "Uh, wh—I…what's all this for?" You finally manage to sputter out, once your friends go back to watching you with those barely contained grins and expectant gazes. Even Raven, already in the midst of final preparations, standing by that glorious canopy as she methodically smoothes out wrinkles in the overlapping fabric—both manually and magically—is smiling shyly at you over her shoulder. Her dark, purple-colored eyes are carefully mapping out every hitch in your expression.

Like the others, she’s dressed more casually than you’re used to seeing around the tower; ripped dark-washed skinny jeans with a cropped tee to match and clunky, black combat boots, a leather choker that looks uncomfortably tight around her neck. But the most unexpected difference has to be when you realize what she’s missing. Her signature, purple-blue cloak has been swapped for a hooded, bomber jacket—black with gold zippers and detailing, and one size too big. It’s so strange a sight that it’s actually….kind of weirding you out a little.

Starfire grasps the wrist of your cast and gently tugs you forward, guiding you further into the organized mayhem that was once the tower’s roof. "The happiest day of birth to you my friend!"

Oh. Oh.

Now this is awkward.

"It's my…birthday?" You ask dumbly. Beast boy’s tiny head, that of an adorably, fluffed up squirrel monkey this time, pops up from the depths of a bowl sitting on the first food table—like some knock-off whack-o-mole game (and wait a goddamn minute, when the hell did he even get there?). His little hands grip the lip of the bowl as he chatters through crunching pretzels.

"Duh! At least yeah, I think so…uh, right?"

You clasp a hand to your forehead when you remember the date and groan, "No, no, you’re right, I think it is. Crap, I feel like I lost an entire year."

Starfire’s whole body slumps at your reaction, floating down until her feet touch ground.

"You are unhappy." She concludes sadly.

Aw, cripes, why are you like this?

"NO! No, Kori, I'm happy!” You hurriedly reassure her, “I just....I haven't really celebrated it in a long time. I never had anyone to..."

They hear your unspoken implication clear enough and offer you sad, little smiles—varying degrees of empathy seeping through into their expressions. Empathy. And not pity. Not judgment. Just compassion from people who understand it all.

An alien princess far from home who embraces difference and is learning to choose a life for herself, a half-cybernetic football star who had to learn when to let go and walk a new path in life, a troubled half-demon not wanting to be defined by the past or her heritage, a metahuman menagerie of animals fighting the pull of loneliness while still finding strength in his friends, and an orphan circus boy turned vigilante—given not only a second chance to make a difference for others, but unwavering hope as well.

Your own Breakfast Club of heroes.

"Well now ‘ya have us." Beast Boy says with serious resolve you haven’t often seen when it comes to your loyal jokester, the others agreeing simultaneously as he bounds closer in small leaps from across the table. There’s a painful clenching in your chest at their sentiments, and although it feels like you’re on the verge of a heart attack, it’s a good kind of hurt that brings relief to your entire being.

Because thinking it is one thing, but hearing it out loud dregs more emotion to the surface than you ever thought you had—makes it all the more real. You swallow thickly and try to keep composed through another monumental shift in your perceptions.

"I know." You return softly. Starfire takes your hand and holds it firmly in hers, mindful of the strength in her grip.

"And you are indeed truly....happy?"

Well, that’s a heavy question.

You never truly belonged anywhere, in the past. Too unnatural for everyday civilians, too angry for heroes, too kind for villains. You never understood why no one could just let you be....something in the middle.

But now, you think you’re finally learning that happy is something you can be, even while half-existing in that kind of grey area. So you squeeze her hand in reassurance and take a page from Beast Boy’s book—you attempt to lighten the mood.

"I will be once we get this party started." You tease, pulling away to turn on the boom box and click through stations in search of something party worthy. With that, the others move to disperse; Starfire and the boys already picking through the food tables with interest, while Raven briefly ducks beneath one to retrieve an opaque, plastic storage tote.

It’s blue and more than decently sized in her arms, but she carries it easily and without a word to the bean bag canopy, sitting (legs crossed and back perfectly straight) to methodically sift through its contents.

Starfire waves you towards the food tables once you settle on a popular radio station known for their mix of genres and artists—a little something for everyone hopefully.

"Come then, you must partake in some of this delicious food. I tried earth recipes." She proudly tells you, scooping up some sort of rice dish to wave under your nose as though hoping to entice you further. It smells pleasant, of grilled vegetables and egg, but all your attention has latched onto a single word that equally intrigues as it concerns you.

“Tried.” You echo, leaning to balance on your crutch and free up your unbroken arm. You press a single finger against the rim of the dish in her hands, lowering it down and away from your face. Starfire looks a little sheepish as she curls an arm around the ceramic, rounded dish and fits it into the crook of her elbow to rest, lifting her own newly freed arm to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear. A nervous tick.

She hugs the dish even closer, “There were…the incidents.”

“Nothing you couldn’t handle.” Raven adds from afar. Starfire leans around you to beam at her welcome encouragement; seeming as though she’s already seconds away from just fly-tackling her into a vice-like hug—a very Starfire act of affection.

Which you should probably redirect now, if you want to keep that beautiful canopy standing.

"Everything smells great, Star. Thank you. In fact..." You select a spoon from the first table and a tiny serving plate, before gesturing in silent question to the dish still in her arms. She’s ecstatic at your offer, extending it to you at once with bright, shining eyes. You carefully ladle out a few spoonfuls of the rice mixture, and with a playful cheers and raise of your spoon, you taste your first dish of the evening.

"Oh shit, that's good." You groan in surprise.

"Oh wonderful, I knew you would enjoy it!"

Beast Boy whoops eagerly from the centre of the second table, crouching among a spread of simple desserts. "Wicked! I call the donuts next!"

Cyborg anticipates his movement before you can, firmly squashing a hand against Beast Boy’s monkey head to keep him from leaping towards an open tray. Beast Boy whines openly at the injustice.

"Dude, come on, be cool!"

Ah, now that makes sense.

Starfire sighs and returns the tasty rice dish to its rightful place, hesitating only to shoot you an apologetic look as she steps towards the commotion. But you just smile in understanding, gesturing for her to go on and deal with the boys before they decimate all of her hard work.

And now it’s probably a good idea to clear the blast zone.

You make a rather slow beeline for the front entrance of the canopy, lowering your body down to sit in the place Raven silently offers you by shifting pointedly to the side—content to be off your feet for a moment. Raven picks up on your underlying curiosity though, the second you glance at the box still under her scrutiny, her gaze cutting up to regard you with the slightest touch of amusement.

You observe the way she tips her head, a pulse of darkened magic lighting up around the mysterious container, and it slides in a short burst to rest in front of you.

Well, well, what do we have here?

You peer down into the depths and react too late to stifle your gasp.

It’s filled with boxes of classic party games and entertainment, stacked upon each other in neat little towers along the inside: video game cartridges and two portable games devices, a deck of cards, Connect Four, Cluedo, and yep….that's definitely Twister, oh my fuck (you may be a little over excited for this. Which is strange for you...considering you can't even remember the last time you've ever so passionately, deeply, viscerally, wanted to roll out a stupid, colorful tarp and contort your body into unhealthy positions), a wooden board and an accompanying game-piece tin for Checkers, Pictionary, Monopoly, Jenga, Uno, the Game of Life (aaaannd too real with this one actually, might be avoiding that), Guess Who?, Snakes and Ladders, as well as games you hadn't seen since your earlier days of childhood—Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots and Hungry Hungry Hippos (meaning your small child self is living right now).

Only one person knew about this, knew about your stupid birthday-candle wishes from the short, hopeful part of your childhood that's since been eradicated by harsh realities; the longing desperation to make any kind of worthwhile connection, to know love or be wanted outside of a means to a quick pay-day.

To swing with others at a crowded park, to play games and join clubs, or have a sleepover with greasy food and late night truths—to be free (and you blame this emotional vomit entirely on exhausted, blabbermouth you, spilling your guts in a tired stupor while sharing stove-top hot chocolate in the kitchen at 3 a.m. Feeling vulnerable when he'd quietly shared his own frustrations with the role of leader and recent disconnect with his father, letting you lament in return about never getting the chance to just…be a normal kid. Something he understood. Something he remembered).

Oh, Dick Grayson.

You are the best of us.

You shake your head clear of any vivid memories, reaching in to unearth the Twister box and hold it up to admire its magnificence in the rapidly fading light. "So.” You start in what you hope is a casual enough tone, exchanging the box for another to seem busy. “You put all of this together, huh?"

She shrugs, "We figured you could use some...fun. After everything that's happened."

You grin and fish out an exceptionally old classic next, pointing the vibrant box of colourful, caricature hippos at her. "I didn't think this was your kind of fun, Rae."

"It's not.” Raven admits bluntly, floating the game from your hands despite your protest and back into the storage container with a challenging raise of her brow. “But I can enjoy the value in it. And in spending time with my friends."

(You don’t do enough of that. Why don’t you do enough of that?)

"Pfft are you going soft on us?" You say, weakly avoiding eye contact while wrestling away the any more intrusive thoughts and stabs of related guilt.

You watch her fight the beginnings of a smirk, "I could ask you the same question."

"Oh man, that's disgusting even for you B.B!" Cyborg grouses suddenly in the distance, and you’ve never felt so relieved for a distraction in your young life. Your friend is standing in front of the farthest food table when you look over, his hands on his hips and a frown of disapproval trained on something among the mass of dishes and delicious smelling cuisine.

You find out why when you follow his line of sight, your body and gaze lifting a tad to seek out what’s happened—and you can’t say you’re all too surprised with this inevitable development.

Beast Boy is laying, dramatically draped, across the tray of donuts he’d been denied earlier, monkey toes wriggling to dispel powdered sugar from between them.

"Let me live my life, man." He jokes between fistfuls of sweet pastry. Cyborg makes a grab for him in retaliation and he jerks back out of reach as if fully expecting this outcome, throwing himself to the side in a graceful dodge.

"Halt! Oh please do watch out for the—"

In his flurry of movement—kicking out his legs for momentum and rolling head over feet to a neat stop a few feet further down the table—Beast Boy accidently whacks the side of another bowl near the edge, the dish teetering dangerously on the precipice of destruction.

But Starfire is always quick on her feet. She lunges for the bowl and makes the catch before it can fall victim to the laws of gravity (those you’re already painfully aware of), cradling it safely in her arms and sighing in relief as she cordially lifts it in your direction.

"Do not fear! I have saved the mac of the cheese!"

"Though it has its moments." Raven deadpans, flipping up her hood with a shake of her head.

"Speaking of moments…is this a good time for a dramatic entrance?"

Starfire whirls around unearthly fast at the familiar voice, the echo spiking through the low, near constant beat and rhythm drifting from the speakers of the boom box—none of you having heard a door open or close, or even a single footfall drop onto the roof.

"Robin! You have made it!"

Alright.

You know he’s practically a ninja (because it’s what he’s been dutifully trained to do), but you still think this deserves a hearty what the hell anyway.

How long has he even been standing there?

Though before you can reflect too deeply on the matter, you find yourself bearing witness to Robin’s handling of the fly-tackle hug. To his credit, he takes the sudden, colliding weight like a champ; a short laugh ripped from him at the initial breath-stealing thump, and he stumbles back to restore his balance without falling on his ass.

You can tell that he’s definitely a pro at this by now.

He gives her a generous, friendly squeeze before they part, turning his attention back to the rest of his team. It’s then you fully take in how he’s dressed; slim-fitting jeans, a dark blue tee, a solid, gray flannel shirt over top—unbuttoned and left hanging open, long sleeves rolled up at to his elbows—and red converse.

His knee is still in a brace, a black watch with a stiff Kevlar strap fastened around his left wrist, its face square and rimmed with silver. And from your place you can even study the state of his dark hair—soft and without gel, but noticeably mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

"There's our fearless leader!” You warmly call out, letting Raven ease you helpfully to your feet so that you can welcome your newly arrived team member. You lightly bump your cast against his shoulder once you reach him, and then again just to be annoying when he nudges your arm away the first time (but not without a fond roll of his eyes).

With less distance your gaze finds thin, pink marks left like badges on his skin, the stitches having already healed and dissolved from under his chin and across his collarbone, his blue eyes a little hazy in their focus.

All in all, he looks tired up this close, in small ways you might overlook in passing—his grin beginning to wilt just at the upper corners of his lips, dropping eyelids and subtle bruising under his eyes, and the barest smudges of oil left neglected on his person; freckle-like specks across his jaw, staining the toes of his converse and the collar of his t-shirt (that particular one looking especially dark and ingrained into the fabric, like he’d hastily blotted at the spot in a rush and then gave up half-way through)—though you wouldn’t guess it from his posture.

He’s all squared shoulders, a confident lift of his head and a soft, delighted glint in his eyes despite the heaviness you’d noticed before. He’s proud even in the face of exhaustion, so you elect not to bring any attention to it.

“I was beginning to think Batman whisked you off back home for some clown-punching and father-son bonding." You continue impishly, mimicking his mentor’s cowl by placing an index finger on either side of your head. You bounce them up and down in a tease.

"No, that was last month.” Robin reminds you dryly, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the open elevator door he’d obviously emerged from. “I was actually just finishing up some final touches on an old friend of yours."

Huh. O…kay?

"Ominous." Cyborg offers before you can voice your own confusion, settling back against a food table with a deviously knowing smile.

Best Boy huffs with palpable disappointment instead, climbing swiftly onto the ledge behind his friend. He scuttles around a portion of the roof to sit beside the thumping boom box, while still taking time to throw out his own affirmation on the matter, before shifting back into his human form and swinging his dangling legs to the beat of the current song.

"Yeah, way creepy, dude."

Robin frowns, “I was being mysterious!”

Cyborg seems to be enjoying this immensely for some reason, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, don’t.”

“Damn. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Do not worry, Robin.” Starfire remarks with a pat to his shoulder, “I still find you the mysterious.”

You try to stifle your sputtering laughter as Robin sighs in defeat, reaching up to touch her hand in wordless thanks. He motions for you to stay where you are then, swiping his finger across the face of his watch. It lights up blue like a touch screen, and something large and humming (a machine?) darts from the inside of the elevator.

The futuristic motorcycle that slides to a near-silent stop in front of you is like something right out of Tron. There’s a high leather seat and bullet-proof windshield among sleek, rounded black metal and glowing, magnetic green lights. They detail the length of the body like racing stripes, circling around the headlights and up into the shape of a triangle above them, as well as lining the inside rims of its large, treaded wheels (two in front and one in the back). The padded, silver handles poke through the front casing like devil horns.

It’s a familiar, wrenching image—one you could only dream of seeing again after the brutal attack on Jump City.

"Lucy!” You burst out instantly, and much to the Robin’s immense enjoyment, hopping forward in your excitement to reach your beloved cycle. You trace your fingers over the glowing triangle, pressing your palm to the leather seat with stinging, blurry eyes. It feels warm. Alive. “Oh my crap, you resurrected my bike!"

Cyborg gently pats the cycle with pride, "Rob and I spent weeks trying to fix her up. Finally got all the parts working again."

"You—this is—holy shit."

"Glad you like it."

Robin throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, pretending not notice your muffled sniffling like a super-star best friend. "Happy birthday, (Y/N)." He mutters, loosening the fancy watch so he can clasp it around your unbroken wrist in a nimble flourish.

Cyborg pumps his fist in the air when you choke out a disbelieving laugh, victoriously striding to the centre of the roof to proclaim:

"Well, what are we standing around here for? Let's get this thing started!"

“Oh yes, let us start the celebration my friends!”

“Eh, sure.”

"Party people!" Beast Boy cries out in agreement, finally leaping down from the ledge.

"Alright, Alright. You don't have to tell me twice." Robin chuckles, gesturing for the others to go ahead with the festivities. He stays to hover around you though, and is suspiciously quiet at first, simply stepping around you and your newly built cycle to pluck a can of soda from a food table. He idly brushes away condensation with a broad swipe of his thumb, waiting for the others to further disband around you both.

When the coast is clear, evident by the way he glances from side to side, he turns towards you with his head down, popping the tab on the can and taking a heavy gulp. You raise a brow and wait, more than aware of his tendency by now to try and constantly torture you with the value of patience. He purses his lips in thought, before he finally meets your gaze with a playful twist to his usual smirk.

“So, hey.” He begins somewhat offhandedly, drumming his fingers across the surface of the table, “We should take a team picture at some point. All of us. Like a…memory of tonight’s occasion—if you want.”

You shouldn’t make it this easy for him—because he’ll never stop teasing you about how quickly you caved—but you find that you truly do like the idea. He just doesn’t need to know how much at the moment. So you settle on feigning tired reluctance, hoping (fooslishly) that he doesn’t see right through you.

“It wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

“You guess?”

….

It’s really annoying when he does that.

You pout at the light amusement in his tone and follow his earlier path to the table, seizing a donut in a moment of pure impulse from the tray Beast Boy had previously vacated. You feel satisfied when you notice that it’s one of the unfortunate monkey feet ones, and then thrust it into Robin’s free hand.

He must have been around long enough to see the offense for himself, because his nose crinkles in distaste when he registers what you’ve given him, letting the tainted pastry dangle from two fingers.

Sweet revenge.

You dole out smirk of your own.

“Eat your donut, dick.”

*****************************************************************

It’s well into the evening, sunset colours already fading calmly from the sky, when Robin parks himself next to you on the ledge of the roof, smoothly swinging his legs over and dropping to sit with a long sigh of relief. Huh…it seems like someone definitely had a longer day today than they let on.

And honestly? Mood.

You tap him with the rounded bottom of the crutch lying across your lap, throwing him a cursory glance and a smile in greeting. But he doesn’t respond the way you expect him to, no. Instead, you’re surprised to see that rare, relaxed grin of his already peeking through all of the obvious exhaustion.

"What are you smiling about, Grayson? You're creeping me out." You muse gently, brow arching at the amusement that grows all the more in the curl of his smile. It’s like he’s proudly uncovered some great secret in the time it took you to voice your thoughts, and is now going to make you work for a satisfying answer. Which, you have to admit, isn’t a very unusual outcome when it comes to your friend and his bat-crazy mentor.

Heh.

Gar would love that one.

"Oh, you know…nothing too important.” Robin counters with a non-committal shrug of his shoulder.

Uhhh, yeah, that’s not comforting in the slightest, you decide.

You narrow your eyes at him and poke at his upper arm accusingly, “You’re never really this terrible of a liar usually.”

“Well, usually isn’t now.”

You pause to let his utter nonsense sink in.

“Are all detectives this uselessly cryptic or is this just a you thing?”

“I think it’s a family thing actually.”

“That I believe.” You laugh, gripping tight to the edge of the concrete ledge with one hand as you lean forward to admire the twinkling darkness of the water far below—a beautiful, convoluted gloom in the beginnings of silver moonlight. You catch his lingering stare in your peripheral when you shift, an odd amount of softness there you’re not exactly used to seeing directed your way.

“What?” You ask again in exasperation (and maybe a tad more overly sharp than you wanted). He only winks when you turn to get a better read on him, and looking much too smug and unconcerned, tips his head back to study the distant, firefly-like pinpricks of light just now glittering through the encroaching dark above you.

There’s a blissful beat of silence between the continuously wafting smells (of heavy spices and cheese and the lingering sweetness of fancy chocolate) and the nearby ambient sounds of your friends locked in an intense game of Jenga (their laughter and conversation—Raven is definitely on a roll by the sounds of it—the clinking of cutlery and plates, and the low, near-constant pop music blanketed beneath it all), and then—

“Welcome home.” He says quietly.

You stare at him a moment longer; hesitant, flustered, warm—like some kind of utter punch-drunk goober—until your gaze slips mercifully back to the sky, drawn in by the trembling might of the stars far out of reach.

And you let the moment sit within the unexpected, peaceful calm his voice brings, unbroken without a sarcastic quip or cynical remark, just this once. A moment to find value in.

Because this is your family, or….what you’d always imagined one to be.

So, even though you’d never truly been privy to a lot of happiness before this—this tiny, momentous moment right where you need to be; sitting on the roof ledge of your home—you find your own sense of peace in thinking that here and now, if there ever was a happy place in this life for you—

This is it.

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zer0comma · 5 years ago

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why out of the blue by julian casablancas is one of the best songs ever written

okay so first of all, happy brthday to phrazes for the young. i can’t believe it’s been 10 years already!!! phrazes for the young is a great and very underappreciated record and i like how the album managed to gather some sort of a cult following during these years. and even tho julian doesn't seem too proud of it, i’m happy that he made it and i don’t think he fully regrets making it either. after all it helped him figure out what he actually wants to do, and it does feel like beginning of of the voidz since the songs are made of a lot of layers like voidz songs especially on tyranny!

now let's talk about the song! i always love talking about this song because i rarely see fans mention it. whenever you ask julian’s fans abt their favorite songs from phrazes, most of them are going to mention river of breaklights or glass or maybe left and right in the dark and it’s understandable because these songs are truly great. but out of the blue is equally great. the song has everything i like about julian's songs: simple yet very beautiful and touching melodies, clever and cynical lyrics with clever twists that tell a story, his deep voice and a catchy and uplifting chorus.

let's start with the beginning. one of my favorite parts in this song is the carnivalesque and fun yet somehow creepy (??) intro. it's one of the best intros ive ever heard honestly and sometimes i can't finish listening to the song because i keep replaying that part!! (you can hear it here). when julian starts singing, his voice sounds very deep and i LOVE it. i really love how he keeps repeating the same lyrics to give the listener an idea on how his feelings of frustration keep evolving and it also paints a great image which is something he's really great at.

the chorus is one of the catchiest choruses julian has ever written which is probably one of the reasons why he doesn't like this song... but it really showcases his songwriting abilities.it's super interesting how the same man who wrote one of the greatest rock albums of the 2000s can also write such catchy and pop sounding songs with ease!!

this part after the “take all your dreams” part is also very interesting. can you hear how he keeps adding layer after layer? you can also hear this in tyranny, and i really like it because it adds depth to the song and makes it much more interesting and fun to listen to since you can hear a new layer everytime you listen to this song! (here)

this outro right here is what sold the song for me initially. this is what julian does best: writing beautiful melodies. this part makes me so emotional. its sweet and kind of nostalgic with a tinge of hope and i love how different it is from the intro. its really cool how the song progresses!! (here)

now let's talk about the lyrics. overall phrazes is one of his best albums lyrically. it's really poetic and clever and it has some of julian's best lyrics and most of them are personal which is something i really appreciate and this song is no exception. this song is one of the few songs in which julian talks about his experience with media and fame. he's telling us how frustrated and angry he was and basically making fun of the "cool" image the media painted of him and the strokes back in the day. his feelings of anger and pain can be the result of many things. his relationship with the media and music critics but also his bandmates. the song was written during the fioe tour. it was a hard time for the band. there was a lot of tension and they eventually went on a hiatus and it was basically a big mess :/ (and things got even worse afterwards, thank god they’re doing better now). i also think it has something to do with his alcoholism. the line "and the ones that i made pay were never the ones who deserved it" is probably about how aggressive he was while drunk and how he took out his anger on his friends and bandmates even tho they weren't the reason behind his sadness and frustration. which actually leads us to the chorus!!

“how can you be/so perfect for me/why can’t you ignore/the things i did before”

it's almost like he can't believe he finally found someone who loves him and who's willing to support and help him become better: his wife. however, he’s still afraid that she might remember him as the aggressive and troubled alcoholic he was and not let his past die. he’s also making fun of the media. in here for example, when he says: “yes i know i’m going to hell in a leather jacket” (which is such a cool line), the strokes were associated with leather jackets. hell there’s even an interview in which the interviewer writes a super long paragraph talking about albert’s and fab’s jackets. the media created this image for them and only cared about that image, even more than the music at one time. also the line “at least i’ll be in another world while you’re pissing on my casket” is one of my absolute favorite lines in this song. it’s really ironic how the same people who overhyped them even before their 1st album came out, and created this entire image and scenario and world for them to exist in, are now criticizing them because they didn’t live up to that hype. these lyrics are just so witty and i love that! also i think it's worth mentioning that 9 years later, julian would say the same things in lazy boy. the lyric "jackets are the eyes to the soul" is taken from the same article i was talking about earlier (he also talks about his past self in that song).

“all that I can do now is sing a song of faded glory/ and all you got to do is sit there, look great, and make them horny/ together we’ll sing songs and tell exaggerated stories/ about the way we feel today, and tonight and in the morning”. these lyrics are also very obvious. they are about how music journalists were trying to paint them in a specific image to fit their story and expectations, and then would attack them when they don't realize these unrealistic and stupid expectations. another fantastic part of the song.

he ends the song with trying to accept that he can't do whatever he wants to do and just pretend that this is the way it is fo everyone even if it pains him to not bring his plans to life. this was something he talked about before :(

“and take all your fears/ and pretend there all true/ and take all your plans/ and pretend they fell through/ and that's what it's like for most people in this world” this is how he ends the song. it's sounds like no matter how much he's trying to accept it, he still sounds very crushed and disappointed. this part makes me really sad :/ (thankfully he now has a band in which he can whatever he wants). and also the last line "before they come knocking on my door now"... it's really depressing how the media and music industry are so cruel to those who refuse to play by their rules and bend to their will and so many artists were victims of that, sadly. and what i really love about this part is how its sung over the beautiful and hopeful outro. julian is really really good at writing cheerful and uplifting songs with depressing and pessimistic lyrics. even the chorus has a tinge of regret and fear in it. (also i want to point out how a very depressing and sad song like human sadness has more hope in it than this song like...his mind honestly).

anyway i’m really bad at writing conclusions so yeah i love every part of this song. i love how contradictory the melodies and the lyrics are. it really has almost everything i love about julian's music and i really hope people would give it more attention because it's one of the greatest songs ive ever heard.

#if you read all of this i love you #i wrote this on his birthday for some reason i never posted it in here #which is weird bc i always post the things i write in here 1st #anyway i love this song #thanks julian for makiing it #my thoughts #jules shitposts #julian casablancas #music #mp

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doves-wing · 5 years ago

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Warriors Song Post

what up here’s a bunch of songs that i connect to warriors in some fuckin way. this took way too long and i’ll add more later because i couldn’t everyone in the tags lol

People in my Head by Oceans on Mars: Goosefeather - If the title wasn’t obvious enough as to why it fits him, the song is about hearing voices and going mad because of it. If that doesn’t fit Goosefeather, what does?

Twisted by MISSIO: Darktail - The whole song is about a bad guy with fucked up thoughts and how his dad was a shit but had a good mom.

Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea by MISSIO: Bluestar - The song is about addiction and depression. And well, Bluestar has depression so there we go already but it uses the specific metaphor of drowining which is strongly connected to Bluestar’s character, so it fits even better!

Everybody Gets High by MISSIO: Sol - It’s his tragic backstory. I mean if this was a human AU this would just be his backstory. Sol is an evil gay, makes sense if he had a homophobic upbringing which led him to drugs and eventually running away. Makes sense to me at least.

Kamikazee by MISSIO: Sol - This is a song about greed, desire, and dark hearts. Who has all three? That’s right, it’s Sol baby! The boy desires all the nice things in life and will not stop at anything to get them.

Best Friends by Grandson: The Kin - So I’m kinda cheating with this one as it isn’t a singular characer but my post, my rules. I feel as if this fits best when Needletail and the other apprentices joined The Kin. Thinking they’re so cool and shit.

Kiss Bang by Grandson: Leafpool/Crowfeather/Nightcloud - Okay again not a singular character but my post, my rules. Basically this song represents Crowfeather’s relationship with the two of them. In short: a fucking mess

Things Change by Grandson: Crowfeather - I’d say this is specifically about Leafpool soon after the badger attack, but could still work for him and Feathertail. Either way, this guy is dumb angst monster lmao

Saint Bernard by Lincoln: Mapleshade - This is a song about one-sided love and how the singer won’t be going to heaven. Also it’s fucking scary so Mapleshade :)

Hellbent by Mystery Skulls: Ashfur - It’s him about Squirrelflight. He does not care that she is in a relationship. All he cares is that the relationship she’s in, isn’t with him. All he wants is her and he truly won’t stop at anything to have her.

The Wolf by SIAMES: Tigerclaw - This is another song that’s about addiction but it has a strong theme about being out of your mind, and well, if you kill people I don’t think your sane. And in a way, Tigerclaw could’ve been addicted to killing. Either way many of this song’s lyrics (and especially the chorus) remind me of him so he gets this masterpiece of a song to himself.

Same Old Forest by Nathan Sharp: Firestar - This fits Firepaw/Rusty specifically but hey I prefer using the most recent names of a character in the title. Anyway though, this song is all about beginnings and wanting to be something (while also being a protaganist) and who could fit better than Firepaw? I mean one of the lyrics is literally: “Because compared to every child you know, you’re something else”. Tell me it isn’t about Firepaw.

Far Away by Nathan Sharp: Spottedleaf - This is a song sung by a female about the character from the previous song on this list, who knows that the character is destined for greatness. Tell me it isn’t sung by Spottedleaf.

Time to Go by Nathan Sharp: Yellowfang - Yellowfang is the grumpy grandma we all know and love. If you know her and then listen to this song and say she didn’t sing it you’re so wrong it’s unbelievable. Did her savior just wake up? Yes. Is she going to push him out and force him to save the world now? Yes.

Drowning by Nathan Sharp: Bluestar - Look at the title. Okay but the song is about losing everything in your life and well, the water metaphors :}

Shell by Nathan Sharp: Bluestar (w/ Firestar) - I think this fits really well for Bluestar and Firestar’s relationship. Bluestar after having been almost murdered by her trusted deputy, Tigerclaw, has lost faith in everything. Fireheart is desperately trying to keep her what remains of her, alive. The chorus speaks for itself, she is a shell, almost entirely withered away. Just, it’s mostly Bluestar but the way the lyrics go it sounds as if someone is speaking to another character about Bluestar, which in this case is probably Tigerclaw and Firestar.

The Evil King by Nathan Sharp: Tigerclaw & Firestar - This is their final battle in song form. At the end it becomes a duet, but for the majority it’s Tigerclaw monologuing about why he should and deserves to win. How Firestar should’ve never come to the forest, as he was meant to rule the forest as his father did before him, unfortuneately this is a YA novel which means that evil can never win.

Unaligned by Nathan Sharp: Ivypool - I imagine this is when she’s starting to realize that the Dark Forest isn’t good. That it’s full of evil cats, but because she’s only started to realize this their abusive teachings are still in her head, thus “You took me in, showed me love when I had nowhere to run” is a lyric. She’s done bad things by joining them, she doesn’t know if she can be good but she knows she doesn’t want to be bad.

Dead Silence by Nathan Sharp: Mothwing - Mothwing can’t get it out of her head that she is the daughter of Tigerclaw. The worst cat in the history of the Clans yet she chose to be a medicine cat, a peaceful cat who does no harm. Her intrusive thoughts won’t stop reminding her of how brutal her family as been. Her father first and then her brother, Hawkfrost, second. Maybe she is destined to be a violent monster, she knows it isn’t true but those evil thoughts say otherwise, and she can’t ignore them any longer.

Epcoh (TLT Remix) by Salvonic: Hollyleaf - After she ran away from the gathering, she had a lot of time to think about everything. She had time to regret her actions and came back to apologize, and hope that she would be accepeted. Just about everything in this song fits her and someone needs to make a map for her with this song because it fits her so fucking well it’s insane.

Terrible Things by Brick + Mortar: Ivypool - She sees no difference between her and her sister, Dovewing, yet her sister is consistently praised more than her and gets more attention. Ivypool then joins the Dark Forest as they claimed to have seen in her, what her Clanmates saw in Dovewing. Instead of dreaming, she fought hard to get the attention and mild praise of a few dead cats. She murdered cats for them and all she got in return was a free t-shirt.

Burn The House Down by AJR: Squirrelflight - Honestly this just gives me some lighthearted Squirrelflight vibes. More so when she was still an apprentice and wanted to be treated with the same amount as respect as a warrior but she tried to gain their respect in ridiculous ways, such as joining Brambleclaw on the journey to the Sundrown place, for instance.

G-G-Ghost by Steven Universe: Fallen Leaves - He’s just a ghost boy who wants someone to notice him!

Noticed by MandoPony: Sol - This theatre gay just wants someone to pay attention to him! And if you do look away, he might have to kill you. M i g h t

Nothing Personal by Night Riots: Darktail - He came to erase the Clans. He will wash away their history, he will make himself the leader of his own group and lead them with an iron fist, his ideology is correct. To the members of his group he is a shining star, a beacon of light and truth.

Contagious by Night Riots: Shadowpaw - This is more speculative but it seems to me that he could definitely start to think that he is bad, wrong. Because of the voice in his head. He is plagued with lies, just by existing he has broken the code. He has to remind himself, it isn’t his fault that he is shunned, looked down upon. But everything is wearing him down. Reminding yourself that it isn’t wrong to exist is tiring.

On the Line by Night Riots: Tawnypelt - Tawnypelt is the type to give all she has for her Clan. Sometimes she gets nervous but she fights through it because her Clan is what matters most.

She Wants Me Dead by CAZZETTE: Crowfeather - This is just every female in Crowfeather’s life at him.

Bet on You by The Man Who: Mistystar - Back when Mistystar was known as Mistyfoot, she crtiticized her leader, Leaopardstar harshly. The latter did let her brother be murdered. Though Leopardstar would’ve risked her own life, among everyone in her clan’s life, had she tried to stop it from happening. Leopardstar made many mistakes throughout her life but Mistyfoot always came back to her, in the end she knew Leopardstar was only doing the best she could.

Choke by I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME: Darktail - Only he would say the most fucked up things while having a genuine smile on his face and making it sound nice. He only cares for himself, and a distorted love for his mother, painting her as this perfect being who was ruined by his father. I have no doubt that he would do all the things in this songs, given he were able to of course.

Crossing a Line by Mike Shinoda: Leafpool & Squirrelflight - This is all about the truth of Holly/Jay/Lion and how they want to tell them, but don’t know how, and just that whole mess is this song.

Play with Fire by Sam Tinnesz: Brokenstar - He is one of the most evil characters in the series, using child soldiers will do that though. He takes pleasure from seeing cats die, especially kits. He enjoys watching others suffer, especially if he can gain something by it. He forced WindClan out of the Clan territories because he wanted the extra hunting land.

Monster (Under my Bed) by Call Me Karizma: Tigerclaw - After his father left, Tigerkit felt alone. His sisters were dead, and his mother was heartbroken. He looked for friends in the shadows, hoping that they’d take form and want to play. It took some time but they took form in the shape of a cat. She was a transparent tortoiseshell, claiming to be of ThunderClan’s past. It didn’t matter to Tigerkit though, she promised to make him the strongest cat in the forest, in all of the Clan’s history even. That’s what mattered to Tigerkit. He wanted to be strong enough to take down any of his enemies and most importantly, his father.

Wolves (You Got Me) by DREAMERS: Fire/Raven - Firepaw is the new apprentice and oh no there’s a cute anxious boy. “Guess we’ll fall in love” they said, and then they did. Firepaw learned how to hunt, and fight. Though it was a bit harder because he was absolutely smitten with Ravenpaw.

Our Song by Vinyl Theatre: Sandstar (w/ Clan) - (Med-Cat!Fire AU) This happens before the battle with BloodClan, when they’re still preparing.

High Hopes by Panic! At The Disco: Hollyleaf - (Wind!Holly AU) - This is her coming home after leaving the tunnels and rescuing Dovewing, and Ivypool. She is welcomed back warmly by her mother, brother, and best friend (Heathertail)

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breg21 · 5 years ago

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Ladynoir Month: Identity Reveal

@ladynoirjuly2019

Ao3 FFN

*Sees the prompt for today* Well, if I must…..

Hang onto your hats, kids. We're going to have some fun with this one.

P.S SORRY THIS IS OUT LATE. WE HAD A STORM AND OUR POWER IS OUT (I'm on mobile, even though I really didn't wanna use my data) Ir's currently one in the morning and the heat is a pain.

"So, I had a thought."

Ladybug lifted her head just enough to rest her chin as she peered up at him through her lashes. "That's' a dangerous pastime."

He lifted his own head to look down from where she was cuddled into his side, looking back to the stars littered across the nighttime sky, he smirked. "I know."

She sighed, but went to put her head back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Let's hear it. What have you been thinking about?"

He didn't beat around the bush. "I was thinking about what kind of house we're gonna have one day."

She giggled. "And what kind of house were you thinking about?"

He had been thinking about it a while now, actually. He knew his lady liked small, intricate things. Nothing big or flashy. But she needed enough room for her designing— he found out a while ago that she loved fashion— and he also knew she wanted a small family.

"A nice size house." He tapped on the tin roof beneath them as he answered easily enough. "Something similar like this one. Nothing too big or sophisticated. Just simple. But big enough for three kids." She hummed in agreement. "Maybe a connected designing studio for you to work in. Also, a close kit living room and dining room so we can have all our friends and family over for special occasions and all be close while we eat dinner."

His good mood must've been contagious, because she seemed to have caught it. "Don't forget a study of your own for when you go into whatever physics career that you do."

He smiled. They both found that whether it be a teacher, or something else, being in physics, something with it, was what he wanted to do. "Sounds good to me. What do you think, bugaboo."

"It sounds perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Just then he remembered something. "Oh, before I forget, I got us another ticket to see Jagged's next concert. Don't forget to raid the costume room."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But nothing as ridiculous as before."

"Wouldn't dream of it, bugaboo."

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

For a time now, she and Chat had been running out of excuses as to why they couldn't be with the rest of the student's during the Akuma attacks and the easy answer was fear. Marinette had always been a timid person and her being, well a coward, fit her personality from an outside perspective.

While her friends didn't use that word, they did understand her certain quirks and the fact that they helped her devise ways of meeting up with her then crush, really drove the thought home that she wasn't one for standing up in the face of danger. The thing was she was starting to contradict that quirk a little bit thanks to one Lila.

She could not describe in words all that was wrong with that girl and while she knew there had to be some reason behind her actions, whether it was an untreated chemical imbalance, or the fact that she simply thought her actions didn't have any consequences, it made no difference to Marinette, she had to stand up to her.

And because of that, she couldn't use the excuse of cowardice anymore. She was stuck with having to come up with different ways to excuse herself from the class and while she knew some of those excuses were not perfect she never expected what came next.

Her best friend meeting her alone at her locker asking her the unthinkable. "Marinette, are you being blackmailed?"

She was shaken at the outlandish question. "What? What are you talking about?"

There was a hint of shame in Alya's eyes, yet she didn't back down trying her best to be understanding of whatever situation she thought her best friend was in. "Mari, the entire class has noticed you leaving during the Akuma attacks and while we used to just think you were afraid it's becoming more and more obvious that there is something different happening. While I don't like giving into rumors well…"

Rumors? There had been rumors going on about her? "What?" Her voice was meak seeing the pain on Alya's face.

"You are the only one besideds sunshine who has never been Akumatized and while I don't like the thought of it, things just don't add up."

She almost jumped back from what Alya was implying. "So what, do you think I'm being blackmailed by Hawkmoth so I don't get monsterfied! Alya where is this coming from, I mean what reason would I have to even be Akumatized?"

Alya simply shifted her head in the direction of Adrien's locker.

Marinette nearly shrieked. "I have a boyfriend!"

Alya looked away as Marinette's voice began to crack. "You know I have one, it's just-"

"Complicated," The blogger sighed. "Listen, girl. Me and all the other girls have been helping you for nearly a year to get Adrien and the moment he finds somebody else you just 'miraculously' gain a boyfriend. We spent so much time and effort in helping you, girl. The least you can do is open up to us because we get it. It has to be hard after all that time but no, you chose to lie to our faces."

It was like a slap to the face. A painful one. Without another word, she turned and ran to the only safe place she knew in the school. It was ironic really, where it was, seeing as who had given her the key.

Digging out the key to the costume room, she tried to get the key into the lock, but fumbled a few ties before it finally slid in and she heard the click of the doorknob. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, quickly slamming the door behind her, and leaning her weight back against it.

It was then, and only then, did she take notice of the other person in the room when her heartbeat finally slowed and her breathing evened out.

Another person, as in, Adrien Agreste.

Well, okay then.

"Adrien." Her voice was still weak, and scratchy from crying, but she tried to put some volume behind it. "Hey, what're you doing here?"

He was the very definition of a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh, hey, Marinette." He moved away from the clothes rack of the costumes that were behind him. "I was just… looking for a pair of pants, I tore something with the ones I'm wearing, and I'm finding something to wear in the meantime." He leaned his elbow against the rack, as if he was trying to act cool, and innocent.

It was not working, whatsoever. He was definitely not a good liar.

Because his dad could easily send him a pair of pants, along with being able to fix the pair that was ripped in a blink of an eye. But he chose this as an excuse.

But, as much as she should, being in the mindset that she was, she just couldn't really bring herself to care at that second. There was too much piled on her head and she just wanted to be able to breathe at the moment. She just wanted to forget.

"Marinette, are you okay?"

And that was the question that broke her. No, no she wasn't okay. And she didn't quite know how to be okay after everything with Alya, because how did you get through something so tough with someone who was supposed to be your best friend. The one person you're supposed to trust the most.

She didn't know. She really didn't.

The sob came out in heavy hiccups as she fell to the floor, burying her head into her arms on her knees. No dam stood now, just the vulnerability and pain she had been dealing with because of Lila. It stung.

She didn't hear the approaching footsteps, but she felt the hand on her arm before Adrien tried to comfort her. "Mari. Shh. It's okay, I promise. It really is. You wanna tell me what's all going on?"

She choked back the sobs, but boy, did they want to come through. "T-they think." Another hiccup. "They think I'm lying, about where I am, about mu interge-dy." Hiccup. "And it all comes from becau-se they think I'm lying about having a boyfriend and being over you."

Through blurry eyes, she saw the outline of what resembled guilt. "I'm so sorry, Mari."

"Not your fault." She said, hardly any sound to her words. "They just don't get it. I've moved on, I needed to for me. I'm so happy with the guy I'm with. And they don't understand why I can't tell them about him, but they can't know. I want to tell them, I wish I could tell them bad. I need someone to talk to about him, and gush, and just get it all off my chest."

Her eyes began to clear as she wiped away the tears and could see him shift so that he now sat on his butt instead of his back hunches. "Some people just don't understand, and they never will. What's important is finding the people accept it. Even when it's hard."

A dry laugh clawed its way up her throat. "Yeah. I wish I could just confine in someone that would believe I could trust. Someone that doesn't doubt me when I say I have a boyfriend. It's hard to keep it bottled up."

"That's it, I'm gonna talk to Lila after school. It ends here." He continued to softly run her arm in what comfort he could give, and she really couldn't argue with that. "Well, if you want to, you could tell me who he is. No pressure, but if you need to let it out, I'm here. Always."

She shouldn't. It was dangerous, and could cause so many problems down the road. But she was hurting and tired. No one knew Ladybug and Chat were dating. It couldn't be tied to her at the moment with being Ladybug. And she just wanted to get it out. So, she did.

Inhaling a deep breath, she stood to full height. "You promise you won't tell anyone? Not a soul."

He zipped an imaginary line over his lips, showing that he would.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding. Bracing herself of what she was about to say, she pushed herself onto the tip of her toes, bring her mouth to his ears, as to make sure that there was no possibility that anyone else could hear. "It's Chat Noir."

Just as she dropped back to her feet, she was met with the gobsmacked expression, jaw nearly to the floor, eyes almost out of his head, probably at the fact that she was dating a superhero. Because she understood how shocking it was.

Just then, the bell decided to ring and she knew she had to get to class. "Thanks, Adrien. Remember, no one can know." She turned, feeling a million times better than before, and jetted off to her next class.

Only if she saw his still frozen form.

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

Chat knew Marinette wasn't a liar. He knew that. So, why did she claim that they were dating? Was she telling the truth?

I'm dating Chat Noir. She started dating a mysterious guy that she just couldn't talk about to anyone— even Alya.

Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he had died in the last akuma, because no way could he be lucky enough for this to be his reality. Just no way.

Because he was only dating one girl— she wouldn't make up stories, she just wouldn't— and if she was telling the truth, that could only mean one thing and his heart picked up and his palms began to sweat at the mere thought.

I'm dating Chat Noir. That necklace in her bag. The one she just seemed to keen on keeping it from anyone's watchful eye.

And his breathing was becoming too hard, as the swelling in his heart was starting to get too big for the confines of his chest. It was just too impos-

Arms came out of nowhere, and slipped around his waist. A soft, caring voice came from behind him. "Hey, kitty. What's wrong?"

I'm dating Chat Noir. Cats didn't like her and when she gave her excuses, as if she knew the exact reason, it was ultimately related because of her scent. So soon after he marked Ladybug.

If this was a dream in the end, he didn't want to wake up.

He choked. "H-hey, bugaboo. Nothing." But he wouldn't turn in her hold, his eyes couldn't meet hers, not after hearing something that he just couldn't unhear. He kept his face out to the city.

She temporarily unclasped her arm around him and moved to his side, and dropped to the ground, pulling him along with her. "I don't buy that for a second, Chat."

Chat sighed, he'd been caught. He knew she wouldn't believe his lie. He leaned into her, needing her touch for what he needed to say. "I don't know what to say exactly without spilling identities."

Her demeanor didn't change. Still soft, tender, and caring as she was. "I'm not worried about identities anymore, kitty. Not as much as I was. I talked to Master Fu. If you need to talk about something, then please do."

Something in him just sparked. Because if she talked to Master Fu about identities, that meant something big, and the way they talked about it hinted, that just maybe she wanted to know. She wanted to reveal.

And as much as she always said— and he believed her one hundred percent— it was more of physical proof that she wanted him for a long long time.

Just maybe forever.

He didn't realize he was spacing out on her until she was waving her hand in front of his face. "Chat. C'mon. What's all going on?"

He didn't know how to even go about this. How did one even start a conversation about identities and of the such, because that was so different from the rest of all the other times? It was real, and here, and it wasn't going away.

He pulled away momentarily, climbing to his feet to look out onto the city so he could actually collect his thoughts before he spoke. "What if I told you, I overheard a couple people talking today in school?" His words weren't loud, he couldn't put the energy into them.

Even without looking at her, he could tell by her tone that she was confused. "Okay….and why does that have you down exactly?"

Everything that he had been denying up until this point was resurfacing and he couldn't deny at how utterly stupid he felt.

Should he? Shouldn't he. He wasn't sure, but he did anyway. "She said she was dating me. As in Chat."

He heard her breath hitch, and it made him brave enough to turn and face her, to face this. When his uncertain gaze meant her shaky one, it was an answer all in its self. "Sh-she did...well, um..who?" She asked in a meak whisper.

He wouldn't lie to her nor could he keep this from her if his thoughts were true. He owed her that much, and he hadn't done it on purpose, he didn't mean to find out her possible identity without her actually telling him.

But the guilt was still simmering in the pit of his gut. She had every right to know now that he did.

Air was dwindling to none. "Marinette. Marinette Dupain Cheng said we were dating." He stalked forward, shortening the distance between them, every inch by inch until finally, they were nose to nose. "I know she's not a liar. Nor would she make up something as serious as dating a superhero. That's not who she is. She's amazing and kind, and selfless."

She blinked. "Oh."

The air may have been thin, but he could still chuckle somewhat. "And I'm hoping to every kwami in existence that what she said was real." His tongue went to wet his dry lips. "So, please, bugaboo. Tell me what she said was real. Please tell me I'm dating Marinette."

A few beats. Longer seconds that they should've been. It was more of an eternity than anything he had ever experienced.

She was shell shocked, that much he could tell. But she answered his question. "Yeah, kitty." Her words breathless, but coherent. "You're dating Marinette."

In a flash of pink light, Marinette stood in Ladybug's stead. She was obviously trying to make herself look small, hiding in her own body with her nerves screaming at her, because this was still a scary and unknown situation, but she still held her want of the reveal on her shoulders.

It took only a fraction of a second for him to realize that he had been right, and proceeded to grab her by the waist, and spun her in tiny little dizzy circles. He could hear her laugh, that laugh that he so often heard every day and didn't know, and it was so amazing.

It was like hearing it all over again for the very first time.

She was telling him to put her down, but it was between laughter, and there was no firmness to her words, so he continued. He couldn't get enough of the smell of sweets, vanilla, and baked goods that he had for so long associated with Ladybug. How could he had not seen it before, it was so clear.

Her laugh, her personality, heck, her looks. Those ocean blue eyes that he loved more than anything in the world. Everything that made Ladybug, came from Marinette, and it made him giddy.

When he finally calmed down, he settled Marinette back on her feet, but refused to let her go from his hold. Her grin had to be as big as his, if not more so, and he loved her more in that moment than he ever had before.

"It's you." and before she could respond, his lips were on hers, hard, fierce, but brimming with love. He was scattered brain, that much he could connect in his head, but when she started to kiss back after the initial shock of him kissing her in the first place, he couldn't really care.

It was her, his brain chanted over an over until it hurt, but it was nice. Because he could smell him on her and it drove his heart absolutely mad with happiness. He wanted this, her, this moment, and the rest that they would create together later on.

When he finally pulled back from her lips— a challenging act all on its own— he was rewarded with the sight of bruised rosy lips, eyes half lidded, and definitely thoroughly kissed. By him.

Through her short little pants for breath, she said, "Well, that was an excited greeting." She giggled to show she held no menace in her words. "So," her finger tips gently touched the edge of his mask. "Do I get to see who you are under the mask?"

That was when the rest of the situation hit hard. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more to the point where he was crying. It was so ironic.

But, unfortunately, she took that as a bad sigh. "Unless, I mean, you don't want me to know…."

He stopped before he could make another sound so he corrected his mistake. "No. No, princess. I didn't mean it like that at all."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched, clearly still suspicious. "Then what did you mean?"

"We're a mess." He put simply. "A beautiful, chaotic mess. And I'm pretty proud of that if I'm being honest."

Without a seconds hesitation— his arms still wrapped around her with an iron grip— his own transformation drops, and he watched as her face went from curiosity, suspension, and eagerness, to shock, mind blown, and finally, ecstatic happiness.

And, boy, did that make him feel whole.

"So." She said. "That's how you knew."

He nodded before letting his forehead fall onto hers. "Yeah, that's how I knew. Kinda lied about the whole overheard part, sorry."

Eyes shining with unleashed tears, her hands went up to lightly trace his jaw in awe, as if she didn't believe what was before her. "It's fine, kitty."

Kitty. He was still her kitty.

He loved that. "Guess that means we're finally done dancing around each other, huh?"

"Yeah." She shrugged without much thought, but the smile was still very much real. "But I guess that just proves my point even further."

He could hear the challenge, and he took the bait like a catfish to a worm. "Oh?" His eyes narrowed. "And what point would that be."

She booped his nose. "I'll always find you, kitty." She pushed herself up, letting their lips connect in an almost slow meet, but before she did, whispered. "Always."

AND THERE WE GO.

I can't go to bed because I gotta watch over the animals until the powers back on, so that means I actually have time to catch up on comments.

Please enjoy my one am morning brain. It's gonna be fun. Lots of love!

#ladynoirjuly2019 #LadyNoir #ml #mlb #miraculous ladybug #love square

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