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hobiebrownismygod · 6 months

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OC/Spider-Sona Backstory: The Widow

Maitreyi Jokhar (she/her), Earth-20262, Present day, Spider-man/Black Widow variant

Part 2!

Before you read, you should probably check out Part 1 HERE first so that you understand all the lore and references I'll be making! <3

Backstory Continuation:

"Get the formula. Then kill him. No witnesses"

Pierce's words echoed through her head as she waited. She was sitting on the couch of a cream colored room, decorated simply with some framed pictures, a clean kitchen and a bookshelf in the corner. It was the living room of the man who's life she was going to end.

Nick Fury. Bit of an overkill name. But from what she'd heard, it was a very, very well-known name.

She stayed silent as she heard the front door open, gently pulling her gun out of her coat and pointing it towards the entrance of the room as the man walked in. He stopped, but didn't seem very shocked. "Name's Fury. And you are?"

"No one important." She replied coolly, placing her finger against the trigger as she faced him. He placed his hands in his pockets, giving her an almost bored look. To the average person, this would seem a bit unsettling. But she knew. He was trying to stall.

"So, kid. Who's sent you?" He asked, his eyes darting towards the door for a moment.

"If one head is cut off, two more shall take its place."

He chuckled. "I should've known."

"I'm here for something."

"I know what you're here for." he replied, his expression turning solemn. "But S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

"Bold of you to assume this is a negotiation." She replied, tilting the gun up slightly. "The formula."

"Look, kid. This formula that you're talking about doesn't exist."

"Thats a lie."

"We haven't tried to replicate it and we never will. It's too dangerous. Tell that to your leader."

She stayed silent. He wasn't lying. He couldn't be. Suddenly, she felt her spider-sense tingle slightly. Someone was coming. She heard footsteps quickening as they approached the door and realized it was time for her to go. But there was one last thing she had to do.

She pulled the trigger. Fury stepped back in shock and clutched at his stomach where the bullet had penetrated his skin. He hadn't been expecting that. She leaped out the window as agents poured into the room, but there was one person who stood out. She caught one glance of him before she swung away. A young man in his 20s, blonde and fairly muscular. It was odd. He looked so...familiar...but not in the "she'd seen him before" kind of way. Like they were related somehow. Weird.

A/N

Ok this series is probably gonna end up being longer than expected because I cannot write so much at once 😭. I refuse to fit an entire movie plot into one post, I need to spread it out so it makes more sense. This is turning into more of a marvel fanfiction than a spider verse fan fiction but I'm just trying to make it as accurate as possible, im sorry. Let me know if y'all have any feedback <3

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dreamofmysoul-tsc · 3 years

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Elias Carstairs, Matthew Fairchild, and the Disease of Alcoholism

I’m very nervous about posting this but I think it’s important.

Now before you guys scroll past this post, I’m gonna ask that whoever may read this take some time to hear from my perspective. I would like to preface this by saying that I do not know, nor am I claiming to know, what it’s like to face racism and prejudice everyday, nor do I know what it was like to be queer in a time that was less than accepting and terribly cruel to LGBTQIA+ folks. I will not be speaking about either of those things here, as it is not my place to. However, I do know what it’s like to live with an alcoholic. I do know what it’s like to have an alcoholic parent and I have seen what addiction does to a person and their family firsthand.

Final disclaimer, I am in no way trying to attack or target anybody. All I am doing is providing my own perspective when it comes to the discourse surrounding Elias Carstairs and the differing opinions I have seen in regards to Matthew. I would also like to state that my experiences are my own, and are in no way reflective of every addicts’ experience or the experiences of their children/loved ones. Addiction affects everybody differently.

I am also not a psychologist or a doctor; everything stated below are my personal experiences as a child of an alcoholic.

Now let’s get started.

CW for alcoholism, substance abuse, abuse in general, and death

Elias

When I first started Chain of Gold I didn’t anticipate how much I was going to relate to Alastair. Honestly, I didn’t have strong opinions about him either way; I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t love him either. That was until it was revealed why Elias was sick all the time, and what really happened during his mission. I have never seen alcoholism portrayed in a novel ever. I’m sure there are novels which talk about it out there, but I have never come across one. And for the first time in my life, I felt like somebody understood. There are countless characters in The Shadowhunter Chronicles who have touched my heart, but I will forever be grateful to Alastair and Cassandra Clare for making me feel like I didn’t have to hide anymore, that I was allowed to talk about my father’s alcoholism. Because for 18 years, it had been my secret. For my mother, it had been even longer.

My father has been an alcoholic for my entire life. I’m sure this is common sense for most people, but an alcoholic cannot be a 100% good and supportive parent. Those two things do not mix. Most alcoholics are alcoholics because of shame, pain, or other mental health problems that they have not sought therapy for. I would also like to say that alcoholism is a disease. It physically alters the brain to make the addict believe that they need to drink just as much as they need to eat or sleep. When you are constantly drunk, it can increase stress or anxiety in everyday life and leaves the addict at risk of developing depression if it was not already there. Many alcoholics suffer with depression, general low self esteem, or various other mental health problems before abusing alcohol; these problems are then exacerbated with daily alcohol consumption.

My father never abused us, mentally, physically, etc, and he never has. He carries a lot of mental pain and shame with him, which he has continually refused to seek help for. He drinks because he does not like himself; he feels that he isn’t deserving of help. He feels like he messes everything up. And as a child, I used to make excuses for him. “Well, he never hurts us, so what’s the problem?” “It doesn’t affect his work, so what’s the problem?” I was naive then. No matter how “functioning” they may seem, an alcoholic cannot live a completely healthy, happy, and fulfilling life if they drink everyday, even if it seemingly doesn’t affect their work lives. Alcoholics are very good at hiding their addiction. I cried when Cordelia described finding bottles in odd places, or when Alastair described how he tried everything in his power to hide it from his sister and their community. I used to find beer cans stashed under the kitchen sink. Sometimes I’d find them in the spice cabinet. I don’t like inviting friends to my house because I can never be sure if my dad will be 100% sober. I didn’t want people to see him that way. I don’t want to see him that way.

I have seen a decent amount of posts on various platforms of people wishing Elias dead or wanting him to be completely x-ed out of Alastair and Cordelia’s lives. And while I totally understand the protectiveness many people feel toward Alastair and Cordelia whenever their father is involved (I love them to pieces, too), as somebody who is a child of an alcoholic, I do not and would never wish my father dead. The thought of it makes me sick. Thus far, we know very little about Elias and his personality. We don’t know if he has ever physically harmed Alastair or Sona. This is not to invalidate mental or emotional abuse either, which are just as terrible. And while he does seem to be biased towards Cordelia, which in and of itself isn’t fair, there has been little evidence to show that Elias is violent or abusive. Of course Chain of Iron could prove me wrong, but as of now, I don’t want to immediately assume that Elias is abusive. Alcoholism does not equal abuse, although alcohol can be an expedient to violence. I do not want to invalidate the Carstairs’ experience if that is the case, but I do not want to jump to conclusions either. Of course you can call me lucky because my father has never harmed us in any way. But personally, I find that insulting. When a parent is an addict, regardless of whether or not they harm their children or how involved they are in their child’s life, they will end up leaving their child with mental scars whether it was intentional or not. My father’s addiction and the addictions of countless others cannot be measured on a scale. Addiction hurts everybody it touches, no matter how normal the addict may seem to the rest of the world.

I know this Elias section is already so long, but I have a bit more to say before I move on to Matthew. Alcoholics make choices, many of them poor choices. They decide whether or not to seek help. They decide to drink another beer. They decide to drive drunk, even if their child is in the car with them. It is a disease which completely takes over every single part of their life. And while it negatively affects their lives and the lives of their loved ones, that does not mean that they are undeserving of help. Any addict, whether they’re addicted to alcohol or heroin or cigarettes, anything at all, needs help. And they most definitely should not be mocked or attacked for their addiction or their attempts to get help for it. Regardless of whether or not they are in recovery or in the thick of their addiction, there is absolutely no reason to mock them. There is no reason to tell them to “just quit drinking.” There is no reason to call them a “junkie” or a “drunk,” no matter what stage of their addiction or recovery process they are in.

I am in no way excusing Elias’ behavior just as I in no way excuse my father’s behavior. He [Elias] needs to be punished for showing up to a mission drunk and consequently being unable to keep those four Shadowhunters from dying. He needs to apologize to his children. He needs to apologize to his wife. And he needs to recover. Addiction is an ugly, ugly thing. It never just affects the addict. It leaves their loved ones with scars, whether they’re mental of physical. Personally, I can’t stand the sound of metal beer or soda cans being cracked open anymore. I’m terrified of getting married. I can never feel 100% comfortable or safe around drunk people. I refuse to drink. I don’t like thinking about how the only time my dad has been 100% sober was when we visited my grandparents for a week and he had no opportunity to slip away to buy alcohol. I don’t like thinking about how my mother has had to deal with this for decades. I want my mother to be happier. But I also want my dad to recover. Living with an alcoholic isn’t black and white; I don’t hate my dad. I hate his addiction. I love him. He’s my dad. I don’t like seeing him that way. I know Alastair doesn’t like seeing his father that way either. But no matter how much you scream or cry or fight with somebody, people will not change unless they themselves want to.

Matthew

This section will be much more brief because many of my thoughts surrounding Matthew are similar to my thoughts surrounding Elias. I would like to touch on two things, however.

I have seen people talking about Matthew, or more specifically Matthew’s friends, saying that they don’t understand why they [The Merry Thieves and Co] seem to be ignoring Matthew’s alcoholism or aren’t doing anything about it even if they do realize he has problems with alcohol. Part of it is because of historical context; alcoholism wasn’t considered a disease until very recently, and the beliefs that alcoholics can either a) stop drinking whenever they want or b) are abusive, useless members of society still persist to this day. But the other, bigger part of it is relatively simple: people won’t change unless they believe they can change. Addicts need to want to change in order to begin the recovery process. You can’t force them to. If their heart isn’t in it, they’ll attend therapy or AA meetings a couple times to appease you, and then they will start drinking/using again. Or they’ll lie to you even more, telling you that they did attend a meeting or a therapy session when in reality they bought another pack of beer. Matthew will not seek help unless he believes wholeheartedly that he can change. He needs to believe that he is worthy of change and he needs to truly want to get better in order to begin to make significant improvements in his life. Of course relapses will happen, but the point is that he wants to improve his life. He wants to recover. No matter how much James or Thomas or Cordelia or Lucie tell him to change, no matter how much they want him to get better, he simply will not unless he wants to. It hurts. It really does. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You can love somebody so, so much, but your love is not going to make them better. Your love will not magically make their addiction go away. To reiterate what I said about Elias earlier, you can scream and cry and fight and give them all of the love until you’re blue in the face, but if they don’t want help, they will not seek it out. Matthew needs help, but more importantly, he needs to come to the realization that he is deserving of that help. He is deserving of a successful recovery. Every addict is.

Lastly, there is something about Matthew and Cordelia’s relationship that has never sat right with me. Children of alcoholics are statistically more likely to get into a relationship or marry an alcoholic because it’s what feels “normal” to us. And while I have always wanted Matthew and Cordelia to become friends, part of this is the reason why I don’t want them to have a romantic relationship. I don’t want Cordelia to have to continue that cycle, never able to escape the effects of addiction. I want Matthew to focus on himself. I want him to recover. I want his friends to support him. I want both Matthew and Elias to have a successful recovery, because the amount of addicts who die from their disease every year is staggering and upsetting. Of course Matthew is deserving of love, but he needs to focus on recovering, both from his addiction and his trauma, before he puts all of his energy into a romantic relationship.

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Overall, I want Alastair to have time to be himself, to not have to carry the weight of his father’s addiction on his shoulders. I want Elias to recover and to apologize for how he has hurt his family, whether it was intentional or not. I want Matthew to forgive himself and to realize that he deserves to take up space in this world just as we all do. And I ask that you, whoever may be reading this, to try to feel a little more compassion for these characters and addicts you may know or meet in your life. Or to put yourself in their shoes and the shoes of their loved ones. We should not be mocking them, or hurting them, and we certainly should not be wishing death upon them. There are far, far too many addicts who have died because of their disease and their mental pain. When dealing with addicts or the loved ones of addicts, I ask that you try to support them and encourage them to seek help, whether it’s therapy or AA or any number of support groups. The effects of alcoholism and drug addiction will stick with the addict in recovery and their loved ones for the rest of their lives. Some days will be harder than others. But the important part is that, when those hard days come, they have a support system of therapists, family, friends, even people online to remind them why they are in recovery and to encourage them and their progress, no matter how small. An addict in recovery, no matter how slow or fast their progress may seem, is better than an addict who has died because they never sought out the help they desperately needed.

If you read through this entire thing, thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to read through my personal experience. This topic is very important to me, and while I’m relatively new to tumblr, I still felt the need and the obligation to share my perspective. I’m not trying to sway your opinion of Matthew or Elias, just to maybe make some people think about this complex issue. If you aren’t a fan of either of them, that’s totally fine. If anything, what I would like you to take away from this is to be more aware of alcoholism and its effects. If something doesn’t seem right, speak up. I will be providing resources below if you or a loved one needs addiction counseling or help, or if you simply would like to learn more about this. If you have anything to add to this, would like to share your opinion, or have a question for me, feel free to reblog or message me in my ask box. Please be respectful, y’all! This is a sensitive topic and it affects everybody differently; I want this to be a civil discussion, not a witch hunt.

Thank you very much for reading and considering my point of view.

Resources:

What is Alcohol Use Disorder?

SAMHSA (a helpline)

Alcohol Rehab Guide (this website also includes educational resources and a helpline)

Substance Abuse Helplines and Treatment Programs

How Parental Alcoholism Affects Children

#tsc #tlh #matthew fairchild #elias carstairs #personal #just wanted to get my opinion out there #this has been nagging at me for a while #thanks for reading #this is as personal as im ever gonna get with yall i promise

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skelemira · 3 years

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Ooooh whats Rowan's lore? *grabs popcorn*

ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Gonna leave it after the cut (if I remember how to do the cut right on mobile lol) so I don't clog up feeds

So Rowan started out as a human. Her family was okay financially, probably lower middle class. Not rich enough to be truly comfortable, but not in a whole lot of danger debt-wise. She had a mother, a father, an older sister named Magnolia (Nolia for short) and a little brother named Cedar (lol do you see a naming pattern here I'm so creative). Her parents were... Okay. They weren't abusive or anything, but they weren't exactly doting. They didn't really have the time to be doting, since they both worked all the time. The siblings all got along really well, though, the type of siblings that stuck together initially because they lacked that true family relationship but slowly morphed into ride or die siblings.

So one day, little 14-year-old Rowan (Nolia was 16, soon to be 17, and Cedar was 10) gets home from school, pretty average, normal day.

She's sitting at the table doing her hw when someone knocks at the door and her parents (it was kind of weird, they were never home at this hour) rush to open it. There stands a man in a lab coat, holding an envelope. Rowan hated him instantly. Something about him seemed wrong.

He talked to her parents for a bit, and her parents asked her to go get Nolia and Cedar with some urgency in their voices. And.... If she was right in placing that tone.... Guilty excitement...?

She got her siblings and they came downstairs.

Turns out her parents had been closer to debt than she realized. So to get some more money and.... Relieve some financial burdens, they sold their kids to a group of scientists needing victi----research participants.

Of course there was a struggle, Nolia stepping up to try and defend her siblings, screaming at her parents, Rowan holding Cedar close while silent tears poured down both their faces.

But the scientist was prepared, and before anyone could react, three men appeared with rags, holding them over the kids' mouths.

She woke up in an empty white room.

Well... If you could call it white. It was more of a dinghy, hardly cleaned beige. These men were not with the government, she could immediately tell that.

Gonna sum up this part bc it involves torture but basically the scientists were experimenting to see if they could turn a human into a monster. They found only Rowan's soul was compatible. They used her siblings to keep her under control..... Only they had dumped Nolia and Cedar on the streets weeks ago. They simply reused footage to "prove" to Rowan they were still there.

They almost succeeded in their experiment. They forced so much magic into her soul that it started to flip.... But it was too much and Rowan flatlined. They dumped her body in the woods, only disappointed that they came so close.

A couple months passed. Her body decayed until only her skeleton remained. The decaying process was helped along by all the magic, which seemed to have concentrated in her bones, morphing them slowly until they were all connected.

She woke up.

She spent several years on the streets. She begged, she stole, and... She drank. Or at least she tried to. (She was allowed into bars because people thought she was a monster, and she wasn't wearing stripes, so that must mean she was an adult.) She quickly discovered that her alcohol tolerance was *legendary*. She drank bars dry having drinking contests with people (that's how she paid for all her drinks) but felt no different than before. Eventually someone dared her to try Everclear, and though she grimaced at the taste, she drank the entire bottle.

The bar was silent.

The taste eventually grew on her, a kind of self-inflicted punishment that soon became a routine, almost a comfort.

Now a good chunk of the next part has to do with my friend's sonas which I'm not going to talk about because they're not my characters, but suffice it to say they were amazing friends to her and helped her recover and get on her feet.

One such friend discovered her sleeping by Grillby's dumpster, and Grillby let her stay the night on his couch, setting up a job at Muffet's for her the next day. She and Muffet became really close friends and finally she started to have a more stable life. (She finds and dates Underlust Sans but that's another story lol which I would be happy to share in another ask~ but y'all these two are so cute plz)

So someone suggests she go see a therapist. Goodness knows she's got some trauma. So she agrees. The name of her therapist seems..... Eerily familiar but she decides to ignore her gut and go anyway. She walks into the therapist's office and---

And sees her mother sitting there, looking professional and well-rested and happy.

She runs.

Yeah so suffice it to say she isn't gonna trust therapy again for a bit lol, and it takes her even LONGER (and some good therapy sessions) to accept the fact that her mother was clearly better off without her and her siblings.

Yeah ya girl has a lot of issues, especially abandonment <3 she is very much a people pleaser and WILL put your needs high above her own. Anything to make you want to stay. Anything to make her feel needed or wanted.

So she's hanging out at Grillby's one day (he and his bartender like to try out different mixes on her, try to see if they can get her to make a face at a cocktail) when a huge party comes in. Rowan automatically shrinks a bit from discomfort because of the big crowd, and she continues her game with Grillby and the bartender (the bartender is my friend's sona that's why I'm not naming them lol). Then she hears something that makes her freeze mid-sip.

"Let's hear it for Magnolia!!!! The first of us to get tied down!" Followed by raucous laugh....ter...

She recognizes that laugh.

She flees the bar, with no explanation to anyone. She catches a glimpse of Nolia, with Cedar by her side, and both of their eyes squint slightly in confusion as she passes by them.

She makes it outside, looking around for where to go, unable to think in her panicked confusion when---

"R......Rowan?"

She goes ramrod straight and slowly turns, hands balled into fists to hide the violent shaking. Nolia bursts into tears, Cedar immediately clinging to her stiff form, his shoulders shaking as bad as her hands.

They.... Recognized her. They.........

Were *happy* to see her.

Slowly she hugged them back and they got to catching up. (So yeah if it wasn't clear Nolia was getting married, they both had survived on the streets together until Nolia was old enough to get a job).

Also something I forgot to mention lol is Rowan had found 2 kittens behind Muffet's, an older girl kitten fiercely protecting a little boy kitten. They immediately latched onto her after she made it clear she wasn't a threat, and she decided to name them after her siblings.

Also things worth noting, she smells like apples, she has magical red translucent hair, her soul wavers from more upside down like a monster's to more upright like a human's, she loves to bake, she is like the DEFINITION of cottagecore, she has magical tattoos on her face that change around to look like the Day of the Dead skulls (the colors get brighter or darker with her moods), and she drinks 2 bottle of everclear every time she goes to Grillby's. The paramedics in the area quickly become used to people calling the ambulance when she drinks (seriously look up everclear it's basically pure alcohol). She eventually stops drinking (not that it was *really* harming her since she had that alcohol tolerance and a body made primarily of magic at this point (plus alcohol isn't really gonna hurt her, she doesn't have kidneys lol) but she wanted to stop anyway. She loves to paint and teaches one of her friends to paint, tending to her friend's garden while her friend paints. She also loves to cook and bake, she eventually helps out with baking at Muffet's, though she refuses to bake the spiders into the pastries. Her scones are things of legend, they sell out as soon as she brings the tray out of the kitchen.

Yeah that was a lot lol and there's little things here and there that I missed so feel free to send in questions about her if you want to know anything! Or if you want to know how Rowan and UL Sans got together (spoiler: they eventually get married and it's so cute)

#ask #anon #oc time babyyyy #Rowan #Rowan beloved #also thank you guys so much for asking about her #I adore her so much and don't get the chance often to share her lore

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silverwhiteraven · 3 years

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Wings of Broken White - Ch. 3

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 2 ] [ Chapter 4 ]

[ Summary: Literal and Metaphorical dirt. ]

Hawkmoth had learned the lesson Monarch did not. Do not mix the positive power of a Blessing with negative emotions. Instead, enhance those negative emotions with the power of something else. Let his Champions be fueled by the opposite of a Blessing, something that haunts and feasts on darkness.

Give them Demons; give them an Akuma.

But still. He knew that he had to pick carefully what emotions he harnessed and the people behind them. Hawkmoth couldn’t afford to lose control of another Champion. And Gabriel refused to risk his son.

So he bided his time, researching and studying whatever he could. And while he waited, he built his public empire, funding his underground renovations and the care needed to keep his wife healthy.

Still alive, Emilie was kept that way in a chemically induced coma to prevent further deterioration. To the public, she was missing. In private, she was under the care of doctors from the world’s best medical center, Mayo Clinic.

Adrien would have been aware of her whereabouts were it not for the mistake and loss of control over Monarch’s Blessing. Gabriel had delayed telling his son the truth, and now there was no way to tell what would happen if he knew; what powers White Rose had truly gained beyond what was originally planned.

The thing is, Hawkmoth would have never surfaced if Gabriel could have prevented it. He was ready to let his wife go. But he still needed to find a way to remove the Blessing from Adrien, so he continued to use the Butterfly Miraculous, continued learning about it and the others.

But Adrien just had to go missing one early morning, barely before the sun had risen. Gabriel couldn't find him, neither could Adrien’s ever-present bodyguard. So in an act of desperation, Hawkmoth was brought to be. He then Akumatized the worried and protective bodyguard, granting him an ability to track down their shared ward.

This only furthered things along and also put them to a grinding stop.

The wielders of the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous arose to combat Hawkmoth’s Champion. Rather than admit why he was using the Butterfly in a dark way, he decided to reveal his last-ditch plan that he thought he would never bring himself to use, anyways.

He demanded their Miraculous. He was glad they refused, because he would not trust anyone so willing to give up such dangerous powers so easily instead of using them to protect.

So while plans to experiment with the use of Akumas were furthered, it was the mix of one Blessing and one Hero that halted everything.

Paris had very few albino citizens. It would be almost too easy to track down the potential civilian identities of Chat Blanc. But those white wings tipped in blue, so similar yet so contrasting to the black Starling wings of a younger Adrien? There was no way to deny such a similarity. And the Black Cat Miraculous itself would not change it’s own color scheme on a whim, either. Monarch himself had experimented with designs and color palettes, learning that only significant enchantments and magical interference could cause anything even a noticeable difference, not to mention such an extreme as turning Black to White.

The last nail in that theory's coffin was how Hawkmoth could feel the whispers of the Blessing influencing Chat Blanc. Certainly, it could have been a much older Blessing from a previous Butterfly Holder, but Gabriel highly doubted such coincidences could stack like this.

So, Gabriel accepted the facts. He felt heartbroken for his son that had to fight him, even if Chat Blanc didn’t know who he was fighting behind Hawkmoth’s mask. But he was so proud of him, too. Monarch’s Champion White Rose was doing what he was meant to; protect others from the harm of the Miraculous. And Gabriel’s son Adrien was free to be happy, as happy as he never was when inside the Agreste mansion, even when Emilie was still walking its halls. So Gabriel and Hawkmoth did nothing more than play his part as the fatherly villain.

He really didn’t mind how long it would take for it all to come to a close.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Despite her semi-disastrous first time as Ladybug, Marinette rather enjoyed the side-job.

Akuma’s were few and far between, and oftentimes could be talked down instead of fought head to head. Their abilities oftentimes got dangerous, yes, but Ladybug and Chat Blanc, not to mention the rest of Paris, were more than thankful that their Supervillain seemed to have at least some sort of moral code. He would prevent Akumatized villains from causing mass amounts of damage. Once, he had even taken back the powers and the Akuma that granted them, all because the Champion he had made was being unreasonably dangerous to innocent civilians.

Sometimes, she swore Hawkmoth would Akumatize students just so the whole district would have to let school out early due to the emergency. Maybe he had a soft spot for kids, maybe a child of his own? Either way, she appreciated the breaks.

Soon enough, a whole six months had passed since Hawkmoth first appeared.

The most recent attack had been earlier that evening. Marinette had to distract her Akumatized friend Nathaniel. He was akumatized because of Chloé. She had made fun of his art, at first. Then, to make things worse, she told him that he was right to have his and his boyfriend Marc’s hero-sonas to both be wingless, because the ones Nathaniel had were ‘wasted on his talentless existence’ and ‘if Marc wasn’t already wingless, then they would be utterly useless on him, too’. In general, it was a rather nasty scene.

Marinette had been quick to tell her to back off and leave Nathaniel and Marc alone. Adrien has sprung up right after her, telling Chloé not to talk to his friends like that, and even if she is his oldest friend he wasn't okay with her actions.

Marinette was proud of Adrien for standing up for others in the face of someone important to him. It was brave.

Unfortunately, their combined efforts didn’t prevent the Akumatization. Luckily, Evillustrator wasn’t a bad villain, he just really wanted to mess with Chloé with revenge-pranks.

Marinette got herself caught up in it by distracting him with other ideas. For example, using his power to create objects to set up a date with Marc. Chat Blanc had shown up part way into the setup of said date, and as a way to prevent Evillustrator from starting a fight, she had roped him into helping with the decoration ideas and music selection. He turned out to be a natural with romantic set-ups, and an even smoother talker, convincing Evillustrator to hand over his Akumatized item in exchange for them escorting Marc to the date’s location.

Marinette had managed to step away long enough while Blanc went to find Marc to transform into Ladybug, and called for her Lucky Charm just in case. It was nothing more than a red rose and she laughed happily to have a simple item with obvious intentions.

When Blanc returned, she showed herself and offered the rose to her partner, trying not to be flustered by her own romantic gesture. “Hold this for me, Kitty? I need to make sure their date goes well, and that means Nathaniel has to be here for it. Don’t want yours and Marinette's efforts to go to waste, now do we?”

Then, she took the Akumatized item from Blanc and broke it, purifying the butterfly within.

“What about the Lucky Charm?” Chat Blanc looked a tad confused. “As soon as you call for Miraculous Ladybug, everything Evillustrator made will disappear. Their date will go poof!”

Ladybug smiled knowingly. “Already thought that through. You hold on to that rose, okay? Or maybe let Nathaniel hold it? As long as I can find it again later, just make sure it’s safe. I’ll use Miraculous Ladybug long after their date is over, so nothing will get spoiled. Gotta go, Bug out!”

She returned to the scene as Marinette once more, finding a de-Akumatized Nathaniel on a successful date with Marc, and Chat Blanc still watching over them, happy for the couple. Satisfied, she made her way home, away from the setting sun.

Now, it was completely dark out and Marinette was drinking a thermos of hot chocolate on her balcony, wrapped in a warm blanket. The quiet night got interrupted by a shadow moving over the rooftops, followed by white boots lightly thumping onto her balcony. She sat up, surprised to see Chat Blanc still lurking about the city. He bowed theatrically with a gentle smile.

“Princess, what a lovely evening to see you! I presume I have found you safe and happy in your tower tonight?”

Marinette couldn't help but laugh. “You saw me maybe two hours ago, pretty-gryphlet, you know I’m perfectly fine.”

“True, but as your loyal, trustworthy, and handsome White Knight, I am obliged to check on you anyways.” He had bowed again and taken her hand, kissing the air above her knuckles ceremoniously. She had to fight back both her blush and her wing’s desire to flutter bashfully where they were hidden under the blanket.

“Silly gryphlet,” she smiled, before noticing his gloves were stained and had left some of it on her fingers. Then she noticed the dark spots on his boots and knees as well. She frowned in confusion, inspecting what was on her hand. “Why are you covered in dirt?”

“That dirty little secret,” he deflected the question easily with his pun and a cheeky smile, “I will explain soon. But first, I gotta ask, why do you call me ‘pretty Griflet’? I already know I look amazing, but is Griflet a reference to one of the knights of the Round Table? If so, I am honored to have such recognition.”

Marinette laughed and shook her head. “No, not a knight, a gryphon. You know, a mythological creature with the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle? You’re a cat, and you have wings, hence, gryphlet!” She explained proudly, before realizing how embarrassing it was to nickname one of the local Superheroes and retreated into her blanket.

Chat Blanc blinked owlishly at her explanation, but soon a smile bloomed on his face, and she could swear he was blushing under his mask.

“I like it,” he said softly, looking gentle and earnest.

“S-So anyways! Blanc Chat, I mean, Chat Blanc, I uh, You say were? Were saying? About the, uhm, dirt?” She turned away, grabbing her thermos to keep her hands busy.

“Oh! Right!” He brightened even more, his eyes starting to look like that of an excited kitten. “Come with me somewhere, Princess? I know it’s cold out so I won’t keep you long, but I wanted to show you something.”

She nodded, standing up and setting the thermos aside. Then she hesitated, once more remembering her wings. “I...Blanc, can you keep a secret for me?”

“Of course, what is it?” He looked curious and just so innocent. She couldn’t do it.

“Uh, never mind, next time, okay? I don’t think I’m ready. To say anything, I mean, not that I don’t want to see what you want to show me, but also I’m not ready to go yet for that either, wait, i meant-!” She closed her mouth with a snap, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. “What I mean is, let me just get something from my room real quick? I should really put on shoes and something warmer than pajamas. Then we can go!”

“Of course! I’ll be here when you’re done.” Oh Kwami, he was so patient with her, and understanding, too. Could he get any nicer, she wondered?

She fumbled her way back into her room, swiftly putting on a wing-binder, thick white leggings, and a warm long-sleeved baby blue dress. She remembered to grab some shoes, too. As she climbed back up to the balcony, she tried to ignore the fact that she had chosen to wear colors close to Chat Blanc’s. From the look on his face, he was probably trying not to think about it too much, either. “Ready, Marinette?”

“Ready. So uhm, how are we going to get there?” she shuffled on her feet, hands fidgeting.

He grabbed the thermos she had set down and put it into her hands, warming them, and subsequently her cheeks, too.

Politely he asked, “Permission to carry you?”

“Granted? Wait, carry? Like, on your back carry or- Woah!” He answered by sweeping her into a classic princess carry. “Uh, works, I guess, this does? I mean- Okay,” she finally squeaked out.

He chuckled and held her securely, but gentle. “Let’s not waste time. Hold on tight!”

She didn't scream dramatically when he jumped from her balcony, but she also won't admit she might have squeaked again from the unfamiliar feeling of jumping over rooftops while untransformed, let alone while being carried.

But the trip to their destination really was rather short, as only a couple minutes later he was setting her back down on her own two feet.

The rooftop was surrounded by decorative iron fencing. Candles, protected from the wind in glass jars, lined the top of the railing and between the bars. What really caught her eyes, however, where the Lily-of-the-Valley flowers spread around decoratively. She couldn't help but gape at them. The scene was gorgeous, and she wondered why Chat Blanc had brought her here. Did he do this? Was this why he was covered in dirt? She turned to him where he stood looking almost nervous for her reaction.

“Chat...It’s beautiful. Did you set this up? Did you get these flowers yourself?”

He perked up, glad to see she wasn’t reacting badly. “I did. I also learned I’m a really bad gardener,” he chuckled, and she smiled, amused. “And don’t worry, I didn’t steal any of this stuff, it was all mine already. Well, sort of. The candles were my Mother’s, and I use them sometimes. The flowers came from our yard- They would have died soon anyways, the brief warm spell this week made them bloom too early, so I thought I might as well put them to use. So, you like it, Marinette?”

She giggled and nodded, looking away shyly. “Why set all this up, anyways? Special night?”

He nodded, his own gaze shy as well. “Sort of? Ladybug trusted me with something. And earlier today, this amazing girl I know helped me take down an Akuma. So I wanted to prove I can be trusted with Ladybug’s thing, while also getting to show that amazing girl how much I appreciated her, even if it is only for a little bit. Here,” he stepped to the side, bringing Marinette’s curious gaze to a small table she hadn't noticed before.

It had a few more candles and flowers on it, but there was a delicate vase in the center. She quietly gasped as she noticed the red rose, Ladybug’s Lucky Charm, sitting in the vase. Chat Blanc plucked it from its place and held it out to her.

“For the most creative and wonderful Princess in all of Paris,” he smiled, bowing as he presented the rose. He chuckled sheepishly, then, “Well, you can’t keep it forever, because it is Ladybug’s, but I figured that if anyone was worthy of keeping it safe until she needed it, that person would be you.”

Dumbfounded and flustered into silence, Marinette accepted the rose with her free hand.

“Well, I guess I should take you back home now, huh?” He asked awkwardly.

“O-Oh, uh, sure,” she agreed, still distracted as she held the red rose close to her chest.

This time, she was prepared for him to lift her, and she stayed quiet on their way back to her balcony. This time, she noticed how warm he was and just how easy it was to trust him even as a civilian. She wouldn't admit to being sad when he set her down again, though.

“Until next time, Princess; I hope to see you again,” once more he took her hand and gave the air over her knuckles a kiss, but before he could let go, she clutched his fingers tight, pulling his attention up to her eyes.

“Uhm- It’s cold out, and I barely touched my hot chocolate anyways.” She turned his hand over and set her thermos into his palm. “Take it with you. You can return it, next time we meet.”

He beamed at her and nodded. “It’s a date,” he winked teasingly, and she giggled. “See you later, then. Have a goodnight, Princess.”

And just like that, he was gone, and Marinette was left a blushing mess on her balcony until Tikki finally came out and told her to go to bed.

In the morning, the red rose was still where she left it on her desk, proving the night before was no dream. Tikki then informed her that it had slushed a bit while she slept, so she should be careful when she goes outside.

Ladybug went off in the early morning to check on Evillustrator’s reactions, only to find that they had been washed away by the sleet. It seemed that just like all other forms of art, even the magical creations of an Akuma were susceptible to the natural elements when exposed long enough.

So that morning, Ladybug returned an intact Lucky Charm to Marinette’s room, and Marinette got to keep the gift of an everlasting red rose.

#marichatmay2021 #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat blanc #marichat #ml wing au #wing-binding #willowbendt

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virtuosin · 3 years

Note

Who is that?

It was a miracle he agreed to go at all.

They had been traveling together for so long she’s lost track. Months maybe? Time was difficult to keep track of out in space, especially for one who’s still so new to traveling the various star systems. As it was, she and Kayn had grown close, their bond tempered through moments of adversity and private interactions during their travels. It was...odd. It felt wrong to call him her friend, or that she has any sort of care for the man keeping her hostage--but she does. For all his coarse remarks and possessive nature, she’s coming to realize Kayn is important to her albeit impossible to define why. Perhaps it was the same for him, because when he heard her mention wanting to see Galrin again, he agreed to take her. The journey there had taken them a while as it belonged to a network of planets in the distant edgeworlds. They made two pitstops to refuel and restock materials, and each time Sona found herself speaking idly of her old home. The way she reserved her smiles made it obvious how excited she was, if not a bit nervous about it as well. The Enclave for the Templar Order wasn’t on that planet, so there wouldn’t be that same amount of fear, but there were still followers and other Templars which were stationed at the larger temple on her home world. If they weren’t careful, they could be suspected. And so the ship would land in a remote cutaway into a cliffside, offering a beautiful vantage point of the ocean sprawling out before them. It was approaching dusk, and while the clouds obstructed part of the view, the sunset would offer a rich display of colors filtering across the seascape. Sona dedicated the sight to memory, but she didn’t linger long. They didn’t come all this way for the Templar not to show Kayn her beloved home. So, after an outfit change into something more mundane, the Templar and Ordinal begin their hike through the forests of Galrin, heading towards the city center--Pallas. As they walked, Sona made note of the verdant hues, the rich color of the flora and fauna, of the various memories she has of this place. It had come up previously in conversation that she was born on Galrin before being taken to Navorre--the planet that the Enclave called home--so the words spoken are with rose-tined glasses. After all, how could a child not speak fondly of her original home? A couple hours would pass them by as the pair reached the outskirts of the city. It would be miniscule for a man of the Empire like Kayn, but it was a thriving city that easily housed thousands. The architecture favored stone masonry and cobblestone, an outdated look when one considers the advancements in the universe, but the roughly hewn stone and various lanterns help create a rustic, nostalgic vibe. Night was closing in, the air was crisp and heavy. Judging from the mist hanging around the nearby mountains--which had temples and pagodas erected along them--Kayn and Sona had just missed a storm when they landed. It was fortuitous timing, but the glory would be not savored long, as something entirely unexpected catches her attention. There, near the end of the stone path that led up the sloping mountainside was a woman--her. “L-Le...stara?” Sona mutters the name, her voice rattled and quiet. If Kayn would glance over at her, he’d notice how shocked she was. It wasn’t a look of fear, but of awe. Much like the same exuberance that overwhelmed her the first time she’d witnessed the celestial lights, or when he showed her his Ora abilities on that snowy moon. As if sensing the pair of eyes on her, the elder woman would turn, pausing in her stride to give them a look. In that heartbeat, there was recognition in the elder woman’s eyes, but she remained austere and continued walking. Silver-white hair would bounce, accentuating the slight wave to her shoulder length tresses. The peek of black robes would show as she struts toward them, her mid-length cloak parting in the front as she moves. The woman walked with purpose, and as her eyes narrow upon them, Kayn might notice two things; her eyes were sterling with a touch of blue, and the cape itself was Templar in aesthetic. “Don’t touch her...” It’s another quiet rasp in his mind, but its spoken with more weight behind it. A plea--a threat. Without a glance offered his way, Sona takes an uneasy step forward, shaken by the sight. Clearing the distance for them, the woman would come to a halt a mere foot away, hands folded neatly behind her back. “So,” The low rumble of sophistication flees her violet lips, eyes drifting between the pair, though they eventually rest upon Sona. “I have sent scores of men to the slaughter, thinking you were abducted by Syndicate on Ionan...and yet I find you here of all places,” A quite scoff filters through her nose. “I ought to send roses to their families for the trouble you put them through.” “Lestara,” Sona coos quietly, her breath uneven. “I...wasn’t anticipating coming here,” She mutters aloud, using her Ora to project her voice as discretely as possible. “I don’t understand...why aren’t you on Navorre, Lestara?” “Hm...” Sona watches as Lestara casually avoids the question in favor of inspecting Kayn, a thin brow arched high, as if scrutinizing his appearance. Then, she looks back, offering an incredulous look that dared Sona’s audacity for asking such a thing when she was the one traveling with a strange man--one she seems to regard with mild interest. That gaze of hers was penetrating, as if she peers through Kayn--into the trenches of his soul--and what she finds...it piques her interest. ‘Follow,’ A brief sign by Lestara’s hands, motioning the pair to follow her lead. ‘I know of a private establishment where we can speak.’ “Please,” Sona calls out to Kayn’s mind, giving her a wary glance. “I...I know this woman. She raised me when my parents died in my youth...she is all I have left of a family.” Pausing, she’d offer a weak smile, knowing how uneasy the situation might make him. “Lestara is on the council--a high standing Templar who has no reason to be out here...she wasn��t even searching for us...and if she wanted to, she’d have apprehended us both by now. I trust her, so please...let us see this through.” The hand closest to Kayn would brush against his, a pinky extending to rub up against his palm. It was a gentle motion, subtle and innocent. However, the expression was not lost upon Lestara, who was already several paces ahead. “Come along, niece,” Lestara remarks with a hint of exasperation. “I wish to hear tales of your honeymoon with your darling dearest. I hope you two are hungry. I visit the same noodle shop for dinner around this time each night and I refuse to be late.” Sona’s cheeks brighten at the forced cover up Lestara uses for any who might pass them by. It would be one thing if she implied that Sona as her niece, but it felt...embarrassing for her to insinuate Kayn’s role in all this. She could have called him her nephew, but she hadn’t--and it was rather intentional. Was that a wry grin or a grimace on Lestara’s lips? Either way, the look she gives them mingles with amusement and disdain, matching the curl on her lips. “She...may test your patience with her barbed words, but my safety has always been her main priority, something you two share.” Sona groans into his mind, sounding strained but hopeful. “If nothing else, we can get a meal out of this and be on our way...but what she has to say could be insightful, for the both of us, so just...play along for the sake of anyone else looking our way.”

#ofshadowreaping #tw long post #long post #sona: why aren't you on navorre #lestara: why are you shacking up with an Ordinal #i had to cut this off somewhere #but i absolutely imagine her talking to kayn #and sizing him up #she trusts sona #but she probably heard about the prophecy from sona #and wouldn't trust kayn #certainly not right away #lord the bickering would be #glorious #XD

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bellakitse · 5 years

Text

Cowboy for sale

Isobel is hosting a costumed date auction and she puts Michael in a sexy outfit, Alex comes in to save the day.

Thanks to @gra-sonas for the picture!!

Alex sits back on one of Michael’s lawn chairs, a beer loose in his hand while Michael, on his second beer, sits comfortably next to him. It’s quiet between them but not awkward. It’s taken months, it’s taken fights, screaming matches, and tears, but they’ve finally found a sense of peace between them. Something comfortable between the love they’ve always had for each other and the friendship they have been building. For the first time since they were 17, he can honestly say that he and Michael are friends, and there is a comfort in that knowledge that leaves him at peace. They can just sit here outside Michael’s airstream after having the burgers he brought over from the Crashdown, share a beer, and share some silence as the sun starts to set behind them.

“Did you hear about this charity thing Isobel is running for Halloween next weekend? A date auction?”

Alex’s lips tilt up at the question, but he doesn’t say that not only has he heard about the auction but that he had jokingly given her the idea the last time they were out shopping. It’s not like he was actually serious. He’d just commented on not dating for a while and joked about buying a date. Isobel’s sassing him about that being prostitution should have been the end of it. But there had been a glint in her eye, and two weeks later flyers around town started showing up, announcing an all-male date auction with a Halloween after-party, costumes required. Rumor had it that the housewives of Roswell were eating the idea up and that the event was already sold out.

“Yep,” he says with a smirk. “I’ve heard rumblings.”

Michael, who has been looking up at the sky until now, turns his head to shoot him a look. “And did you hear that she is blackmailing me into participating?”

Alex quirks an eyebrow. “And just how is she accomplishing that?” His grin growing when Michael lets out a huff while taking a pull of his beer instead of answering. He laughs softly, smirking when Michael shoots him an annoyed look. “It’s that embarrassing, huh?” he comments, only imagining just how much dirt Isobel must have on Michael, on either of her siblings, really. “I wonder if I can get it out of her next time she and I go for drinks,” he teases, raising his hands in a sign of peace when Michael scowls at him.

“Okay, relax,” he continues appeasing, shaking his head. “You can keep whatever embarrassing thing Isobel has on you a secret, it’s fine. So, are you going to do it?”

Michael shrugs. “It’s Iz; there’s nothing she’s threatening me with, no matter how much it amuses you to think so. It’s just I don’t like to say no to her. To rile her up sure, but she’s my sister and if she wants to put me in some ridiculous and in her own words ‘demeaning’ Halloween costume, to raise money for the Immigrant rights fund, who am I to say no? One, I get to show off the goods, which I have no problem with-“

“That’s because you have no shame,” Alex cuts in, with a quirk of his lips.

“Thought you liked that about me,” Michael drawls out, his eyes hooded in Alex’s direction.

The look sends warmth directly to Alex’s belly, and he finds himself holding his beer bottle tighter to keep from reaching out to Michael, pulling him out of his chair and settling him on his lap. Michael has a sly grin on his face as he watches, letting him know that while he might be controlling his impulses, he might not be doing as well controlling his face from showing what he wants.

“Among other things,” Alex answers, unable to keep from rising to the challenge. It’s a game he and Michael have started to play now that their friendship is established, and there is a quiet understanding that more is inevitable, underneath. He gives Michael a heated look, the kind that Michael has always responded to by pushing him against the nearest flat surface. The way Michael swallows now, his eyes on Alex's mouth as he licks his lips, tells Alex he's thinking about it. "What's two?"

"Huh?" Michael grunts, obviously lost in thought. Alex bites down on his bottom lip to keep from pushing for more.

They're taking their time with this.

"You said one," He continues, going for safer ground, instead of pushing the subject. "What's two?"

Michael's face brightens, taking on a wickedly amused expression. "Two, it will be hilarious to see the faces of the bigots as Isobel raises money for immigrants just because people are thirsty in this town."

Alex smiles, sharing Michael's amusement. "Almost makes me want to go."

Michael frowns. "You're not coming?"

Alex scoffs. "It's not like I'll be bidding on some straight guy, and I'm smart enough not to let your sister get dirt on me to blackmail me into participating as part of the auction. I'll just give Isobel a donation check."

"Don't you want to see what horrible costume Isobel puts me in?"

"And watch the real housewives of Roswell start a bidding war over you?" Alex frowns back at him. "I'm not actually a masochist."

Michael throws him a smirk, but Alex can see underneath the façade, a tiny bit of insecurity. “You think I’ll start a bidding war? Is that your way of telling me you think I’m pretty, Manes?”

Alex rolls his eyes, using every bit of his military hardass persona to keep from blushing. “Don’t fish for compliments, you have a mirror in that tin can you call home.”

Michael shakes his head as he lets out a laugh, and Alex can’t help but grin back at the man as he gives him a soft look.

“Fine, don’t come,” Michael gives him a fake pout, he bends his head down and looks at Alex through his lashes and the curls that have been getting longer. “Maybe we can meet up after Isobel is done objectifying me. Dinner at your place?”

“You might have to stay with your bid winner,” Alex reminds him, hoping his face doesn’t show how much he dislikes the idea.

“Alex,” Michael says his name gently, tilting his head to the side. “Meet me afterwards, okay?”

Alex licks his lips and finds himself nodding, helpless to say no. “Okay.”

***

Isobel’s Halloween event rolls around, and Alex tries to pretend it hasn’t been putting him in a foul mood to think about it. He had lunch with Isobel a few days prior, and she had shown him pictures of some of the costumes she was going to put the volunteers in, they were brow-raising to be sure, but she had refused to show him what she was going to put Michael in. The downright devilish smirk on her face told him everything he needed to know.

“You could come and actually see for yourself, you know,” she had countered when he asked again to tell him. “Maybe bid on him and finally get your man.”

Alex shook his head at that, that’s not how he wanted Michael and him to reunite. They were building towards something real; he wasn’t going to let his impatience or his jealousy get the better of him. Michael deserved better than that. They both deserved better than a trashy town event with small-minded people.

Isobel just rolled her eyes at him as she dug into her salmon and warned him not to call one of her events trashy, though she didn’t argue the small-minded people part.

No, instead of going, he was going to stay in his cabin and wait for Michael. He has steaks marinating and a nice pasta side planned. He wasn’t sure how Michael was going to get out of having to stay with his bid winner, but Michael had asked him to wait for him, and that’s exactly what he planned to do.

He’s in the kitchen, making sure he has everything for dinner when his phone buzzes with an incoming text, followed by a couple more in rapid succession.

‘Change of plans.’

‘Isobel has lost her damn mind.’

‘I didn’t think I was capable of feeling embarrassment, but damn was I wrong.’

‘Alex, if you ever loved me, you’ll get here now and get me out of this.’

Alex raises an eyebrow at that last text, for all their talking and acknowledgment of their feelings; both a skittish of using the L-word.

Without a second thought, he grabs his keys and his wallet and heads for the car.

He gets to where Isobel is hosting the event in under 30 minutes, not even pausing when one of the door people ask him for his invitation. His stone-cold stare more than enough to shut the poor guy up, he’d feel bad, but he has something more important to worry about then his lack of manners. He looks around at the mostly female gathering, all in costumes, some more revealing than others, and in cheerful moods anticipating the night's entertainments.

He spots Isobel by the bar and makes a beeline for her. She sees him before he gets to her, and the smirk she sends his way makes even his harden Air Force ass nervous for a moment, and he wonders not for the first time if it was a wise move to become friends with her.

“I knew you’d cave,” she says smugly.

“I came because I got a series of alarming texts from Michael,” he starts, giving her an unimpressed look, because no one, not even Isobel Evans is going to out bitch him. “What monstrosity did you put him in, Isobel?”

Isobel’s grin widens if possible, and it’s obvious she’s trying hard not to laugh. “You want a sneak peek, Alex? That way, you’ll know just how much you are going to have to spend tonight to win him?”

Alex doesn’t answer, just shoots her another look and starts to follow her when she beckons him with a curl of her index finger, making her way toward the back behind the setup stage and down a narrow hall.

She knocks on a black door, letting out a huff when it’s met with silence.

She knocks again, harder.

“I’m not coming out like this, Iz,” Michael yells from behind the door. “I don’t care what I promised, you suck.”

Isobel snorts, her eyes twinkling with glee.

“Damn, Isobel,” Alex comments softly. “Just how bad is it?”

Isobel just shakes, and Alex realizes that it’s with silent laughter.

“Oh, Alex,” she breathes. “Wait till you see him.”

Alex stares at Isobel for another moment, before he knocks on the door himself. “Guerin, open up, I’m here.”

“Alex?” Michael asks tentatively.

“Yeah.”

“You came,” comes back through the door, his voice surprised and hopeful as he turns the knob.

“You said you needed me,” he starts as the door opens. He trails off as Michael comes into view. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, not when Michael is standing there, in that. He looks back at Isobel, who is practically vibrating with satisfaction.

"Isobel,” he hisses as he takes in Michael's appearance, the leather straps, the tiny blue fabric, all that skin. He doesn't know if he should throw a blanket over Michael or throw him down on the floor. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

“No,” Michael answers for her, a sour expression on his face. “She’s just a horrible sister.”

Isobel scoffs, lacking any remorse. “If anything, I’m paying you a compliment! That I actually think you can pull this look off.”

Alex watches as Michael stares down his sister for a couple of more seconds before he rolls his eyes, his lips twitching as he gives her an exasperated look. “You’re such a brat, Isobel,” he mutters, his voice fond, the smile Isobel gives him no longer smug but equally warm.

“You two are so weird,” he comments, realizing that this is a part of sibling relationships he’ll never get because he doesn’t have it with his brothers. The closest he’s had to this sibling need to rib each other is his relationships with Liz and Maria. He rolls his eyes when they both grin at him.

“He’s not going out like this,” he continues, holding up his hand when Isobel goes to argue and pulls out his wallet and the blank check he had put away for his donation, handing it over to Isobel. “Fill it with the amount you feel is best.”

He turns to Michael. “Pants, Guerin,” he orders. “I have steaks marinating back home, and I need a drink. I’ll be in the car.” He doesn’t wait for either of them to say anything and instead walks away, muttering to himself about crazy dramatic aliens.

***

They get back to the cabin a little over an hour since he first left his home, Alex heads straight for the kitchen, confident that Michael will follow him. He pulls out two beers, placing one in front of Michael as he lifts himself to sit on the kitchen counter. Alex leans against the sink across from him and takes a good gulp, drinking half the bottle before pausing. Michael, who thank god is back in his usual cowboy clothes, watches him, his beer hanging off his hand that rests between his knees. Alex takes a moment to study him, he looks comfortable in Alex’s kitchen, but that’s about as comfortable as he looks right now. The car ride had been pretty quiet, and now the silence has gone on too long, and awkwardness is starting to settle in between them. Alex hates it.

“What I don’t get is why you agreed to put on the outfit in the first place if it made you uncomfortable,” Alex questions. “Isobel was teasing, but she wouldn’t force you to go out like that if you didn’t want to.”

Michael shrugs, peeling at the label of his beer. “I wasn’t uncomfortable at first. I thought the costume was hilarious when she first showed it to me.”

“And very on brand, you even have your own hat,” Alex comments, making Michael chuckle.

“A cowboy, through and through,” Michael jokes, there is a boyish playful look on his face that always riles Alex up.

Alex clears his throat, trying to clear his thoughts too. “It works for you.”

Michael raises an eyebrow at him, a slow smile making it’s way to his face. “Guess that answers my question from the reunion. It didn’t get old for you,” he states, challenging.

Alex pushes off the counter and walks towards him, his pulse racing as Michael spreads his legs some more to let him in. He places his beer next to Michael, his hands gripping Michael’s thighs, smiling when he lets out a shaky breath. “I think we’ve established that it’s always worked for me.”

Michael gives him a grin, his eyes bright and Alex decides that they’ve wasted enough time, he lifts a hand to Michael’s hair and starts to tug him closer. For once, they seem to be on the same page because Michael is more than ready for him, leaning down and pressing his lips against Alex’s with a relieved sigh passing between them.

Alex savors the taste he’s gone too long without, his hands slightly shaking as he cradles Michael’s face and pours all the love and longing he’s been carrying around into their kiss. He can’t stop the wet laugh that escapes when they part as Michael continues to touch him, a happy grin on the face Alex loves ever so much.

“I didn’t want anyone else to see me like that,” Michael whispers as he touches his forehead against Alex.

He frowns confused, and Michael must feel it because he lets out a small laugh before continuing. “The costume was ridiculous,” he starts to explain. “I wasn’t embarrassed by it, but when I put it on, I knew I didn’t want anyone else to see me in it but you. I didn’t want to go on a date with anyone but you, I wanted to just come straight here and have dinner as we planned.”

Michael pulls back to look at him, those whiskey-colored eyes of his, shiny and wet.

“I don’t want to be with anyone but you, Alex,” Michael says, holding on to his hands. “So, can we just be together now?”

Alex nods, swallowing over the lump in his throat, his heart thumping hard against his chest at Michael’s words.

Michael lets out a relieved exhale, and Alex just has to kiss him again.

They get lost in it, no rush as Michael sits on his counter, and he leans against him.

“The costume wasn’t so bad,” he says between kisses.

Michael pulls away, laughing.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in it again,” he teases, feeling his cheeks go hot at the memory of the outfit and the smirk that Michael gives him now.

“You’d have to ask Isobel for it,” Michael warns, the grin on his face so smug.

Alex makes a face because no, he doesn’t want to do that.

Michael chuckles again at the face he makes. “Well, we don’t have the cowboy outfit, but I do have a hat…” he trails off, his hands going to the top button of his shirt, popping it open.

Alex pulls him off the counter as Michael opens another button, still laughing as Alex leads him to the bedroom. “The steaks can wait.”

#roswell nm #malex fic #malex #michael x alex #my writing #honestly i don't even know anymore #i get more and more ridiculous with every fic #but damn it we deserve something light #and fun #they're so angsty all the time #heads up there is a pic at the bottom of this that is NSFW-ish but it is funny

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kentuckywrites · 5 years

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To Be Alive

A commission for @deltheor ! Pongo and Sydney go out for a night on the town, but their time together is riddled with insecurities and obstacles.

The argument could be made that mimeosomes weren’t actually alive. Sure, there were human consciousnesses controlling them, but that wasn’t the same as being in them. Too many people believed in the idea that these bodies were disposable, that these bodies weren’t real, simply empty husks blessed with human intelligence.

Sydney knew that his mimeosome would never compare to his real body. It felt close to the original, but there was always this sense that lingered in the back of his mind, always there, prominent but not all powerful. This body wasn’t alive. It was a machine that he could control.

Despite this train of thought, Sydney had to admit that there were times he thought he was truly alive. Sometimes he’d get it after a successful bounty mission. Sometimes he’d get it after drinking too much booze.

And sometimes, Sydney would feel alive thinking about Pongo.

It was hard not to think about him now, hard not to feel so alive. Sydney hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in that night, yet following after Pongo, watching how his eyes became mirrors for the midnight sky...he was hooked. Intoxicated, drunk off of what Pongo was doing to him. It was messing with his brain, this feeling, but Sydney wasn’t about to complain. They had the whole night to kill, the whole night to be alive.

He wasn’t the only one alive tonight. The whole of NLA was bursting at the seams with life, bright city lights and evening ventures. Pongo seemed in his element, walking on the sidewalk next to Sydney. If he had been anyone else, his voice would’ve been overtaken by the night life. But Sydney could hear him talking, clear as day, a soothing and calming presence that made him forget about how unsettling the commercial district could be. At least they wouldn’t be out on the street for long. Pongo’s plan for their date - fuck, that still felt so strange to Sydney, this was a date - was to go to the diner, get something nice to eat. And he’d mentioned something about dancing? Sydney couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, but he knew Pongo was passionate about it, and so the prospect warmed his heart.

“...and so Danniel and I were able to give Luciel his cold medicine!” Pongo was in the middle of an elaborate tale, “It was a fun outing, though I always feel I could have made a better impression. I was something of a mess back when I was still figuring myself out.”

Sydney chuckled. “You probably made a better impression than you think. You’re...well, kind and friendly, fun to be around.”

He suddenly became aware of a hand wrapping around his own. Pongo gave him a wide grin, topped off with a faint line of blush.

“Something tells me your opinion is biased, but I have definitely grown since then. A year ago I do not think you could have tolerated me.”

“You underestimate me. I still would’ve thought you were cute.”

And Pongo’s blush grew stronger, amplified further when they passed by one of the many street lamps.

They prepared to cross the street. Pongo watched the crosswalk light as cars raced past. The wind they generated pushed back Sydney’s braid; he inhaled sharply as he caught the faint scent of baked bread. Made sense, they were close to the bakery. He peered past Pongo, seeing that yes, the bakery was open, even at this late hour.

But he also saw people. Lots and lots of people, walking along, minding their own business and enjoying their time away from work. Their images flickered in the light of the street lamps, then slowly, surely, heads began to turn. Eyes began to stare at him, through him. They began to tear Sydney apart through sheer judgement, ripping at his lungs and heart and brain and -

“Sydney?”

Sydney blinked. Pongo was a few steps ahead of him now, on the street. The crosswalk light had turned green.

Their hands were still entwined.

“Y-Yeah, I’m coming.” He stammered, and together they crossed the street. Once his feet hit the sidewalk again Pongo squeezed his hand. It sent a sudden shock through his systems, combating the eyes and all they were making him feel.

“Hey...are you okay?” Pongo asked, his voice gentle and unseeming.

“I’m fine!” Sydney responded quickly.

“...”

Sydney didn’t notice Pongo had stopped walking until he felt the tug on his hand, a pull backwards. He turned to face the light of his life, whose brow was furrowed.

“You know you mean the world to me, right?”

The eyes that were tearing into him suddenly retreated into the night.

Pongo noticed the effect that had on him and smiled. “I want you to be happy! And if anything or anyone bothers you tonight, I will not hesitate to - as humans say - give them the aged numbers.”

Sydney raised a pierced eyebrow.

“Wha - do you mean give them the ol’ one two? And why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“That thing - as humans say. You’re human.”

Pongo blinked once. “...I suppose that is a topic for dinner then.”

Before Sydney could say anything more, Pongo took the lead, and the gentle pull of his hand pushed him onwards. “Now come on! The night is still an infant and there is much to do before it matures!”

And without further conversation, Sydney was led to the Repenta Diner. Neon lights and drunken bastards greeted his view, an ode to an unspoken celebration. No eyes clawed their way through his skin now, but the rancid stench of alcohol and bad decisions clouded his mind, made him tense up. Pongo squeezed his hand again - he must have felt it too, or was trying to reassure Sydney. Whatever it was, it was akin to a drug, his own special dosage. Sydney found himself grinning even when they stepped inside, when he realized how calm it was.

A server stood at the podium in front, and Pongo entered quick conversation with her. She was a pretty thing, hair cut in a short bob and freckles lining her cheeks. She led them to a table near a window, a small two-person booth. Sydney took notice of where they were, just how visible they were. Sure, the window seats weren’t in the center of the diner, but here, everyone could look their way. Here, everyone would stare at them - at him.

Pongo sat down, and Sydney joined him, though his reaction was slower, more distant. The server didn’t linger, placing the menus on the table and wishing them a nice meal before going back to her post - had she cast a side eye at Sydney then? He shivered, his hand clutching his lower arm underneath the table. Pongo slid one of the menus his way before taking the other for himself. Sydney remembered the days where menus were paper, protected by aged sleeves of plastics. The diner tried to replicate the effect, though the plastic was too new, it didn’t have the same charm.

“So…” Sydney said, trailing off. Damn, why couldn’t he think of anything to say? His mouth remained partially opened as his lips struggled to communicate a topic of interest.

Pongo came to the rescue, his head popping up over the menu. “See anything good? I adore the roast coaletri, I usually get it with a side of mashed potatoes and seasoned with sona herbs - OOH, and sometimes I get the golden sardine rice bowl, those are good before a long day of BLADE missions because they are so quick to make -”

Sydney chuckled. “I’ll have the same thing you’re having. I trust your judgement.”

“Roast coaletri it is!” Pongo chirped, “And then afterwards we can talk desserts, if you are not full after dinner that is - I always get a caramel macchiato with some small vanilla cookies to dunk in it, it is super yummy and simple -”

Sydney didn’t want to tune out, but he did. Pongo was excited, he felt bad for letting his mind wander, but the diner was quieter than outside. That had benefits, sure, but it also had its downsides. He could hear people talking from a few feet away, the people in the booths behind Pongo, behind Sydney, the small discussions as people walked past. The eyes began to glue themselves back on to him, but this time they attached to Pongo too. Weird looks, glares and glances, accusing and full of false superiority. His grip on his arm tightened.

His hand remained buried there even when their waiter came around, got their orders. And almost as soon as their waiter departed, a piece of conversation broke through from behind him.

“...the bastard that Brainjacked the entire fucking city…”

Sydney heard it, but Pongo was the one to perk up. His eyes darted back and forth, between Sydney and the voice that had been coming from behind him. Two men, two friends. Two voices lined with bitterness.

“That’s him?”

“Yeah, you can smell the entitled sense of pride from a mile away.”

“What kind of sick fuck would even do that to us?”

“Dunno, guess craving power can do that to ya.”

“Hey, who’s he with anyways? Looks like...no way, that’s Pongo, the kid Elma picked up two years ago.”

“Really? I’ve heard so many good things about him. Interceptor, right?”

“Yeah, a good one at that. Can’t believe he’d stoop to that fucker’s level.”

Sydney started to die.

The entire night, he’d felt alive. Now, his heart was shattering, his limbs refused to move another muscle - in fear? In acceptance? He felt something prick at the corners of his eyes, and in the moment he wiped away the tears, Pongo had disappeared from his seat. Sydney’s eyes widened, looked forward, looked behind for him -

“Good evening, gentlemen!”

Oh no.

Pongo was smiling, but something was off about it. Sydney saw it, the underlying emotion contained within it. Rage.

“Uh, hey,” One of the men started, but Pongo was quick to continue.

“Forgive me for dropping the eaves, but I could not help but overhear that conversation you were having. I wanted to clarify something for you. The man I am having dinner with did not Brainjack the city.”

“Wh - you gotta be joking, you sure those eyes o’ yours work?”

“Why, yes, they work perfectly fine, and I can say with full faith that the man I am having dinner with is incredibly sweet. He is sometimes scared about letting people get close to him, because he thinks he will hurt them, but I know he would never hurt me.”

The other man laughed. “Oh, that’s real naive. He might be fooling ya, but we all know he’s a fuck-up. Assholes like him never change.”

Sydney expected Pongo to crack then - hell, Sydney was cracking now, the shards of his heart scattering across the tile floor. But instead of lashing out, Pongo’s smile grew wider. That would’ve been good, but this smile…

It was dangerous.

“Well,” Pongo said, “By that logic, I should walk away. Because that means no matter what I say, I could not convince you of the truth. As you said, assholes never change. Have a good evening.”

And Pongo joined Sydney at the table again, folding his hands together on the table, not giving either man a chance to respond. Sydney’s lips had parted, words escaping, thoughts consuming. The tears kept overflowing, but they’d picked up some happiness along the way, washing away the old sad trails. With any luck these new tears would work as adhesives, gluing the broken pieces of his heart back together.

“Th-Thanks for that...you really didn’t have to -” Sydney began, but was soon interrupted.

“I did. People get so hung up on the past that they blind themselves when it comes to change.” Pongo told him, “No one knows how to move on and let go. It is one of the parts about humanity that I despise.”

Sydney blinked at the reference to humanity again, a topic promised but not discussed. “It’s hard, I guess. I know I haven’t really moved on, but I guess it’s because...because it won’t stop haunting me.”

Pongo’s gaze softened, the caged anger retreating back into his subconscious, back enough that his innocent and beautiful features were restored. “I can be your...goodness, what was the film - I can be your Ghostbuster then! If your past comes back, I can chase it away.”

“You’re already doing a great job,” Sydney admitted with a sad grin, “Keep up the good work.”

Above the voices, above all the late night gossip and heels clicking on tile floors and televisions broadcasting the news for the night, Sydney heard a song. A chorus of voices, then lyrics, soft and blending with the acoustics. It was an old Earth classic, but he couldn’t place a name to the song -

“Kiss From A Rose.”

Pongo’s cheeks flushed up as he spoke the name. “A good slow song to dance to.”

Sydney took the hint. “The dance floor’s pretty empty, and our food may not be here for a bit.”

Pongo offered out his hand and Sydney was quick to take it, pure and light skin meshed together with darkened and scarred. He let Pongo lead him to the dance floor, a considerable open space uncluttered by tables and people. There was even a stage built into the right wall, a spot Pongo frequented on nights he didn’t have work. Sydney hadn’t been able to see him in action, but he was told Pongo had a great voice.

...When had Pongo wrapped his arm around Sydney’s waist, and when had they gotten this close?

Pongo used the sudden lack of space between them to his advantage. His nose booped Sydney’s, a small show of affection, a small show of reassurance. The dance floor wasn’t empty, but it was theirs now, theirs to dominate and theirs to control.

The fact that they were slow dancing didn’t stop Pongo from adding his own flourishes. Sydney let go of his insecurities, dropping them gently, nothing shattering, nothing breaking. His body moved in sync with Pongo’s, a gentle but guiding force that the music had inspired. When the chorus, Pongo mouthed the words, a dramatic reenactment complete with eyebrow wiggles and winks. Sydney laughed, actually laughed, and that was when Pongo’s mouth found a dance floor of its own.

He couldn’t easily compare it to anything they’d done before. Their past kisses had been raw energy, sparks flying and bodies colliding. But this one...it was so raw, so passionate, it held some semblance of their first kiss, the one from above the West Gate. Sydney leaned into it, let the music drown out everything, everyone.

This was it. The past was dead, a harmless ghost. That night, with Pongo...Sydney, the real Sydney, was alive.

#xenoblade x #To Be Alive: Short Story #Sydney #writing commission #this was SO MUCH FUN #and I'm sorry it took a bit longer than I thought it would ;~;#but i still hope u like it!!#also kiss from a rose is a GOOD SONG OKAY

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bookaholic1012 · 6 years

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Diverse Reading Challenge: June Review

June Challenge: Pick up books by LGBTQIAP+ writers this month! Anything from the acronym is acceptable–but please, if you don’t know whether an author you like is out yet, don’t bother them about it! Suggested authors include V.E. Schwab, Oscar Wilde, Julie Anne Peters, Heidi Heilig, Malinda Lo, Amanda Lovelace, Kathryn Ormsbee, Adam Silvera, April Daniels, Jazz Jennings, Andrea Dworkin, and David Levithan.

Synopsis: When Griffin's first love and ex-boyfriend, Theo, dies in a drowning accident, his universe implodes. Even though Theo had moved to California for college and started seeing Jackson, Griffin never doubted Theo would come back to him when the time was right. But now, the future he's been imagining for himself has gone far off course.

To make things worse, the only person who truly understands his heartache is Jackson. But no matter how much they open up to each other, Griffin's downward spiral continues. He's losing himself in his obsessive compulsions and destructive choices, and the secrets he's been keeping are tearing him apart.

If Griffin is ever to rebuild his future, he must first confront his history, every last heartbreaking piece in the puzzle of his life.

Rating: 5/5 stars

As with all of Adam Silvera’s books, I cried and laughed and adored every page! Adam Silvera has a unique voice that helps me feel connected to Griffin and his pain. His characters are real people; they have secrets and flaws and make a ton of mistakes. But they always come to terms with whatever is going on in their life and accept themselves.

My opinions of most of the characters changed as I read, which was surprising. That doesn’t usually happen. I did a complete 180 on two characters (I won’t say who to avoid giving away anything). I refused to change my opinion in the beginning, but then more was revealed, and how could still think highly or unfavorably after learning about certain events!?

Every novel by Adam Silvera thus far has a powerful message, and History is no different. My favorite quote would have to be:

“People are complicated puzzles, always trying to piece together a complete picture, but sometimes we get it wrong and sometimes we’re left unfinished. Sometimes that’s for the best. Some pieces can’t be forced into a puzzle, or at least they shouldn’t be, because they won’t make sense.”

While dealing with his grief, Griffin reached out to Jackson because he is the only one who loves Theo the way Griffin did. When he was with Jackson, Griffin was trying to figure out who Theo was in California because it was a big part of his coping method for the majority of the book. Eventually, Griffin realized that even though he wanted to put the puzzle of Theo’s life together, he should stop because it would not make sense and he would go crazy trying to find all the missing pieces.

I am so happy that Griffin was able to come to terms with Theo’s death. He also started taking care of himself more and accepted who he was. I thought Griffin’s mental health was portrayed perfectly and I loved how Jackson immediately adapted to help Griffin (staying on Griffin’s right, doing things in pairs and even numbers, etc.)

History Is All You Left Me was raw, moving, and emotional. I gained so much from reading this story and took away many lessons. It is definitely one my favorite 2018 reads!

July Challenge: As I mentioned above, the colloquial use of “Asian” is problematic because ASIA IS HUGE. So this month we’re covering more of Asia, specifically South Asia and India. South Asia includes Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Maldives, Nepal, India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka. If you’d like to expand to Central Asia and the other former Soviet republics this month, that’s also encouraged! Suggested authors include Aisha Saeed, Sabaa Tahir, Salman Rushdie, Soman Chainani, Lily Singh, Sandhya Menon, Sona Charaipotra, and Samira Ahmed.

My next review will be on: July DVRC Book (TBA)

ALL DVRC REVIEWS

#diverse reading challenge #2018 #June #history is all you left me #adam silvera #sarahviehmann_dvrc18 #Layla reviews

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