#(but seriously considering reconsidering that at this present moment in time)

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Puck Yourself

A/N: Hey y'all I know it's been a hot second since I've published anything but I've had this completed in my drafts for a few weeks now. I was planning on trying to get multiple parts to this all out at once but I've had a lot of essays due recently and continue to have quite a few due so oh well. Gotta prioritize school over this. But this AU is based off of the Lucky Charms series by drabblewithfrannybarnes. I love that series so much it's honestly one of my comfort ones I go back to a lot so yeah. Here's my own kinda take on what I think a similar college hockey AU would look like with Ari, throwing in the wild card of being Bucky Barnes' younger sister. Pairing: College Hockey!Ari Levinson x College Hockey!Bucky Barnes Younger Sister F!Reader Word count: 6,180 words Wanings: Swearing, strong moments of angers, mentions of sex

Summary: Meeting the stereotypical player, hockey boy Ari was exactly what you expected. Until you actually talk and realize he might not be all that bad. The problem is, Bucky things otherwise.

Bucky had finally convinced you to come up and see him.

It had taken well over a year, multiple breaks, and a hell of a lot of conniving on his part to finally get you to visit him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see your brother, or his school, you just didn’t really want to stay at a house full of college hockey boys. It sounded like a complete nightmare, and as you sat in your car mentally preparing to deal with it, you seriously questioned why you had agreed to this.

But your protective, occasional pain in your ass, best friend of a brother Bucky had an air mattress set up for your for two days, had agreed to pay for gas and food, and had solemnly swore to your parents to look out for you at all times. It was pretty believable, especially considering his physical size and demeanor.

As you parked your car in front of the house that still had red solo cups littered out front, a random hole in the yard, and just screamed “testosterone” at the top of it’s lungs you seriously began to reconsider everything. Right now, you could have been in your apartment in the city with your friends and roommates planning on a night out while you were on break. But instead, you were about to enter the only thing worst than a frat house: a college hockey teams house.

“Y/N/N!” You heard a shout as you opened the trunk of your car. You looked over to see your brother standing on the porch, with a smile, beginning to jog towards you. As soon as he reached you he engulfed you in a big hug that made you feel as if you were being swallowed whole.

“Hey Buck,” You replied, hugging him back. “Missed me?”“You know it,” He smiled back, going ahead to grab your bag from the car. You only had your backpack hanging off one shoulder, Bucky carrying the rest. He made it look so easy, like the suitcase was a small bag of groceries.

As you entered the house, the same aroma of every party you had been to flooded your nose. Except no one was actually here. You gave Bucky a look which he quickly read as disgust of sorts, “I promise I cleaned my room.”“Uh huh,” You replied looking around the place. There was no particular order to the couches, and literally no other furniture other than the four of them. The leather was worn and you were sure sticky by now. The floor managed also to be sticky, not shocking given who lived here. There were a couple framed photos on the wall of teams both present and past but that was about it.

“I promise, the actual living room for us is upstairs,” He told you, leading you that way. “The downstairs is really just for parties.”“I could tell, Buck.” You replied, crossing your arms as you began walking up the large stairs. “Why did I even agree to come here?” You questioned out loud. You knew Bucky rolled his eyes even though you were behind him.

“Because you love me oh so dearly,” He stated, you scoffed. “But seriously, I’ve visited your school like five times and you’re only a second year. You’ve been here once.”“Okay, well I live closer to home, in a city with stuff to do, and you were with mom and dad.”“There’s plenty of stuff to do here,” He argued back, fumbling with the key in his hand to open the door to his room.

“Mhm, like stare at the corn fields.” Now he actually rolled his eyes and you saw it. “And I’ve been here more than once! For all your championship games last year, and the year before.”“Those don’t count,” He explained, entering his room as you followed behind him. “School wasn’t happening.”“Okay, whatever.” You sighed, sitting down on his bed and placing your backpack on the floor. He hadn’t lied, he had actually cleaned his room. It did smelled like a can of Febreeze had been violated and died in there, but it was much better than downstairs. A subtle knock came ringing at his door. “Hey Sam!” You smiled up at him as he walked in, giving you a big smile back.

“There’s my favorite sibling of any player.” He said. You stood up, allowing him to give you a hug as well. “How’re you? How was the drive?”“Fine and fine.” You replied, sitting back on the bed as Bucky began making room in his closet for your stuff.

“Ya know, you’re a real trooper for staying here.” Sam pointed out, leaning against one of Bucky’s wall. You both looked at him, as he now stood with a large shrug.

“See, I told you!” You said to Bucky, “Be grateful.”“I was grateful you’re here, but I’m becoming less by the second.” He said eyeing you. You scoffed.

“If you ever need a break, you know where my room is-“ Sam began but Bucky was quick to interrupt him.

“No, there will never be a moment in time where Y/N is in your room with you alone, or anyone else’s for that matter.” Bucky stated pointing firmly at Sam. “I already went over this with everyone.”“Hey, out of every other guy in this house need I remind you I’m the most trustworthy with your younger sister?” Sam replied, with his hands up in a sort of surrender offering.

“Yeah, but still.” Bucky said, going back to clearing out part of his closet. “If Rogers were here he would be the most trustworthy.”

You missed Steve, but he was away visiting family this weekend. Besides, he had been a second brother to you your whole life, so it wasn’t as if you wouldn’t see him again. As soon as Christmas break rolled around he would be at your family’s house for a day or two to celebrate.“Damn, might as well rub salt in that wound.” Sam sighed, “Anyways, let me know if any of the guys here try to play any games.” Sam said, now looking at you. His hands were on his hips, his face now straight and serious. You nodded.

“Now you’re on my side for once?” Bucky fired at Sam.

“When it comes to your younger sister in a house full of guys that are borderline animals around any attractive girl? Yes.” Sam replied confidently. “All I’m saying is you only have so much power here, Barnes. You’re up against guys the same size and mindset as you. You’re gonna need as much backup as you can get with this one.”

So far all the guys here had been overwhelming nice. Maybe the dual threat of Bucky and Sam scared them off of you, but a part of you at least hoped they were just this naturally respectful to women (somehow, though, you did doubt that hopefulness). They wanted to talk to you about your school, what you were studying, how it was growing up with Bucky.

“So you’re the brains, huh?” One of the guys asked, leaning against the counter practically chugging a Gatorade bottle of water down.

“I guess,” You shrugged with a smile.

“That was how we grew up,” Bucky was quick to interject, finishing up one of his assignments at the counter. “She was always the smart one, I was the sporty one.”

You actually secretly praised your parents for raising you that way so there really was no competition for who was better. Each of you were good at your own things, and helped each other with the other. You always helped Bucky with homework (and still did), while Bucky helped you train to pass the one basic P.E. test you had to take.

You were munching on a bowl of chips some of the guys had set out for you, continuing to talk when the back door opened. “You comes back for once without a girl, huh?” Sam questioned from where he stood next to you.

It was pretty hard to ignore the absolute unit that walked in the door. He was a tank of a person, in the best way possible. Incredibly muscular, tall. At least 6’6, maybe closer to 6’7. His presence towered over the room of hockey boys, which was something you never knew could happen. His auburn brown hair was slicked back, the ends falling just under his ears. A beard covered his jawline, one which you imagined was incredibly defined and sculpted to perfection.

He set down his backpack which looked regular sized for him, but comically large on the floor. He turned to Sam, and in turn his eyes quickly met yours. They were a crystal blue, a color so prominent you figured his eyes must have been bleach white underneath to let such a color be seen. “Who’s this?” He asked, pointing to you and looking back to Sam. His face seemed a bit confused out of everything, with a hint of being pleasantly surprised.

“Y/N,” Sam commented, popping a chip in his mouth with a quick crunch and swallow. “Bucky’s sister. Younger sister.” he clarified.

“Ah,” He replied, approaching you with a smile that could make a line of 100 women pass out. “Name’s Ari. Ari Levinson.” He said, sticking his hand out. You took it and gave it a shake, one that you could tell dwarfed his typical shake but he went with it.

You had heard about Ari Levinson. Plenty of times from following a couple of the guys’ Instagrams and the hockey teams official one. He was a third year, like your brother. He was a star of sorts on the team, had already been picked up by a NHL team the year prior. But from what Bucky had mentioned, his parents had convinced him to stay the full four years to get his degree. And with good enough lawyers, they had convinced whatever team he was heading to to let him finish out his school and immediately hop into the sport professionally after he had a degree with his name on it.

“Y/N,” You replied. “Barnes, if that wasn’t already implied.” He gave a small chuckle.

“Yeah, I could tell.” He told you, leaning against the counter on the other side. “You two look a lot alike.”“Yeah, we got that all the time as kids.” You told him.

“I bet,” He said, his eyes trailing you up and down more slowly than what you felt was typical friendliness. You suddenly became a bit conscious at the leggings you were wearing and the fact his eyes had lingered a tad bit longer on your thighs. “The black hair suits you better though, especially for those beautiful eyes. Never seen ones like ‘em.”“Levinson really-“ Sam began but you interjected.

“I bet that’s what you tell all your girls, huh?” You replied with a smirk. The group of guys still sitting at the counter choked on their drinks as their eyes widened. You could feel Sam smiling from next to you.

“Haha, very funny.” Ari replied, a bit more stern this time. “It has a 100% pass rate though.”“Change it to 99,” You shot back, “Welcome to the bottom 1%.” This again resulted in dead silence around the room. Ari gave you a smile.

“I’ll get to you eventually, beautiful.” He said, standing back up fully.

“Gonna have to get through Bucky to do that.” You replied.

“Is that a challenge?” Ari smirked down at you, biting his bottom lip. “I love a good challenge, sweetheart.”

“More of a factual statement,” You said, leaning on the counter towards him. “I would say more an impossibility.”“We’ll see about that,” Ari said, grabbing his bag of the floor and swinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.” He added with a smile and wink before he departed down the hall and towards the stairs.

“Is he always like that?” You turned to Sam with a look of slight disgust. But Sam looked a little more worried than that.

“Kinda,” He replied, “Just not that persistent.”

“Oh?”“Means he actually wants to get to you,” Sam explained, “We won’t let him. But don’t tell Bucky, yet at least. Not sure Ari’s ego can protect him from your brother’s fist.”

You had actually frequented parties back at your last school. So standing here now on a Friday night with a red solo cup in your hand filled with mystery seltzer didn’t feel all that foreign. The only difference this time, however, was that you didn’t have your traditional friend group surrounding you. Instead you were talking to the occasional one or two guys on the team who would inevitably find a girl to their liking to go and coerce into their bed. Then when they left and you got bored of standing in the corner alone, you would go and bother Bucky who was going between working behind the bar and talking to his girlfriend, Natasha. If Bucky was too busy you went and talked to Nat and her friends, who were incredibly sweet and gracious with you even though you constantly felt like an intrusion.

“You need something?” Your brother asked, craning his neck back to see you. His front was facing a line of girls waiting for their fixing of cheap beer he was pouring into cups. You shook your head. “Bored again?” You nodded. “Why don’t you go talk to Nat? She loves talking to you.” You rolled your eyes.

“I feel like an intrusion, Bucky.” You replied, now standing next to him and taking a sip of your drink. “Like I know her friends are only a year older than me but it feels different.” Bucky huffed, handing the girl in front of him another drink.

“You can always head up to my room if you want.” You nodded hoping that was the answer he would give.

He quickly dug in his back jean pockets for his keys, fishing them out and handing them to you. “Just lock the door behind you, okay?” He asked and you nodded. “And I’ll text you when I’m on my way up. Don’t answer the door for anyone that knocks.” You nodded again, thanking him and making your way back through the crowded bodies tucked shoulder to shoulder with one another.

Thankfully the guy guarding the stairs recognized you as you held up Bucky’s key. He smiled with a nod, letting you by and away from the extremely crowded dance floor and blaring music.

As you walked down the hall you could hear laughter from a few of the rooms, and most definitely fucking from others. You rounded the corner to where Bucky’s room was, stopping at the end where his room stood and placing the key in the fob. As you twisted it to the side, you couldn’t help but to overhear another door down the hall opening. You looked up briefly, to see Ari standing there arms crossed as he leant on the trim of the door.

A drop dead gorgeous brunette girl walked out. She looked young, easily a freshman. You questioned if she was even that or maybe a senior in high school with a repeated excuse as to why she didn’t have a student card of valid ID with date of birth, but insisting she was 18. She was slim, a size four around the waist on a bloated day for her. She managed to have great boobs, and beautiful long hair. She could’ve been mistaken for a model for all you knew.

He gave her a signature smile, she asked him if he would call her.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He said but you could hear the emptiness in that from a mile away.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and ran off down the stairs, her hair slightly frizzy and makeup now ever so smudged. You sighed to yourself. How nice it must be to casually get guys like that and have the nativity to not know A. He would never call you back and B. He would pretend he had never met you even if you saw him again. Your attachment issues could never.

You pushed the door open, stepping one foot in when your name was called. “Y/N, right?” You heard someone approaching. You looked up to see Ari standing maybe four feet away. You nodded. “What’re you doing up here, all alone?” He asked and you shrugged.

“Bored.”“There’s a party going on downstairs, you know that right?” He asked with a smile and light laugh. You nodded.

“Parties aren’t fun unless your at least three shots in and surrounded by people you actually know, and like.” You replied, “I am in none of those situations right now.” He gave a tight smile and nod. “You seem to be having fun.” You motioned back down the hall to his door. He let out a hearty laugh.

“Wanna take some guesses?” He asked, taking a few steps closer to you so now you were within a foot of each other. He towered over you, arms crossed leaning against the wall.

“Not really, no.” You said in all honestly. He raised an eyebrow in question. “I mean, I don’t really do that stuff. I wouldn’t really have a clue.”“What, like sex?”“Yeah, and in turn hookups.” You replied. You were giving away way too much information right now. You blamed it on the few drinks in your system.

“You’re too pretty to have not had sex yet.” You scoffed.

“Please,” You nearly laughed, “I’m a six on a good day and I’ve come to terms with that. You just got with an eleven on a bad day. Don’t talk to me about that.” You replied, having had enough of this conversation and heading into Bucky’s room, before you could fully close the door though his hand was on it.

“Were you an ugly kid?” He asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth a face of regret took over.“What the fuck did you just ask me?” You looked at him confused as hell, hand still on the door and moving to slam it. He held that attempt back to.

“No I mean- shit, not like that.” He pleaded, one foot in the one the other out to prevent any other tries at closing the door. You rolled your eyes at him. “I mean- I was one. And it took me a while to realize that I got better looking as I got older, and now I can sleep with gorgeous women and feel like an equal to them.”

You looked at him with complete and utter disbelief. There was no way this Greek God of a man was seriously telling you how it feels to be attractive enough to sleep with whoever you want. Especially considering your struggle to find a halfway decent guy to call your first boyfriend, and your virginity that was still hidden deep somewhere in you. “Alright, nice talk, champ. That’s enough for tonight.” You said trying to close the door but his body blocking it. “If you don’t move I’m going to yell bloody murder.”“Uh huh, I would like to see that.”“You really want Bucky and Sam to come up and deal with you?” You asked, this time with a dead serious tone and expression. “Oh, and Steve when he gets back.” Ari took a long, hard look at you before backing away.

“Okay, fine. I was trying to start a conversation and fucked up. I’m sorry for implying you were an ugly kid.” He said with a sigh, standing outside the door still.

You had every right to slam it in his face, in fact you thought you should’ve. But he did seem genuinely apologetic, and for a guy that seemed as douchey as him, you assumed that took a lot of effort.

“Fine, I forgive you.” You replied.

“Thank you,” He said back, leaning on the doorway again. “Listen, I know you don’t want to do anything given your- situation.”“Watch it.” You wanted, motioning to the door as you silently implied your ability to slam it right in his face at any given moment. “But, would you like to chill out with me?” He asked, “Someone’s gonna come knocking on Barnes door soon enough begging to fuck in there and I don’t want you to have to fend for yourself in that situation.” He explained, “I’ll strip my sheets now, I have a chair you can sit on and a TV in there. We can just listen to music, chill. I don’t care if you want to sit on your phone the whole time and ignore me. Hell, I’ll give you a charger. But you are a teammates sibling, and I want to know you’re okay.”

So Ari Levinson now cared about you? The same dude you flirted in front of the majority of the team today, who just walked out with a model-level girl he would never talk to again? And he was worried about you right now, and seemed at least halfway genuine? You sighed.

“Fine,” You said, closing the door behind you and re-locking it. “But no funny business.”“None,” He swore, giving you firm eye contact. “I swear.”“Good,” You nodded at him, “And I will not be sitting on your bed regardless of the sheet situation.”“Aw honey, it wasn’t like I actually fucked her.” He explained, “She just sucked me off.” You gave a fake gagging sound.

“I think I would rather jump off the balcony here than get on my knees for you.” You replied. He gave you a smile.

“Eh, you would be surprised.”

Ari was shockingly… normal. He was actually just a chill guy with good music taste. That shocked you the most. He admitted a lot of his playlist was filled with modern rap because that’s what a lot of the guys listened to but he preferred 80s and 90s rock and alternative. It was what he had grown up listening to with his parents and something you quickly bonded over.

You had begun to talk a bit about relationships. He had opened up with how he had broken up with his long term girlfriend six months prior and was still reeling from a chunk of the effect and realizing how surface level the entire relationship felt. He also added how hook ups were easier. No commitment, he could focus on hockey and school.

“What about you?” He asked, “What lucky guys have been with you?” You scoffed.

“I’ve talked to a couple guys,” You explained, “But nothing really serious. I got my first kiss, date, all that stuff out of the way senior year of high school before college. First going beyond first base in freshman year. Talked to a guy long term last semester but it didn’t really work. I’m just kinda waiting for the right person but I also know I’m too ambitious for my own good when it comes to relationships.”“Oh, how so?” He asked, leaning on his bed as you sat in his swivel chair by his desk.

“I just- I focus so much on school and extracurriculars that I don’t really have time for a boyfriend. I want one, but I also am not great at talking to guys either. Flirting is my worst enemy.” You said, “My last kiss was over a year ago.” He nodded slightly, almost in a sympathetic way.

“I don’t think you’re the problem.” He mentioned next, looking over at where you sat. “I mean, you really are stunning. You’re incredibly smart. Bucky always tells us how much of a hard worker you are, and how you go out and are a social butterfly. Just- at our age, not many guys are looking for commitment. And it sucks for girls like you but give it a few years.” You groaned, throwing your head back.

“Everyone says that and I’m so sick of it.” You told him, “But then I look at Bucky, and he and Nat have been going strong for over a year now.”

“Bucky is also a really special guy,” Ari mentioned, “Listen, he and I aren’t all that close but everyone on the team is close to an extent. We travel together, play together, practice together, get meals together- hell we live together. And he really is a great guy. You’re very lucky to have him as a brother.”“I know,” You replied with a tight smile, “He’s one of my best friends and I’m very grateful to have someone like that who’s just built in to my life.”

“He really looks up to you, ya know.” Ari said, smiling at you. “Even though you’re younger he’s always bragging about your accomplishments and how smart you are. I mean, you are going to an amazing school. I remember when you got in he was practically jumping up and down and telling everyone.” You smiled to yourself knowing that you reacted the same way when he got into his dream school for hockey. “You’re really special, Y/N. And don’t ever let a guy, especially one like me, take that from you or tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks Ari.” You replied, smiling up at him. “You know you’re not as tough as you seem. You should let some more people see it sometimes.”“I only let people I really, really like past that part of me.” He said, “There aren’t many.”

Just as he finished saying that a string of absolute banging punches came at the door. “Shit.” He murmured, getting up.

You backed away on the chair as Ari opened up the door to reveal a seething and red Bucky. “Why the fuck is she in here?” He demanded, pushing Ari back. Despite Ari having at least a couple inches on Bucky, he nearly fell back onto his bed having to catch himself in midair.

“Barnes we didn’t do anything-““Shut the fuck up!” He yelled, Sam now rushing into the room. He tried to grab Bucky by the arms but was thrown off with ease and went tumbling back almost falling into the door.

Bucky through all his rage and might managed to get Ari pinned up against the nearest wall, his hands in fists around the collar of his shirt. “If you fucking touched her-“You had had enough of his behavior, getting up and marching over to stand right behind him. “Bucky, he didn’t dot anything. We didn’t do anything.” You clarified. Bucky looked back at you, face scrunched in pure anger, loosening his grip only a bit on Ari. “I swear, you know I wouldn’t do anything. I haven’t. Let alone with one of your teammates.”

It took Bucky a second to realize what you were saying, but as soon as he did he let go of Ari. “Look at her again, and you’re dead.” He said, firmly pointing to Ari who was still against the wall with his finger in his face. Ari couldn’t even respond before Bucky was dragging you out by your upper arm and back to his room.

You had gotten a very stern talking to that night about the dangers of Ari. Bucky was still fuming, but at least he had kept his voice down to a not-yelling level. It didn’t help all that much that you were fighting back some, because at this point you were arguing to a brick wall. But at least you were able to clarify that nothing had actually happened, and Bucky seemed to believe you. But that wouldn’t stop him from trying to keep Ari as far away from you as possible.

It was their Saturday game where you found yourself sitting next to Nat in this cold arena. You had learned over the many years of attending Bucky’s hockey games how to layer and do it properly. Leggings were always a go-to, with a team t-shirt as well. Bucky had let you borrow a quarter-zip he had from last year with your last name embroidered into the top left corner. It’s size made it incredibly cozy and warm, especially right now. Nat was in his jersey, and had every right to be. Wearing a guy’s jersey was girlfriend code, not younger sister code.

The two of you were watching them practice a bit before the game. Bucky would give you two the occasional smile, you would do it back. What you didn’t expect, however, were the occasional but very prominent glances over at you by Ari.

“So, you and Levinson?” Nat asked from next to you. Her tone of voice indicated her genuine curiosity, non-judgmental, and ‘I won’t tell Bucky’ attitude of girl code. But your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they gave a roll. “Oh c’mon, there’s at least chemistry there.”“Uh huh,” You sarcastically replied, still watching Bucky glide across the ice. All these guys made it look too damn easy. “There’s nothing between Ari and I, really.”“You do know everyone heard about Buck’s little show down with him, over you, right?” She asked next. You groaned in frustration.

“It wasn’t even that!” You fired back, “I literally hung out with him for like an hour or two. That was it. Nothing else. I’m a virgin, Nat, you know that. I’m not going to just give that away to a guy like Ari.” You replied. She gave a tight smile in defeat.

“All I was going to say is Ari really isn’t that bad.” She replied. You looked over at her with a face scrunched in confusion. “He had a long term girlfriend. Like a solid two years. Treated her like a princess, really. Paid for everything, showed her off at every game like she was the trophy. Hell, he even posted her on his Instagram. An Instagram that has been a valley on emptiness since high school.” She crossed her arms, her own eyes now looking at them. “Listen, don’t tell Bucky I said this, ever, but if he offers you his number or anything… I would take it.”

You didn’t have long to think about what she had just said when the buzzer went off announcing the game had started. All the guys went back to their bench, taking their respective spots and fumbling with their mouth guards. You gave a deep sigh.

The game started and was going well in their favor. This was by no means shocking, this lineup happened to be one of the best teams in the country this year at the college level. You watched Bucky strategically on defense, a perfect fit for him. He always knew when he needed to get aggressive and not, a strength not many of these guys had at quite the same level he did. You and Nat gave each other a high five and a cheer every time he successful blocked an opposing member from even getting close to their goalie, or when he flawlessly recovered a failed attempt at a shot back to an offensive player.

When the final buzzer rang, the boys were up by four points. The all gave each other small hugs on the ice, walking off a moment later with smiles and walking back to the locker room. You and Nat walked over to their side of the ice, patiently waiting a good distance down from the locker room. This allowed for crew to come in and out and start cleaning up after the game with the already crowded hallway.

It took 20 or so minutes for Bucky to come out first with Sam by his side. You gave them both big smiles as they came up to you and hugged you. “Thanks for coming out, Little Barnes.” Sam said, letting you go from a powerful hug.

“No problem,” You smiled up at him, “I love watching you guys play. It’s very fun to see men want to shove each other with some class over a rubber puck.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You did great.” Nat smiled, leaning onto Bucky’s arm as he gave her a kiss on the top of the head.

“You ready to head out?” Sam turned to Bucky and asked him. He nodded. “Wanna come with?” He turned back to you. Before you could even respond, Bucky was speaking.“She’s coming,” He said matter-of-factly. “And don’t even try and worry about getting in underage, we know everyone there. It won’t be a problem.”

“Are you actually gonna let me drink?” Was your next question.

“Don’t act like you don’t do it every weekend,” He replied, starting his walk towards the door with Nat under his arm. “I see your Instagram stories.”

You rolled your eyes and followed right behind, Sam next to you. “Can I use the bathroom real quick?” You asked, all of them nodded.

“We’ll meet you at the car, you know where it is right?” Sam asked and you nodded, jogging off to the side area where the bathrooms were.

As you walked back out, still shaking your hands a little to let them air dry more, you looked over to see Ari standing about fifteen feet down, surrounded by a group of three girls nonetheless. He had that signature smirk on his face that would make any girl really believe he was falling in love with them when all he wanted was a solid fuck and a quick goodbye.

All three of them giggled in sync at whatever he was saying, one of them getting closer to him every couple of seconds. He was just a woman magnet, and while you didn’t blame any of those girls for finding him attractive, their desperation was a bit embarrassing.

You chose not to think much of it, walking off and towards the front door of the arena to walk out and find Sam’s truck. Just before you approached the door, you heard someone call your name. You knew better than to turn around, but your instinct kicked in without any thought. And there stood Ari Levinson.

“Hey,” He said, standing there for a moment as if you were going to continue a conversation you hadn’t even started, “Uh, thanks for coming out.”“I was here for Bucky.” You quickly replied, pointing to the last name on your sweater.

“Well, I mean- yeah I knew that-““It’s what you tell every girl that comes to these games, right?” You said with a tight smile, “I saw you talking to your groupies back there.” He took a sigh to himself, looking down at the floor for a moment with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair fell a bit beyond his ears and over his forehead, him having to push it back as soon as he looked at you again.

“I really hate how you read me like an open book.”“I’m an English major, what can I say.” You immediately replied, letting him have a quick second to respond, and a quick second he left empty. You started to walk towards the door. “I gotta go, Buck’s waiting for me-“

“Can I get your number?” He asked next. You turned around to face him again with a confused look on your face. “Please?” You sighed out loud.

“For what exactly?” You asked. “I have nothing you want. I’m not going to have sex with you, or suck your dick for that matter.”“I don’t want you for sex and you know that.” He semi-aggressively stated, “I just- need someone to talk to sometimes. And you seem to be really good at listening and advice and all that stuff.”“Really?” You asked, even more confused than before. He nodded. “I’m not a therapist Ari.” He groaned out loud, letting his head fall back in frustration.

“I know just-“ He started, now approaching you and leaning down to whisper something. “Listen, I like you. More than other girls. I want to get your number to know you better, ya know, talk?”

“Could you say it louder for the people in back?” You smiled at him as he let out a very hearty sigh. “Fine, I give up-““Just give me your phone.” You said, sticking your hand out. He gave you a look of slight disbelief. “I will give you my number.” He quickly dug the device out of his sweatpants pocket and handed it over. As soon as you typed it in, you handed it back.

“When do you leave?”“Tomorrow.”“Of course.” He sighed, pocketing his phone again. “You got any time to see me?”“What? For a date?”“Yeah, exactly that.” He replied, “We can do what you want. Coffee, lunch, I don’t care.” “A coffee is fine.” You said back, “I’m leaving at 10. Meet me at 10:30 somewhere?”“I’ll text you the details.”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #ari levinson #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x reader #chris evans characters #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you

[teaberrii]

Chapter Twenty: The Ex

Alhaitham has the looks and the smarts. He will also be the stand-in CEO for his grandfather's company for a year.

But, he's been mysteriously cursed to turn into a cat every night since his eighteenth birthday… until he meets you, an employee at his grandfather's company, who rescues him as a cat and changes him back with one kiss.

Alhaitham/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on AO3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

Thoma is driving Ayato home from the hospital that night when Ayato's phone goes off. When Thoma glances at his friend in the rearview mirror, Ayato is already talking to the person on the other end. The call is brief, but from the look on Ayato's face, it isn't good news.

When Ayato slips his phone back inside his pocket, Thoma asks, “Is everything okay?”

"...The lead role they offered me went to someone else."

The car slowly rolls to a stop at a red light. “Is that… bad news? I thought you wouldn’t take it.”

Ayato sighs. “I was seriously considering it.” He looks at Thoma in the rearview mirror. “You were right. I am using acting as a lifeline… but even so, I’m not doing a good job.”

“...Ayato.”

“And this call just proved my point. I know who took the role.” When Ayato tells Thoma the actor’s name, Thoma also knows who he’s talking about. A rising, young actor whose career took off when he had a supporting role in a major drama production that became extremely popular.

“Answer me honestly, Ayato,” Thoma says as the car rolls forward. “Do you really want this role? This is your last chance. If you really want it, you need to say something. There's a chance they'll reconsider."

Ayato doesn’t know what comes over him, but it’s as if Thoma’s words are the final push that leads him to make the call.

“...Yes,” Ayato says after a moment. “I’m willing to audition if that’s how they’ll make the final decision.” As soon as Ayato gets off the phone, he glances at Thoma, who has a small smile. Ayato looks out the window. “You asked me if I want to continue acting, and I do. I don’t hate it. I don’t love it. Regardless, I want to do better.”

And, he might find a more meaningful purpose behind it.

◆◆◆

You’re on a small coffee break with your coworkers the next morning when they bring up Alhaitham dropping out of the panel to determine the company’s next big production. One of your coworkers nudges you.

“Do you think you got lucky? You don’t have to make a big presentation in front of the CEO.”

If only they know you’re dating him. Alhaitham never told you he dropped out, but you can already guess why. And, if you're right, it’s a smart move.

“Are you nervous?” your coworker continues to ask. “It’s coming up in a few days!”

“Well, I’ll put my best foot forward. That’s all I can say.” Then, you pick up your coffee mug and walk out of the lounge, leaving your coworkers wondering what kind of interesting idea you’ll present this time.

You’re about to reach your desk when your phone buzzes. Once you take it out of your pocket, you see that it’s a message from your manager.

It’s urgent. Come to my office now.

What is this about?

When you reach his office and close the door behind you, he doesn’t even gesture for you to sit down.

“Is something going on between you and the CEO?”

You’re so caught off guard by the question that you say the first thing that comes to mind. “What?”

Then, he turns his laptop around and plays a short video that shows Alhaitham coming out of a room. Shortly afterward, you come out of the same room. “This was at the Awards Night, was it not?”

There is only one reason you can think of why that video exists. You remember the crazy reporter and his malicious intent of giving people keychains or charms with a small hidden camera. But… even if someone caught you and Alhaitham… who would blackmail you? And why?

Regardless, nothing could’ve prepared you for this, and you’re at a complete loss for what to say until you finally gather your nerves.

“Nothing happened that night,” you say. “Who sent this?"

"It was sent anonymously."

You almost roll your eyes. Right. Of course. 

"Isn't this illegal?" you ask. "Filming someone without their permission?"

As you listen to your manager talk, you start wondering if he’s worried about you or the company’s reputation. You agree that a CEO dating an employee doesn’t sound professional and can lead to a whirlwind of gossip. But that shouldn’t be any reason for you and Alhaitham to break up. 

“Do you know if anyone else has this video?” you ask. "Because I didn't know about this until you told me."

“I don’t, and I hope no one else does."

You want to ask if this is such a big deal. There's nothing scandalous in the video, but perhaps it's about the speculations. The rumours. Even though you're not a public figure, Alhaitham is. At least with his tenure as CEO. If it comes down to it, you or Alhaitham might have to clarify what you two were doing together.

Once you leave your manager’s office, your phone buzzes. It’s a text from Alhaitham, and you quickly enter an empty meeting room to take his call.

“...I saw the video,” he says after listening to you recall what happened with your manager. “It was also sent to me.”

Well, that's just great. Does that mean the rest of the company has seen it, too?

“Did that person want anything from you?” you ask.

“...No, surprisingly.”

That's strange. You’d thought that this person would demand money, at least.

"Let me get this straight," you say. "They just sent you a video and... that's it?"

"I have my speculation. We obviously have more questions than answers, and perhaps this is what they want."

"Playing mind games, huh? That's dirty."

“Regardless, whatever the reason, I won’t let them get away with it.” Alhaitham looks out the window. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise."

As you're heading back to your desk, you go through all of your emails on your phone. Apparently, this person is too cowardly to contact you directly. You're so busy on your phone that you don't notice Ayato and Childe walking toward you.

"Busy, busy, I see."

You look up upon hearing the familiar voice. “Ayato!”

Childe frowns. “Aren't you forgetting someone?"

“And Childe.”

“That’s better.”

You look at Ayato. “What are you doing here? Another shoot?”

"Some last-minute touches," Ayato says. "But… you might see me less often from now on."

You’re about to ask why when Childe spills the beans. “Just between us… he’s going to be busy rehearsing for a lead role.”

“A lead role… that’s huge!”

Ayato smiles. “I guess you can say I’m finally taking a step forward.”

“We’re going to be losing one of The Strays pretty soon,” Childe says. When you smile, he does too. “Well, you finally smiled.”

“Hm?”

“You looked a little down,” Ayato says. “Is everything okay?”

“...Ah. Well, sort of, I guess,” you say quietly. You lower your voice, and after telling them what happened, both of them look baffled. Then, Childe’s expression turns stern and Ayato frowns.

"That's ridiculous," Childe says. 

“As… crazy as that sounds,” Ayato begins, “You’re in good hands if Alhaitham is dealing with it.”

You sigh. “I know. But still… I’m just… a little rattled.”

“Well, it’s not just Alhaitham who has your back,” Childe says. He and Ayato look at each other. “If anything happens, we’ll be there for you. And if it’s any reassurance, I didn’t get that video… which means I doubt anyone else has gotten it, too.”

“...I hope so.”

“My, what a crowd.”

You recognize the voice almost immediately. When you turn around, your guess is right. "Kaeya!" Tighnari is beside him, holding a laptop. “And Nari!”

“Hiya.”

Kaeya’s eyes don’t stay on you for long. He glances at Childe, who’s looking at him with a small frown.

“Today is just full of surprises,” Childe mutters.

Kaeya chuckles. “You’re right. Good surprises, though.” He looks at Ayato. "You must be Kamisato Ayato."

The two men shake hands as Ayato says, "Yes. And you are...?"

"Kaeya. Kaeya Alberich."

“What brings you here?” you ask.

“We had a meeting for Sumeru Geographic,” Tighnari says.

“It couldn’t have been online?” Everyone turns to Childe.

Then, you and Tighnari glance at each other. In an attempt to break the semi-awkward silence, Tighnari says, “In-person meetings are usually better, don't you think? You get to see everyone's faces.” When Childe frowns at him, Tighnari wonders if he said something wrong.

“Lumine told me you aren’t coming to the party,” Kaeya says. “It’s a shame.”

You look at Childe as he says, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll still be there. Maybe just not in the way you expect.”

“...That doesn’t sound slightly threatening,” you say quietly.

Kaeya smiles. “Well, you’re always welcome.”

“We should get going,” Tighnari says. “We have another meeting.”

As Tighnari and Kaeya walk off, Ayato says, "He's quite charming."

“A fake pretty boy,” Childe mutters.

You and Ayato glance at each other, and Ayato swings an arm around Childe. You pat his back.

“So... about what you said earlier..." Then, you lower your voice. "Does this mean you're infiltrating a party as a cat? What an exciting life.”

“Truly living the dream,” Ayato adds. "It would make a great series. Childe's Catventures. A catchy title if I do say so myself."

Childe frowns. "Oh, I'm sure it'll be a hit until I claw someone's eyes out."

"Hopefully not Kaeya's," you say quietly, and Childe gives you a deadpan look.

As you and Ayato smile at each other, Childe’s phone goes off. You watch him answer it, and his face quickly turns serious.

“What do you mean we lost some of the footage?”

A pause.

“...Uh huh. Yeah.” Childe looks at Ayato. “Yeah, I’m with him right now. Sure. We’ll be right there.” As soon as Childe gets off the phone, he says, “One of the interns accidentally corrupted the audio file for the scene we just shot, and now there’s no sound. They’ve already tried fixing it, but nothing’s working.”

“I suppose this means we have to reshoot,” Ayato says.

Childe sighs. “Yes, but the problem is that the actress has already left. They can’t get in touch with her.” Then, he looks at you and smiles. “Do you happen to have time right now, Mademoiselle?”

“...You aren’t asking me to act, are you?”

“It's just a small scene. You'd be the closest person we have who can pass as the original actress." Childe gives you an innocent, desperate look. “Please?”

Can you really say no?

◆◆◆

It's the first time Signora has been to the CEO's office, but she has mixed emotions. Alhaitham had reached out to her directly, saying that there was a matter he wanted to discuss with her. The only problem is that he never specified what it was.

She knocks on the door. As soon as she hears “come in”, she opens it and sees Alhaitham sitting at his desk with a stern expression.

“...You wanted to see me?” she asks.

“Take a seat.”

When she does, Alhaitham turns his laptop to her and plays the video. “...This video was sent from your laptop.”

Not even five seconds in, Signora looks puzzled. “What is this?”

Alhaitham turns his laptop back. “You tell me. This was in my inbox this morning.”

Signora holds up a hand to stop him. “Hang on. You’re saying that someone sent that video using my computer?”

“...Are you saying you didn’t send it?”

Signora was walking along an empty corridor, looking for her way back to the main hall for the Award ceremony when she heard faint voices. When she looked around the corner, she saw Alhaitham coming out of a room. As soon as he disappeared down a set of stairs, Signora saw you walking out of the same room. S he raised a brow. Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all.

“I saw the news about that reporter hiding cameras in keychains he gave to people that night.”

“You took one from him?” Alhaitham asks.

“I had no idea there was a camera in there. So, when I saw the news, I had a friend look into it. He took the keychain apart and got whatever footage that stupid camera recorded.”

“...A friend?”

"I know he didn't watch any of it. I was with him."

“So, you never saw this video.”

“No," Signora says. "I admit I saw you and her that night. I never knew it was caught on camera.” She looks him in the eyes. “It wasn’t me who sent that video to you.”

“What about your friend?”

“...Dottore?”

When Signora stays quiet, Alhaitham says, “You look a little conflicted.”

“I don’t see why he would do this.”

Her guess is as good as his. Alhaitham hasn't the slightest clue about who this person is, but you must know him… right?

◆◆◆

You sigh out of relief as soon as the shoot is over. It's a small scene, but the mental fatigue is kicking in.

“Was this your first time in front of a camera?"

You turn to Ayato who’s still in costume. “Does posing for normal photos count?” you joke.

Ayato smiles. “You’re a natural.”

“Ah, you’re too kind, Ayato. But thank you. I did my best.”

“Well, I’d say you two are a hit.” Childe walks up to you and Ayato. “The director likes this better than the one that was originally filmed.”

“You also worked hard, Childe,” you say.

“It’s the first time I saw someone do a complete rewrite on the spot,” Ayato adds.

Childe waves his hand dissmisvely. 

Then, your phone starts going off. At first, you think it’s something for work. Well, you aren’t completely wrong.

Oooh, they’re cute!

I’d buy the snack they’re advertising hahah

They look good together

When you finally find the source of the comments from your colleagues, you're getting an influx of messages from people joking about whether you're changing careers or making your "much anticipated" acting debut. Someone had taken a short clip of you and Ayato together on set and shared it internally, getting tons of reactions.

Well, you guess it’s better than the other video going viral.

When you get an incoming call from Alhaitham, you quickly step aside to take it.

“...Do you know someone named Dottore?”

You stiffen at the name. “Why do you ask?”

After he tells you what he learned from Signora, your jaw almost drops. It sounds like something that only happens in fiction. You should know. After writing so much of it, after all.

Alhaitham says your name which makes you say, “I… yeah, I do know someone named Dottore.” You sigh. “...He’s my ex.”

Alhaitham unconsciously grips his phone tighter.

◆◆◆

You're heading to your school reunion after work, but your mind is on other things. Perhaps Dottore heard about you from Signora. You were also on TV. There was also the photo incident with Ayato. In other words, it feels like you're a public figure now with everything that's happened.

The thought of Dottore possibly stalking you is enough to give you goosebumps. Thinking back to when you first got together... he might've already shown some questionable behaviour.

It was like a scene out of a movie. Dottore had you caged against a locker in an empty hallway. Both of you had arrived earlier than usual for school. You were here to study at the library for your first-period test. Dottore was here to work out.

“I couldn’t hear you,” he said, leaning closer to you. “Could you say it again?”

You were a blushing, nervous mess. It only took about half a year for the guy you’ve been crushing on to notice you.

“...I… I like you.”

Dottore smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.  “I like you, too, kitten.”

Once the bus doors open, you quickly get off and head toward Lambad’s Tavern. You bump into Dehya on your way there, and you let her rant a little about what's been going on at work before she picks up that you seem a little off. After telling her what happened, Dehya is at a loss for words.

“Good God. That's like... borderline threatening."

"It definitely messes with your mind," you mutter.

“I agree he could've easily heard about you, but how would he know who your manager is? That's stalker behaviour."

You push open the doors to Lambad’s Tavern when you hear, “Oh, c’mon, Collei. Don’t be like that. We’re all old friends, aren’t we? Besides, he’s in town just this week!”

You face forward and you freeze upon seeing the red eyes that once made your heart race.

“Long time no see, kitten.”

◆◆◆

Back at the office, Alhaitham has just finished a meeting. He closes his laptop and rubs his tired eyes. Is there a possibility Dottore will show up at your reunion tonight? Just as Alhaitham mulls this over, he gets a notification that the semi-viral video of you and Ayato got taken down. 

You’d told him about it, including the story behind it. While Alhaitham is proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone, he's bothered by the comments. You and Ayato look good together? Alhaitham takes that as you and Ayato are professionals. Still, Alhaitham sighs. Maybe it won't bother him as much if people know about your relationship.

How long will this secret relationship continue?

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Kaveh: Hey junior. Up for a drink tonight?

A drink, huh? That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

Where?

Kaveh: Lambad’s Tavern 😀

Chapter Twenty-One

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @seirenspinel @lxry-chxn @sakiimeo @ash-in-lavender @ceylestia @deathkat657 @forsh4dow @kalpie @elernity @sentieence @chichibleeps @sunsethw4 @hjjks @nqctre @just-simping-over-genshin @tanspostsblog @uchihaeirin @vynbin @ayanokomu @dksfl920 @alatus1808 @itztaki @thetwinkims @imkaaayy @angeilix @starlighttotheleft @letthewindlead @thelonelyarchon @certaindreampost @winterpein @theprinceofkhaos @vvyeislazzy

#alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin x reader #al haitham fluff #al haitham #alhaitham #alhaitham x yn #alhaitham x y/n #genshin al haitham #al haitham x y/n

[dojimakaichou]

SENT FROM @stingslikeabee​ ―            

( unscripted ask / always accepting )

Even for a normal human with no telepathic abilities, Daigo could see that the visit of his counselor to the captain's ready room had a particular meaning. For once, it wasn't about him - the last few months had been very fruitful and the captain had been taking his court-mandated therapy seriously. Melissa approached his desk with an uncommon expression on her face - it was clear that she wasn't making any effort to keep emotions or thoughts muted and considered herself within a safe space, despite the role she had to fulfill in that ship. But upon taking a seat, the first thing she did was to place both arms upon his desk, turning her palms up and leaving them within reach - an Inadian gesture that symbolized openness and respect for their interlocutor, a heritage from when they thought that connection of minds required connection of flesh, too. (Melissa's home world science had advanced to disprove that, but the preference lingered; sometimes, physical touch boosted emotions or unlocked memories, and it wasn't an entirely useless technique even for the current times.) "I have been made aware of a particular situation and I'm here with the consent of the parties involved, although I will not disclose their names for the moment," Melissa said with a soft voice; despite the rather official tone, it was not difficult to note that she was anticipating some sort of issue, but the counselor appeared to be trying to offer herself as a bridge and tool for solution rather than the bearer of conflict, "A member of the crew is pregnant; the other progenitor is also part of the crew. They are aware of your stance on families and children aboard the Tojo, but they... Would like to check if you'd be willing to reconsider it." The honey-colored eyes of the mind-reader kept the captain under focus the entire time, but they were not unkind. Rather, they appear to recognize that a crossroads was up ahead, and offered company for that moment of decision. "They have reason to believe that their children would be safe among us, and they have also said they would not like to terminate the pregnancy. However, they also understand your word is final, so they accepted to have me as a mediator. I'm an uninterested party, Daigo," the shift to his name was done on purpose; she was speaking as a friend, too. "I'm here to hear your thoughts on the matter, however you desire to do it," the black stones of her bracelet clinked against the desk, reminding the captain of the alternative to spoken words, "And to be your sounding board, if you wish."

★. ―

Daigo looked up from his work. The sight of Melissa did something strange : softened the harsh lines in his tired face and caused the corners of his lips to tug up into a ghostly smile. ― until, of course, he realized that she was in his ready room on business. Daigo gestured for the Inadian to take the seat across from him and closed the diagrams flickering at his elbow. With that, the Captain sat back, giving her the floor.

As she spoke, Daigo's hands knitted together in his lap. He tilted his head, frowning thoughtfully, at the news that Melissa was here on behalf of others. Not unusual for a ship's counselor by any stretch of the imagination, but . . . he couldn't think of any fights or other conflicts that had been reported to him recently.

At the reveal of the reason, the captain's expression darkened. Coarse fingertips dug into his short beard, scratching at it. Melissa's presence made sense now.

"There is a clear path of action for this sort of situation laid out in all of the crew members' handbooks," Daigo finally said. "The expecting party will be given the remainder of their commission and escorted off of the Tojo at the next safe port in Federation space. Should the other parent be present, they may depart with the same promise of pay, if they would like ; I have no intention of breaking up families just to keep the roster looking full." He shifted his weight in his chair and sighed. "I highlight this policy with every new crew member that I meet, and it is introduced in all materials specific to this ship."

Daigo raised his hands to accentuate his next point. "It is also important for this discussion to remember that the Tojo does not have the necessary support systems to raise a child. When she was being built in Tokyo's yard, I was given a say in how she would be outfitted. There is no nursery . . . no school, no adjustments to recreational services for children. If I ever change my mind about allowing families onboard, the Tojo will have to be docked and the empty decks re - planned to account for these requirements."

The captain's palms fell heavily onto his crossed thighs. His shoulders sagged slightly, and Daigo's breath left him with a long exhale. With his usual speech for this very delicate matter gone from him, he was free to discuss the more emotional center those strict manuals and lack of accommodations protected.

"I have been called heartless before because of this," Daigo said, voice lacking the sharp edge of moments prior. He purposefully kept his fingers away from Melissa's offered hands. It would help her to have a visual aid, but he was not prepared to share one with her. " ― but I have my reasons. I was an upstart young officer on another vessel once. It specialized in ferrying passengers from port to port in Federation space : an easy, mindless purpose. The captain got comfortable taking bribes to accept too many individuals onboard, however. During my final run, the ship failed. I and my fellows had the task of taking crying children and mothers to the emergency shuttles. Parceling out if there was enough space for all of the little ones. I have never forgotten the mother who begged me to make room for her baby."

Daigo hesitated, gaze angled toward the floor. The captain couldn't remember speaking of this incident to anyone beyond the investigative council established after it all happened. Melissa possessed a curious way of dredging his nightmares up and laying them bare, it seemed. Perhaps it was because he trusted her, trusted her deeply ― Daigo didn't think even his spiritual brother and First Officer knew about what occurred on the Galiant all of those years ago. Why the renegade captain of the Tojo grew visibly nervous when visiting persons brought babies or children onto his ship, no matter how brief.

"That day," he eventually continued, swallowing thickly, "is why the Tojo is set up and established the way she is. We are always too far away for help ; any efforts that the Federation would make to retrieve us if we take crippling damage would require days of planning and another vessel like the Tojo. I cannot in good conscience condemn a child ― who cannot speak for themselves regarding a choice most grown adults call suicidal ― in that situation."

Daigo stood up, clearly fueled by a mix of agitated energy and old ghosts. He shook out his hair and pathed toward the fabricator for coffee. For something to put in his stomach to settle the rolling feeling in it.

"I am sorry for the pair that you represent, Lieutenant Drysdell," the captain said. His words hardened again. "I have long said I would only consider changing the Tojo's policies if I encountered a case where the expectant party or their child would be endangered should they leave the ship. If one of the parents you refer to now would like to make a case to me arguing that, I would be willing to listen. They are welcome to come to me with you alongside them to act as a mediator, of course. As it stands, though . . . my position remains the same."

#ooc. SPACE TRAUMA. #⤿ VERSE. ✕ SPACE FEDERATION 01 ✕ ALL WE HAVE IS NOW #⤿ ❤. ✕ WORLD ✕ MELISSA & DAIGO #⤿ IC. ✕ ANSWERED #stingslikeabee #pregnancy tw

[embarktodenmark22]

June 2nd, 2022

Today started with yet another bike ride (seriously, after walking 20,000 steps on some of these days, I am so, so happy that we’ve shifted back to using the bikes! What a relief on my pain. Now I’m just sore in my legs haha). We biked in some (ugh) light rain under a grey sky to find today’s studio, Yoke. Not going to lie, it was a confusing search. Google Maps lead poor Beia astray more than once, and the area, as we approached, was surrounded by housing/apartments- it definitely didn’t look at all like a place with office space enough for a design studio. But, sure enough, we turned a corner, saw a grocery store, and found Yoke tucked away surrounded by housing. Fed up with the rain, I parked, and sat waiting for everyone to arrive, shivering.

Our presentation from Yoke was so mind-opening. I feel like I’ve been saying that kind of thing a lot, but it’s so true. I had no idea that you could use design the way that Yoke does- as an immersive, interactive experience in which the technological side of things is mostly hidden. They talked about their past projects, and I was hooked. One had viewers blow the seeds off of a virtual dandelion with a hairdryer- others created interactive materials, like liquids and splashes of paint that would respond to viewer’s motions. Watching the videos, it looked as though viewers got so engaged in the experience that they may have even forgotten that tech, code, and design were involved. It seemed like an effortless bridge between the real and the digital. I honestly admired their dedication as a company to keeping the user/viewer in mind first and foremost- their experience matters more than certain aspects of creative nitpickiness, which is something I need to constantly remind myself.

I think, however, what I found coolest from this presentation was how they walked us through the creative development process of their current project for a building going up in Sweden in the next few years (if I’m remembering correctly). I forget exactly what the building is to be- perhaps a library? Either way, they first revealed that their concept was to create a piece that visually discussed the interplay between art and science, based on the idea that art and science really aren’t that different- they are both tools of understanding, exploring, and reflecting upon the world around us- one merely seeks to understand our world quantifiably, the other is more intuitively. They then showed us installations that they were using as inspiration- such as one where a bunch of mirrors would move as though alive, then, the moment a viewer walked on to their stage, they would all snap and face the viewer (like an audience, but all they’d see is their own face). Another inspiration was a room where rain would funnel down on everything except the viewer. They then showed the specific visual-conceptual inspiration that shaped their current planned outcome- neurons. Their planned final project is intended to look like minimalized/simplified versions of how med students/teachers draw neuron structures. Hearing them talk about the reasons for the choices they made were so cool- with the neurons lighting up on many individual LED panels, each ball of light (each electrical signal in the neuron) representing one person in the building- so the neurons would be firing intensely if the sensors at the doors counted many people in the building, and on slow days, only a few signals would be bouncing up and down the neurons. Honestly, I’ve never considered making designed installations of any kind, and had kind of given up on learning how to code for creative purposes, but this has honestly made me reconsider. I think, at least, I will be picking back up learning code once I’m home and have free time, if nothing else. The possibilities for design are seemingly more endless than I had initially perceived!

Anyways, walking away from Yoke feeling inspired and energized, I was ready for a good bite to eat. Trusting Travis and Michelle’s taste in food, I followed them to Kulturhuset, a fancy-looking cafe with a cool view of some water and other nearby buildings. I got myself some macarons (SO good), a chai latte (been drinking a lot of those lately), and a veggie burger. Travis and Beia, who also got the veggie burger, realized as quickly as I that it was so, so messy (but so good). Everyone sat and talked for a while, and I kind of went into my own head for a bit to recharge my social battery, occasionally butting in to others’ conversations when talked to or when it was relevant. I overheard Dane talking about his mission to find some cheap AirPods so that he’d be able to listen to music and navigation while still here- and his frustrations with trying to meet up with some Danish stranger on Facebook Marketplace. I only mention this, because I wound up tagging along with him to a nearby mall in his pursuit of AirPods.

Beia, Alice, Tessa, Dane, and I spent a good few hours in this mall (Forget the name, sadly). It had a huge, cool metallic sculpture, and a lot of very bougie stories. There was a huuuuge design/home store (there seem to be a lot of those here) that seemed really cool, until you realized that the cheapest item was around $20… So sad, found some good potential souvenirs, but not for the price they were. Seriously, I found a cheap piece of plastic hair clip that I could get at the Dollar Tree…. On sale for $22! AS if. It was a cool store to window shop in. Got some inspiration for a couple art projects there. We then wandered into a strange, kind of sketchy store. The first half, as you windingly walked in, was filled with fidget toys and weird, off-brand bootleg Among Us figurines. Then, as you went in, there was a brief office supplies section, and most of the store turned into party supplies? There was also cheap candy and a sketchy boba bar attached that I didn’t try, boba lover as I may be. Some things are too sketchy for me, and I wasn’t about to find out if that boba was any good. We had some more fun wandering in and out of stores. Their was somebody filming something in the mall, taking up a huge chunk of walkway, then, later, we helped Dane pick out some polos (decidedly, green is his color). There were also these cool walkways that they had instead of escalators, that was like the ones you’d find in an airport, but for going up. We decided to chill and try some of the weird Starbucks flavors available here (oddly enough, this was the very first Starbucks I have seen literally the entire time that we’ve been here. The only one.). As we sat, we discussed zodiac signs, why not to trust air sign men (especially aquarius men), and found out that I had known Alice’s ex boyfriend, Vincent, who apparently was an Aquarius man! Makes sense. As we drank, some weird band came walking by through the store- with a bunch of men who had interesting haircuts (ponytails only, basically, bald elsewhere). So that was neat. We eventually finished our drinks, made a few more stops to windowshop, then decided to leave and head separate ways.

Beia, Tessa, and I headed back into the city to walk around and do some shopping. The entire time I’ve been here, I’ve been meaning to research nearby metaphysical stores, which, lucky me, I wound up just randomly stumbling upon one! It was similar to ones I’d been to back home, but a lot more organized- and with some really cool tarot decks. Mind you, I already have 6-7 tarot decks at home. But I have adult money, and cannot help myself, and bought this amazing Art Nouveau inspired deck that the woman at the counter recommended. Got a nice crystal as well. We left, kept walking around in search of a cart that had been on the street the other day selling roasted nuts. No such luck. Tessa wound up taking off, since the dorms were just a block or so away, and Beia and I, hungry now, revisited the delicious bagel shop we went to one of our first days here. I really should have tried another flavor, but I couldn’t help but to get the Serrano again. Mouth-watering. So much pesto… so many crisp, fresh veggies… whatever meat goes in a Serrano…. Literally nothing tastes this good in the states. Nothing. I am spoiled rotten and probably am going to hate all of the food once I get home. I mean, how can’t I when I’ve stayed this long in a country where even McDonalds burgers look like fine dining! Not. Fair.

Beia and I were getting tired, but wanted to make a few more stops. We wanted to check out this amazing poster store- they had a little bit of everything for every one. Some of the posters were huge. I wish I could’ve gotten something, but I didn’t want to risk taking a poster home and bending it. But seriously- they had vintage art, modern graphic art, art of the city, music-based art, cartoons, modern musicians, and a lot of art historical posters. Could’ve spent hours in there if my feet weren’t acting up and were I not bummed out that I couldn’t get anything big. We then went to go check out a building I had biked past that, in Danish, translates to “Woman House” and had a bunch of cool, eye-catching feminist merch in the windowsill but, alas, its interior was shut down for the day. Before either of these stores, I also had tried to go to a nerdy store to get Mason a souvenir, but the guy inside wagged his finger at me and shoo’ed me away. Bummer.

Anyways, we would have been done for the night, as I personally was super tired, however, there is a 5-6 day rave called Distortion going on all throughout the city, and I wanted to say that I had at LEAST been to it once. So Beia, Tessa, and I geared up, got snazzy, and hit the city to head to the meat-packing district for a “Distortion Street Party.” Figuring out the train was soooo confusing. We almost went to the wrong machine, couldn’t figure out how many zones we needed, barely knew how to get our tickets- almost didn’t because the machine was being stubborn… It was a lot. All for them not to check our tickets once anyways. Lame. Anyways, we made it to Vesterbro (again, the meat-packing/red-light district) to, in fact, find a street party of hundreds and hundreds of people. But, the further we walked in, the more we realized it was just people sitting at benches with friends getting wasted beyond all recognition. We, at this point, had a faint hope of partying for at least an hour, and got some cheap fruity vodka in a can drink. There was, maybe, music in one or two corners of the Main Street. Mostly benches, and garbage, and drunk humans falling over, and broken beer bottles, and people going around collecting cans to make money off of returning them to machines. Seriously. Might have been fun if we were drunk, but seeing all of this sober/buzzed at best just had me feeling sad for the people who have to clean up the mess.

We were going to head to the club that I had gone to a few nights before, Jolene, in hopes of recovering the party spirit of the night (and hoping not to have wasted our time and train ticket), and, in our quest, found a few areas of dancing. One spot seemed very promising- Beia was just talking about wanting to go to a Silent Disco, and a silent disco we found! Excited, we crawled into line for headphones and got ready for a new experience. We got closer, and closer….. and the guy said “We’re closed!” Right as we reached him. So that was fun. We, again, headed towards Jolene. Stopped again, found another area of dancing- a tightly packed crowd that, closer to the stereos, had more dancing and excitement. But, really, most of the people were awkwardly standing around and talking. Super hard to get your boogie on if people just aren’t into it. So, tired, and having an early morning the next day, we gave up on our quest and headed back to the station. Did you know that they charge you to pee in Copenhagen’s Central Station? I was going to fall for the scam, but my card reader didn’t work on their machine. What a scaaaam. Anyways, figuring out the train home was a little bit stressful as well but we got ourselves sorted out. We hopped on, made it back to Norreport, and immediately snacked at the 24/7 McDonalds. I got this weirdly foamy banana shake (probably just not artificial, ngl) and some nuggets with this delicious garlic sauce. Again, gourmet McDonalds compared to the phony stuff American McDonalds sells you. Really fresh food to actually savor, not to buy out of desperation (Which we kinda did anyways). We just went home after eating, but maaaann was I sore. I think I’m falling apart at the seams, pain-level wise, but it’s all kind of numbing together. Both excited for tomorrow- revisiting Sweden for a longer time than just for lunch- and scared- for my poor, poor pain levels. What a day!

(P.S.; These were the “bathrooms” they had available for women at the street party…. Quite literally zero privacy)

[whythinktoomuch]

ii. apocalypse now & again

(pt. i)

Kara woke up and realized that she was going to die.

Too many of the drones had survived the explosions and were still closing in on her. What little strength she had left after quite literally digging her own grave was presently and painstakingly strained just from her efforts to climb onto her knees. And on top of all that—of everything that possibly could have gone wrong for her in this moment—her helmet was cracked.

The abstract red numbers warning Kara of the kryptonite levels in the area seemed redundant now, what with that unmistakable chill already flooding her bloodstream.

“… Alex,” Kara gasped out, barely able to hear herself over the ringing in her ears. “Hey, Alex… Are you there?”

Her words were met with not one whisper or even a crackle of static, and for once, Kara was inconsolably disappointed to hear no one yelling back at her. With her teeth gritted, she shoved herself off the ground as hard as she could, drifting barely a foot into the air before the first drone crashed into the back of her head.

Kara toppled back onto the ground, knees skidding across the rubble in a shower of hot sparks. The impact had her head reeling, her mouth filling with a taste that she was now idly recognizing as blood. But there was no time to consider any of that as the drone doubled back. Kara scrambled out of the way, narrowly avoiding another collision, only to be struck by a second drone smashing right against her ear.

Out of breath but swearing, Kara whirled around and snagged the fast approaching drone into a bear hug, squeezing and squeezing until it crunched in her arms with a frantic whir. Then with a burst of heat vision, she shattered the other as it came straight for her face.

Kara used her heat vision to pick off several more drones from a distance, but of course, more and more just showed up to take their place, never wavering, never slowing… and eventually, Kara just had to laugh. Because her exhaustion was catching up to her. And Alex was hundreds of miles away. And to get out of here alive, Kara would have to somehow defeat the entire horde of drones, while all they had to do was wreck her suit a little more.

Though admittedly, it’d be overkill at this point, given the crack now spiderwebbing across the glass visor of Kara’s helmet.

Either way, it was over.

--

So, Kara laughed, grabbed at her chest in a reflexive gesture only to meet the unforgiving metal of her suit, then dropped to her knees. “Alex!” she shouted herself hoarse, because maybe if said loudly enough, the words would still be lingering in the air by the time her sister arrived. “Alex, I’m sorry, okay? You were right, and I’m sorry!”

Then she just waited—chest heaving, eyes narrowed but never blinking despite the heat pricking at the corners—because she definitely had to see this through to the bitter fucking end. That much, she owed everyone, including herself.

Except the end didn’t come.

Not this time anyway.

No, instead came a silver sphere, emerging seemingly out of thin air to hover right before Kara’s face. It flashed a blinding white just once, and everything fell absolutely silent and still. Kara’s suit powered down completely, the drones collectively dropped from the air like marionettes with cut strings, and all the lights in the immediate vicinity blinked out.

Laughter welling up all over again, Kara could only collapse onto her side in something akin to sheer relief.

The first person to occur to her, of course, was Alex, who had already saved her ass from similar scrapes on many occasions. But that couldn’t be it. Alex was too far away. It’s why Kara had to take on this mission on her own in the first place.

Then she considered maybe Winn or James, which made even less sense, given how the deceased hardly ever came back to do things like save people’s lives. Not even hers. Not even in the most dire of situations. That’s, unfortunately, just not how life worked these days.

Then she considered Alex again because the kryptonite was clearly bleeding into her brain now, and it was getting rather difficult to remember why it couldn’t have been Alex who’d just saved her. Maybe Kara did shout loud enough after all…

But then, a set of footfalls drew near, metal scraping against metal at a steady pace until a heavy boot struck Kara firmly in the chest, flipping her onto her back where she settled with a grunt.

“So glad I got to you first,” came a self-assured drawl, and Kara promptly found herself face to face with a handheld cannon of sorts. “Would be a pity to come all this way and not get to kill you myself.”

And… Kara’s jaw just dropped.

Not because of the words, nor the intentions behind them—though perhaps they both merited some attention as well—but that voice.

Kara gaped up at her supposed knight in shining, lead-lined armor because her voice—that low, husky tone paired with that very specific lilting cadence—was making her reconsider some very fundamental things about how the world might work.

Namely, that people wouldn’t come back from the dead just to save her life.

Mind still reeling away, Kara tried to sit up, only to be slammed back into the ground, hard.

“Down, girl,” Lena said, grinding her boot into Kara’s chest, the weight of her entire body behind the gesture. But that was fine.

It was fine because Kara could still draw some breath into her lungs, could still use some of that breath to talk, and she could certainly still say some things that she hadn’t uttered aloud in many a year. Like her late wife’s name, for instance.

The cannon in Kara’s face wavered, but didn’t lower. “Shut up,” Lena hissed down at her. “Don’t talk. Don’t even think.”

“So… it is you…” Kara said, and she gently wrapped her fingers around Lena’s ankle—the only part of her that she could still reach from her position—and just cried.

With a startled gasp, Lena stumbled away, wrenching herself out of Kara’s grip. “What the fuck…? What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Kara sobbed out, trying not to choke on her own tears and snot and the slight taste of blood still lingering on her tongue. She suddenly, irrationally, wished that she could just take off her clunky suit. Just to eliminate some of that distance between her and Lena. Just so she could touch the chain hanging around her neck without any hindrance. “Just… just wanted to say, hi.”

Lena kept her distance, studying Kara in a stony silence, and Kara started to see things that she should probably would have noticed sooner if her body weren’t actively shutting down on her. Like the green glow of Lena’s weapon and the kryptonite cartridges strapped to her belt. Or that she was clearly wearing a lexo-suit. Or how the swirly edges of her own vision were starting to darken, and how the chill of kryptonite was currently all she could feel.

“Hey,” Kara called out, sniffling only slightly now. “Am I dreaming?”

“… No.”

Kara nodded thoughtfully to herself. “Okay, cool, cool… So, I think I might be dying then.”

“Yeah,” Lena said, after a brief pause. “Probably.”

“Cool.” Kara tried to flash a thumbs up, but no part of her body wanted to cooperate anymore. Her exhaustion had eaten up all her drive. “Hey, can you tell Alex something for me?”

Lena sighed, but she finally stepped closer, practically in reach. “Okay, sure.”

Kara fumbled for some words and the correct order that one might put them in, but then Lena took off her helmet, and nothing else mattered anymore. Because Kara was perfectly content to just watch that ripple of dark hair, streaked with a light gray that was just… nice to look at.

She never got to see her Lena’s hair do that.

//

Kara’s shoulder was being shaken so violently that she had no choice but to open her eyes and see Alex’s worry-creased face peering down at her.

“Dumbass…” Alex grumbled, releasing Kara’s shoulder with a dirty scowl. “That’s the last time I let you go anywhere without me.”

“Whatever you say, director.” Kara laughed, but it hurt. She then tried to do a salute, but her everything was still too weak to move apparently. But at least she was still alive.

… Wait.

Kara repeatedly tried to sit up on her bed, and Alex repeatedly shoved her right back down until she gave up. But still, she had to check, had to know that it wasn’t all just a dream.

“Where’s Lena?” she demanded, and the look that Alex gave her in response was so deeply pained that Kara almost felt pathetic for asking.

“… Kara.”

“No, I saw her, Alex,” Kara said, shaking her head, then immediately stopping when her entire body somehow got dizzy from it. “Shit. Ow, ow… But wait, no—But seriously, I saw her, okay?”

“I’m not surprised that you did. You almost died, Kara. Actually, I’m pretty sure that you were dead for a few minutes back there. Again, I say, you fucking dumbass.”

“But I didn’t die. Because she saved me,” Kara insisted. “No, seriously! She took out all the drones with some sort of EMP device, and, and… we talked! And she had gray hair, and I think maybe laugh lines? And yeah, I almost died because my helmet got cracked and stuff. But now, I’m here and I’m fine, so… everything’s fine, right?”

Alex frowned, then somehow settled on the least important part of Kara’s briefing, “You cracked your helmet?”

“Ugh, yeah. The glass visor part. When I fell,” Kara said, waving her hand dismissively. “So sorry about that, by the way.”

“Suit looked fine when we got to you,” Alex said with a shrug, before irritably exclaiming, “Jesus christ, Kara, enough! I’ll just have a guy get the helmet for you, okay? So, just stop trying to get up already.”

Huffing, Kara fell back onto her bed with her arms folded and waited. But when someone eventually showed up with her helmet in tow, she was surprised to see that it was somewhat worse for the wear but perfectly intact. Even up close, with the helmet out the tech’s hands and in her own, Kara couldn’t detect even the slightest blemish in the glass.

Pouting ever so slightly, Kara shoved the helmet back into the tech’s arms.

“… Satisfied?” Alex asked, rolling her eyes when Kara just shrugged one shoulder. “Great. Listen… You just need to get some rest, okay? Once you’re back to full strength, we can work through your… you know, memories together. And hopefully, it’ll make more sense by then. Sound good?”

Kara just nodded, suddenly all too willing to be left to her own devices in the relative quiet and darkness. She accepted a gentle shoulder squeeze and the promise of another session with the sun lamps within the hour, and just curled up under the sheets.

It’s not like she hadn’t conjured up images of Lena before. Kara had been close to death enough times that it was only inevitable that she’d fall back onto memories of her dead wife at some point or another. But this was different. Whenever her brain was just playing tricks on her, Lena appeared to her the way Kara remembered her: warm and loving, bright green eyes, long dark hair smelling of lavender, and alive and young.

Never before had Kara encountered an appropriately aged version of Lena, with creases gathered around her eyes and forehead, hair gloriously faded into the most lovely blend of light grays and white amongst all that black… The Lena that could have been if only she had lived out all these past years alongside Kara.

And she was never in a lexo-suit, of all things. Lena was always wearing one of her classic pencil skirts or Kara’s NCU sweatshirt, or something. Oh, and of course, her wedding band.

Instinctively, the same way she always did when it occurred to her, Kara reached for the chain around her neck, seeking out the familiar weight of the rings that hung from there… only to jolt upright with a gasp that dried up her entire throat.

She ripped the necklace off her head, almost snapping the chain, which in and of itself was telling. Because her chain had been forged out of an extraterrestrial metal amalgamation that not even the Girl of Steel would have been able to break. The one now clutched in her hand, however, was just plain white gold.

Heart pounding in her ears, Kara stared down at an engagement ring fitted with a modest cut of diamond, somehow occupying the very spot where two simple wedding bands—hers and her Lena’s—should have been. Then something drove her to check for an inscription, and sure enough, engraved on the inside of the ring was a series of kryptonian characters, denoting a term of endearment that Kara had never used, but apparently could have in another world altogether: my dearest heart.

#2222 words because that's how i get my kicks n' giggles hue hue hue hue #will there be a part three? who knows #better question is Should there be a part three amirite? #my words.

[e-milieeee]

the enemy of my enemy (must be my ally)

Summary: When one of his akumas attacks Adrien and one of his classmates, Gabriel Agreste discovers that Marinette Dupain-Cheng would prove a very useful ally against Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

How had he not discovered sooner? But oh well—better late than never. Ladybug will never know what’s coming. 

Notes: from this post because everyone wanted me to write it. i warned y’all. feat. gabriel’s 2 functional brain cells. 

AO3 | Kofi

Gabriel Agreste isn’t past admitting his mistakes.

Most of them have involved Adrien, so he supposes that it’s time to pay attention to the trend. And all of those mistakes have involved his growing career as Hawkmoth—and, more specifically, the choices he makes for whom he akumatizes.

Lila Rossi, now known as Princess Perfect—seriously, what the hell was wrong with this girl? He’d given her the liberty of choosing her akuma name, but such a godawful name is a bad reflection on him as well—kicks down the door of the classroom.

He sees it all through Lila’s eyes, like he does with all the akumas. Doesn’t mean he’s particularly happy about the turnout of this particular akumatization.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel demands to her. “I want Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous! You’re going the wrong way.”

Relax. Lila’s voice drifts into his head. I need to take a little detour.

“What detour—” Oh. Oh, shit.

In the classroom, packing their bags, is his son and that Chinese girl with pigtails—Marinette. The one that Gabriel knows Lila Rossi intensely hates. The one that he doesn’t like either, because for some reason, his son is infatuated with her. It’s Marinette-this, Marinette-that these days, and Adrien just won’t stop gushing about her. Father, look at these designs! They’re Marinette’s. Father, look who’s on the news—it’s Marinette! Father, can you hire Marinette to work at Gabriel Brand?

Marinette, a real headache. Gabriel rubs his temples. Maybe it’s a good thing that Lila’s after her. Better to nip it in the bud before Adrien’s attachment becomes a real problem.

“Fine,” he grounds out to Lila. “But leave Ad—leave the blonde boy alone.”

Already ahead of you, Hawkie.

“Don’t call me that!”

She ignores him in favour of turning to the two victims. Adrien is standing in front of Marinette, arms spread in a protective stance, glaring at the akuma. For a couple moments, nobody speaks.

Then, Marinette, eyebrows furrowing, says, “You’re Lila, aren’t you. Seriously? What is this—your third akumatization? Fourth?”

“My name is Princess Perfect now,” Lila growls back. “Get out of my way, Adrien.”

Marinette literally gags. “Did Hawkmoth choose that name for you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Gabriel seethes. Unfortunately, none of them can hear him.

“Yes, he did,” Lila lies breezily. “But that’s not important. You think you’re such a hot shot, Marinette? You think you can take the spotlight from me without repercussions? I’m going to make sure everyone hates you and loves me, and you’ll learn your lesson for trying to cross me. After all, who can say no to Princess Perfect?”

Gabriel sighs through his nose. Are all teens this dramatic?

Apparently, they are. Betrayal comes from those closest to home, because it’s Adrien that holds up his arms even higher, still staring Lila down. “You’re going to have to go through me if you want to hurt her,” he promises. “Marinette, get out of here! Run!”

Oh, for heaven’s sake—

Two things happen at once. Lila darts towards them, her whip lashing out directly at Adrien. Gabriel swears under his breath—why isn’t Adrien moving out of the way? Why is he so intent on protecting that useless girl? “Lila!” he barks through the bond, but the akumatized girl is too far gone. “Touch him and I’ll make sure—”

Gabriel trails into dumbfounded silence when Marinette shoves Adrien aside, grabs the end of Lila’s whip, and tugs the weapon straight out of the girl’s hands.

“You’ve gone too far,” she growls in a tone so chilly that it even reaches him. “Adrien, get out of here! I can handle her.”

Lila’s own shock lasts for a couple of times before she regains some of her composure. “You?” she sneers. “Handle me? Why, you pathetic—”

Adrien chucks a pencil case at Lila. It hits her cheek, and she whirls on him, enraged. At the same time, Marinette darts away from the window and slides behind the large wooden desk at the front. Gabriel, still watching the scene unfold, scoffs. So for all her big talk, she’s still nothing but a coward.

“Stand down,” he commands Lila once more. “Don’t you dare touch Adrien—what the hell?”

Lila seems to have noticed the source of his bewilderment as well, but it’s far too late. From underneath the desk, Marinette has lifted the thing—the giant, wooden desk—onto her shoulders.

Gabriel’s positive he stops breathing.

“Wait—” Lila begins. He sees it all through her eyes: Marinette braces herself for a moment and then throws it—throws the desk that a grown man shouldn’t be able to lift—right at Lila.

She doesn’t stand a chance. Lila goes down in a crash, pinned under the weight of Ms. Bustier’s desk that this small, petite girl had somehow bench-pressed and then chucked.

As much as Lila struggles, she is unable to remove the desk from on top of her. Given that his akumas have enhanced strength and she’s still incapable of lifting it, just how strong is Marinette?

Said girl in question stalks over to Lila. She plants a foot firmly against the overturned side of the desk and looks down at the girl trapped underneath.

Gabriel is certain that somehow, impossible as it sounds, Marinette is staring right through Lila’s eyes, through their connection, and into his own. His body freezes. His jaw locks. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Gabriel Agreste is absolutely terrified.

“Next time you try something like this,” Marinette growls, leaning in, “I won’t let you off so easily.”

With that ominous note, she snatches the necklace off Lila’s neck and marches right out of the classroom.

Gabriel remains frozen for a couple more moments. He isn’t certain if he still remembers how to breathe.

It wasn’t Ladybug nor Chat Noir that had foiled this plan. No, it was Adrien Agreste’s classmate, a girl who had previously annoyed him, that had single handedly defeated an akuma and scared him absolutely shitless.

What. The. Fuck.

***

“Adrien,” Gabriel says over dinner. “You know that girl you always talk about? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

His son looks up from his meal with a bright look on his face. Once upon a time, Gabriel would’ve been annoyed. Now, after reevaluating the girl, he comes to the conclusion that it’s best Adrien stays on Marinette’s good side. She’s probably more than capable of beating his son up.

“Yeah, Marinette?” Adrien echoes. “You know how there was an akuma attack today? Well, Marinette was actually there in the classroom with me when the akuma came for us.”

Gabriel is forced to play ignorant. “Oh? What happened?”

“Well, the akuma tried to attack us, and Marinette picked up a desk—you might find it hard to believe, and honestly I would’ve too if I hadn’t seen her do it—and threw it at the akuma. When Ladybug and Chat Noir finally showed up, there wasn’t even anything for them to do.”

Gabriel shifts in his seat. “That is… rather unbelievable."

Except he swears he can still feel the heat of Marinette’s glare, and is forced to accept that this is the reality he’s living in.

“Why did you ask about her, though, father?”

He snaps back into the present. “Huh?”

“Marinette—why did you ask about her? Wait, father, are you reconsidering hiring her? Did you finally look at the designs I sent you? This is amazing. I’m sure she’ll do amazing. Your stocks will rise. You’ll get more customers. Marinette’s basically a walking lucky charm—this will be the best decision you’ve ever made, father. I promise.”

He frowns at Adrien. “Don’t make preposterous suggestions. But yes— I am considering giving Marinette Dupain-Cheng a job at the company, perhaps an internship one of the senior designers. She’s very… talented.”

He thinks of the way she’d lifted the desk and flung it at Lila. Talented, indeed.

Perhaps talented enough to finally give him an edge against Ladybug and Chat Noir.

***

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is more than eager to come in for a so-called interview. Nathalie has done her digging on the girl: she’s made it pretty big quite a couple times already, in the fashion industry and has quite a few connections. Even if Gabriel’s motivations aren’t technically for the company, he has to admit that she has much future potential to tap into in the future. But for now, that’s not his goal.

She’s impeccably dressed when Nathalie leads her inside his study. Her eyes are positively shining when she beams at Gabriel. “Mr. Agreste!” Marinette chirps. “I’m so happy to be here. When Adrien told me you wanted to interview me for the job…this is such an amazing opportunity to be presented with, and I am so honoured.”

Gabriel exchanges a glance with Nathalie. She nods subtly.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng.” He rises from his desk and holds out his hand for her to shake. She does so.

It takes all of Gabriel’s self-control not to show the pain on his face when she grips his hand.

How the fuck is this girl so strong?

Thankfully, Marinette doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. Gabriel draws back his hand and tucks it behind his back. It’s throbbing.

“So, Marinette.” He sits back down at his desk. Marinette is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. If she were any normal person, Gabriel might’ve snapped at her to settle down, but after that show with Lila yesterday, he decides that it’s for his own good not to get on her bad side. He’ll just have to channel all his patience—for self-preservation, really. “I understand that you’re interested in interning at my company?”

She nods excitedly. “I’ve been designing for years, Mr. Agreste—I’m aware that I have a lot to improve on—”

“What I have in mind for you—” Gabriel pauses, realizing that he’d interrupted her. Hurriedly, he gulps. “Never mind. Continue.”

“I’m aware that I have a lot to improve on but I’m a very quick learner! I promise I’ll do my very best to help you and your company.”

He nods. “That’s good to hear. For now, I’ll… I’ll arrange with Nathalie what we can assign you to do in the company. And I have another favour to ask of you, if it’s not too much.”

Marinette smiles. “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to help you!”

Nathalie had warned him to be careful with Marinette—one wrong move and he could be ousted as Hawkmoth. He takes a deep breath. “I have become aware that there are some bad influences around my son in school. You are friends with Adrien, yes?”

“Yes, and… bad influences?” Marinette frowns, shifting her weight. “Oh, yeah, there’s one in particular. Actually, I’m not sure if you’re aware, Mr. Agreste, but I’m glad you brought it up. You know that akuma yesterday? That girl’s name was Lila Rossi. She’s been hanging around Adrien quite a bit these days, and ‘bad influence’ barely covers what she does. And—oh! When I confronted her once about making Adrien uncomfortable, she told me she had a ‘friend in a high place’ that was backing her up. I think you might want to look into that too, Mr. Agreste. It was pretty worrisome, to be honest.”

Gabriel’s mouth has gone dry. “I… yes. Yes, I shall look into that too.”

Marinette rolls her shoulders. “God, if I knew who they were, I’d throw them into the Seine. How dare they.” Then her eyes widen. “Sorry, Mr. Agreste! I was just… um, I was just talking to myself. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Gabriel reassures immediately, although it doesn’t do much to ease the chill that is travelling up his spine. “Then it’s decided? Nathalie will give you her contact information—you can send her your resume just for formalities, and she will organize the rest. And… be sure to keep an eye on my son at school.”

“I will!” Marinette chirps, ever so chipper. Behind that attitude lies the strength to lift the desk he’s currently sitting and crush him. And much, much more.

Nathalie guides the girl away. Gabriel is unable to breathe fully until she leaves.

He has to calculate this well, because he can’t afford to lose a potential ally like Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He’s already thinking—perhaps she would do well with the Peacock Miraculous, or the Bee Miraculous, if he can get his hands on it again. If—if he can somehow convince Marinette to help him with his cause, all of his other plans don’t even need to go into action. Ladybug and Chat Noir will never see this coming.

Nathalie returns. “Sir, your face is rather pale,” she notes. “But may I ask what that was about? You were… unusually lenient today.”

Gabriel clears his throat and straightens in his seat. “Never mind me,” he dismisses. “But first, I need to contact Lila Rossi as soon as possible to cut off all ties. Let her know she’s fired.”

“Is this because…?”

He allows himself a small smile. “You’ll see soon, Nathalie,” he reassures. “We’ve finally got the upperhand in this fight.”

Notes: i lost brain cells writing it, and i’m sure y’all have lost brain cells reading it. 

Fics masterlist here! 

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #bamf marinette #gabriel is TERRIFIED of marinette #as he should be #crack #humour #yall asked for this its not my fault #ml #mlb fic #my writing #that being said if you tag this gabrinette i will hunt you down

[wordsnstuff]

Guide to Writing From Multiple Points of View

Patreon || Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Work In Progress

I think it’s worthy that I note that this post is about a single story being told from multiple, interchangeable points of view rather than covering the subject of individual points of view such as first person, third person, etc. I’ve gotten a lot of questions about this over the years so I’ve made this as comprehensive and detailed as possible. 

PLEASE REBLOG | Tumblr suppresses posts with links :/

–

Make Each Voice Distinct

The most difficult part of writing from multiple points of view is the attention to detail it requires to make each character’s voice distinct and interesting to read. Your best tools in this are vocabulary and the character’s personal, unique thought process. What’s the first thing they consider when they feel the key emotions? What do they notice when they first meet someone or visit a new location? What are their personal priorities and how does this impact the way they interpret each event in their life? Even when you’re writing from third person, their thought process determines what they do next, so it’s imperative that you know your main characters really well.  

** It also helps to get into character when you sit down to write a particular scene featuring a character’s point of view. 

Create Clear Transitions Between POV

One of the most effective ways to let the reader know they’re in someone else’s head is by describing what that character is doing or thinking at any given moment. If you wish to forego the traditional format of each chapter having one single point of view, it’s important to train the reader to detect a shift in perspective with subtextual clues and a distinct voice in the narrator. Any manner in which you choose to accomplish this is acceptable as long as it’s always clear whose eyes they’re looking through. 

Keep Each Character’s Narrative Interesting

Each character whose point of view is present should have a distinct purpose and quality. Each character’s voice should have an appeal the others’ don’t, and each time you switch perspectives should be welcoming to the reader. If one characters POV parts repeatedly act as filler or a distraction, then it’s time to rethink whether their POV is necessary and whether there’s any opportunity you’re missing to bring something good to the table with their unique interpretation of events. 

Choose The Right POV For Each Scene/Event

Whether you’re switching POVs scene-by-scene or chapter-by-chapter, it’s important that you are using the POV that is the most interesting, efficient, and effective in getting across whatever message you’re sending to the reader, whether that be foreshadowing, thematic payoff, etc. There’s a certain amount of trial and error here, so be prepared to write the same scene over and over until you get the perspective right because this can make or break the quality of your story overall. It’s also helpful to create a trend between scene objectives and POV characters. 

Balance Without Repeating Information

Balancing time between POV characters is important, but if you’re going to show the reader the same thing twice, there has to be a justifiable reason, and it has to be written in a way that will introduce new information each time that is necessary to the story, and it must be revealing of that character’s personality, motivations, priorities, eccentricities, etc. Repeating the same scene multiple times isn’t about showing the reader it’s important that they remember that event. It’s a tool for character development and subtextual plot progression. 

Common Struggles

~ How do I know if this is right for my story?... Multiple points of view definitely complicates a story, no matter which way you chop it. If you’re telling a story in a more complicated genre or intricate plot line with intersecting timelines and various important, tiny details, this structure may complicate it to the point of the reader being confused or the immersion of your story being compromised. If the reader will spend more time trying to piece together every facet of your writing than actually enjoying the plot and becoming enthralled by the storytelling, then you may want to reconsider telling it from multiple points of view. 

~ How do I balance each POV character’s screen time?... I think this has a lot to do with planning. It’s important to seriously contemplate whether or not a character’s POV is necessary to propel the plot in an interesting and efficient way. If a character has no place being a perspective voice in the novel, that will usually manifest in you having a difficult time finding a place for them to speak. Listen to your instincts and focus on the story you’re trying to tell. In terms of balance, it’s also effective to reconsider which scenes are best told from whose perspective, and it’s crucial that you understand that telling stories from multiple points of view requires a lot of trial and error. You may have to write the same scene from each perspective a dozen times to figure it out. 

~ When is the right moment to switch POV characters?... It truly depends on the beats of your story, and where natural transitions occur. A lot of the time, writers put switches in easy places to detect right away, such as the beginning of a new chapter or the introduction of a new location. When you reach a point where the information or situation would be more effective being told from a different character’s point of view, that’s the time to switch. However, always be clear that the transition is clear, even if you begin by describing what the POV character is thinking or doing. 

~ How do I make key moments interesting if the reader has to see them multiple times?... Repetitive scenes should be few and far between in any story, including stories featuring multiple points of view. If you have a key moment or key characters that you need to introduce, and you make a point to do so through the lens of each POV character, you need to make sure that each POV character has their own unique reaction or interpretation of the character/moment and that you’re focusing on a new, important piece of information each time the reader sees the same thing again. They shouldn’t be focused on the same details they’ve read before. They should be noticing the details that other characters didn’t pinpoint in their own perspective. 

~ Should I structure my plot around POV characters or the POV around the plot?... It depends on the purpose of your story and the actual story that you’re telling. If your story revolves around the shared conflict of several people, but the differences in their interpretation or experience, then it makes sense to structure the plot around who the focus character is at any given time. However, in most cases it’s better that you design the plot and then delegate scenes to difference perspectives to deliver information in the most efficient and interesting way possible. 

Other Resources

Pros & Cons of Different Points of View

31 Days of Character Development : May 2018 Writing Challenge

31 Days of Plot Development : January 2019 Writing Challenge

Resources For Describing Characters

Resources For Describing Emotion

Alternative Method of Character Creation

Resources For Creating Characters

How To Fit Character Development Into Your Story

Connecting To Your Own Characters

Interview As Your Characters

Giving Characters Distinct Voices in Dialogue

Tips on Introducing Characters

 Writing Dialects/Accents

Tips on Character Consistency

Introducing Secondary Characters

Tips on Character Motivations

Resources For Plot Development

Guide To Plot Development

How To Foreshadow

Novel Planning 101

Tackling Subplots

Character Driven vs. Plot Driven Stories

Plot Structures

–

Masterlist | WIP Blog

If you enjoy my blog and wish for it to continue being updated frequently and for me to continue putting my energy toward answering your questions, please consider Buying Me A Coffee, or pledging your support on Patreon, where I offer early access and exclusive benefits for only $5/month.

#writing #writeblr #writblr #writespo #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #resources for writers #writer #author #authorblr

[barricadebops]

And He Falls With a Smile

Summary: In 1823 Feuilly arrives in Paris. In 1824 a man in a daring red waistcoat invites him to a student organization where despite his orphan status, Feuilly gains a family in the throes of rebellion and revolution. Read on AO3 here.

1823

In many ways, Paris is quite unlike the south. The city bustles with more people than Feuilly had ever seen in Aigues-Mortes. He will likely have to take a while to become accustomed to the constant crowds in the streets, the way everyone seems a stranger to each other.

However, to his due consideration, Paris is also in many ways quite akin to the south.  

The language of French rolls easy off his tongue like the rhythms of Provençal and Polish, and casts no doubt on his employability when it comes to dealing with coworkers at the fan-making atelier. The streets are still lined with the poor who cry out for help, for just one sou while the haughty bourgeois stroll past leisurely, and there are still women thrown on the ground—prostitutes from destitution, children begging for alms instead of attending school, and there is so much misery that surrounds him when he steps foot in the city, and the orphan boy thinks that there has not been much significant change here, that he will work here until he dies never having known a true family.

Feuilly’s only family has been the concepts of France, Poland, Greece, Hungary, Romania, Italy—simply put, the rest of the world, the people of the rest of the world.

So, Feuilly resolves that he shall adopt the people of Paris too.

________________________________________________________________

1824

He meets a man by the name of Bahorel, down by the schools of law.

Three francs does not buy a man much. It hardly puts bread on the table. It certainly does not provide for better clothes than what Feuilly dons everyday. And only in his scarcely selfish dreams, do three francs provide him with a place at the universities of Paris, where every bit of knowledge is put within his reach with thought only of reading and reading and reading until his brain tires and he nods off to sleep, blissful in the knowledge that he will not have to rush awake the next morning to catch work.

But three francs does not lend him that reality. Three francs only lets him gaze wistfully outside the buildings and think of a life where he could read better, where he could write better, where he wouldn’t have to waste away toiling at the fan-making atelier—where others would not have to toil away—others who are younger, who are needy, who should be going to school. People from France, from Poland, from Greece and Hungary and Romania and Italy. People from around the world who deserve better than to have their inherent right to an opportunity, an education, a leap at life—taken away from them.

L'École de droit de Paris is teeming with young men, all affluently dressed, all hailing from wealthy families—men who care not for why lawyers are so prudent, why law needs to be so heavily examined. It is filled with men who walk without casting a glance at Lady Themis, their patron, who stands disappointed—though she may be blindfolded—knowing that her supposed guardians do nothing to bring about justice, to bring about her divine right. It is filled with bourgeois young men with haughty airs, fake smiles, and cold graces.

L'École de droit de Paris teems with such young men when classes are let out. For now, Feuilly can enjoy its tranquility, its academic aura without the glances thrown his way. Peasant worker.

So no one can really seek to blame him for the irritation that rises within him when he feels a man crash into his side, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the hard cobblestones of the campus.

"Are you quite alright?"

Feuilly has the strong urge to snap at the hooligan present above him now that he was not alright at all, not since he disturbed some of the only moments he is allowed to breathe free with his rough tumbling.

But he stops short. Something about the man's smile—though he must admit, it seems rather rude to smile in a situation like this—halts the words on his tongue.

The man, or well rather a boy since he looks like he cannot be much older than him—is smiling brashly, unabashed in his humour. Though he wears the red coat of a man bound to be wealthy, there is a certain quality in the way he holds out his hand to Feuilly, without disgust, without turning his nose up at him, without thinking that he is a great saint for doing so, that makes Feuilly think that he cannot possibly be of the bourgeois, and without thinking, Feuilly takes the proffered hand and rises his feet. As he regains his footing, the man nearly sends him back down by delivering a mighty clap on his back.

"My sincerest apologies, my good fellow. Here you were, wasting away your time like a respectable gentleman should be doing, when I so rudely crashed into you. But I do believe this is a fortunate coincidence! To meet another sensible individual—it is not everyday you have the great opportunity to meet another idler—they seem rather scarce in this dull profession. I do know of just one other, but unfortunately Bossuet is forced to remain in Blondeau's class—what amusement! Imagine Blondeau really considering that being kicked out of his class is a punishment! I fret for poor Bossuet who shall come out having truly come into possession of knowledge on property law. Just imagine!"

Much as Feuilly may have tried if he really did want to, he could not imagine, considering he was not actually a student of law, not to mention that he had absolutely no clue who this Bossuet was.

"But—" the man continues on, and Feuilly vaguely realizes that at this point he should make haste to mention that he is not actually a student of l' ècole and that he really should be heading back to the atelier, but the man barrels on, "say, I have not seen you in any class before. You certainly must be younger than I, for there can be no other way to explain it."

Feuilly flushes. How could this man seriously still go on believing that he was a student here when he saw the way he dressed and held himself?

Clearing his throat, he shook his head and clarified, "You're mistaken, Monsieur. I am not a student of the school."

The man's eyebrows furrow for a moment before his smile returns with massive force. "And I thought you could not possibly get better!" Feuilly's gaze darts up curiously. "How fortunate indeed!"

At this, Feuilly's mind staggers a little, and he bristles at the way the man's words rub on him. Did he think it was fortunate that a poor man like him could not afford an education, a right all deserve? Did he think it was fortunate that children lacked the opportunity to acquire knowledge because of the situations they were born into?

This man had to be of the haughty bourgeois, there was no doubt about it. His bold, rather daring waistcoat definitely spoke a testament to the statement.

There was work to be done at the atelier, there were fans to be made, money to be earned, another day to be lived. Feuilly needed to head back and throw this man out of the recesses of his mind, for he did not have any space freed up there either.

And yet—

And yet, Feuilly finds that this man is so incredibly wrong to have said what it is he said, and, well, someone must correct him one way or another—

"Forgive me, Monsieur," he says stiffly, "but I see absolutely no reason as to why this is a good thing. Do you really laugh at the thought of an orphan being unable to find the money to pursue an education?"

For the first time in their spontaneous conversation, the man's face is thrown off guard.

"Pardonnez-moi ?" His brows wrinkle before he bursts out with a hearty laugh. "Oh no! My dear fellow you have it all wrong!" The man grins and for a split moment Feuilly is sure he is the slightest bit mad. "I—of all people! I could never make fun of the peasants—my own parents are peasants, mon ami, it is why they have common sense."

There is something in this man's bold words that has even Feuilly amused enough to crack a smile. Perhaps he had simply misjudged him; though he would likely never understand Feuilly on the full on accounts of actually still having parents that evidently did love their son, the man hailed from a peasant background, so of all things, he was definitely not stuffy like the rest of his new-class, though the daring red coat did write him into Feuilly's books as just the slightest bit reckless—such was the effect of the colour red clothed on such a brash man.

He lets out a resigned sigh; at this point he absolutely has to get back to the factory if he wants to clock in on time. But the man is still grinning at him, and Feuilly cannot help but feel the urge to stay.

"Your words undoubtedly ring true, and it speaks a testament to the kind of life you have been made to lead." All at once, his face turned serious. "We need more men like you at our meetings—come join us, I beg of you."

Meetings? What sort of meetings could this man have been talking about?

Unless…

Feuilly was not illiterate. He had caught whisperings of secret Jacobin societies, groups that hid themselves away from the gaze of the King as they would secretly plot rebellion. A man of the people, the true common man, Feuilly too had been eager to join these groups—but where was the time? He hardly had any time to go back to the pathetic little apartment he had managed to scrounge up money for, how could he find himself time to attend Republican meetings?

At the atelier, the clock was surely ticking away, bringing Feuilly closer every minute to being late heading back to work. "I'm sorry," he turns away and makes to head off. "I find myself unable to join, unfortunately, at the moment."

There is an elbow at the crook of his arm easing him around. "I urge you to reconsider, Monsieur. There is always room for new recruits, and I assure you that your input will always be valued." He opened his mouth to argue when the man put up a hand to stop him. "Your time needn't be an issue—we are all but students, we will uphold your responsibilities if need be. But your word—your word will be no doubt incredibly valuable. Please think of it."

Feuilly hesitates; in the sky, the sun burned bright in indication of a rapidly approaching afternoon. "And what do you call yourselves?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "Les Amis de l 'ABC," he replies rather cheekily.

Les Amis de l'ABC? Somewhere, the name strikes at Feuilly's core. The Friends of the ABC. Surely an educational group—that was something he could support—and something he could personally understand, too.

"And what is it exactly that your group does, Monsieur?"

"Well, in name, we are dedicated to the education of children." (L'ABC). The man's smile turns a little sharp as he lowers his voice. "In reality, we… Well, I suppose you would have to come see yourself, would you not? Though I suppose if you ponder our name long enough, you should figure out anyways.”

ABC…

ABC…

Abaisse.

Les Amis de l’ABC — Les Amis de l'abaisse.

The Friends of the ABC—the Friends of the abased.

A rather clever name, if he had to be quite honest. So it was as Feuilly suspected.

“And who exactly makes up your group?” he asks, attempting to keep up his inquisitive tone even as he moves to clasp the man’s hand.

The man laughs. “Well, if—when we succeed, I imagine we shall become a group that will belong to some measure of history, though that’s not why do what we do.”

“Succeed?”

“Yes! I have no doubts that we shall do exactly that. The question is, Monsieur, will you be there with us when we do so?”

There is no reason to say yes; in fact, there is every reason to say no. The minutes are still ticking by and the factory foreman is not a forgiving man, especially not towards orphans who need the job more than he needs the orphan, and there was never any time to join such organizations, and so many of them are run by bourgeois boys who did not know what they spoke of, never truly knew what it was their goals should be, why would they accept Feuilly among their ranks—

And yet, there is just something about this man, something about the aura he exudes, something brash and reckless but accepting, even if his words do not always come off that way, that makes him hesitate from immediately flatly refusing and turning to get on with his day, something about the unspoken promise held in his words, something about the name—the Friends of the Abased.

He heaves a breath and looks up at the sky; it’s approach towards afternoon and the way campus seems to hold its breath, ready to release when the professors adjourn their classes signals his inevitable tardiness at work.

He glances at the sparkle glinting in the man’s eyes—there is an entire future, a lifetime held within the promise of the society that the man informs him of that Feuilly is yet unaware of.

“Well where is it that you meet?”

With a mighty thump on his back, the man slings an arm around his shoulders, using his arm to point his finger towards the horizon in the direction of the north-east. “Follow the streets until they take you towards the Café Musain at Place Saint-Michel, near six tonight. Ask a patron to lead you towards the backroom—a male, however, for we do not allow women to enter—with the exception of dear Louison, that is—surely you can understand the delicate nature of women, my own mistress would tremble at the talk of rebellion and she is one to laugh at about anything I should think to say—and surely you shall see me there. And if I should be late—for it is not unheard of that I should be out late talking to others of the same cause—tell them you were asked to join by Bahorel.”

Feuilly swallows. Seemed rather a large commitment he was signing onto before even truly attending one of these meetings.

“I shall ensure my best efforts to attend one of your meetings then, Monsieur Bahorel,” he says at last.

“And we shall ensure our best efforts to work towards that future in which orphans are allowed to pursue the education they seek.” The man—Bahorel—tips his hat. “Now you must pardon me, Monsieur—”

“Feuilly,” he interrupts. Bahorel inclines his head in sign of having listened.

“—Feuilly,” he says, “but the afternoon approaches and classes will soon be adjourned for the rest of the day, and I must deploy myself to the mighty task of finding Bossuet and listening to his new complaint no doubt against Blondeau, and then head off with him to find young Enjolras and de Courfeyrac too, for though the former may be able to sway a crowd with his words, especially with his second-in-command by his side, those two cannot hope to find their way through the university streets and—”

“Thank you, Monsieur Bahorel, I shall hope to see you then, tonight," he interrupts, only the slightest bit ashamed for having done so; he really does need to be on his way.

If Bahorel takes offense to his interruption, he makes no sign of it; rather, he clasps his hand, and says, “Thank you, Monsieur Feuilly. Your presence will be greatly appreciated. No doubt everyone will be pleased. I look forward to seeing you sit amongst us.

Feuilly tips the ragged hat he has on his head in response.

This is how it begins.

________________________________________________________________

1825

It is ten at night, a most indecent time for respectable men to still be outside, and yet Feuilly can see no sign of Enjolras tiring while he listens with bright eyes to what Feuilly has to say on the subject of the partitioning of Poland.

It was indeed a topic of great rage and indignation for Feuilly, that date of 1772. How was it that a monarchy, a tyranny, had the right to strip a people of their identity? Of their nationality? He exclaimed as much to Enjolras, who watched on with awe.

"But how can they have the right? To tell a people that they no longer have the ability to climb atop their tables and exclaim 'I am Polish! Here I stand free in my country of Poland! ?" Running a hand through his fiery hair, he fumed just as he thought about it. "The audacity!"

At the table, Enjolras scoots closer, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Indeed. Tell me more of it.”

He glances at him, and, briefly, he allows himself to ponder the person sitting in front of him. Feuilly hesitates to call him a boy, though, at nineteen years, that is exactly what he is.

It is simply that, despite his excessively youthful face, there was something in Enjolras' eyes that gave him the feeling that the boy had already lived for hundreds of years, made him feel as if he were seated in front a man who had already, in some previous existence, traversed the many revolutions of the past.

And yet—

And yet, despite that, not having gone unnoticed by any of those few members who attended the meetings, it is Feuilly who Enjolras evidently idolizes—reveres, even.

And it is a fact that Feuilly cannot fully comprehend; of all the people Enjolras is surrounded by, all the people he has to idolize—Combeferre or Joly or even Bahorel—he sees first and foremost Feuilly, a poor orphan who struggles to read when Enjolras himself could make his way through the thickest of volumes with ease.

Feuilly does not think less of himself for his background, but how often can a man go on surrounded by people who excelled in a variety of skills than he could only ever hope to gain without feeling the occasional pang of self doubt?

He allows himself a smile. “But I thought you had already read about this, Enjolras? Combeferre tells me the matter is one that incenses you quite the bit—rightfully, might I add.”

He thinks of how strange it is—at the atelier, no one gave second thought to anything Feuilly had to say, so he never really thought to say anything anymore to his coworkers or his foreman who he knew would either ignore him or dismiss him straight away.

But Enjolras listens. He listens to the words of a poor orphan boy, and despite his upbringing by his parents that likely taught him not to pay heed to the words of a man like Feuilly, he instead leans forward, always leans forward at every meeting whenever Feuilly raises his voice to contribute, and he listens breathlessly and nods and says But of course, and Yes you’re right, and But if you could please tell us more, we need more of what you have to say.

Enjolras nods vigorously. “Yes, of course, the stripping of the autonomy of any nation is an injustice—it is simply that hearing you speak of it is all the more informing.”

Feuilly quirks an eyebrow at him. “And why would that be?”

“Because you are all the more knowledgeable of this, of course.”

He huffs a laugh. “It was not as if I was there when they put down the first partition. I am hardly an eye-witness, nor would I say more knowledgeable than you.”

In front of him, Enjolras reaches a hand to grasp at Feuilly’s. “But you are! For as well as I understand it, I could never truly know what kind of an effect such a monstrous event could have on the common man. But you, Feuilly, you know so well, for you have endured far worse than I have, you are a much better man than I am, surely you must know you have my eternal respect—”

As he blushes, Feuilly briefly thinks of scolding Enjolras for proclaiming Feuilly better than himself only on the grounds that he was born in a different circumstance.

He squeezes Enjolras’ hand back. “Do not declare yourself a lesser man than me, Enjolras. Over this past year you have demonstrated the fact that those of the upper class can still have compassion and the skill to identify injustice, and you have made me feel all the more welcome amongst your ranks.”

Enjolras smiles. “Les Amis de l’ABC would not be what we are without your inclusion, my friend. It is for people like you that we fight, it would hardly be a cause if we did not have your voice present with us. The gratitude should be coming from me to you for trusting us, for joining us. You make us who we are Feuilly.”

And Feuilly is just the slightest bit blown away by Enjolras’ words, for while he knew Enjolras held a special sort of respect for him, he had never imagined that his reverence shaped up like this.

“Will you tell me more about Poland?”

He glances down at Enjolras, who stares up with hopeful eyes, and he smiles.

“But of course.”

________________________________________________________________

1826

It is not unheard of that Jehan Prouvaire should be sitting quietly in his corner after meetings, staring dreamily at his paper as if he could see entire meadows and forests scrawled on it rather than the lushious words he pens to create his poetry.

“The stars are not out and yet you gaze at your paper as if you can already see the constellations they form,” he says as he lowers himself into the chair next to Prouvaire, having been beckoned over.

Prouvaire blushes and smiles softly. “Every constellation has a story tied to it, and poetry seeks to do much the same. Poetry is how our ancestors spoke of their tales around the fire.”

“Is that what you will be writing about today? The stars?”

Prouvaire hums and shakes his head. “No. I think I should like to write in Polish today.”

Jerking slightly, Feuilly looks at him, confused. “Write in Polish?”

He nods. “Yes. I think of it often, you know, and I feel it’s an injustice, the way the Polish identity has been stolen from the people, almost as if their right to thought has been taken. I figured, would it not be prudent, then, of me to write a poem in Polish, and reaffirm their status?”

Nodding vigorously, Feuilly agrees, “Yes, of course. Your words hold the utmost merit, and I’m glad to see you acknowledge this through your words. I can think of no better way for you to express your thoughts about this than through your sacred form of writing.”

He props his chin on his hand and leans forward. “Yes, but I seem to encounter a problem in that I do not know how to speak Polish. My friend, I only have one favour to ask of you: will you help me construct this poem?”

Feuilly blinks. Of all the honours he could have been bestowed with… For Prouvaire, reading and writing poetry was one of the very fundamental things that kept people humble. To connect to nature, to hear of stories past—it is what both allows humans to soar amongst the beauty present in the world, yet keep them humbled and grounded to work on what needed to be improved. For Prouvaire, poetry is his form of worship, his devotion to the miracles of the world before him, present in front of him, and the one yet to come.

“You would choose to ask… me, to help you?” he asks, bewildered at the thought of him sharing something so close to his heart, to his spirit.

There is a sort of sparkle in Prouvaire’s eyes, a look he reserves for when he gazes at wildflowers and oats growing in meadows, or for when he hears the nightingale sing—a look so impossibly soft that he can use it only when he finds himself looking upon a being he believes deserves to be showered upon with love and written about with the utmost tenderness—and it is present in his eyes when he gently places his hand atop Feuilly’s and says with the utmost solemnity, “My friend, I could think of no one else who I would trust more for such a matter.”

Feuilly is rendered speechless. Both with the love he feels for his friend, and by the astonishment at the trust his friend shows in him.

Feuilly hopes the world will see Prouvaire's soft verses and name him with the likes of Keats, whom he idolizes.

Jehan hopes that one day the world will read his poem—the one he writes now, that tells the story of a common fan-maker who spoke Polish and still strived to see the possibilities of the entire world despite the world never having strived to see the possibility in him—and understands the adoration that he and the rest of his friends had for a man who was made up of a thousand different nations and came from a thousand different stories and had with him a thousand different plans for the future.

________________________________________________________________

1827

The sky is dark and Feuilly’s perception of time has been skewed by the long, insufferable hours spent at the atelier crafting fans while harbouring a most dreadful headache.

He does not see that the clock has struck much past seven, much past eight, now half an hour after nine, and that his foreman kept him detained much longer than he realizes, taking advantage of the evident illness that has Feuilly dazed and unaware. With much effort, he pushes the door to the café open and stumbles towards the backroom where he expects his friends will be.

Upon reaching the backroom, he leans a hand against the frame and struggles to comprehend the image of an empty room, one where the meeting has clearly adjourned.

Well, mostly empty.

“Feuilly?” At his side, Combeferre reaches a hand to place on his shoulder, a steadying presence among the rushing winds that seem to have found their way into the café. “Are you quite alright?”

He coughs—once—twice—three times into his fist. “Well I do find myself in a bit of confusion,” he admits as Combeferre gently takes him by the crook of his elbow and seats him at a table. “Has the meeting for today been cancelled? I would not have imagined that everyone would be busy all at the same time.”

Combeferre tilts his head and looks at him peculiarly. “The meeting?” He frowns. “My friend, are you well? The meeting ended about an hour and a half ago.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he coughs twice more as he shakes his head and says, “No, that cannot be. Surely it cannot be so late. I had only just seen the clock, look, there, it says…” he trails off as his eyes fall upon the small hand halfway towards its path to the painted ten, then glances back at Combeferre sheepishly. Clearing his throat, a rather painful task to do considering just how raw it feels, he manages to scrape out the words, “It appears I have missed the meeting. I apologize, I did not realize just how late it had become.”

Combeferre smiles sympathetically. “Evidently. Your presence was greatly missed at the meeting, Enjolras looked rather down about it, but nonetheless we understood, though we thought it was simply because you were working.

Burying his head in his hands, he croaks, “I was supposed to be working regular time. I don't know how I didn't realize the foreman had me working late without informing me of it.” At this, Combeferre’s eyes darken a shade.

“You cannot let this go unprotested, Feuilly,” he says, the slightest bit angry, though Feuilly knows it is not anger directed towards him. “Your foreman has no right to do so; we will go back tomorrow and demand he pay you what you deserve for working the extra hours you did.”

Raising his head, Feuilly looks up, a little surprised at Combeferre. “It will not work, Combeferre, for all that I would like it to. The foreman has plenty of people available to replace me should I start to fuss. Though it is wrong, you must know that he has the power to keep me longer without paying.”

Combeferre runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “However much power he holds, he cannot go against the principle of the matter and expect no retaliation. It is settled; we will go and speak to your foreman.” When Feuilly opens his mouth to speak, Combeferre holds his hand up and halts the words on his tongue. Silently, he reaches forward and gingerly places the back of his hand on Feuilly’s forehead, tutting at the heat that comes away. “Tell me how you feel,” he commands.

Feuilly frowns. “It is really not that much of a concern, my friend—”

“Feuilly,” Combeferre pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at him again, “in about a years time I shall begin my internship at l’Hôpital Necker; as of right now, I have enough medical knowledge—well, really, anyone has enough medical knowledge—to diagnose you with the fact that you have caught a cold—no doubt from the rainy season we have all found ourselves trapped in—and while it is nothing serious, it can become something of a concern if you do not rest and allow me to take care of you.”

Feuilly looks away. “While I do not doubt your knowledge, Combeferre, you needn’t bother yourself with—”

“What is more so a bother, Feuilly,” Combeferre interrupts him once more, and does not even look the slightest bit embarrassed for doing so, “is when one of my friends fall ill, and instead of taking the time they need to get better, they only continue to work until it is worse and their recovery becomes all the more difficult.” He watches as Combeferre rises from his seat, holding out his hand when he says, “So, for my own convenience, if you believe—unjustly, may I add—that your own convenience is not worth it, please come back with me to my apartment so that we can have you back on your feet in mere matter of days rather than weeks.”

As Feuilly allows himself to be hauled up, his arm slung around Combeferre’s shoulders, for he does not believe he has the strength in him to stand a single second more on his own—he marvels at what it is he must have done that warrants fate to provide him with friends who care for him like a mother or father would their own child, though Feuilly is not well acquainted with the feeling.

________________________________________________________________

1828

Even before he feels Courfeyrac’s hand clap down on his shoulder, Feuilly can feel Courfeyrac approaching—because that is simply the kind of person he is; his aura is boisterous and bubbly, a loud that made you grin rather than cringe away.

“My friend!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “My friend, my friend, my very good friend!”

Feuilly smiles as he knows what is inevitably going to come up. “As much as you may ask, Courfeyrac, I simply do not have the time to stand out in the middle of the street only so you can ‘save’ me in front of that Genevieve girl you have recently taken a fancy to.”

Courfeyrac looks taken aback for a moment before he begins to laugh. “No, no, I was not speaking of that. Besides, I have most recently been made to come to sense that I do not need anyone to play the part of a man in distress who needs to be saved—as long as I somehow end her near Bossuet, I shall allow him to carry on with the way he already lives, and soon enough I shall have saved him from his own stupidity in front of her!”

At another table, Bossuet indignantly pipes up, “Hey!” In response, Joly waves his cane dismissively.

“Calm yourself, Aigle de Meaux, his facts are not incorrect.”

As Bossuet and Joly begin to bicker in that lighthearted way friends so often do, Courfeyrac turns his gaze towards him, and Feuilly finds himself blinking, trying to figure out what exactly it is Courfeyrac will be asking him as a favour, for he knows the beginning of their conversation is exactly what Courfeyrac will do every time he seeks to extract a favour from someone.

And whatever it is, Feuilly already knows he will be saying yes, for not only does he love his friend enough to do anything for him, he is sure that had it been Feuilly asking for the favour, Courfeyrac would have already been up from his seat heading off to help.

“Out with it, Courfeyrac,” he encourages with a smile. “What is it that you evidently need me to do?”

Courfeyrac grins. “You know me so well, my dear friend. Well, the matter is,” he lets out a long-suffering sigh, “my parents have been writing incessantly to me in hopes that I will, at their side, attend the ball of one of their long-time friends.” Courfeyrac grimaces. “I shall depart for Avignon in a week’s time.”

Feuilly blinks, confused. He could hardly grasp at what this entire affair had to do with him.

“But Courfeyrac, you have always struck me as a man who delighted in dressing in a nice coat and going dancing.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Courfeyrac huffs impatiently. “I like to go dancing with my friends. I would rather not have to suffer by my parents’ side at some ball surrounded by a crowd of people who cheer at the sight of the 1814 Charter.”

At his mention of the Charter, Feuilly allows himself a little laugh, his mind straying to a recent memory of Courfeyrac throwing a copy of the very same thing in the fire during a heated debate with Combeferre.

Calming himself, he manages enough breath to ask, “That is all good and fine, but what do I have to do with all this?”

With a beam, Courfeyrac shuffles closer to throw an arm around his shoulders. “So,” he begins, “all I ask from you is a small favour.” At Feuilly’s silence, he continues, “I want you to attend with me.”

At this, Feuilly nearly spits out the coffee he had taken in his mouth.

Once he finishes choking, he adopts a look of astonishment and asks, “Me?”

Courfeyrac’s grin is one of sincerity; try as he might, there is no sort of a joke written on his face.  “Yes.”

Clearing his throat, he asks, “But… Why would you ask me of all people?”

At this, Courfeyrac frowns. “But why ever not you? I cannot think of a single reason why I would not ask you.”

He feels a humiliating blush stain his cheeks as the many, many reasons why he should be amongst the last people Courfeyrac should ask crosses his mind. For God’s sake, even Grantaire is a more preferable option—he, at least, hailed from a wealthy family, and so has the knowledge of the sort of behaviour and etiquette to be employed in such situations.

With a sad sort of smile, he places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and says, “Find someone else to go with you, Courfeyrac. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I must deny you this one thing.”

Courfeyrac’s frown deepens. “But why?”

Must he really push this issue?

Well, Feuilly is not ashamed of who he was, but it really is a little rude making him say the words.

“Courfeyrac,” he sputters, “I haven’t the faintest clue how to behave at such a social gathering. Neither do I… neither do I have the money for the sort of lavish clothing no doubt one is expected to wear there.”

Courfeyrac’s mouth flattens, and it is a rare moment that Feuilly sees him so frank. “Your background has not rendered you a scoundrel, Feuilly—I have only ever seen you act as a man should—honest and down-to-earth. You’re exactly the kind of person a man should be like, and frankly I do not care much for the opinions of my parents’ friends, and I believe you needn’t do so either. As for clothing, if you will not allow me to purchase you new clothing, I shall simply ask Combeferre to borrow his, on your behalf.”

His little speech shocks him. “But,” his voice is a little weak, “why would you ask me?”

At last, Courfeyrac’s face brightens once more into the sort of face he was famous for amongst his friends. “My friend! You are such interesting conversation! I cannot think of another person I would rather have by my side as I am forced to endure another gathering of insufferable royalists.”

Feuilly struggles with his words. Courfeyrac would have him attend the ball by his side? Once more he finds himself searching Courfeyrac’s face for any hint of a cruel joke, but finds none.

At his silence, Courfeyrac rises from his seat, grinning widely, for silence tends to give the impression that the opposing side has fallen into agreement. “Excellent! So, Tuesday next week we shall depart. And I shall begin my valiant search through Combeferre’s wardrobe!”

Feuilly remains astonished in his seat.

________________________________________________________________

1829

If he has to be completely honest, Feuilly does not talk very often with Grantaire, and so, Feuilly finds he cannot really come to a conclusion about him. He sees that the man is doubtful of their efforts, loud and rambunctious, and is drunk, always seems to be drunk.

But there is also a sort of melancholy present on his face when he thinks no one can see, when he does not constantly keep up that smirk as he goes on his next drunken ramble, a bitter and sardonic expression when he hears the rest speak of revolution and he finds himself too tired to even inject himself into the conversation. He sees a yearning, impossibly broken look grace Grantaire's face when their leader starts to speak or makes to smile or cries when upset or rages when he is furious—he seems to look as if he is reaching for something he can never quite have no matter how he stretches his fingers whenever Enjolras does anything, really.

Feuilly does not know much of Grantaire. So, he thinks to speak to him.

"Grantaire," he sits down next to him and inclines his head in greeting when Grantaire looks up from where he had been staring hard at his bottle of absinthe.

"Ah! The fan-maker makes time for me at last!" Grantaire cries as he spreads his arms wide. "Yes, young Feuilly, what is it that you find yourself in need of a drunk for?"

He ignores the young comment, only meditating briefly on the fact that he is the same age as Grantaire, and instead, hoping to forge a connection to the man, asks, "Did you really study under the guidance of Gros?"

Grantaire bellows out a loud peal of laughter. "My good fellow," he slurs, and Feuilly worries for how much he has had to drink tonight, "you must not believe everything that comes out of this drunkard's mouth."

He furrows his eyebrows. So he was lying?

"So you lied?" he asks in clarification. "You never did go to art school?"

A smile twists up Grantaire's face. "I only just told you not to trust everything I say. And yet! And yet, what is the first thing you do after I give you advice?"

He was beginning to get a little lost here. "I’m not quite sure I follow. Did you attend art school or not?"

Grantaire leans back in his chair. "Yes and no!"

"Yes and no?"

He grins at Feuilly. "A tale worthy of the likes of pleasant idlers, I am afraid, and while you are pleasant enough, you are anything but an idler—you cannot possibly hope to enjoy it."

He leans forward. "And yet, I find myself curious enough to hear of it nonetheless."

"Well," he starts, and for a moment, Feuilly fears that Grantaire will start on another one of his rather infamous rants, and while it is not that he is exactly opposed to them, but more so, he needs to get home so he can get however many hours of sleep Joly ordered him to get. "I certainly did attend classes at first. But the pretentiousness of it all! No man can tell you better that artists are amongst the most pretentious people to grace this hellish landscape we call earth. And the nude models were hardly anything to look at! I could get myself a better whore for less than a sou! Or better yet, not pay at all when it is me that such women always want!"

For a split second, Grantaire's gaze drifts, and when Feuilly tracks the movement of his eyes, he ends up looking over to where Enjolras stands at the table near the front, regarding Grantaire with a strong look of disappointment as he holds Grantaire's stare before returning to whatever it was he was discussing with Combeferre.

Grantaire tips his bottle towards the ceiling.

"No, I made the decision that no more would I waste away somewhere I knew I would rot. So instead I spent my time pilfering apples."

He huffs a laugh. “Pilfering apples? The ones used to model fruit?”

Within Grantaire’s eyes, Feuilly sees a mischievous sort of glint. “The very same.”

“And now? Do you still attend?”

He shrugs. “From time to time, though, I must ask why you think to ask me. My good fellow,” he reaches forward and lays a heavy hand on Feuilly’s shoulder. “I should think to ask you, rather, on your own painting.”

Feuilly flushes a little. “I haven’t the slightest of time for painting, Capital R.”

“And yet what little you have painted deserves to be hung up next to the works of Géricault!” Grantaire cries once more, and despite himself, Feuilly grins a little.

“It is hardly anything compared to Géricault.”

Grantaire waves a dismissive hand. “Bah! All these names—Géricault, Prud’hon, Delacroix—all of them are insufferable men who catch one whiff of fame and lose themselves to their pretentiousness. Your one work, young fan-maker, would be worth more than any of those scoundrels’ paintings put together.”

And Feuilly cannot help but gape, for this man in front of him, the very set definition of a skeptic, who once told their group, on his own whims, that believing was for the foolish and that he had no wish to believe in anything that would earn him an early death—he now sits here telling Feuilly that he finds meaning in his work, more meaning than in the works of the greatest painters to exist.

It leaves him shocked beyond compared.

Attempting to gather his thoughts once more into a state of decent coherency, he proceeds to ask, "Do you paint anymore?"

For a moment, just one quick moment that Feuilly admits he would not have caught had he not been looking closely, Grantaire's eyes flicker over to where Enjolras appears to be moderating some sort of a debate between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, laughing at something Courfeyrac must have said, and he notices the way Grantaire's face twists bitterly.

"Yes."

Feuilly does not ever ask what—or who—his subject is.

________________________________________________________________

1830

The weather of Paris in the spring signals the approach of a storm the Friends, unknown yet to their knowledge, will find themselves fighting in when the people decide in the season of July that tyranny must not be allowed to continue, and will resurrect barricades all throughout the city in the name of a free France achieved through a revolution that sees the overthrowing of King Charles X.

But for now, it is spring and the rain beats down upon the poor the hardest, upon those who have less shelter, fewer clothes, scarce food, and only in abundance do they have misery.

Feuilly counts himself lucky that he has a roof over his head, even if it is one that freezes in the night’s cold, and in the summer, swelters in the day’s heat.

Joly, however, does not seem to think so.

“I simply cannot allow you to go back to your flat when the rain beats down on our heads like this!” he cries, ignoring Feuilly’s several protests to the idea of spending the night at Joly’s residence, after Joly had taken one step into Feuilly’s own apartment and declared it uninhabitable in their current temperatures. “There is more than enough room at my residence, and I will not have one of my own falling ill when I had more than enough resources to prevent the ailment.”

“I wish not to intrude,” Feuilly repeats for what must surely be the hundredth time. “You already find yourself housing Bossuet, too, and—”

“Feuilly,” Joly scrubs a hand across his face, “helping a friend is hardly any bother to me. In the six years we have known each other is this how you expect me to behave?”

And Feuilly stops short, because Feuilly, who has never had a family—who has never had a mother or father or brother or sister—could hardly ever have imagined in his life that would have a friend—that he would have several friends—who would care for him—who would love him—like this, enough to offer up the chance at a residence that must look like a palace compared to his own shabby room, even if for one night.

“I simply… I simply would not want to cause any burden,” he mumbles.

Joly’s face splits into a bright grin, the one everyone who knows him is familiar with, the one that gives reason to why they all call him Jolllly. “But my friend!” he exclaims. “The more people to house, the more amusing the occasion, no?” Armed in one hand with his cane and the other holding Feuilly by the elbow, he begins to lead him towards his apartment. “Come! We shall make merry by the fire and drink to our heart’s content today—and we will not have to worry about rationing our drinking, for Grantaire is not here, either!”

“Make merry by the fire? But I regret to inform you that the Yuletide season is well past us,” an amused voice says by their side. As they both turn to the left, a familiar, laughing bald head makes itself apparent to their eyes.

Feuilly snorts. “I have not known you to be one to turn down an opportunity to nest by Joly’s fire, Bossuet. I find that I would rather while away the time in the false pretense that Christmas is still upon us rather than spend the hours shivering in the rain—would you not?”

“Bossuet can handle a little rain, what with the two sous in his pockets, he may even be able to manage a meager coffee,” Joly teases, carefully bringing the tip of his cane to rub at his nose.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do tell, how does one manage a coffee at just two sous?”

“With enough grovelling at my door once he realizes that his endeavour is an impossible one and he owes me for the medical supplies I would inevitably have to purchase to bring him back to health after shivering so long in the cold.”

Bossuet bellows a laugh as he makes way for himself in between Feuilly and Joly, draping an arm around each's shoulders. “The grovelling will not be necessary, Jolllly, I shall tag along anyways. I would never decline, having found myself in the company of our dear friend Feuilly.”

Feuilly shoots him a confused look. “And why might my company be so desirable?”

Bossuet and Joly both laugh as if he had just told them the most amusing joke, but Feuilly cannot quite catch what it is that is so funny about what he said.

“Friends do not ask each other why their company is desirable, Feuilly,” Bossuet simply says.

And Feuilly feels something warm in his heart turn to a roaring fire, despite the chill of the rain.

Later, when he finds himself tucked into one of Joly’s armchairs, a blanket around him, he feels Joly lay a gentle hand upon his shoulder, looking at him most earnestly.

“I beg you think not of this as charity, my friend, but rather as something a friend would do for another. Nay a friend—more a brother.”

And with that, Joly leaves to prevent Bossuet from setting himself on fire in the kitchen while Feuilly struggles to blink back a wetness that threatens to slide down his cheeks, though his feelings are far from any sort of sorrow he has felt before.

________________________________________________________________

1832

He is hungry and he is thirsty and he is tired and he knows he is going to die.

He also knows that not only will he die in triumph, but he can imagine no other group of wonderful, extraordinary, familiar people he would rather die with.

Enjolras has already delivered news of their abandonment. Now, they sit and listen as he speaks of the principles of their fight, of the principles of their deaths, and Feuilly can think of no better speech he has ever heard in his short life.

He realizes, with a jolt, that Enjolras has turned to him. “Listen to me, Feuilly, valiant worker, man of the people, man of the peoples. I revere you. Yes, you see the future clearly, yes, you are right. You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father. You’re going to die here—in other words, to triumph.” He holds his gaze for a second longer before he continues.

And Feuilly nods. Because he believes in Enjolras. He trusts in his words.

He knows he will die. But what better cause could there be?

He wishes they had succeeded, he had hoped, had so ardently believed that the people would rise with them.

But if the people do not wish to answer the call of revolution, he knows it will not succeed. He has accepted this.

And he realizes it is okay. He has come to terms with it.

He dwells on Enjolras’ words.

You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father.

And, he quietly thinks to himself, I have adopted my friends as my brothers. And there is no one I would rather die beside. There are no other people who I would rather see smile one more time, or hold one more time, or laugh with and cry with and sit with one more time.

When he had first arrived in Paris, back eight years ago, Feuilly had resolved that he would adopt the people of Paris just as he had adopted those of the rest of the world.

He never imagined he himself would be adopted in turn.

________________________________________________________________

Rather than the bullet, Feuilly feels a sort of warmth spread through him instead. He lifts a hand to place at his side, where his blood begins to seep through his shirt and waistcoat.

He thinks of Bossuet’s laugh when he comes up with only two sous in his pocket and still offers Feuilly a drink.

He remembers why Joly was named the way he was, remembers his jollity in just about every situation Feuilly had found himself and Joly trapped in.

He nearly laughs at the thought of Grantaire’s rambles, and he sympathizes with his pursuit to find a family after his own had thrown him out. He sincerely hopes he will find the family that Feuilly did, too.

He recalls the feeling of Courfeyrac’s warmth, recalls how he kept the group together, how he shared that warmth with everyone no matter who they were, even if they were orphans like Feuilly.

He remembers Combeferre’s care, the way he always seemed to keep one eye open to look after everyone in the group, the way he never stopped making sure Feuilly got enough sleep, or had enough food, or rested enough, and he thinks that the world has just lost one of its greatest doctors.

He smiles at the memory of Jehan’s empathy, how his eyes seemed to see right through anything, and the way he always knew when to sit with Feuilly and ask him if there was something he wanted to share, something weighing down on his chest that was suffocating him, something that seemed to be relieved only when Jehan would smile that soft smile of his and tell him that he always had him by his side.

He can still feel Enjolras’ passion light up the barricade, recalls how his passion showed when he preached of a free France, when he spoke of the plight of the poor, and remembers the way that passion would soften into reverence when he would sit with Feuilly and listen to what he had to say, despite the fact that all his life he was likely taught to disregard men like him.

He remembers Bahorel’s bravery, how could he ever forget? He remembers that reckless smile, the bold behaviour that led to him taking his hand after being toppled to the ground, remembers that single question Bahorel asked him that would change his life forever, and he wishes—he cries at the thought of never having had the chance to say thank you, to tell him he is the reason why Feuilly is content to die in the situation he has found himself in.

Feuilly thinks of being born into the world with no family, no one to call his own.

Then he thinks about leaving it having found the men he loves, he loves—oh Lord above he loves like he could never love a mother or a father, he loves these men so much that it tears his heart in two thinking of each and everyone dying—he catches a glimpse of Enjolras being backed up the stairs while the National Guardsmen continues to prowl their way towards him and he sees Combeferre glance towards the heavens as his chest is speared by three bayonets and he sees Courfeyrac fall to his side having been shot once, twice, three times, and he sees Joly and Bossuet look towards each other as they are both shot side by side and he remembers the strength in Jehan’s voice when he cried out one last time in the name of the world they had sought to build and he remembers Bahorel’s spirit being the first to leave and he remembers, remembers, remembers, and it hurts so much, it makes him ache with a pain that makes him want to scream and cry for he cannot imagine the thought of having finally found his family and then having them torn from him, one by one, he hurts so much and surely God cannot be so cruel that he snatches their dreams, snatches the only people he knows he will ever love away—

And then he finds peace. Because as he bleeds out, he hears a voice, clear as the dawn drawing above the new day, cry out Long live the republic! and it is Grantaire, and he can almost hear Enjolras smile when he hears what he knows is the final report resounding, and in Combeferre’s eyes there is a sort of divine trust as his eyes remain affixed to where he believes he will find salvation, and there is a sort of tranquility in Courfeyrac’s eyes, and he sees the way Joly and Bossuet are still looking to each other even in death, and he thinks of how Jehan went out exactly as he wished, with strong words on his tongue, and he thinks of Bahorel’s fighting spirit and how he died doing what he thought was right.

His hand grows damper and hotter as his blood seeps out quicker and quicker.

The world may not remember their names in history—but Feuilly knows they will have a permanent place in his.

Like Combeferre, he casts his eyes towards heaven, and he thinks he can see Bahorel hold out his hand like he did eight years ago.

He can’t wait to have his life change again.

And Feuilly falls with a smile.

#this barricade day I give to you: a Feuilly-centric fic that gets to the actual point of the barricades at the end #les miserables #Barricade Day #Barricade Day 2021 #Barricadeday #Barricadeday2021 #les amis de l'abc #feuilly #feuilly-centric #bahorel #enjolras #jehan prouvaire #combeferre #courfeyrac #grantaire #joly #bossuet #les mis fic #les miserables fic #barricade day fic #this was my first barricade day!!

[aro-comics]

Fashion Analysis (Part 3: My Experiences)

[Note: This post is a part of a series analyzing self-expression, fashion, aromanticism, and how they interact with other parts of identity. For full context please read the whole thing!]

My Experiences

As a conclusion to all these factors covered so far, I want to discuss how they’ve all intersected outside of only my aromanticism, to influence my personal experiences and current presentation.

To begin, I think it’s important to have a little context about my identity, in general - I am a cis, pansexual, Chinese Canadian woman, who is most likely neurodivergent. All of these things have affected my life at different points in time, though not every factor I actively realized until I was an adult.

When I was a child, most people told me I was a “tomboy”, and by highschool I was very butch with a short haircut and expressly masculine clothing choices (which included clothing made “for men”). I think that this was in part because of a lot of things, but mainly because I am queer. There is a historical precedent of queer woman adopting masculine forms of self-expression, and I think that this form of presentation is a natural part of my identity for me. It was an aesthetic I liked! It’s one that I still like! I sometimes still dress this way. But ... it was also something that caused me to be treated as “less mature”, at least in combination with my (probable) neurodivergence and my ethnicity.

As much as I’d like to separate how each of these individual factors contributed to infantilization, I don’t think it’d be possible or meaningful: I can’t separate my experiences into individual parts because I am a whole person that is all of these things, at once. All of these factors influenced how people saw me, and all I can say is that people have talked to me differently for most of my life. I feel like it was because people assumed I wouldn’t understand a lot of things, or that I wouldn’t want to participate or be a “good fit” in a lot of social events, and overall I was interacted with in a way that implied subtly I was childish or sheltered or just “””different””” (code word for: probably neurodivergent, but nobody wanted to address it).

So when I hit that moment of realization, in the comic, when I was thinking of updating my wardrobe to be more “professional”, I initially considered just buying some more dress shirts and pants as I would have for most of my childhood. But as I reflected on my life so far, and how everyone (especially my family) had treated me differently in a GOOD way when I first bought one dress …

It hit me, slowly, that I was being discriminated against for a lot of things most of my life. Not horribly, not explicitly, and definitely not life-threateningly, but seriously enough that it made me reconsider how I could choose to present myself in the future. Especially since as I continued to present in a way that was both feminine and cognizant of fashion trends (so I wouldn’t say it’s exclusively tied to presenting femininely, I do think that part of it is related to the fact I was buying slightly higher quality and better designed clothes overall), I could feel that people as a whole have started to be nicer to me, invite me to more events, and overall treat me like the age I actually am.

I think it’s clear by now that some of my changes to self expression were based on pressure to prepare for more professional settings (and being tired of being seen as childish overall). For me, struggling less with being infantilized, and having peace of mind that I will have fewer obstacles in professional environments (since my career means a lot to me), will bring enough relief for me to better enjoy the other parts of my life. And that makes adopting an additional form of self expression that is feminine, alongside other forms of self expression, something positive.

And as another disclaimer! I’m NOT saying that you can’t choose to dress in a way that deviates from cishet, binary gendered norms, if you want to succeed personally or professionally. I’ve seen a non-binary classmate of mine choose to do this, and they’re very well received by their peers and employers alike. It really depends on your circumstances and how you feel. Self expression is something really personal, and ultimately it is something that you should determine based on your personal comfort and happiness.

[Note from Author: For Part 4, click here!]

#NotAComic #Fashion #FashionAnalysis

[danijimenezv]

Jill Valentine: What the Future Holds

For @openheartfanfics Meet My MC Event ☺💕

Career

After her residency ends, Jill takes over the Diagnostics Team, after the three other team members vote for her.

When Ethan steps down, Jill immediately jumps into action and starts interviewing possible candidates to fill the fourth spot of the team.

Finally, she decides to appoint Jackie. She’s proved herself time and time again, and she’s an exceptional doctor, so it made sense. And Jackie fits right in with their dynamics.

The team, and the hospital with it, thrives under Jill’s lead. They help a lot of people and earn a lot of worldwide renown.

The team was already known because of Naveen and Ethan, but there were doubts flying around when Ethan stepped down to become Chief of Medicine. Those doubts were quickly put to rest.

Jill is stubborn and determinate, and she works her hardest to make her team succeed. And the team succeeds more than ever because of her idea to work along with other departments at the hospital, creating a huge teamwork effort.

Harper is often busy, so Bryce and Ivy are her surgeons on call, and both of them give Harper a second and third opinion, so they consider every possibility out there. Rafael is the one she consults when physical therapy is on the table. Elijah, Baz and Zaid also help from time to time when they contemplate experimental treatments or when they need to research a new alternative, and Baz’s input is invaluable when it comes to immunology. Sienna is her pediatrician of choice. Even Esme and Gary come in handy from time to time. And even in retirement, Naveen is more than happy to help and give his input when the team hits a particularly hard slope. That applies for Ethan too; though, as much as he loves diagnostics, he tries to get involved the minimum, instead he lets Jill do her thing, and she’s damn good at it.

Jill’s management of the team also meant a new project she had been working on with Aurora. As soon as Aurora takes over Mass Kenmore’s Diagnostics Team, the two of them collaborate on projects and cases. And even if Kenmore’s renown isn’t as big as Edenbrook’s team, each group has something to contribute. They even collaborate on publishing articles and case studies. They work as well on their own as they do together. They help twice the amount of patients working alongside instead of competing with each other.

With Ethan as Chief of Medicine, she works perfectly with administration. They constantly help each other. He has the power to approve her projects and budget requests, but he only does it after hearing her pitch, just like other doctor, and he recognizes the true potential she shows.

She implements a program that gives third-year residents the opportunity to work with the diagnostics team. They are assessed and evaluated since their intern year, and when their third year comes by, Jill picks the two best residents. They’re not a part of the team per se, but they do a two-month internship with the team, work with them and learn from the experience.

Jill also dedicates part of her time to researching and working on zoonotic diseases. With her family of veterinarians, she’s more than qualified to do this, and after the maitotoxin incident, she knows there’s a lot of work to be done in that area.

Jill quickly becomes one of the most respected doctors and earned world-renown. She even becomes a published author.

Her books: “From Animals to Humans: Understanding Zoonotic Diseases”; “Diagnostics: A Comprehensive Science”; “The Challenges of Diagnosing”; “Solving Medical Mysteries: A Team Effort” (co-written with Aurora Emery) & “A Guide to Zoonoses” (co-written with Lucas Valentine).

A few years later, when Tobias decides to move to New York to marry Katherine, and inevitably has to leave the team, Jill is once again left with the task of looking at prospects for team member.

When that happens, Ethan is more than ready to step down as Chief of Medicine, after his fair share of working with administration, and he presents his curriculum to Jill, as if he was any other doctor.

Of course, Jill doesn’t have to think twice. She knows the kind of diagnostician he is, and she’s missed working with his brilliant mind.

Jill doesn’t just accept him into the team. She announces they’re both gonna be Co-Heads of the Diagnostics Team. After all, they’re better together than apart. Ethan tries to fight it at first but, well, he has never been particularly adept at denying Jill, and that was a matter she wasn’t willing to change her mind.

Though, as years working well with administration, both Ethan and Jill have earned other administratives favors, and working with them goes without a hitch as well. There are no more problems with the board like there were when Jill was a resident, and Ethan has learned to work with them, so the fights are almost non-existent.

Still, Tobias quickly earns his place as diagnostician in New York Presbyterian Hospital, and he continues to work along with Jill and Ethan.

Relationship with Ethan

Since confessing his love for Jill, Ethan was completely sure that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

The idea of proposing hadn’t made it to his mind yet, but he knew he was ready for them to move in together.

Even if the question had been at the tip of his tongue every time they were together, Ethan held back. Jill was already trying to adjust to the transition from resident to attending, and to Head of the Diagnostics Team. He didn’t want to add to it by having her move to his place.

But he had his mind made up, and he would ask her to move in with him as soon as things settled back. He wasn’t going to be deterred.

Except he hadn’t contemplated something, and that something made him stop in his tracks and reconsider asking her.

Because Jill, as Head of the Diagnostics Team, had a new salary. And with that new salary, the first thing Jill had done was get a puppy.

And no, not a little Yorkie or a Chihuahua. No. It was a damn Bernese Mountain Dog, that was going to grow into a seriously large dog.

Ethan already had Jenner, and even Jenner spent more than half of the time at his dad’s place in Providence. He didn’t think his penthouse could take a hyperactive Bernese Mountain puppy.

But he also knew his girlfriend. Coming from a family of veterinarians, Jill wasn’t going to leave the damn dog behind. From the moment she got him (“Satchmo”), Ethan knew they were a package deal. If he wanted to live with Jill, he also had to live with the dog.

He didn’t know how that could work with Jenner and in his penthouse, but he was willing to risk it. He knew he wanted to wake up every day by her side and go to sleep with her.

So, in September, just a couple of months after settling in their new positions, Ethan and Jill moved in together. Unsurprisingly, Jill knew how to handle the transition for both dogs, and made the move easy for all of them.

And just a few months after moving together, in December, Ethan popped the question. Jill cried through his whole proposal speech and couldn’t say yes, but she nodded fiercely and kissed him.

They had a relatively long engagement, until finally, they got married the following year, on October 16th, 2022.

The reception was huge, hundreds of people invited (because of the Valentine’s connections), though neither of them seemed to mind too much. They were just happy to be marrying each other. According to the media and tabloids, it was the wedding of the century.

Naveen was Ethan’s best man, and Luke (Jill’s older brother) and Tobias were his groomsmen, while Sienna was Jill’s maid of honor, and Kat and Ivy (her two sisters) were her bridesmaids.

About six months into their marriage, they decided to move to an actual house, and started looking.

Funnily enough, Jill’s childhood best friend, Hunter, told them he was currently working on a few construction and design projects in the area of Boston. He was the one who hooked them with a house and was their architect, helping them design their dream house.

A few months later, they were moving into a bigger house in suburban Boston, along with Jenner, Satchmo and Vienna (the roomies figured Jill had more space than them and could take care of the fennec fox better than them).

Starting their own family

It was about a year after their wedding that they sat down and talked about having children. Ethan had already worked through his trauma, and his past with Louise no longer held him back. Jill stopped her birth-control, and they started trying to get pregnant.

It took Jill a couple of months, and deep down she was terrified to let Ethan down and not be able to give him children, now that he had decided he wanted them. Ethan obviously eased her worries and told her the only thing he needed in life was her; children would be nice, but he really only needed her.

Still, Jill anxiously took a fertility test, and once it came out that she could have children, she tried to brush it off as stress, but still worried inside.

A few months later, Ethan surprised Jill by taking her on vacation, to ease her worrying and stress. He took her to a wolf sanctuary in Alaska she had mentioned she wanted to visit a few times.

Jill and Ethan found out Jill was pregnant by accident, and it definitely took them by surprise, but the news were very welcomed. At the wolf sanctuary, the wolves changed their whole demeanor and body language around Jill, and the keeper congratulated Jill on her pregnancy. Turns out, wolves are excellent at telling when a woman is pregnant even if she doesn’t know it yet; the animals get all odd and careful around the pregnant woman and take defensive postures around her. It was definitely a reveal worth telling.

Her first pregnancy, thankfully went without a hitch, and soon, their first-born came into the world, through natural birth.

Their son, Nicholas Jonah Ramsey, was born on August 24th, 2024.

Everyone was enamored with the little baby, with his dark hair and intense blue eyes, the spitting image of his father.

Ethan and Jill decided to appoint Rafael and Jackie as Nick’s godparents.

Six years later, their second child came along, also through natural birth.

Their daughter, Brooklyn Marie Ramsey, was born on November 8th, 2030.

She has her mother’s distinctive ginger-bronze hair color, but her father’s blue eyes.

Brooke’s godparents are Hunter and Sienna.

After little Brooklyn was born, though, Jill was informed that a third pregnancy could be fatal for her, that her body wouldn’t be able to sustain another pregnancy. And, after much deliberation and talking it out as spouses, Jill went under a hysterectomy procedure, which meant no more children for them, but they were beyond happy with their two little blessings.

Family and Friends

The gang remained tight-knit close, to the point where their children called the others aunts and uncles.

Even when they no longer lived together, they promised to hang out constantly and see each other. It also helped that they kept working together.

Eventually, Elijah and Phoebe eloped, and Sienna moved in with Raf. Bryce and Ivy already lived together. Aurora and Jackie were the last remaining ones, and they got a smaller apartment for the two of them for a while.

Then Aurora moved in with Hunter (once he fully moved to Boston) and Jackie got a place for herself and her new boyfriend, which she keeps a secret from the roomies until she’s completely sure the relationship is the real deal, because it’s the least expected pairing in the world. (Spoiler alert: it’s Baz 😂)

Even paired off and building their own lives, the gang kept up some of their traditions and kept in touch.

They even celebrate a few milestones and holidays together.

It tends to get a bit chaotic, given that it’s double the people, counting the spouses, but they all get along great and enjoy spending time together.

Tobias moved to New York once he married Katherine, but both of them still visit from time to time.

After traveling the world, Kyra moved to New York as well, where she met and married Jill’s older brother, Luke. Just like Tobias and Kat, they visit constantly.

Jill remains close with her family. She’s always been close with her siblings, and even more when they married some of their friends. And she grew closer to her parents once her own kids were born. Haley and Matthew Valentine definitely spoil their grandchildren rotten.

Jill and Ethan, along with Ivy and Bryce, make the trip to New York once every other month, to visit Jill’s parents, Kat and Tobias, and Luke and Kyra.

And once every other month, alternating with them, Kat and Tobias, and Luke and Kyra make the trip to Boston.

Jill and Ethan also drive down to Providence to visit Alan every few weeks.

All in all, they’re a big, happy, messy and extended family.

Tags: @jamespotterthefirst, @takeharryandgo, @aestheticartsx, @choicesfanaf, @fireycookie, @liaromancewriter, @trappedinfanfiction, @tsrookie, @genevievemd, @lucy-268, @writinghereandthere, @queencarb, @gryffindordaughterofathena, @ohchoices, @anntoldst0ries, @bluebellot, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @mysticaurathings, @iemcpbchoices, @itsjustamesshonestly, @shanzay44, @lsvdw-blog, @heauxplesslydevoted, @starryeyedrookie, @casey-v​, @mercury84choices, @chaoticchopshopheart, @quixoticdreamer16, @a-crepusculo, @peonierose

#open heart #my oh mc #my open heart mc #jillian valentine

[vermin-disciple]

For the random scenes - ask me to stay?

(Random Scenes Ask Meme)

This is one of the backstory scenes I wrote early on for the This Be The Verse universe (although it doesn't really need that context - it's basically an AU take on the final Garak/Bashir scene in the finale). It's one I've just never been that satisfied with. I did end up cannibalizing parts of it for one the Interludes in Tell Me You See Me (with a change in POV), and I may end up using other parts of it in something else (so it will probably end up thoroughly dismembered by the time I'm through). But here is the original version.

***

Julian remembered his last conversation with Palis, and the guilty little bubble of relief swelling in the back of his mind when he’d ended things. He’d always known that he couldn’t stay on Earth sitting behind an oversized desk anticipating the medical needs of visiting dignitaries and treating the occasional bout of indigestion. But there was more to it than that. There were the lies between them, the fact that he wasn’t the man she thought he was, and his certainty that she would never have loved him at all had she known the truth. He never even gave her the option of coming with him. The thought of her accompanying him to some starship or starbase, following him from posting to posting while he calculated just how many accomplishments he could get away with, was too utterly incongruous to contemplate. And she, well—she didn’t suggest it either, did she? Maybe a part of her was just as relieved as he was to end it.

He searched his psyche for that same sense of relief now, and found something else churning just beneath the surface of that bone-deep, hollow despair: anger. Because of course, of course, Garak wouldn’t even contemplate the idea of asking Julian to come with him. When it came right down to it, he hadn’t asked Palis to come with him because he didn’t want her there. On some subconscious level he had known that their feelings for each other were shallow, and the hurt of leaving her could never be more than skin-deep. The relief covered it over like a bandage, and he’d hardly thought of her in those first months on DS9. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought of her in years.

If he thought that Garak’s reasons were the same as his had been seven years ago, then maybe he could just go back to DS9 and let the cycle of sadness and loss run its course, piecing his heart back together so he could present it to someone else, maybe someone less maddening and broken and morally questionable.

But he knew Garak too well to dismiss his feelings as shallow. Garak feared sentiment because he felt it so deeply that it was beyond his ability to control.

It wasn’t even some misguided appreciation for the importance of Julian’s career. He didn’t think that much of Starfleet, or of Julian’s ambitions.

No, he was going to give Julian up without even trying to discuss their options, because in his mind this was some sort of symbolic final sacrifice to the great alter of Cardassia, just like in some depressing Cardassian epic. What kind of dutiful Cardassian hero were you, after all, if you hadn’t sent the love of your life away to prove your devotion to the State? Julian wanted nothing more than to grab him and shake him and shout at him, remind him that his whole goddamn life of self-sacrifice had not saved Cardassia, and force him to admit that rejecting every opportunity of personal happiness wasn’t going to help rebuild her.

Julian had always known that he would never outrank Cardassia in Garak’s heart, but if he could accept that, then frankly, Cardassia was going to have to learn to share.

“You’re going to need doctors.”

Garak froze. After a moment he turned around, examining Julian with narrowed eyes. “Undoubtedly.”

“You’re going to need more doctors than the Cardassian Union has left. You’re going to need to accept aid.”

“True. I’m sure the Federation will be happy to step in. Out of pure altruism and magnanimity, of course.”

“I’m not saying there isn’t any strategy to it. We’ve done very well for ourselves turning enemies into allies. Just look at what happened with the Klingons, after Praxis.”

This show of cynicism had the desired effect. Garak took a few steps closer to him. “You’re right of course, Doctor. In the decades to come, our civilizations may yet be friends. But this situation differs from the Klingons’ unhappy catastrophe in several respects. Cardassia isn’t the only world to suffer devastation. The Federation has also suffered in this war, and they will have to allocate their resources accordingly. They will have to temper their generosity. After all, Betazed is also in need of doctors.”

“Any Federation doctor can work on Betazed. Or Ricktor Prime or Tyra or any other Federation planet. But there’s a limited number of us who have any experience treating Cardassians.”

“Doctor,” said Garak, and there was a warning note in his tone, and a hesitation. “Julian—”

“For god’s sake, Elim! Do you want me to come to Cardassia with you or not?”

“Please think about what you’re doing,” said Garak, in a soft voice, the hint of warning replaced by something else, something that made Julian’s heart ache. “I don’t know if you can truly understand loss on this magnitude. I know that it hasn’t occurred to you that you might add to it, but let me assure you, that is exactly what you are proposing.” He held up a hand to stop Julian’s protest. “Listen to me, my dear Doctor. Back when I used to consider you entirely off-limits, I used to imagine what it would be like to bring you to Cardassia - to tour the museums of Lakarian City, or the Institute of Art, with my arm linked in yours. Take you to a little restaurant in Lakat that I think would make you reconsider your opinion on sem'hal stew. Listen to you scoff at all the monuments to colonial excess in the Imperial Plaza. It was a very idle fantasy, you understand. Or so I told myself, at the time. It was far too intoxicating an idea to take seriously. Being welcomed back to my home with open arms, all my sins forgiven, and you at my side - your body and mind at my disposal. Your love, if I was feeling especially maudlin. Not just for me, but for my world. I would have liked nothing better than for you to see her the way I did. And now…” he sighed. “And now, Doctor, tell me what it is you’re offering, exactly? You will volunteer your considerable skills to help my people. I certainly don’t doubt your intentions - compassion is second nature to you. I know that asking you to turn your back on them is pure selfishness on my part. But I don’t know if I can cope with it. How long would we have? A few months? A year? How long before Starfleet realizes that it has better uses for your talents? And where would that leave me? I know that in the midst of this destruction I will be haunted by memories of the past, visions of things as they used to be, faces of the dead. Don’t ask me to see your face there as well.”

Julian digested all this in silence. “And what if I stayed? Is that what you want?”

“What I want is not, and never has been relevant.”

“I think you actually believe that.”

“I’ve told you before, my dear, that I believe all my lies. But I know better than to believe yours. You are not going to resign from Starfleet, leave all your friends behind, and give up the protections of the Federation so that you can come live in the ruins of an enemy planet. With me. Not even you are that impetuous.”

“I’m not being impetuous,” he said. He paused, trying to form his reverberating, tumultuous thoughts into something that Garak would understand, and accept. “I’m smarter than you, you know. And that’s not arrogance, it’s just a fact. I’m smarter than most people. My parents made sure of that. But you’ve been spinning me around in circles since the day we met. You make me question everything I know and re-examine everything I believe. I can’t just wave my ideals and principles around like a flag, I have to argue for them - they have to hold up to scrutiny. I like the way you provoke me, even if sometimes you push too far. But when I get you to concede a point, I spend the rest of the day glowing. And sometimes, more than anything, I wish that you would let me comfort you, because I think you need it more than you’ll ever admit. You might be the most frustrating person I’ve ever met, and you drive me completely crazy. But I think I would rather be driven crazy by you than stay sane with anyone else. And frankly, you are being selfish - I can do more good here than I can anywhere else, and I think I’m going to, whatever you say. Avoid me, if you can’t bring yourself to trust me - it’s a big planet. I know you think that I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. You’re probably right. When I came to DS9 I was naive enough and insensitive enough to see Bajor’s woes as my grand adventure. But I’m not that person anymore - at least, I hope I’m not. I know this is going to be nothing short of hell. And—” Julian swallowed, and reached out a hand to cup Garak’s cheek. “And how can I say that I love you, and leave you to face that alone?”

Garak exhaled slowly, as if he’d been holding his breath. He leaned into Julian’s hand and covered it with his own. Then he chuckled, almost to himself. “This may surprise you, but I don’t have any idea what to say.”

“That must be very disconcerting for you,” said Julian. “Say that you want me to stay with you. Say that you want me to help you rebuild Cardassia. Say that you love me.”

Garak wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him. “I want you, in every conceivable way. Stay with me, and help me rebuild my home. I love you more than I have ever allowed myself to love anyone.” His smile shifted into something more mischievous as he leaned in again and lowered his voice, speaking directly into Julian’s ear. “And I would very happily ask you to take me hard against that console, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet enough to avoid detection.”

Julian laughed, a little helplessly, wondering at the humanoid capacity for inappropriate humor in the face of tragedy, to reach for love amidst unspeakable horrors, and to find hope when nothing else was left. For a moment, they clung to each other as if the world might fall apart when they let go. But it didn’t, and it wouldn’t, and there were still many things left to do before they could take another step.

#ask meme #my fanfic #this be the verse #vermin rites #garashir

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 5

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, reference to smoking (cigarettes), allusions to NSFW topics

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @carewyncromwell @night-rhea

Gettin' sold, second hand

That's how it goes, playin' in a band

It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll

~ AC/DC - It’s A Long Way to the Top ~

Halfway through their first week back on tour, their time in London was slowly drawing to an end. Lizzie couldn’t quite believe how fast the days seemed to fly by, each one a blur of tiredness, boredom and the addictive rush of adrenaline when they were on stage. Every day and night was like the one before and totally different all at once.

It felt like only yesterday that she had stepped from the plane back from America; at the same time, being surrounded by all the familiar faces and living in long established routines, her break from the hustle and bustle already seemed like an eternity away. Lizzie could still feel the last traces of jetlag wearing her down sometimes, but at least her shifted rhythm helped her stay energised during the shows; not that she was getting much sleep afterwards either.

Wrecked from her chronic lack of sleep, Lizzie had missed her alarm this morning. When she arrived at the largest dressing room of the O2 Arena, she found the rest of the band already assembled.

Merula and Everett were sitting at the huge table in the middle of the room, Everett scrolling through his social media accounts while Merula was painting her nails in a dark violet colour. Skye was slumped onto one of the sofas at the back of the room, a magazine spread across her lap. She looked up from the colourful pages as she saw Lizzie enter.

“About time you’re showing Jameson; thought you’d gotten lost somewhere. Where’ve you been?”

Lizzie sat down on the arm of the sofa Orion was sitting on; he lifted his head briefly and smiled before bending over his notebook again. Lizzie tried catching a glimpse of the lyrics he was scribbling down but he covered them with his hand. With a shrug, Lizzie turned her attention to Skye.

“I overslept and then ran into Charlie. Murphy and KC are gone somewhere, ‘having a meeting’ apparently.”

“That’s what they’re calling it these days,” Merula muttered under her breath, making Skye snort with laughter.

“Anyway,” Lizzie chuckled, “they’re not here to show the new pyro girl around. They left the job to Charlie, but apparently she’s late and no one knows how to reach her. He’s a little grumpy about it.” She furrowed her brow in concern. “I hope that doesn’t make for a bad start. Charlie had better behave, from what KC told me the newbie is promising.”

“A female pyro tech, just when I thought I’d seen it all,” Everett scoffed. “I mean, how good can she even be?”

Merula arched an eyebrow at him, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “You have a problem with a woman on the job, or what?”

Everett blatantly ignored her, however. “Hopefully we’ll have something to look at this time, right Orion?”

Orion was trying not to roll his eyes. “What we portray on the outside pales in comparison to what we carry in our hearts; as long as she’s a good person who is sure of what she’s doing, nothing can go wrong.”

“Getting along with Charlie would help, too,” Lizzie added.

A grin tugged at Orion’s lips. “It would indeed.”

Everett looked at him sceptically and shook his head. “Listen to you, as if you didn’t care about looks as well.”

Now Orion finally looked up from his notebook for good and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stop acting all innocent, everyone knows you’re getting your fair share of groupies as well,” Everett laughed, obviously finding the thought of someone preferring Orion to him hilarious. “Hotel room walls aren’t the thickest, you know.”

Lizzie almost choked on the bottle of water she had helped herself to. She was trying her hardest not to blush as her eyes flickered to Orion. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before she busied herself with the lid of her bottle, hopefully looking more innocent than she felt. She could tell by the way Orion was trying to keep a straight face that Everett’s remark came just as surprising to him as it did to her.

Clearing his throat, Orion replied levelly “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s a wonder you’re able to hear anything over the racket you’re making most nights.”

Everett shrugged. “At least I’m open about it.”

“As much as I hate to say it, but Ev has a point,” Skye chimed in all of a sudden. She was waving her magazine through the air. “According to the Daily Mail, you’ve had at least six affairs ever since we’ve been to Spain. They mark you down as quite the casanova.” Same as Everett before, the thought seemed to amuse her to no end.

Merula rolled her eyes at Skye. “Why are you even reading that shit?”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Skye shrugged. “And it’s fucking hilarious.”

Meanwhile, Lizzie had regained her composure. “Well, don’t keep us on the rack. What’s the latest news?”

Skye cleared her throat before scanning the pages. “After things got frosty between us in Poland, Lizzie and I have apparently decided on an open relationship. Good for us,” she looked up and blew her friend a kiss, which made Lizzie giggle. “They’re still taking bets when Merula is going to come out of the closet -”

“What is this bullshit with me being gay all the time,” Merula snarled.

“You just give that vibe, I know what I’m talking about,” Skye shrugged indifferently before carrying on. “We already had Orion being a ladies’ man and Ev… “

Skye trailed off as she read the paragraph again and looked up after she had finished. “There are pictures of you with Rita Skeeter in here, what’s that about?”

“None of your business,” Everett answered brusquely.

Lizzie saw Skye’s face darken at his tone and quickly snatched the magazine out of Skye’s hands. Just as anticipated, Skye’s attention immediately went to her as she tried to get it back.

The potential fight being dissolved before it had begun, the mood was gradually calming down again. It was an almost relaxed atmosphere in the dressing room, when the door opened and Ethan walked in. He looked very tense and as the door fell shut behind him with a bang, the muscles around his mouth were tight. He exhaled slowly, his hands running over his lessening brown hair.

Skye was disconcerted to see her father looking so unusually stressed. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

He held up a hand to silence her before producing a crumpled package of cigarettes from his pocket. Flicking his silver lighter open, he held the flame to one of them. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

“You do realise that there’s smoke detectors in here?” Lizzie pointed out apprehensively. “I don’t know about you but I don’t care much about getting soaked.”

Ethan took the glowing cigarette out of his mouth again and put it out against the nearest table. “Fucking rules,” he muttered. “Nobody gave a shit back in my days.”

Orion looked up from his notebook, his dark eyes unreadable as they took in Ethan’s nervous demeanour. “It’s clear to see that you’re agitated, but a pain is shared is a pain halved. What’s the matter?”

Ethan sighed, wistfully closing the packet of cigarettes before stowing it away in his pocket. “I had a few calls back and forth with the label over the last few days.”

“So?” Skye urged him on.

“They’re not particularly impressed with what the press is writing about you at the moment. They’re considering cutting the budget for the next album by half.”

His words went down like a lead balloon in the silence spreading throughout the room; no one could believe what they were hearing.

“Why the fuck would they do that?” Skye finally managed to croak out. “The next album was going to be our biggest production so far.”

“Why are they even thinking about it?” Lizzie agreed. “We’re playing to a full house every night. We’re doing a great job, if I may say so, and the reviews have all been really positive so far. The press has been good.”

But Ethan shook his head. “No, Lizzie, the press hasn’t been good at all. People don’t care about professional reviews in respectable magazines anymore. Everything the public sees is what’s written in those goddamn tabloids.” He was eyeing Skye’s copy of the Daily Mail with a grim face. “And they’re having a field day with you; have been for a while now.”

His look darkened further as his gaze swept the round of musicians assembled in front of him, resting particularly long on Everett, who didn’t budge in the slightest.

“Some of you are taking this whole ‘rockstar’ lifestyle too seriously. What was fun and games in my time doesn’t work today anymore. I’ve been told that the label had to fork out a good amount of money to get some positive stories about you out, counter the negative attention you’ve been getting.”

His words were met with icy silence, none of them feeling personally addressed by Ehtan’s barely hidden accusation.

“Listen,” he continued more placatory, “I know sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll are all fun to do, I’ve been there myself. But these days, people aren’t as easy about diva behaviour and trashed hotel rooms.”

Again, he was giving Everett a hard stare. “Cleaning up behind you costs the label hard cash. Cash they’re now cutting from the production budget.”

“That is very unfortunate to hear,” Orion spoke into the ensuing silence. “Is there anything we can do to make them reconsider their actions?”

Ethan’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Good that you’re asking! I already designed a battle plan for us, we won’t have them compromise our work that easily.”

He placed both of his hands on the table where Merula and Everett were sitting, tapping the smooth surface with his fingers. “I’m thinking about going all out on the charm offensive. We’re going to be doing more interviews, more meet ‘n’ greets, fan events, charity bullshit, more of everything. You name it, we’re going to do it. We have to show the public you’re not some off-hook dickheads but still the old friends with a fucking heart of gold like you were when Equinox started.”

Merula snorted derisively. “Nice thought, but I doubt that will impress the guys from the label. You said it yourself, they’re all about the money, they don’t care about this sentimental bullshit.”

“You’re right,” Ethan said, “that’s why I struck a deal with them.”

The way he was avoiding Orion’s eyes was boding ill on Lizzie. And sure enough, Orion’s shoulders were tense as he spoke, his voice noticeably cooler than before. “What kind of deal?”

“They want to know if your new material is worth the huge investment. We need to prove that we’re still the best horse in their stable and they should place their bets on us instead of the new blood they recently signed, like that Winger guy.”

He ran his hand over his dark goatee as he met Orion’s eyes. “Some representatives are going to come to one of the shows in Manchester, see whether what you’re doing is still good enough for their full support.”

He raised his chin in a commanding gesture as he continued. “And they want to see how the crowd reacts to the new songs.”

Lizzie involuntarily held her breath. Orion was particular about his music; Ethan could have just as well asked him to set down his guitar and never touch it again.

And sure enough, his answer to Ethan’s proposition was simple. “No.”

But Ethan wasn’t about to acknowledge defeat so easily. “Yes. If we give the crowd and accordingly the label a taste of what’s to come, they’re going to see that we only deserve the best of the best once we’re ready to hit the studio again.”

Orion, however, remained unimpressed. “No.”

Ethan blinked, clearly irritated at the refusal to cooperate. “Why not?”

“None of the songs are ready to be shared. You don’t serve your guests a half-cooked meal and neither do you hang a picture missing its colours on the wall.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked Ethan straight in the face, the look in his eyes unwavering. “I won’t have my unfinished work being sold for profit; that’s not what this is about.”

Ethan glared at Orion, but instead of a sharp remark from his side, Everett spoke up. “We could play my stuff.”

Clearly surprised at the unexpected offer, Ethan turned his attention to the singer of the band. “You got songs of your own?”

Everett shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure I do. Just promise me they’ll be featured on the album and they’re all yours.”

Hesitant about giving Everett the confirmation he was asking for, Ethan focused on Orion again. “‘No’ is your last word?”

Lizzie had heard some of Everett’s songs before. They weren’t bad by all means, but they were lacking the finesse Orion’s music brought with it. She knew Ethan would take whatever he was offered, but that wouldn’t be in the band’s best interests.

“I know you're protective of your work,” she told Orion quietly, giving him an encouraging smile, “but you showed me what you’ve written so far, and some of the songs are almost there. They’re the best you’ve ever done, believe me. Everyone’s going to love them.”

Orion held her gaze for a moment, searching for the affirmation he needed to agree to a deal he didn’t want to make, but knew he had to in the end.

When he finally tore his eyes away from hers, he looked at Ethan and sighed. “Fine, have my songs. Under one condition,” he added, nipping Ethan’s victorious grin in the bud. “Until I’m completely satisfied with them, I’m going to sing them.”

“Excuse me?” Everett bristled up, “Am I the singer of this band or you? Get out of my fucking spotlight.”

Orion shook his head. “You misunderstand; I’m not trying to fight you for your place in the sun, my friend. But I wouldn’t know how to explain to you what I want the songs to sound like until they’re really finished.”

Ethan snorted. “Stop being a diva, Orion.”

But Orion was adamant in his resolve. “I’m not. All I want is for the people caring about our music to get what they deserve; and they don’t deserve some unfinished songs that aren’t even played the way they’re supposed to be.”

Both Ethan and Orion were staring at each other for a moment longer, before Ethan threw his hands up in exasperation. “Fine, have it your way then.”

Not believing what he was hearing, Everett stood up from his seat. His aggressive energy seemed to fill the room, making it feel a lot smaller than it actually was.

“Are you for real?” he snarled at Ethan. “I’m the frontman of this band, not him! It’s bad enough that his songs are the only ones that get played when mine are easily as good.”

He turned to Orion, eyes sparkling with anger. Lizzie, who was still sitting next to him, tried not to shrink back before him, but Orion met his gaze as calmly as ever. However, this seemed to anger Everett even further.

“You always said you didn’t want to sing, you were perfectly happy with doing background vocals if you had to. Why now all of a sudden? Tell you why, you’re not happy there’s someone else who knows how to write a decent song in this band. Do you consider me a threat to you or what?”

Everett’s voice had risen considerably. Skye and Lizzie were sharing a worried glance as the two male members of their band were glaring at each other, Merula just looking to and fro between them with a bored expression.

Not wanting things to go south even more than they already were, Ethan stepped between Orion and Everett to break their eye contact. “Ev, calm down. There’s no need -”

He was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Taken by surprise, it took Ethan several attempts to make the strain disappear from his voice. He cleared his throat one more time before calling to whoever was waiting on the other side of the door.

“Come in.”

#hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm au #rockstar au #orion amari #skye parkin #merula snye #lizzie jameson #when stars ignite #besties collaborate

[kingsmanne]

Is Anne interested in the history of Kingsman and, if so, has she ever made an attempt at digging deeper into it?

It really depends on the situation she had been in. 

I’d say as recruit, she was interested in what Kingsman was ( considering, she’d want to know what she’s essentially getting into; and also cutting her entire family, friends and career off for ), but I’d consider that recruits weren’t supposed to know too much about the organisation and how it came to be in general, considering there are still some secrets to be left untouched. And with her mentor giving her only the usual overview as in how Kingsman came to be, she decided it wasn’t worth digging into, as she wasn’t to find anything out anyway. 

Later, when she became a full agent, it was mostly an issue of not having the time of digging deeper into it, but also less interest. She knew what she had to do, and what the organisation was trying to do, so there wasn’t any need on her part. Anne lived in the moment, she was fully focused on the present 

It wasn’t until a few years later, when a mission went sideways and a few very hard decisions had to be made on her and another agent’s part, which caused an injury that kept her more or less hospitalised for a few weeks. Both having not much to do and seriously reconsidering some aspects of Kingsman made her do research into their - her - history. Everyone knew how they came to be, but with so many tragedies happening in the 20th century, there was the question why they didn’t stop it, or do more to help. 

Did she come up with answers? Who knows. It wasn’t that it was well documented enough, but Anne wasn’t even sure what she was asking herself. I guess at that moment, Anne was going through a phase of doubt and doubting what Kingsman could actually achieve and do, as this was the first time she was confronted with the fact that they weren’t invincible. 

Sometime later, when she was essentially benched, she read up more and went through old files ( as much as she was allowed to ), but that was just to maybe find a loophole for her own situation, or maybe another agent that had been in the same situation as herself. There were none.

source: HEADCANON ASKS (always accepting) 

#{ silence was unbroken // answered. } #hc #THIS WAS INTERESTING BUT ALSO. complicated. #why didn't kingsman just alter the whole #you know timeline. #not getting into that. although i guess in the universe itself #it would've been a lot worse without them

[theelvenhaven]

Feanor’s Daughter

I’ve had several people encourage me that I take Fëanor’s Daughter a step further and outside of just a readers perspective and go ahead and make her an OC.

If y’all have any questions about her I’m happy to have a discussion about her 💖

So I present to you  Vanifinwë (q. Beautiful Finwe). It’s her Ataresse q. Father Name. I guarantee you that Fëanor would ABSOLUTELY keep Finwë in his daughters name.

Anamartindë (q. Long Fate). Her Amilisse q. Mother Name, it was given to her not long after she was born as Nerdanel had a vision of her. Though she never told anyone what it was about, and Feanor begrudgingly relinquished to his equally as stubborn wife about why she chose it. Though Vanifinwë would eventually understand the meaning of her name.

Failendis (q. Fair Minded/Just/Generous) Her Epesse q. After Name, given to her by not only by her brothers, but those around her who got to know her. Happily she adopted it, though Vanifinwë was her Cilmesse q. Chosen Name

Though when she arrived in Middle Earth she stuck with the Sinda version of Failendis which would be Faeleth (s. Just/Generous One).

* * * Things About Vanifinwë and Coming to Middle Earth* * * 

1. She is the youngest and completely unplanned and unexpected Feanorian, and was born unusually close to Amrod and Amras. So they all three grew up together.

2. Vanifinwë idolized her amille and out does Makalaure in being most tempered like her. Though she does have an explosive temper, it just takes a lot to push her there.

- She’s a renaissance elf when it comes to the arts, always doing what Nerdanel or Makalaure were doing. So she has a broad range of artistic abilities.

- Nerdanel highly encouraged her natural abilities in the arts, as did Makalaurë. The two taking the time to tutor her diligently when she showed interest.

3. Like her parents, she has an incredible will and is very stubborn. She’s not unreasonable unless she see’s that there’s an injustice happening, no matter how minute it seems to someone else. Vanifinwë takes them very seriously.

4. It is how she got Failendis as her epesse, as she was constantly mediating all the brotherly bickering and arguments. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t any of her business, she very stubbornly made it her business.

- Even when she was a little elfling, she’d butt in and tell everyone to stop or point out who was being unfair.

- Much to Tyelkormo’s and Curufinwe’s distaste despite their good relationship, it was utterly annoying as she got older, when she caught wind of them antagonizing Carnistir.

- Tyelperinquar was her closest companion even despite being so close in age with Ambarussa. Even as she got older she had a close bond with him, the two spending lots of time together.

- Each of her brother’s spent copious amounts of time with her to build a strong bond and relationship with her.

- Her closest relationships with her brothers were with Maedhros, Maglor and Caranthir.

5. When Feanor and her brothers first went to Formenos, she stayed behind with Nerdanel for a considerable amount of time before rejoining them there. Nerdanel seemed saddened, but didn’t argue nor discourage her. 

- While there she saw the severity of the state her father was in, and the tension that he seemed to wear constantly.

- Vanifinwë had been in the Fortress with Finwe when he had been killed, and was the first to find him after hearing all the commotion.

6. When her father made the oath, and her brothers took it up- they all heavily anticipated for Vanifinwë to take up the oath too.

- Considering she saw what Melkor had done to their grandfather, and what they had stolen and the further division he had caused. Yet she didn’t take it and refused to take it. 

- This was heavily disliked between her brothers and father alike and Feanor very harshly voiced this to her.

- Fëanor heavily came to the verge of disowning her, and told her to her face. Considering this was his daughter and viewed her just as capable as her brothers. 

- That almost made her take the oath, but she stuck her ground even if it stung badly.

- Those words also had tasted a little too bitter for Fëanor’s taste and he left it all up in the air. Never clarifying further whether he had decided too or not.

- Though Vanifinwë took his inability to push things further as him fully disowning her. It devastated her.

- Vanifinwë almost got the twins to reconsider for Nerdanel’s sake, almost. But Feanor was too adamant and managed to keep a hold over them. 

- She decided at that point if her brothers were going to leave, that she was going to follow too as she wanted to be able to make sure she could help. 

- Fëanor absolutely denied her from following them, straight up telling her if she’d betray him then she had no purpose following.

- Vanifinwë followed anyways, though she joined the host of Fingolfin.

7. When the kinslaying took place, it was Fingolfin that kept her from reacting against her father as he demanded the ships from the Teleri.

- She also didn’t participate at all in the kinslaying, only watching much to her horror how easily her family slaughtered innocent people.

- It was a defining moment that permanently changed her view on her father, and for a time her feelings wavered for her brothers.

- The thing that further set things in stone for the change in heart of her father was when he stranded them in Valinor, and left them no choice but to cross the Helcaraxë.

8. Vanifinwë stuck very close with her cousins and uncle through the duration of the crossing and rarely spoke.

- With as long as it took to cross it gave her plenty of time to fester about her feelings for her father and brothers actions.

- In the rare time she spoke, it was to Fingon about what had happened. Fingon swayed her to at least reconsider her feelings about her brothers, though he validated her feelings about her father.

- Other times she spoke was when she’d speak with Fingolfin apologizing for what her family had done. But Fingolfin only explained she wasn’t responsible for her siblings and fathers actions.

- Though she’d clam up when Fingolfin would ask how it was she felt, the wounds of everything that transpired running too deep and too fresh.

9. When they arrived in Middle Earth and she was reunited with her siblings things were naturally not very warm, even despite their surprise and excitement to see her.

- It was Vanifinwë that kept things so cold, as she knew didn’t know what to expect from her brothers. Whether they’d be made or sad or happy, but even at their happiness she didn’t fall back into the familial groove.

- When they told her Fëanor had died, Vanifinwë didn’t shed a tear nor did she mourn her fathers loss.

- She felt it only fitting for all the chaos and destruction he caused over some gems. Much to her brothers dismay she openly voiced this.

- This very much surprised her brothers, as they had mourned the loss of their father, they had thought she’d do the same.

- But when they told her how Maedhros had been captured by Melkor and they hadn’t seen him since, Vanifinwë wept for him.

- They told her how Amrod has passed in the burning of the ships at Losgar, she flipped into a verbal rage against them. Completely losing her temper against them. Most took her tongue lashing in silence.

- It was Celebrimbor and Maglor who finally got her to calm down and manage to keep Curufin and Caranthir from rebutting angrily in return. Curufin being on edge already for her lack of mourning for Fëanor.

- Once she was calm enough it was then they told her about how Thingol had banned Quenyan, and that she must choose a Sindarin version of her names.

- For a considerable time Vanifinwë went nameless mulling it over, though she told her siblings she refused to use her father name- much to Curufins displeasure.

- It was Maglor who helped her, and merely accepted that she wanted to go by her Epesse mainly. Both drawing to Faeleth.

* * * 

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring @allinwonderlands @red-riding @eluriel-undomiel

A/N: I made her on ArtBreeder, then sent her through a couple editing apps to get the freckles and her hair dark enough.

#jrr tolkien #tolkien #the silm #the silmarillion #silm #silmarillion #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #headcanon #headcanons #imagine #imagines #Vanifinwë #Faeleth #original character #oc #Fëanor’s Daughter #Fëanorian #Feanorians #Daughter of Feanor #being Fëanor’s daughter #Failendis #Anamartindë

[karmasuna]

Headcanons for Bakugou, Deku and Shinsou where they get hit with a quirk that lets them see a moment in the future and they see their crush looking probably the best they ever looked and is in their arms when they see their crush again back in present time they're all flustered or maybe they start pursuing them. Maybe something about the colour they wore in the future glimspe gets brought up in conversation?

sure sure! 

Bakugo Katsuki

○ when he gets hit with the quirk what he sees definitely surprises him 

○ he sees you next to him, all bundled up adorably in a peach colored knitted scarf and winter coat, walking away from the school together

○ but he doesn’t think much about it until one day his mom comes home with a bag full of yarn while he’s staying home on break and says she’s working on a new project for her job when that same peach color catches his eye in the bag 

○ and it gets him thinking, like this has to be more than just a coincidence right?

○ so when he overhears you talking to Tsuyu about how you wanted a new scarf for winter he instantly grabs the chance and asks (more like demands) for the yarn from his mom 

○ Bakugo makes the scarf. his mom is very surprised at her son’s uncharacteristic hobby that has suddenly manifested but he refuses to answer any of her questions

○ and when he’s finished he just corners you after school and gives you the scarf, and confessing his feelings for you 

○ he’s much more nervous that he thought he would be, since he was pretty sure you would accept his feeling based on his vision of the future, but he still can’t calm the butterflies in his stomach as you look at him with your captivating eyes

○ “That’s so sweet, Bakugo, thank you. I’ve liked you for a long time too. “

 Midoriya Izuku

○ in his flash of the future Midoriya sees you in a limited edition All Might tshirt in his bedroom

○ not his dorm room, but like his house bed room

○ which is extremely surprising considering there were less than 100 of those shirts ever produced and he was pretty sure you weren’t such a diehard fan of All Might or he would have noticed way earlier

○ then it finally clicks for him that oh it’s his limited All Might shirt you were wearing

○ and if that wasn’t enough motivation for him to man up and ask you out nothing would be

○ that night as he mentally prepares himself to ask you out tomorrow he can’t stop thinking about how good you looked in his clothes in the scene he saw from the quirk

○ and baby boy can’t wait to make you his so that he could see the sight in real life as soon as possible

○ so he asks you to meet with him after school, and he timidly tells you how he feels about you, asking if you could give him a chance to be with you

○ of course you agree, since you had had a crush on him for a while too 

○ “Izuku? Are you alright?” you ask as you step out of his bathroom after taking a shower, snapping him out of his thoughts

○ and as he turns to look at you he breath is taken away by what you’re wearing

○ you’re wearing the tshirt, just like how he had saw in the vision the quirk had given him so long ago, and he turns into one bright tomato as he stares at you slack jawed

○ “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, Y/N. God, you look so pretty right now.”

 Shinso Hitoshi

○ when he gets hit by the quirk and sees you sitting across him all dolled up, he’s most definitely convinced that he’s just having a fever dream

○ after all, why would you ever like someone as bland and uninteresting as him, especially when you were in the hero course and he was just some nobody from the general course?

○ but even if he thought it would never happen in real life that image of you looking so pretty was something he would never forget

○ and just doesn’t really think too much of it (not that he doesn’t think about it, of course, just doesn’t take it seriously)

○ so even as he joins the hero class and becomes friends with you, his longtime crush, he doesn’t really try and make any moves on you, not wanting to ruin your friendship

○ at this point you’re already in your third year, and Shinso’s pretty much forgotten about the whole future thing

○ that is, until one day he’s shopping for your birthday present at the mall and a familiar-looking necklace catches his eye

 ○ he’s not sure where he’s seen it but he thinks it would look nice on you so he gets it anyways

○ that night when he’s looking at the necklace it hits him- it’s the exact same one from that “scene from the future” or something 

○ he kind of freaks out a little because that was not something he was expecting 

○ but it really does make him reconsider how that little vision of his just might be real

○ that there’s a small possibility that you just might reciprocate his feelings 

○ when he gifts you the necklace the next day and sees the light blush dusting your cheeks it gives him a surge of confidence

○ and he’s just like fuck it it’s now or never i have to at least try so he just blurts it out

○ “i’ve liked you ever since first year Y/N.”

○ he’s not expecting you to throw your arms around him and kiss him 

○ he’s so relieved when you tell him that you felt the same way, but he also can’t really wrap his head around the fact that someone as amazing as you would like someone like him

○ so now you’ve got to make up for lost time you spent pining for each other and show him just how much he deserved to be loved

#bnha #bnha headcanons #bnha scenarios #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #mha imagines #mha headcanons #mha shinsou #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso x reader #bakugou headcanons #bnha bakugō #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #deku headcanons

[shiversdownyerspine]

9. Closer

Just gonna sliiiiide this over here.

You are finishing up the last of the scramble on your plate, fighting off the lingering fuzzy embrace of sleep with the help of your coffee. So the suspense wouldn't kill you, you had asked Axel if their coming questions had to do with your ability. After all, the three hadn't asked all that much about it.

Axel confirms, and you ruminate over the approaching task, how best to handle it...but are distracted when Oscar and Otto return.

The younger brothers look scratched up and dirtied, but overall in good condition. Although it was kind of difficult to tell who looked worse...maybe Otto. Poor man was still in his long johns. 

Grinning, you tease, "You two alright? Both of you look like you dove headfirst into the blackberry brambles."

Axel snorts. You're not far from the truth.

He subtly signals the two with a pointed dip of his head in warning; their feet are filthy and they are about to track a mess into your kitchen. Sheepish, the younger brothers share a look and head back outside, probably to make good use of your garden hose. 

Not wanting to put it off any longer, you ask for a change in scenery for this interrogation once you are dressed. In the garden, specifically. Axel regards you curiously, but agrees to your request.

You wander over to the sink to rinse your dishes when he taunts, "Thinking of running? We will catch you. No contest."

You blink, "No no, no running. I'm just...eager? To get started? Or maybe to get finished..."

Throwing a look over your shoulder, you return the taunt, "But if I did run, and I made it into the forest? I think I could surprise you."

Indeed, you are a good deal faster and more reactive while in your Phase. At least when you're prepared. It certainly helps having nearly all of your senses improved, but playing hide and seek with three trained assassins? It would be difficult to say the least...but in your forest and lake? Your second home? 

You would have an advantage, even being technically untrained. Perhaps you could give them a run for their money...at least for a little while longer than if you had tried in the tight spaces of your cottage.

Speculation and theorizing is cut short when the lone man in your kitchen says quite matter-of-factly, "Otto caught you."

Pride ruffled, you can't help but bristle, "Okay. That? Was a series of unfortunate events. And in my defense? I didn't have anything to run from, nothing was threatening me. It was just a spider bite."

The eldest doesn't reply, just quirks an amused eyebrow at the memory of you, perturbed and fluffed, wrapped up in his puzzled brother's arms. It was...an interesting day, no doubt.

You fiddle with your wet plate, frowning.

"I was distracted with my lack of gloves, that I had let something so simple slip my notice. Dug my own grave in a matter of seconds. Then I heard the door, and there was Otto and...I froze. He lunged and I couldn't move."

Axel contemplates for a moment, "You wanted to run. Not attack."

He says as a statement what should have been a question, never one to be all that subtle with his demands. You feel your stomach drop a little; given the pieces of your revealed history, maybe he was now beginning to reconsider the threat you could have posed to Otto. To all of them.

Acknowledging his concern was easy, but explaining yourself was going to be a bit complicated.  

"I..I think I have an answer for that? But it's something I'd like to address with all of you. I'm going to get dressed first, I've been in pajamas for far too long."

You know he could simply repeat what you said to his siblings, but it was the principle of the thing. That and you really wanted to take a quick moment to yourself before this all goes down. He doesn't stop you.

Toweling your hands dry, you head for the couch to gather up your sleeping kittens and make your way to your bedroom. Axel returns his attention to his brothers who were currently fussing over the hose; Oscar was currently trying to convince Otto to look inside and see what was blocking the water, all the while he held a section kinked in his hand, waiting for the right moment.

The eldest sibling shakes his head.

Butternut and Pumpkin are curled at opposite ends of your bed; one buried in the pillows at the headboard, the other stretched out dramatically at the end. Both chirp a greeting as you open your door and step inside.

Thing 1 and 2 in hand, you deposit the wiggly babies into their 'room'. The two look at you with what you can imagine is disapproval, breaking your heart as they toddle towards the bathroom door with noisy complaint.

"Don't worry, you'll be let out again soon."

Their litter box training had been going swimmingly. Maybe it was about time to expand their territory? You think it'd go rather well, you'd just have to keep an eye out. Make sure they don't try to leave any little surprises for you and develop a nasty habit from it.

You swear their incessant meowing is growing louder. You sigh, shaking your head.

"The book was spot on when it called this breed talkative."

Taking advantage of the lingering warmth of your sleep with Otto, you decide upon a floral tunic dress with leggings instead of your usual chunky sweater and jeans. It's rare that you can wear a lighter ensemble like this, you'll have to find some way to thank Otto.

He does seem to really enjoy your baking, so maybe something in that vein.

As you dress you find your thoughts sombering as the previous conversation slowly ties you into a knot. You try to reassure yourself and soothe your nerves; you wouldn't have lashed out for no reason, wouldn't have killed them in cold blood. You have control. Besides, you're not a violent person. Surely they know that?

That fateful morning, if Otto had reacted with violence towards you, you would have defended yourself to the best of your ability and removed yourself from the situation once the opportunity presented itself. There had to have been a way around him, around his brothers, right? 

If Axel had decided you were too much of an unknown threat and had shot, you would have feigned death until you could slip outside and decide on the next step. You're fairly confident you could play dead and pretend well enough, despite the pain. The blue-clad man wouldn't have just emptied his entire clip into you, right? 

If you were being realistic, you were only considering the best case scenarios for you and the brothers if things had played out a bit...differently. Because if you thought too long about the worst outcome, your heart would squeeze unbearably tight in your chest and your eyes would water uncontrollably. 

You didn't want to think about what you would have done if the three had subjected you to too much injury and triggered your second Phase.

There was no denying it, you were incredibly fond of the three.

Maybe even a bit...smitten? 

At the errant thought you slap your burning cheeks with your palms, fighting against the helpless fluttering sensation of the heated butterflies in your stomach. Not the time. 

...Wait, does that mean there will be a time?

Focus.

Focus, focus, focus.

With a steadying breath, you head back out into the kitchen. There's something you need to grab first.

"One last thing..."

Axel watches curiously as you pop open a kitchen drawer and rummage around its contents for an item you have stashed away.

"Here we go."

You find what you are looking for wrapped in a familiar kitchen towel; an old paring knife, kept clean and disinfected. You unwrap it a bit, just to check on the condition of the blade as the light glints off the metal.

A minor laceration from this would be just what you needed to keep you in your Phase long enough to hopefully answer all their questions.

You weren't sure you could count primarily on verbally explaining all the aspects of your ability. Some things you had nothing to compare with, not to mention how tongue-tied you were before. You're not all that confident when talking about your ability, as discussing it is still incredibly new to you. Demonstration could be a good approach, all things considered.

As you turn from the counter, a rough hand grips your wrist and pulls your arm up, leaving you to sway unsteadily nearly on tip toe. In your personal space, you can feel the warmth of him without needing to touch. It feels like if you could steal a speck of body heat from one of these men, you'd never feel the cold again.

Axel stares you down, lips pulled into a tight scowl, frowning with familiar furrowed brow.

Oh. 

Probably not a good idea to bring out a knife without context, especially around an assassin. Maybe next time explain first.

"...Sooo...um. I can't...will my ability to activate. I-it's a defense mechanism, remember? It needs something to trigger it."

His face is worryingly expressionless as he looks to the knife in your hand. With deft fingers, he plucks the tool from your grasp, leaving you with the empty towel as he slips it into his pocket without a word.

Did he seriously just...

"...Really?"

The audacity.

Radiating cool smugness, Axel strolls to the screen door and looks pointedly at you. Waiting.

You don't budge.

Turning your attention to your knife block set, you hum, "You know I could just grab one of these, right?"

You assess the assortment, paying less attention to the man now stalking back to you.

"Although I'd much rather these be used for cooking, but what choice do I have? Apparently you have your heart set on being a mother hen-"

Your tirade is cut short as Axel's hands grip your waist to turn you to face him. He bends, curls an arm around your legs, and hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Dumbfounded and indignant, your lips part for some sort of reprimand to leave your tongue. But you stumble over the words.

With an arm across the backs of your thighs to lock your legs in place and keep you steady, he walks completely unburdened once more to the screen door. You brace your hands on his back, feeling muscle shift underneath the material of his white Henley with each step. Well, needless to say, you can't really think of a retort at the moment. Hopefully your dress isn't riding up too much.

You can't help but wonder; is it just your imagination, or are the brothers getting a bit more...grabby with you? But more importantly, you cannot let this man have the last 'word'.

Fighting down the butterflies that have returned with a vengeance, you grumble, "Don't complain if I can't give you all some clear answers without my knife."

The large palm loosely holding your thigh gives a squeeze, followed by Axel throwing a comment over his shoulder to you, "We'll see."

Well now. Axel is honest to god mother-henning you. This was...unexpected? Infuriating? Kind of sweet?

...Oh yes. They're most definitely getting more grabby with you.

#the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #axel x reader #otto x reader #oscar x reader #Reader is starting to figure out her feeeeelings