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thornedrose44 · 3 years

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Prompt: "Do it. Take a chance, I'm begging you. You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

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“What is it?” Kara huffed out, her frustration finally reaching critical mass.

“What’s what?” Alex replied, playing dumb by pretending to study the DEO’s monitors far too intently considering Kara had literally just dispatched the rogue villain of the week.

Kara crossed her arms, hip cocked forward slightly as she leant against the central console, blue eyes observing her sister's profile closely.

“Whatever you’re not telling me because you think it will upset me.” The superhero clarified bluntly, her social hesitation and uncertainty having dampened over the last few years.

She had learnt the hard way how important it was to never shy away from the truth and avoid speaking around the heart of the matter. It was a lesson she had absorbed completely, and it was one she refused to forget - needing to prove she had evolved, had bettered herself from the version that had required teaching in the first place.

“I’m not…” Alex refuted, shrugging dismissively but keeping her gaze trained forward, “There’s no-“

“Look, I’m asking you out of courtesy,” Kara cut in, “but you and I both know that I could just as easily ask Nia, and she would fold almost instantly.”

Alex grumbled irritably under her breath - Nia still had yet to build an effective resistance to Kara’s puppy dog eyes and this particular weakness had caused no small amount of trouble for Alex over the last five years.

“It is Lena related, right?” Kara checked, though it was completely unnecessary.

For Alex to actively try and keep a secret from her, it couldn’t be about anything else. And it had been more or less confirmed by her sister's reaction to her threatening to go to Nia.

“Just because I’m keeping a secret, doesn’t automatically mean it’s to do with Lena.” Alex tried, though the conviction behind her statement was weaker than wet tissue paper.

The redhead side-eyed her and Kara merely had to arch an unimpressed eyebrow in return for the DEO director to deflate.

“Okay maybe it’s a little to do with Lena.” Alex admitted with a wince, rubbing the back of her neck in defeat.

Kara threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s been over five years, okay? I’m fine!”

Her bellowed declaration of stability, made the nearby DEO agents look over with a mix of curiosity and concern. Kara grimaced at the reaction and as such didn’t resist when Alex grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the central room and into her private office.

Alex turned to face her fully, lips pressed tight together and hands firm on her own hips (it had always annoyed Kara that Alex managed to make her signature superhero pose far more intimidating than her own attempts).

“Yelling I’m fine, definitely helps your case.” Alex retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kara had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed for a moment before launching into the same variation of the speech she gave every time there was a morsel of Lena news to be had. “I screwed up, okay? Big time screwed up - ‘regret it for the rest of my life’ screwed up!” Kara declared prompting a beleaguered sigh from her sister who knew the blatant lie that was coming next. “But I’ve made my peace with it. I won’t spiral into another depressive episode when I hear how happy she is.”

Alex shook her head, not even remotely convinced - not that Kara could blame her, the last time Alex had been pestered into telling her a Lena update, Kara had spent a weekend on a drinking binge that had successfully proven that there were limits even for a kryptonian.

“I don’t think-“ Alex began.

“What is it?” Kara demanded. “Is she getting another medal from the president?”

Alex shook her head, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Kara, you don’t want to know this.”

“Her and Kal save the world again?” Kara barrelled on, her lips curling into a jealous snarl. “The greatest Luthor and Super duo continue to make the world a better place?”

That particular news article had been printed and burned by Kara’s heat vision more times than she dared admit to anyone.

“Kara, please-“ Alex begged, expression crumpling as Kara relentlessly pushed.

“Tell me, I can take it.” Kara proclaimed, voice coming out high pitched and strained. “Is she dating someone again? Another famous actress? That Olympic male gymnast? What-“

“She’s getting married.”

A bomb must have gone off, Kara thought to herself.

A kryptonite bomb.

It was the only thing that could explain the ringing in her ears, and the way everything just… hurt.

A shard of kryptonite must have pierced her chest and cut her heart into jagged pieces. That was the only thing that could explain it.

“What?” She questioned, barely above a whisper. She didn’t quite recognise her own voice - it sounded shattered and unfamiliar. She also didn’t know what she was asking.

Didn’t know what ‘what’ was all about.

What just happened?

What did you say?

What post-apocalyptic reality are we living in now?

“Next week, she’s getting married.” Alex explained, giving Kara answers she no longer wanted. “Sam, Ruby, Kal and Lois are invited.”

She knew it should sting. Not being invited even though they hadn’t spoken in nearly five years. That she should feel something about the fact that Lena had omitted Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn as well - it further reinforced how Lena believed them to be Kara’s friends and never hers (which was one of the things Kara regretted most - how her poor treatment of Lena had infected and destroyed everyone else’s friendship with the youngest Luthor).

“To who?” Kara asked, tone cold, hollow… empty.

“Kara,” Alex murmured softly, reaching out to comfort her sister, “this clearly isn’t good for you.”

Kara jerked backwards so fast that the papers on Alex’s desk shot into the air, fluttering down around the sisters like snow.

“Just tell me!” Kara ordered, hands turned into white knuckle fists at her sides that would be capable of tearing through the strongest of metals. Her eyes heated but she managed to stave the fire in them as she glowered at her sister.

Alex slumped back, leaning heavily against her desk, running a frantic hand through her short hair. “Does it matter?” Alex muttered defeatedly, brown eyes filled with pity and sympathy as she stared up into Kara’s eyes.

“Of course it fucking matters,” Kara snapped in outrage before she had a chance to stop and think , “because it’s not me!”

The admission hung heavy and rotting between them. It wasn’t a revelation to either of them, though the fact that the intensity of Kara’s feelings hadn’t dampened despite the separation of half a decade was.

“Kara…” Alex breathed, standing back up and moving towards the blonde with the obvious intent of hugging her.

“I should get back to CatCo.” Kara mumbled, cheeks a fiery red with shame. She stepped hurriedly away from her sister and was already halfway out the door before she halted, turning back to call out a sad yet sincere. “Thanks for telling me.”

Xxx

“I genuinely don’t get why you love these films so much.” Lena remarked, hands cupping her just made cup of cocoa, nose adorably scrunched up as she snuggled back down on the sofa beside Kara, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her best friend’s shoulders.

“They’re sweet and romantic.” Kara replied with a happy sigh, turning to nuzzle into the side of Lena’s head for a fleeting moment as the film’s lead started her joyful march down the aisle. “It makes me hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” Lena repeated curiously, leaning away slightly so she could meet Kara’s blue eyes.

Kara shrugged, ducking her head bashfully, “It’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Lena murmured gently, freeing a hand from her mug so that she could interlace her warmed fingers with Kara’s, “you could never be stupid, especially not about something like this.” Her best friend asserted, before asking seriously, “You want the classic big white wedding?”

“Uh…” Kara blushed, cheeks pinking as her mind struggled to kick into gear.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that the reason she loved weddings more than any other event is because they so closely resembled Kryptonian Bonding ceremonies. That the exchanging of rings, polished everlasting metal, reminded her of wonderfully crafted bracelets clasped on wrists. That it was an occasion for family to join together across generations, for the rare flashes of art and music on Krypton to take centre stage over cold science.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that after being alone, abandoned and lost - ripped away from her home in the cruelest of ways - that the idea of belonging to someone else, of having a home in someone else regardless of time or location was what Kara wanted more than anything else.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena because it would require admitting the truth of who she really was, it would require taking accountability for years of lies.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena without losing her forever.

“Yeah.” Kara coughed awkwardly, “I want the whole thing. Beautiful dress, surrounded by family… the love of my life at the end of the aisle. Everything.” She shot Lena a side-long glance, “I’m guessing you don’t?”

“Never really been my thing,” Lena admitted readily and Kara’s heart twisted at how Lena didn’t hesitate to bare herself, how she gave all of herself when it could be argued that Kara - at best - only gave half, “probably because I can’t imagine I have enough people in my life to invite and feel ‘surrounded’.” Lena pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I also don’t get the need for the spectacle. Just the idea that there’s someone out there that would want to…” Kara watched her best friend deflate, expression wistful and pained, “be with me, love me like that… that’s more than enough.”

Kara’s eyes stung with barely suppressed tears at how little Lena thought of herself. Whoever had the privilege of marrying her best friend would be the single luckiest and most fortunate person in the universe and Kara wished Lena knew that, wished she believed it. But when she opened her mouth to say it, to proclaim it, her breath faltered and her courage abandoned her… like it always did with the youngest Luthor.

“So no white dress?” Kara muttered instead, voice meek and lacking the lightheartedness that should have carried the question.

It didn’t matter, though, Lena let out a quick exhale that resembled something on the edge of laughter. Kara’s escalating heart rate settled at that, however, it did little to alleviate the pang of regret that was steadily accompanying all her interactions with the CEO.

“Well, I guess I could be convinced by someone special.” Lena teased, shooting Kara an overtly salacious wink that wouldn’t - on the surface - be considered genuine.

“Anyone that marries you will have to be special.” Kara replied, the statement tumbling out instantly.

It wasn’t the heartfelt confession that Kara wished it to be and it wasn’t quite light enough to be dismissed as a friendly reassurance. Instead, it was yet another thing that fell into the ethereal greyness that lied between them, something to tuck away and think back on late at night when they tried to work out if the other meant it the way they wished they did.

“Yeah?” Lena whispered, piercing green eyes studying Kara’s face closely.

Kara swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

Xxx

Lena found out less than six weeks after that movie night. They defeated Lex and Kara had been on the edge of breathing easy, of being able to simply relax back into her life when it all came crashing down.

They had been at Games Night and Kara had been antsy, waiting for her best friend to arrive. The thought of pulling Lena into a hug had been what she had been looking forward to most all day.

Kara was at peace, laughing and drinking with her friends - her family - when Lena had arrived. Kara had beamed up at her immediately and for a second Lena’s entrancing green eyes lit up in return before turning dark and distant.

Kara’s smile faltered, crinkle appearing between her brows when-

The wine bottle smashed into the wall behind Kara’s head.

Deathly silence fell over the area.

Kara looked into hollow, emptied out versions of her favourite green. She would have preferred anger, fury, rage… the defeated nothingness staring back at the Kryptonian was far worse.

Lena turned and left, grinding Kara’s heart to dust and taking the sand particles left with her.

She knew.

She knew because Lex had told her.

She knew because she had gone to stop her brother, intent on saving the world like always only to find out that those she was saving the world for didn’t view her as their equal. That the people she treated as family had kept her on the outskirts. That her best friend had lied, had manipulated, had-

xxx

It was Lois that found out everything from Lena.

When the fallout had happened, as Kara and the Superfriends realised what they had lost, the blonde hero sent notice to her cousin that his identity was probably known as well (mostly because she remembered how hurt she had been when Kal shared her secret without her consent). Kal and Lois had arrived almost immediately, frantic and terrified (especially with baby Jon to consider) at the concept of a Luthor knowing their identity.

Kara, joined by all the Superfriends, quickly put their minds to rest, sharing Lena’s actions from before, her dependability, kindness and inherent goodness. Kal and Lois were convinced their secret was safe but they were horrified to hear how Lena had been isolated and kept at arms length after her considerable good deeds. Alex and the others had squirmed uncomfortably and tried to weakly talk around their hesitancy.

Kal and Lois had simply looked at Kara for an explanation but she had none. Yet again the words would not come.

It was Lois, therefore, that had sought out the youngest Luthor and through her incredible tenacity was able to gain access where everyone else was rebuffed and harshly rejected.

It was Lois that comforted Lena, gave her support and sympathy.

It was Lois that relayed Lena’s demand that they give her space.

It was Lois that suggested Lena return to Metropolis - presenting it as a way to celebrate how L-Corp, after Lena’s repeated sacrifices and heroism, was fully rehabilitated and ready to reclaim its once home.

It was Lois that encouraged Lena and Kal to work together becoming an unstoppable force that Kara and Lena had always danced on the precipice of.

A Luthor and a Super. Saving the world.

xxx

Kara did as asked. Gave Lena space. Or at least the semblance of space.

She checked in constantly, hovered nearby throughout the days and nights leading upto L-Corp’s departure and Lena along with it. She followed Lena’s jet to Metropolis, a sentinel ensuring safe passage.

She kept her distance for three months. Three months of stony silence before she broke.

Snapped, more like.

Landing on Lena’s new balcony in Metropolis that had been specially built for Superman this time - not for her, though Kara, at the time, had hoped that she had been considered consciously or unconsciously as well.

Kara couldn’t remember the exact words.

She remembered crying from beginning to end.

Remembered ‘I loved you’ - past tense.

Remembered finally breaking through Lena’s cold, hardened shell to the raw, bleeding wound hidden underneath and regretting it almost immediately.

Remembered how seeing Lena’s agony was worse than kryptonite, worse than watching Krypton burn…

Remembered Lena saying she needed time to heal, for Kara to stop hovering nearby - because she knew, she sensed Kara’s presence even without seeing her once - and to give her time to stop thinking of Kara and feeling only pain when she did so.

Remembered promising to do just that.

Remembered a timer starting to count in her head - the seconds that she would be condemned to purgatory.

Remembered the hope that just refused to go out - the hope that whispered give it time, give it time, give it time with every beat of her heart.

Remembered thinking that given enough time Lena would reach out and they would get the chance that Kara had almost destroyed for them.

Remembered flying zig-zagged and dangerous to Alex where her endless stream of tears returned to full flow as she sobbed into her sister’s shoulder using words and phrases like ‘heartbroken’ and ‘I love her’ and ‘I can’t survive this pain’ and ‘what do I do?’ and ‘I can’t breathe’.

Remembered a hollowed out shell of Kara Danvers moving through the motions for a year, for two, three, four… five...

Remembered taking up drinking to excess whenever she saw Lena’s life flourish and grow - not because she didn’t want Lena to be happy, that was what Kara wanted and wished for more than anything - because she wasn’t there with her for those life-changing events.

Remembered Alex and Kelly’s worries growing with each occurrence, intervening more and more to such a degree that they encouraged Kara to consider AA meetings - she did eventually, and found destroying entire junkyards to be a healthier coping mechanism, external destruction rather than internal.

Remembered Brainy at the behest of Alex, setting up Kara’s phone and computer to prevent searching for any keywords affiliated to Lena and to alert Alex if Kara ever managed to stumble upon a news article.

Remembered listening to Kal and Lois skipping large parts of stories where it was clear that Lena was involved - it was nice in some way to know Lena was getting the credit she deserved, but it hurt when Kal’s stories started to involve gaps at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year (events that made Kara’s loneliness even more acute and her longing intensify).

Remembered her life without Lena.

Remembered regret and guilt and loss.

Remembered-

“She’s getting married.”

xxx

Kara shouldn’t have been there. Shouldn’t be anywhere in the vaguest vicinity of where she currently was.

The bride was dressed in a simple silky white shift, sipping intermittently from her champagne glass as she stared contemplatively up at the designer white dress hanging off the door in front of her. Raven locks were pinned up, so tight and intricate that it made Kara wince sympathetically at how it must tug and pinch at the bride’s scalp - she’d always preferred it down, loose and curling… soft and inviting. The bride’s make-up was artistic with a dramatic edge that would captivate but made her look… not like herself in Kara’s opinion.

Or maybe after five years it made Lena look more like herself - the version of herself she had become once free of Kara and all the pain she brought into her life.

She was hovering outside the dressing room window, trying to work out how far she was willing to take this. If it would be better to leave without saying anything, to try and leave some part of Lena’s life unspoiled.

It was the fear that she had always given into when she was best friends with Lena that made her decision for her. Like speaking her truth and learning to ask for what she wanted - Kara had also promised herself that she would never allow that bone deep fear to stop her ever again.

The window was open and it was as good an invite as Kara was ever going to get.

“Lena?”

The beautiful bride-to-be jerked in her place, champagne glass nearly tumbling to the floor but saved at the last second.

She didn’t turn around for a beat… then two…

Kara was just about to escape back through the window when Lena exhaled slowly and pivoted round to meet her.

“Kara?” Lena breathed out, green eyes closed off and wary.

The kryptonian studied the love of her life for a moment, taking in every little detail - soaking it all up as if accepting that this would be the last time she might ever get to see it again. That the timer that had counted past five years would stop after this moment, the hope powering it gone forever.

“Don’t marry them, please.” Kara requested, no flowery language, no build up. Just the honest truth.

“What?” Lena’s jaw dropped and the champagne glass didn’t survive the second shock, crashing to the ground - released by trembling fingers.

“Don’t marry them.” Kara repeated, uncaring of how the carpet below them soaked up the amber liquid.

Lena’s expression flitted through an array of emotions before settling on indignant rage, “And why the hell not?!”

Kara didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, instead she stood taller, the crest of her super suit catching the early afternoon light. “Because it should have been me. It still should be me.”

Lena scoffed in disbelief, “You can’t be serious. Now? You’re doing this now?”

Kara pursed her lips, fighting back the regret that always came with the reminders of countless missed opportunities. “Yes.”

The straightforwardness of Kara’s answers seemed to be throwing Lena, leaving her wrong-footed, clearly expecting the blonde to talk around and hint and imply like she used to.

But Kara had learnt. (The lesson had been too painful not to.)

“You had years, Kara!” Lena argued, “Years where I…. I threw myself at you. Practically begged you to love me… to trust me…”

“I know.” Kara replied sadly, wanting desperately to reach out when Lena’s pretty green eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“I don’t want you to be.” Lena muttered, arms crossed over her chest and head ducked downwards to hide her expression.

“I know that too.” Kara assured, fingers twitching with the desire to make contact, to comfort and coax - even after all these years her body remembered, the pathways of hardwired instinct related to her best friend were still there, still active even if temporarily closed for service.

“Then why are you here?” Lena murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Lena’s head snapped up at that, green eyes like saucers.

Kara’s single biggest regret was that she had never said those words to Lena before, had alluded and pointed at them during their final interaction but had never outright said them. And Lena had deserved to hear them then and deserved to hear them now to forever vanquish the doubts that had always been with her.

“Because I’m in love with you and we didn’t get our chance.” Kara affirmed, taking a half step closer to the bride, her red heeled boots and Lena’s bare feet meaning the younger woman had to tip her head ever so slightly back to maintain eye contact. “We didn’t get our chance because of me. Because I was afraid, I was so afraid of losing you. Of doing even the slightest thing that could mean you weren’t in my life. And in the end every action I took out of fear of losing you ensured just that. I’ve spent five years without you, Lena, and I can’t bear a single day more.”

“Kara,” Lena whispered, “I’m getting married.”

“I know.” Kara smiled sadly before adding, “Don’t.”

“What are you suggesting? Seriously?” Lena sighed, shaking her head mournfully and Kara knew she was losing her then.

“I’m suggesting that we have our chance now before it's gone forever.”

Gathering the small amount of courage Kara had left, she tentatively let her hands nudge forwards, brushing against Lena’s cool, pale fingers. That small contact was everything. Made it easier to breathe, made the colours of the world more vibrant, made everything just more.

“I let fear hold me back from the person that made me happiest in the entire universe and I won’t let it hold me back again.”

“Kara…” Lena whimpered, glancing back over her shoulder at the closed door that her wedding dress was displayed on, though she didn’t pull her hand away from Kara’s touch, didn’t flinch or retreat.

“Do it.” Kara pleaded, stepping across that final slither of distance between them, her forehead leaning forward to rest gently against the side of Lena’s, “Take a chance, I’m begging you. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been.”

Lena inhaled shakily, head returning to forward facing - foreheads pressed against one another, breathing in the same air - and then… and then…

Lena’s hands slipped fully into Kara’s, fingers intertwining together.

#supercorp #supercorpfic #i feel no remorse for this #tempted to do a part two

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miekasa · 3 years

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break up with your boyfriend, i’m bored

+ pairings: um… armin x reader…. but, spotlight on jean—just... read it to understand, please

+ genres and warnings: college au what’s new, fluff… you’re just going to have to work with me and trust me on this one alright

+ notes: free colt he ain’t do nothing wrong i just needed someone outside of their immediate friend group to blame i am so sorry justice for my boy colt and falco too

+ more notes: longer levi fic still in progress, so have jean thee comedian in the meantime

“I think I have a crush on someone.”

Jean crosses his arms and makes it a point to huff even louder than before so that you can accurately assess his annoyance at moment; going so far as to slump back into your not so comfortable couch to really sell it.

“And that is why you manhandled me all the way to your apartment on a Tuesday afternoon?” he asks, voice flat and eyes hooded.

You groan and roll your eyes. Jean’s eyebrows are pinched together with more judgement than confusion at your current state of distress when you sit next to him on the sofa, a knee bent in his direction.

“Jeanie, I don’t think you’re understanding the severity of my issue.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” he drawls, “But, please, do enlighten me. It’s not like I have an essay to write or anything.”

“I have a crush,” you reiterate, hands mapping out every syllable in your sentence, “On someone who is not my boyfriend.”

“I see,” he nods, but his voice remains flat, “And, pray tell, what exactly is my role in all of this?”

“You’re supposed to use your philosophical psychoanalytical bullshit to tell me what’s wrong with me and how to fix it.”

“Philosophy and psychology are two different disciplines.”

“They sound the same to me.”

“That’s because you’re a single-celled chem major.”

“I think it takes more than a single cell to study chem.”

“Oh, is that what they tell you guys, now?”

“You’re not fucking helping.”

“Yes, I am,” he tuts, “It’s called talk therapy.”

“It sounds like you’re just taking shots at me.”

“Best friend talk therapy allows for a few digs here and there.”

“Jean,” you pinch his arm. He flinches, and yelps loudly, immediately raising the affected arm to counter with a flick to the center of your forehead. You glare, the palm of your left hand covering the sting on your skin, but concede, “Well played.”

“Thank you,” he nods, “I learned from the best.”

“Okay, now that you’ve gotten your ego boost for the day, can we worry about my problem, please.”

He shrugs, crossing resting his left ankle atop his right knee, “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

“What exactly is the problem, again?”

You sigh, and lean your head on Jean’s shoulder, “I have a boyfriend—”

“We’ve been over that.”

“—and the person I have a crush on is not my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he pauses, “Are you going to do anything about this crush?”

“Well, I… no,” you ponder, “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” he repeats, “So, then why are you so worked up about it?”

“Because!... Because… I don’t know, it’s… wrong? I’m in a relationship with someone else—isn’t this, like, emotional cheating?”

“Maybe,” he says, “I don’t know a whole lot about relationship psychology.”

“Come on, Jean.”

He sighs, “I’m serious, I don’t know, (_____).”

You whine, sounds muffled by the fabric of Jean’s sweater where your cheek lay pressed against his shoulder. “I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?”

“You’re not, stop it,” Jean answers firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “You’re not horrible for having emotions that are difficult to work through.”

“Okay, then, I’m just a horrible girlfriend.”

“Maybe.”

“Jean.”

“Sorry,” he winces, patting your head for extra encouragement. It’s meant to be comforting, but it makes you feel like a patronized six-year-old, at best. It’s quiet for a while, with you mulling over Jean’s words, and him trying to pull you into the worst side hug in all of existence.

“Do you think,” you break the silence, “Maybe I should I break up with him?”

“Yes,” his answer comes too quickly, and much too enthusiastically.

You lift your head from his shoulder, unamused, but Jean doesn’t even try to hide the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him.”

“No,” he pauses when he catches glimpse of the disbelief on your face, “Okay, yes, I don’t like him. At all.”

“Jean—”

“But maybe this is your subconscious telling you that you don’t like him either, and that you should, instead, go after your crush.”

“Oh, so now you want to use your psychobullshit on me?”

“If it means I don’t have to pretend to like Colt anymore, then yes,” he replies, a stupid, shit-eating grin on his lips.

You scoff, arms crossed against your chest, “You don’t even pretend to like him now.”

Jean shrugs, “I pretend to like him to his face.”

“No, you don’t,” you insist, “You’re probably the worst at it, in fact.”

“I’m not worse than Connie.”

“You called him an asshole. To his face.”

“Connie poured tequila on him.”

“Connie was drunk. You were completely sober.”

“Connie would have done it sober and you know it.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but the words fall silent in your throat. Connie probably would have done it sober. “Okay, fine, whatever, you don’t like him,” you wave away the subject, “Do you really think this crush is my subconscious telling me to break up with him, though? I mean—it’s just, crushes are kind of fleeting right?”

“Sure, but—”

“What if I break up with him, and then I get over my crush, and realize I made a mistake.”

“Then you learn and grow, and find a new crush.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he insists, “You’re beating yourself up pretty bad over this mystery guy—”

“—It could be a girl.”

“Is it a girl? Oh, is it Mikasa? Are you still hung up over her—you know I’m sure she’d make out with you asked. I think you both could relieve a lot of tension that way, actually.”

“You’re the worst person to walk this planet, you know that?” you sneer, annoyed by the smug grin on Jean’s face. So what if you had a tiny crush on Mikasa? Most people did, Jean included.

“Look,” Jean continues, “You and I both know you’re not a cheater, but you and I also know you’re just like Eren when it comes to things like this.”

“Just like Eren?”

“Falls too fast, too hard,” he clarifies, “I get the feeling you’ve had these feelings for a while, and that they’re not fleeting.”

You pout, and Jean knows that he’s right. “Okay, so say I do break up with Colt—”

“Which you should do, regardless.”

“—If we break up, then what? I still won’t know what to do with my left over grief. It’s not like I can just... go ask this guy out right away.”

“Yes, you can,” Jean presses, “In fact, you should.”

“No, I can’t,” you insist.

“Why not?”

“Well for one, I’ll look like a heartless whore.”

“You’re not a heartless whore for asking a guy out.”

“I am if I do it right after breaking up with my boyfriend.”

“Your internalized misogyny is showing,” he sing-songs, “Come on, you’re not a whore for doing what you want with a guy, you know that.”

“Okay, fine, not a whore, whatever,” you roll your eyes, “But I still couldn’t ask him out.”

“It’s the twenty first century, just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you can’t ask him—”

“Not because of that, dumb goose,” you glare, “I meant because—it’s, well, it’d be really sudden and kind of… awkward?”

“It’s not like he’d know you just broke up with someone, unless that’s one of your conversation starters.”

You sigh, a hand on your forehead. “Yes, he would, Jean.”

“How could he possibly—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mock, a heavy sigh leaving your chest as you resume your previous sulking position, head leaning against his shoulder with your right cheek squished against his sweater.

“(_____), I’m honored, but you’re not really my type. I’d be willing to help you get over him though.”

“It’s not you, you fucking long-necked pigeon, it’s Arm—,” you cut yourself short, hands clamped over your own mouth.

“Oh my god!” Jean all but screams, propelling his body away from you with just enough distance to extend his arm, finger pointing directly at your chest, “You like Armin!”

“Shut up!”

“You have a crush on Armin!”

“Shut up, Jean!”

“You have a big, fat crush on Armin!”

“Shut up! I said shut up, you pasty fucking giraffe looking ass bitch!”

“Oh my—okay, you have to break up with Colt, immediately,” Jean rushes, “I can’t believe this—if you think Armin wouldn’t go out with you, then you really do have the intelligence of a single celled organism.”

“What in the ever loving fuck are you talking about.”

“We’re talking about the same Armin, right? Armin Arlert, about this tall,” Jean raises his hand significantly lower than Armin’s actual height, “Studies astrophysics, follows you around like a lap dog—”

“He does not,” you scoff.

Jean guffaws, “Didn’t he take you on a tour of, like… the NASA museum for your birthday? With the super high-tech planetarium that people die to get into?”

“Actually, it was their headquarters, but it’s only because he gets special privileges for being an intern.”

“Didn’t he name a star after you?”

“Anyone can name a star after anyone,” you roll your eyes, “It’s really not that hard.”

“People do not fucking go to NASA and ask for stars for just anyone!” Jean screeches, hands flailing wildly.

“Armin does!”

“Yeah, for you!” Jean emphasizes, “Come on, do you think if anybody else called him right now and asked him to get a star in their name, or even just fucking take them to headquarters of the most renowned space organization in the country, that he would actually do it?”

“I mean, maybe, if like… Eren asked.”

Jean opens his mouth to refute, but freezes half way with a head-tilt and pursed lips. “Okay, yeah, maybe—whatever, doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell him.”

“I don’t need to tell him shit.”

“You’re seriously choosing Colt over Armin? Who willingly stays with some greasy prick with the world’s most annoying younger brother, over a handsome, straight-A astrophysics student with a penchant for marine biology, and, like, really clear skin.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know Bertholdt was studying astro.”

“I wasn’t talking about Bertholdt.”

“It sounded like you were talking about Bertholdt.”

“I mean, Bertholdt’s got great skin, but it’s no where near as clear as Armin’s. He glows.”

It’s quiet again, as you eye Jean with a raised brow that’s all too familiar. “Are we sure that you’re not the one with the crush on Armin?”

“Shut up, you’re avoiding the point.”

“What’s the point, exactly?”

“That you’re in love with Armin, who is miles better than your current boy toy, so you should ask him out immediately.”

“I have a boyfriend, not a boy toy.”

“Ah ha!” he yells, “You didn’t deny that you’re in love with him—oh my god, you’re in love with Armin!”

He’s standing now, practically bouncing off the the walls at the revelation. You take to smacking him with the nearest pillow. “I’m not in love with him! I just—just really like him, okay!”

“Very convincing.”

“Shut the hell up, you’ve been pining after you know who for seven eons at this point.”

“You bitch,” he growls, “We’re not supposed to bring him up.”

“Well, you keep bringing up Armin!”

“We never established that Armin was on the list of he’s who shall not be named.”

“Well I vote that he should be.”

“Your vote has been vetoed,” he grins, “Look, I’m completely serious when I say that Armin is just as in love with you as you deny you are with him.”

“That sentence hurt my head,” you pout, resuming your signature brooding position.

“It’s okay, your single brain cell has been through a lot in the past fifteen minutes,” he pats your head again, earning him a glare that he simply chuckles at, “All it means is that you love Armin, and I assure you that he’s equally, if not more, in love with you.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. Now, up, up, up,” he tuts, pulling at your biceps until you’re standing, only to immediately start ushering you to the door, “You have a shitty boyfriend to go break up with.”

“What—Jean, come on, I didn’t mean right now!” you exclaim; but he’s stronger than he looks, and continues to propel your body out of the open door.

“No time to waste!” he insists, “Every hour you stay with Colt you lose another brain cell.”

“I thought I only had one to begin with,” you say, sarcasm evident in your tone.

It makes Jean’s grin triple, “Exactly, so go, not another hour to waste!”

“Jean, wait, I—,” you begin, only to be silenced by the silver door shutting in your face. The lock clicks soon after, and it’s only then you realized what he’s done.

“You knobby kneed bitch, this is my apartment!”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #armin x reader #armin arlet x reader #jean smut #eren smut #armin smut #eren x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Prompt~ hoping you'll like it ♥️

Things between the Nie brothers are not always nice and happy, they fight, just like any other pair of brothers, and sometimes things are said, sometimes these things are heavy and painful. Sometimes they're said in the wrong moment (maybe at the eve of a battle? Sunshot campaign?) and huaisang doesn't know what to do with the broken look his brother gives him before leaving the unclean realm. Because what if he doesn't return? What if the last thing he said to him was how much he hated the man he became?

Labyrinth - ao3

“But I didn’t mean to wish him away!” Nie Huaisang cried out.

“That’s really too bad,” the goblin king said, looking pleasant and humble and charming the way he always did, even in his cape of glittering gold and high-browed hat. “I wish there was something I could do for you, but the rules are the rules. You wished him away, and I took him.”

“Aren’t you supposed to only take babies?” Nie Huaisang demanded.

“Your brother’s enough of a crybaby to count, it’s close enough.”

“It is not!” Nie Huaisang wrung his hands. “You don’t understand, the last thing I said to him was that I hated him! Meng Yao, please!”

“It’s Jin Guangyao,” the goblin king corrected. His smile looked a bit strained. “Listen, do you think I’m happy about this? He’s my sworn brother! I’m only doing what I have to –”

“Oh, save it for Lan Xichen,” Nie Huaisang growled. “Show me the labyrinth already.”

“You’re going to face the labyrinth,” the goblin king said. His voice was very polite, and yet still expressed significant doubt. “You.”

“Yeah, me!”

“You remember that it goes ‘through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered’, right? Not ‘through a nice teacher and a forgiving grading system’?”

“Yeah, well, your father is a fragging aardvark. Let me at the labyrinth already!”

“You know what,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

The life-sized animated puppet blinked at him. “You – don’t want my help?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“You haven’t even gotten into the labyrinth yet!”

“It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t have a chance to get in,” Nie Huaisang said, patting around his sleeve and pulling out a fan. “So I’m just going to walk over and beat at the wall till something happens.”

The puppet followed him, staring blankly. Quite a change from his original apologetic ‘I’m sorry, I’m busy with my own things, I really can’t help you, also it’s too dangerous and you shouldn’t go’ response.

“You were blackmailing me to help you just a moment ago,” the puppet said after a little. “Don’t you need a guide?”

“Listen, I’m bad at memorizing things and I’m a little useless, but I’m not actually dumb,” Nie Huaisang said, fanning himself. “Jin Guangyao is a demon of the mind above all else, and the labyrinth is supposed to be ‘fair’ – which means, more than likely, that the labyrinth is a reflection of the subconscious, specially tailored to each person’s strengths and weaknesses. And that means that you, who sound exactly like Lan Xichen, are almost certainly a set-up sent by Jin Guangyao to ‘reluctantly’ aid me and then betray me.”

“Uh,” Lan Xichen-the-puppet said. “My name’s Hoggle, actually.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, er-ge…A-ha!” Nie Huaisang beamed at the gates that automatically opened. “Perfect!”

“Oh, don’t go that way,” the worm said. “Never go that way. And are you sure you don’t want to come in for a cup of tea?”

“No time,” Nie Huaisang said. “Thanks a lot – wait.”

The worm blinked at him.

“You’re a pretty attractive worm, in a slimy sort of way,” Nie Huaisang said, frowning at him.

The worm blinked again. “Why, thanks!”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Is your name Su She, by chance?”

“Definitely not!”

“Mm. Oddly vehement of you. Never mind. Just, quick, could you tell me exactly why do I not want to go that way?”

“I don’t suppose straight ahead is an option?”

The hands-faces stared at him.

“I’m just saying, I feel like most of my problems so far have come from the fact that I decided to accept the whole concept of turns. It seems like a mistake.”

“…it’s a labyrinth,” another set of the hands said. “You have to make turns!”

Nie Huaisang shook his head mournfully. “I should’ve brought Baxia or something and just – ZIP. Gone straight through. You know what I mean?”

“I’m dropping you in the oubliette regardless of your decision,” the first set of the hands said. It sounded a bit like Sect Leader Yao. “Just so you know.”

“My life is so hard,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “So hard! Do you know what it’s like to be overlooked by everyone? Do you know how hard I have to work at being this useless?”

“Drop him,” the set of hands that sounded like Sect Leader Ouyang said, and the set of hands that sounded like Sect Leader Yao said, “Yes. Now!”

Down Nie Huaisang went.

“I can take you back to the beginning of the labyrinth,” Lan Xichen offered.

“What, and waste all that time? I have a time limit, er-ge!”

“It’s better than being stuck in an oubliette. That’s where they put people to forget about them, you know.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes filled with tears. “You want to forget me, er-ge? You think I’m useless, don’t you? A good-for-nothing, who’ll never amount to anything –”

“Please don’t cry.”

“ER-GE! WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME!”

“Please stop crying!”

“So what’s the point of you?” Nie Huaisang asked the Wise Man with the Talking Hat.

“Not everyone exists to contribute to your storyline,” the Talking Hat snapped at him. “Some of us’ve got our own problems. Now hand over the candy!”

“Don’t be mean,” the Wise Man said. He had a white cloth over his eyes, and was smiling like he found the hat funny.

“Awww, but daozhang…!”

“Different plotline entirely, I guess,” Nie Huaisang decided. “Probably just here as a foil. Shall we keep going, er-ge?”

“I can’t believe you scammed me to get out of the oubliette,” Lan Xichen mumbled. “I can’t believe…”

“Oh, leave him alone, he’s just sensitive!” Nie Huaisang snapped.

“Am not!” the upside-down creature snarled, curled up on itself and trying to hide from all those that had been hitting him. Its fur was a vivid sort of purple. “Go away!”

“Don’t you have some sort of special power to help you here,” Nie Huaisang asked him as he tried to get him down before the goblins came back with weapons. “Rocks, maybe?”

“…lightning?”

“Well then get to it, will you?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “Wait. Lightning, constantly being tormented, terrible at communication, and purple? You’re Jiang Cheng, aren’t you?”

“…maybe.”

“Well then get down faster! I need to copy someone’s notes here!”

“Leave me aloooooooone!” Nie Huaisang howled, running away from the measuring snake.

“Wow,” Lan Xichen said, holding his cheek. “You kissed me.”

“You saved me from the snakes,” Nie Huaisang said. “Can we focus on how we’re in this awful stinking bog?”

“It’s not that bad!” a voice piped up. “I don’t smell anything!”

Nie Huaisang turned to stare, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “I bet the total absence of a sense of smell helps when you eat spicy food, Wei-xiong.”

“There’s nothing wrong with spicy food!”

“You’re short,” Nie Huaisang informed the small goblin-like creature with the big grin and the red ribbon in its hair. It looked vaguely fox-like, or possibly like certain large breeds of rabbit.

“Why you..!” Wei Wuxian crossed his furry little paws over his chest. “Just for that, I’m not going to help you.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Huaisang said. “Really. That’s awful…oh no! A dog!”

Wei Wuxian jumped high into the air. “A dog?! Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! Save me!”

Much to Nie Huaisang’s surprise, a furry dog immediately darted out of nowhere – only Wei Wuxian didn’t seem afraid of it, but rather hid behind it, teeth chattering.

Truly, Nie Huaisang reflected, the eyes of love are blind.

“I think the ‘dog’ is gone now,” he said. “Your brave and noble Lan Wangji must’ve scared him away.”

Wei Wuxian’s head popped out from behind dog-Wangji. “Well, Lan Zhan is really cool…hey. Are you trying to manipulate me?”

“Is it working?”

“No!”

“So you won’t help me?”

“No!”

“Not even if it means you get to figure out a really tricky puzzle?”

“No – wait. A puzzle?”

“I can’t believe this is going to work,” Lan Xichen muttered from behind Nie Huaisang. “I mean, I can. But also…Wangji…I love you, but you could do so much better than this.”

“Ugh,” Nie Huaisang said. “I’m so thirsty.”

“Have some Emperor’s Smile,” Lan Xichen said, offering a jar.

“Amazing,” Nie Huaisang said, accepting it and taking a swing. “I had my doubts, you know, but you’re actually good for something after all, er-ge –”

The golden bird was Nie Huaisang’s favorite.

He’d worked so hard to bring it back to his aviary – it couldn’t be forced, he knew; it would play along at first but in the end it would turn on you and bite you. It had to be coaxed with gentleness and kindness, approached indirectly so as not to spook it, convince it that you really did mean well – that you were harmless, that it had no reason to fear you. It was arrogant, too, proud of its shining feathers and ashamed of the brown plumage of its chick days, which still remained visible on its tender underbelly. Ironically, that was Nie Huaisang’s favorite part of it, the soft and gentle part; it might not be as pretty as the gold, but it felt more genuine.

Nie Huaisang smiled as he brushed the beautiful feathers, and the golden bird allowed him. He felt cherished, treasured. So what if he had to hide all the sharp parts of himself to get this close?

It was fine. He didn’t like to be sharp.

He wanted to be soft. Soft and gentle, careless and free, relaxed and without effort, good for nothing –

Wait.

No!

“It’s all junk,” Nie Huaisang hissed at the pile of burning fans, tears in his eyes. “I want my da-ge!”

“You’re all right!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, helping pulled Nie Huaisang up.

“Huaisang-xiong,” Jiang Cheng said, looking relieved. “You’re back.”

“We have to go to the temple beyond the Goblin City,” Nie Huaisang said, teeth gritted together. “We have to. I won’t let that bastard…we’re going to go there and throw all his damned tricks right in his face!”

“Just us?” Wei Wuxian asked. “I mean, I’m awesome, Lan Zhan is fantastic, and of course Jiang Cheng is great, too, but…uh…there’s a lot of goblins in the city.”

“We’ll sneak in,” Nie Huaisang said. “He thinks he’s sidelined me entirely – he thinks I’m useless. He won’t be expecting me to get this far.”

“I can get help,” Jiang Cheng said. “I have friends.”

“…not to be rude, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said. “But – really?”

“You know what,” Nie Huaisang said, eyeing the pile of rocks following Jiang Cheng around, each one painted with a name. One of the names was yellow. Two were in white, with forehead ribbons. “This is fine. I feel like it says something really rude about my empathy for and interest in our junior generation, or lack thereof, but you know what? I don’t care. It’s fine.”

“You saved me,” Nie Huaisang said blankly, looking at Lan Xichen, who shrugged, abashed. The remains of the mechanical temple guard were scattered all over. “Over – him?”

“Huaisang –”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said, holding up his hands. “Don’t. Don’t…I don’t want to hear you talk.”

Lan Xichen’s head dropped down and he looked at the ground. “You knew from the beginning what I was like,” he murmured. “I never tried to hide it –”

“I forgive you for being what you are,” Nie Huaisang told him, and Lan Xichen looked up at him, startled and pleased. “I forgive you for not having the backbone to stand up against Jin Guangyao for me – or for da-ge. For being willfully blind for so long, for needing someone else’s proof of his ill-intentions, for always picking him first, for never trusting me…I forgive you, even if you’d never forgive me for the same.”

He dashed away the angry tears in his eyes.

“I just wish this wasn’t a fucking metaphor.”

Nie Huaisang left the fighting to the people who knew what to do – Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, even the rock-juniors – and went to the temple at the center of the city alone.

Some things, he knew, needed to be done alone, even if it was the type of alone when you were surrounded by other people. Even when those other people stood by his side and made him promise that if he needed them, he would only need to call. Some things…

“I want my da-ge back,” he said to the maze of stairs.

“Then go and find him,” Jin Guangyao replied, looking smug, and Nie Huaisang had to go up and down all those fucking stairs, because Jin Guangyao was nothing if not predictable with his trauma, looking all over, looking for –

Looking for pieces.

“It’s just a metaphor,” he whispered to himself, ignoring how tears were streaming down his face. “It’s just – I need to put him back together, it’s fine. I’m not too late – I’m not too late –”

Jin Guangyao held Nie Mingjue’s head in his hands, blinded and gagged and bound with talismans, pulled out of whatever oubliette he'd shoved it into to forget about what he'd done. “Beware, Huaisang,” he said, still smiling. Always smiling. “I’ve been generous up until now, but I can be cruel.”

Nie Huaisang laughed, scoffing. “Generous? What have you done for me that’s generous?”

“Everything! Everything you’ve wanted, I’ve done – I cared for you, I gave you attention, I got you out of work, doing your schoolwork for you and coming up with excuses to get you out of saber training. I gave you presents, fans and pretty clothing, and when that brute of a brother of yours tried to take them from you, I rescued you. And then I even managed your sect for you, answered all of your questions, any time you had – Huaisang, I’m exhausted trying to live up to your expectations of me. Isn’t that generous?”

Nie Huaisang bared his teeth. “Half of those are burdens that only fell on me because of you. Why should it matter to me that cleaning up your own mess and satisfying your own guilt is hard? Why should I pay such a price when all I wanted was to be your friend? When all da-ge wanted was to be your friend? How dare you, Meng Yao!”

“Huaisang…” Jin Guangyao shook his head mournfully. “Huaisang, the last step here is to say the words to break the spell. But you were never good at memorization, were you?”

Nie Huaisang bit his lip until he drew blood.

“Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered,” he said. “I have fought my way here to the temple beyond the goblin city –”

“Huaisang, stop! Look at what you’re risking here. You know how everyone loves me – do you think anyone will forgive you for taking me down, for tricking them all? You’ll be all alone!”

I already am, Nie Huaisang thought.

“My will is as strong as yours,” he said. “And my kingdom is as great…”

His voice trailed off.

“I ask for so little,” Jin Guangyao said beseechingly, convincingly, looking just like he always did, like the man who'd been their friend. “Just let me fool you, and you can have anything you want. No responsibilities, no stress, a life of your own. You can even have Lan Xichen, if that’s what you want…”

What’s the last line, Nie Huaisang thought, hating himself for being such a poor student, for cramming things into his mind without any order, for never being able to retain a single drop of it no matter how hard he tried. What is it? Why can’t I ever remember?

“It’d be so easy,” Jin Guangyao crooned. “Much easier than this. Just fear me, love me, believe me, and I’ll be your slave.”

Sharp teeth in a false smile.

Nie Huaisang shook in terror. He couldn’t – his da-ge needed him – he couldn’t be afraid, couldn’t be a coward, couldn’t be good-for-nothing – couldn’t let Jin Guangyao win – couldn’t let him –

That was it.

Nie Huaisang raised his head until his eyes met his enemy’s.

Sensing something wrong, Jin Guangyao��s eternal smile dimmed, and he began to step forward, reaching out, but it was too late.

“You have no power over me,” Nie Huaisang declared, and the world within a world collapsed.

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes.

Nie Huaisang sat in his desk in the Unclean Realm, trying to amuse himself by trying to figure out what exactly he’d eaten the night before that had given him such bizarre dreams. It was not successful, on account of him being alone.

Alone, just as he had been every night, and every day as well, since the success of his scheme at the Guanyin Temple.

Just as the dream-Jin Guangyao had threatened.

It wasn’t that Nie Huaisang regretted what he had done – the dream was clear enough about that; he’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to. But in the dream he’d been working alongside his former friends, with Lan Xichen betraying but then returning to him, with Wei Wuxian dragging Lan Wangji around, with stone-faced Jiang Cheng and the rather interchangeable junior squad behind him…and in his dream, in the end, they’d let him go to take his revenge, telling him that if he needed them for any reason, he could just call.

Just call, and they’d come back to him. Instead of turning from him in disgust, they’d stand by his side…

“Stupid subconscious,” Nie Huaisang mumbled to himself. “What do you expect? That I'd write to them and say ‘for no real reason at all, I find that I rather need you’?”

Silence answered him.

“Well, I do,” he said with a sigh, putting his chin on his hands. “Does that make you happy? I do need you.”

“You do?” Wei Wuxian’s voice rang out, and Nie Huaisang jumped nearly out of his skin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Nie Huaisang turned, staring: it was Wei Wuxian at the door, the human version of him, and of course there was Lan Wangji right before him, and Jiang Cheng, and the (still mostly interchangeable) juniors, and – and even Lan Xichen, who Nie Huaisang was sure had gone into seclusion with no intent to leave.

“What are you doing here?” Nie Huaisang squeaked. And why hadn’t any of his sect disciples warned him?

“We just bullied our way though the door before anyone could stop us,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, answering the unspoken question first. “As for the rest – it turns out that I had the strangest dream the other night, really, truly bizarre, and obviously I had to tell Lan Zhan all about it, except it turned out he had a strange dream too.”

Nie Huaisang’s jaw dropped. “But –”

“I felt da-ge’s qi woven into the labyrinth,” Lan Xichen said quietly. “I thought it’d have long ago dissipated or been locked away, but – it was there, in every stone, in every turn. Every obstacle that didn’t really hurt you, every goblin that was more silly than scary…he was there. It was unmistakable.”

Nie Huaisang swallowed. The story of the labyrinth, baby-stealing wish-granting goblin king and all, had been one that Nie Mingjue had told him as a bedtime story, when he'd been a child in need of comfort; he hadn’t thought of it in years before last night. “But…why…?”

“Because Chifeng-zun has a demented sense of humor?” Jiang Cheng suggested, looking irritated.

“Jiujiu means that he hasn’t had that much fun in years, and also that you should throw a party,” Jin Ling said. “You are hosting all three of the sect leaders of all the other Great Sects. Also, why were we rocks?”

“Uh, no idea,” Nie Huaisang said. “Da-ge’s weird sense of humor, no doubt! Anyway, did you say party? I can do a party!”

He rushed out of the room, calling for his servants, calling for them to bring food and wine and tea, and as he did, he looked out of the window – a golden bird was flying away, looking hunted as if something was chasing it, and even as he watched, it crossed the borders of the Unclean Realm and suddenly dissolved into a fizzle of golden dust.

Nie Huaisang put his hand on the stone wall, and felt a familiar echo.

A very familiar echo.

“Oh,” he said, to his servants, feeling somehow simultaneously sheepish and filled with joy. “And while you’re at it, can you bring me my saber? I seem to have – misplaced it…”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #lan xichen #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #su she #sect leader yao #sect leader ouyang #xiao xingchen #xue yang #my fic #my fics #labyrinth

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missblissy · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Love your work so much! Can i have some Human! Alastor x reader College Au?

It can be how you be more comfortable writing, Professor Alastor or both students. Thank you! :))

(( >W> Professor!Alastor X Student!Reader coming right up I know you dirty little dogs want it so I am here to fucking deliver! I hope you enjoy!!))

It was the first day of classes, and you had just moved up north to this quaint little college town. You lived on campus, however, and you were lucky to have no roommates. The day was long and it felt like it would never end. But thankfully you had made it to your last class. It was Modern English and Linguistics 101, and you were most excited for this class, seeing as English was your favorite topic in high school.

You had made it there early and made sure to get a seat somewhere upfront. You made it a note to sit up front in classes you'd like. You didn't want to be tempted to daydream out the window when you should be focusing on the course material. Slowly, one by one, the seats started to fill up. Of course, there were a few empty ones here and there. People chatted quietly, wasting the time as you all waited for the professor. The minutes ticked by and soon you felt like you might have been in the wrong room. Other people started to get the same idea when suddenly the door swung open and shut with a quick slam.

He was frazzled and seemed like he knew he was late. His hair was messy, untamed, and honestly just shy of being called bedhead. With an arm full of messy stacks of paper, he slammed them down on his podium in the front of class then turned to the chalkboard behind him. Everyone watched silently as this mess of a man wrote the most perfect of cursive on the board.

𝒟𝓇. 𝒜𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉ℴ𝓇 𝒩𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒾𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓈 ℒ𝒶ℱ𝓁ℯ𝓊𝓇 || ℳℴ𝒹ℯ𝓇𝓃 ℰ𝓃ℊ𝓁𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℒ𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓊𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓈

He turned and faced the class, giving a big smile, and said, "Welcome, everyone! This will most certainly be one of the most difficult classes you will take your freshman year here! More than half of you will disappear by the fifth week. Now, who's ready?" Oh boy...

He wasn't lying. Your professor insisted on people referring to him as Dr. LaFleur. And if a student ever slipped and said Mr. or Professor, he'd quickly remind them of his title. He was also hard on his students, constantly doing pop quizzes once a week. There was also a formal test every Monday that reviewed the weekend homework. Homework came every single day and every single day one less student showed up.

It had eventually gotten down to the point where there were only nine students left. That was only week five of the semester, just like Dr. LaFleur said. After that, the class got much more... personal. In a way that Dr. LaFleur had group discussions, open-minded lectures, and joked and teased every student, including you. You realized you were quickly his favorite student to pick on. Maybe it was because you were the only one taking his class so seriously, or maybe it was because you liked to challenge him in the class debates he often had.

Regardless, you found yourself enjoying the extra attention from him. You were edger to raise your hand first and impress him with your devotion to the classwork. There was a day there when Dr. LaFleur asked you to stay after class. He wanted to chat with you about today's lecture.

Was it bad that you were nervous? You waited by the door while he'll cleaned the chalk writing from the board. Once the last student left he gave you a side glance with a smile, "You're argument about dialect and accents was very compelling today, (Y/n)." You gave him a smile back and even felt yourself blush a little at the compliment. With a nervous little laugh you shrugged your shoulders and said, "I just think what you said was true. If two people can completely understand a language between each other and communicate it- then it's a real language. Calling it an accent is degrading to the people who speak it." And that opened up the rest of your conversations with him.

It got to a point where he didn't have to ask you to wait after class anymore. You just knew to do it, and you'd spend that time, no matter how little it was, with him talking about any number of things. One day he surprised you, however. You were talking about the differences between modern and old English, "I really think it's interesting stuff, especially the way you teach it, Dr. LaFleur."

"Alastor," He said, while looking between you and a paper he was grading. You looked at him, stunned, with a pink hue over your cheeks, "What...?" Was all you could say. He chuckled and tipped his head slightly, as he did that his glasses slid down his nose, "You can call me Alastor," He said, "It's a privilege saved for my best students." He pushed his glasses back up and gave you a look, a different one than he normally did. It was accompanied by a devilish smirk and dark look in his eyes that lead you to believe he was thinking other things.

From that day on you did just that, Alastor however reminded you not to call him by his name while in class. And your out-of-class visits with him got longer and started dipping into the realm of other places. You'd walk with him to his office sometimes, and stay there and chat. Other times you'd go to the food court together. You even found yourself visiting before class, between other classes, and finding any reason to stop by his office. You had to admit, you had quite the little crush on him. He made you blush with his devilish smirk, and the small but subtle flirting he did. He'd give you these looks, laugh to himself than say it was nothing. You'd catch him staring at you, or looking you up and down. The attention was certainly welcomed and you found yourself doing anything to catch his eye.

It finally got to the point where it was obvious what was going on between you too. In class, you'd give him big doe eyes, bite the end of your pencil, and make sure to give him little grins every once in a while. You'd raise your brows, egg him on with a look, and act koi, like it, never happened. It drove him crazy. One day you finally pushed the wrong button. You had gotten up from your seat to sharpen your pencil, but as you did, you walked past Alastor in such a way that you brushed against him, and no cared to notice, besides him of course.

By the time the last student left, Alastor was quickly blocking the door so you couldn't leave. He pointed a finger at you while shaking his head, a sinister little laugh left his throat, "Ahaha... You think you're slick?" He asked. You shrugged at him and looked away, "I don't know what you're talking about," You played dumb. He laughed again and tsked his tongue, "Tch," He took a step closer but you stood your grown, "You think you can play with me like this? In class?"

You smiled up at him, he was taller than you by a few inches, "What'd you gonna do about it?" You watched his brow twitch and his forced smile falter. He looked behind him, out the window on the door then quickly turned back to you. You didn't have time to react, he grabbed you by your arms and pulled you to him. He got inches away from your face, a dark look filled his eyes. As he spoke, his lips brushed against yours, "You're too good for this," His words were low and rumbled from his chest, "But dammit, I can play games too." He licked his lips then dared to let his tongue flick against your own lips. He teased you, daring you to do something, anything. You gave in and kissed him quickly, falling loosely into his arms as his grip on you tightened. It felt like you were there for years, taking in every taste and every kiss as if it could have been your last.

Alastor broke free from your kiss with a heavy sigh. A low chuckle escaped his chest as he let you go. You were slightly dazed, hanging in the afterglow of what had just happened. He grabbed his things and put them away in his briefcase. He clicked it shut and as he walked past you, he leaned in close. His breath traveled down your neck as he whispered in your ear, "See you tomorrow, my dear."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hotel #hh #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor / you #professor!alastor #Human!alastor #alastor x human!reader #college!au #anon #nonny #ask #headcanons #long

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ghoulciifer · 4 years

Note

okay I just saw your head canons for itty bitty titties with suna and atsumu but what abt suna, atsumu, tendō and Bokuto (if u can but if you just want to do suna and Tsumu that’s ok 😚) w a s/o who has like DD cups? I’m lowkey embarrassed to wear tight shirts bc I feel like everyone looks at me ☹️ (Ik they aren’t too big but I feel like everyone stares at me all the time 😞)

hc: atsumu, suna, and bokuto with a big chested s/o

tags: nsfw, reader has big boobies

notes: baby 🥺 i’m so sorry to hear that you’re embarrassed by that, but your feelings are completely valid!! though i personally don’t have that issue i can tell you that you’re beautiful no matter what and if people stare then that just shows their character, not yours. your body ≠ your personality. i hope i did you both justice with these, so if not just reach out and lemme know! ❥

» ma’am you would make this man SO happy

» not that your chest is all he’d value about you, ofc, he’ll be the most attracted to your personality and ability to laugh at his dumb jokes when no one else will, THAT’S the first thing he notices ab you

» you just... appeal to his horny side incredibly well

» he never comments on them though. drinks his respect women juice and doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, ever

» until you express how insecure you are about your titties and he’s BAFFLED

» bc in his man brain he’s like ?? how could you NOT be confident with boobs as perfect as yours ??

» but eventually he understands that you think they’re a bit on the bigger side, it’s just he genuinely thinks it’s just more for him to handle/love so why worry ab what other people think?

» when it gets especially hard he never fails to tuck your head under his chin with a hand massaging between your shoulder blades, comforting you with both his touch and his words

» “I think yer beautiful, Y/N. No matter what.”

» WILL fight anyone who stares at your chest

» yk that tiktok with the guy barking at anyone who tries to take his girl friend’s drink from him? that’s atsumu but w dudes who ogle at your chest

» he knows you feel objectified from it and ain’t no one makin’ his baby feel bad

» like the small titty gang, he’ll praise them in the bedroom to no end, like will have his hands on them constantly and loves the way they look when the flesh pokes out between his digits

» even though he understands the necessity of a bra (uh back pain), he always loves the few times you do let the girls free, especially if you’re in one of his shirts/jerseys - like, he WILL jump your bones

» but yea, over all, atsumu’s an understanding dork of a boyfriend who never fails to make you feel comfortable in your own skin, regardless of chest size

» much like the small chested hc, he couldn’t care less what size your titties are

» but does he find them attractive? absolutely, much like the rest of you

» probably isn’t as in tune with your emotions as atsumu or bokuto are so you’ll definitely have to tell him you aren’t feeling yourself, he might pick up on it eventually but it’ll be much later

» just wants you to be open about it so he can help his girl asap

» he’ll probably wrap his arms around you from behind and bury his face into the crook of your neck so he can whisper all the things you need to hear, for your ears only

» “C’mon, Y/N, you’re gorgeous... don’t let something like that keep you from seeing what I see.”

» he understands how people’s stares make you feel bc he’s aware of how shitty most dudes treat women, so instead of barking like atsumu he’ll just stand around you or turn you away from whoever’s makin’ googly eyes at you

» doesn’t stop him from giving said perpetrator a heart-stopping death glare tho

» again, suna’s heavy with degradation in the bedroom, but will never aim it at your insecurities, instead he’ll save those comments for praising you

» and his favorite way of doing that is keeping his mouth latched onto each breast, leaving love bites n’ bruises between each swirl of his tongue around your nipples

» suna doesn’t really care what you wear because, hello, you look hot asf in everything BUT he would kill a man to see you in a crop top whenever possible tasteful underboob

» overall, very supportive boyfriend, you just gotta tell him when you’re feeling less confident so he can fulfill his good boyfie duties of reminding you he loves you no matter how big ya titties are

» this boy is SO PRECIOUS

» will make you feel like a queen the second you express even the slightest insecurity about your chest size

» much like atsumu he’ll be confused because in his eyes, you’re a literal angel who excels in perfection with beautiful tits, holy shit

» but he knows what it’s like to be insecure! so you bet your sweet ass he’s going to go above and beyond to make you feel better, even if you don’t outwardly express you’re upset

» will fold you up into a little ball and just hold you in his lap, caging you with his arms and legs, kissing your hair, forehead, cheeks, nose, etc.

» and will be gushing with praises in between each little peck, i mean he is spewing straight honey from his mouth the whole time

» “Baby, you’re so perfect, how could you even say that? I think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Y/N, and I love you so, so, so much.”

» you might have a few cavities from how fuckin sweet this man is

» very much like atsumu, he will attempt to confront anyone who’s blatantly staring at you and your chest, very much like a feral dog BUT will stop the minute you tell him not to

» then proceeds to shield you like suna, but doesn’t even give the asshole the time of day because his baby is more important :)

» bo is a soft daddy dom and is heavy on the praise, so expect lots of comments about how perfectly your tits bounce while riding his cock or how beautiful they look covered in his cum

» he loves smushing his face between your breasts, pls suffocate him with them i’m so sorry

» as loving and soft as he is with you outside of the bedroom, if you wear anything that shows even the slightest bit of cleavage he WILL go nuts, so, do with that what you will

» bokuto just loves you for you, he values your heart before your body so as long as you keep loving this lil’ airhead back, you’ll be just fine

#nishiikun.headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu headcanons #atsumu miya headcanons #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #rintaro suna x reader #suna headcanons #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #bokuto headcanons

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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

Text

Say Love [one shot]

Summary: You and Bucky are at a stand-still in your relationship, all because neither of you can say three little words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, a smidge of angst, the rest is fluff.

Notes: So this is a fun fic, but it’s also a very real fic. I know I’ve had that should-I-shouldn’t-I when it comes to saying the L word in a relationship, so this is for anyone that’s had that struggle. Enjoy & let me know what you think! x

P.S. - it’s also a birthday present to @captain-kelli aka MY WIFE 💕

It’s palpable, the tension. A smothering, suffocating heavy cloud stretching between the two of you, and you almost wonder how you got here, to this hurdle in your relationship.

It builds like an avalanche - a tiny, harmless snowball that’s picked up speed as it rolls, rolls, rolls, until it’s so big you can’t be in the same room as him without feeling like you’re walking on eggshells.

Even now, on a night meant for the two of you, you feel distanced from him - despite sitting beside each other on the couch. You’re pressed up against his side, It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the screen - a favorite of Bucky’s. It’s supposed to be a bonding time for you, but you’ve never felt so far away from him.

His arm is around you, but it’s stiff, and where his fingers would normally dance across your skin, raise goosebumps in their wake, now they’re still, limp. Careless.

And despite the movie being a favorite, he looks utterly bored when you peek up at him from under your lashes. Eyes vacant, fingers of his vibranium hand holding up his head, teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

You wonder if he feels it too, this mountain that’s suddenly erected between you.

You’ve been dating eight months - is he bored with you already? Disinterested? “Just not feeling it anymore”? Is he too afraid of hurting you, and it’s why he hasn’t said anything yet? Is he waiting for you to get fed up and leave?

Because you won’t, you can’t. Despite this emotional gap between you, you feel a connection to him you haven’t felt before. He’s level-headed where you can be chaotic - being an Avenger is probably to thank for that - and he’s soft spoken despite his large, often gruff exterior.

He’s a perfect counterbalance to who you are - how could you not fall in love with him almost as soon as you met him?

Part of you believes that if Bucky didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t. He’s sure of himself, thanks to the hard work he’s done for himself since being officially recruited as an Avenger. He’d told you a little of how difficult it had been - in the 30s and 40s, people didn’t openly talk about their struggles, least of all with a psychologist; they just lived with them.

It only made you fall for him even harder, for the sheer strength he has and the determination to come to grips with what’s happened to him.

But it seems those feelings are one-sided, and the revelation sits like lead in your stomach. With pressure building behind your eyes, you fake a yawn.

“I think I should go,” you mutter, thankful that your voice doesn’t crack. Bucky turns his eyes to you, wide and - is that disappointment?

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll call you a cab?”

You stand up with a shake of your head. “Not necessary, I’ll get an Uber on my way down.”

He walks you to the elevator, hands in his pockets and feeling awkward. The kiss you share is quick, chaste, and stiff, much like the rest of your evening tonight. When you turn your back to him to enter the elevator, your chin wobbles.

Bucky stands in the hallway for a while after you’ve gone, his thoughts running away from him. He can’t be the only one between you who felt that distance, could he?

Have you changed your mind about him? Realized the former Winter Soldier isn’t who you want to give your heart to? Perhaps all the atrocities he’s committed are truly too much for you to handle.

He couldn’t blame you if they were and yet... You own his entire being, body and soul. If you were to leave him, a large part of him would go with you, a piece he isn’t sure he’d be able to get back.

He knows you noticed his demeanor tonight, the way he hid behind himself in an effort of self-preservation. He nearly made himself bleed from biting his tongue so hard to keep three words he didn’t think he’d ever say from slipping out. He didn’t want to scare you, to make you run off,

but it seems he managed to do that anyways.

Bucky leans forward, bonks his head on the elevator once, twice, three times before a door opening behind him makes him pause.

“Are you done brooding yet?”

Bucky’s shoulders drop, in no mood for Sam’s ribbing. The man teases out of love and respect - it’s just how their relationship is - but tonight, he can’t bring himself to return the dig. He turns away from the elevator, shoulders up to his ears and hands still in his pockets.

Sam’s face changes when he takes in Bucky’s posture, and he sighs, leaning up against the frame of his door.

“What’s up, Tin Man?” he prods gently.

Bucky’s eyes find a place just over Sam’s shoulder, torn between opening up to Sam about the turn his relationship has taken and remaining silent, attempt to sort through it himself.

A helpless look at Sam, and the dark-skinned man opens the door wider, turning to the side to allow Bucky entrance.

“Talk to me, man. You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Sam offers Bucky a seat on his couch, an expensive, black leather that feels as cushy as a cloud. The man leans back, crosses his arms over his chest. The black metal of his arm catches the low lighting in Sam’s room, turns the gold bronze.

“I think she’s going to break up with me,” he starts, and before he knows it he’s spilling all of his insecurities to Sam. The other man listens patiently, cocking his head curiously at some parts and pursing his lips for others.

Bucky half-expects the man to jab at him - joke about how she finally realized what a mess he is - but to his surprise (and relief; he has enough self-hatred for both of them), Sam nods sagely and looks almost empathetic. It would throw Bucky for a loop, if he and Sam haven’t come to some middle ground.

Steve would be so proud of them.

“Then she’s not worth it, Buck,” comes Sam’s response almost immediately after Bucky’s finished. The brunet’s eyes go wide. “If she can’t handle you as you are, if that’s too much for her, then it isn’t worth it. I like her, man, but I like you a lot better, and you deserve somebody who’s going to take your baggage, embrace it, accept it, and help make you better for it. And you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.”

Bucky wants to argue, say that you are absolutely worth it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows Sam is right, acknowledges that yes, he has more baggage than most, but also that he does deserve someone who’ll accept him regardless of it.

But haven’t you? Eight months in and Bucky had been sure you’d accepted him for who he had been, not just who he is now. But perhaps you’d changed your mind. Perhaps you’d thought long and hard over it and realized a broken soldier wasn’t who you wanted at all.

He couldn’t blame you, but it still hurts to think about.

“I think you need to talk to her,” Sam continues, watching the emotions play out over Bucky’s face - shock, sadness, realization, and finally, utter heartbreak. Sam feels no pleasure whatsoever in telling Bucky this, but he’s never one to beat around the bush. His years as a VA counselor wouldn’t let him.

“Talk to her, and find out where her head��s at. It’s the only way you’re going to know.”

You don’t talk to Bucky for two weeks. After leaving the Avengers compound, you thought it best to distance yourself, prepare your heart for the eventuality that Bucky would break it off. But it’s even worse that he doesn’t contact you at all, and you begin to resent it.

Bitterness ekes into everything you say and do, your very being so clouded by resentment you’re not even sure who you are anymore. You don’t recognize yourself or the cynicism your attitude seems to have adopted.

You hate it.

In a whirlwind of anger, resentment, and self-loathing, you drive to the compound. Flash the card Bucky had given you for access whenever he didn’t come pick you up himself. The gate rolls open, and your heart pounds with the notion that this might be the last time you'll ever see it.

You take the elevator up to Bucky’s floor, hands twisting together as you sort through every thought you’ve had in the past two weeks. Doing so reignites your anger, puts a scowl on your face that could curdle milk.

Bucky’s surprised to see you - even more so to see that look on your face - when he opens his door after you’ve slammed your fist against it.

“What the fuck is going on, Bucky?” you demand, and he winces, steps aside and waves you in so that the two of you don’t draw attention.

His shoulders hunch, hands sliding into his pockets - a clear sign that he’s feeling out of his element and is trying to make himself very, very small. In the space of his bedroom, your anger cools a little, fond memories of time spent in the space taking you over.

“Are we over?” you ask, outright, and Bucky’s head snaps up in alarm. “I mean, did I miss any hints you might’ve been dropping? Am I just making a fool of myself by being here, trying to fix this?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, rendered speechless and dumb by your questioning. It isn’t what he’d been expecting, and it’s caught him off guard.

“I- what?” He shakes his head as your eyes turn sad and manages to connect his brain to his mouth. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Eyes going steely, you straighten your shoulders. “Well, considering you acted like you’d rather have been anywhere else but with me the last time we saw each other, paired with the fact I haven’t heard from you in two weeks? What am I supposed to think?”

He laughs shortly, incredulous, until your eyes flare up in anger again, and he reins it in, but only just. He just can’t believe what he’s hearing from you, how all this time he thought you were bored of him - or scared. Either way, the relief warming his chest keeps the smile on his face.

Your posture is rigid and you move to take a step back as he closes the distance, but his arms wrap around you and tug you into his chest. The kiss he lays on you is firm but warm, an outpouring of emotion that slowly destroys the wall you’ve erected just to face him.

His hands are warm, even the metal appendage, where he grasps your face to keep you close to him. He sighs when your arms wrap around his waist, hands gliding up to his shoulders to grasp his shirt, and he swallows the little whimper you let loose.

Until he tastes the salt on your lips and he pulls away.

Your eyes are glassy, tears leaking from the corners to slide glistening tracks down your cheeks. His thumbs brush them away as he smiles softly.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he coos. He kisses you again before looking you in the eye. He wants to make sure you know he means every word. “I’m sorry I was a little emotionally constipated. I- I felt it, too, that weird air the last time you were here, and I thought you - I thought you had changed your mind about me, about us, and that you were just too shy to say anything. So I gave you your space even though it nearly killed me to do it. I thought it was what you wanted, but clearly I was wrong.”

Bottom lip trembling, you sniffle and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “No, I... I could have called. I know you felt a little off that night, too. I was just. I didn’t know how much I could push, if you even wanted that conversation at all. I guess I just thought it was your way of saying you were done with me.”

He chuckles, deep and reverberating, and he shakes his head. “Never gonna happen. I love you too much.”

He enjoys the change on your face - the surprise and then the utter elation - and he grins like the cat that ate the canary.

“You what?”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’d been so scared to say it before, not when you’re looking at him like he’s the center of your universe.

“I love you,” he repeats, punctuating it with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And I should’ve said it sooner, especially if you were having doubts.”

He’s entranced by the way you chew your lip thoughtfully, shrug a shoulder shyly. “I could’ve said it, too. I love you, Bucky.”

The smile that breaks upon his face is blinding, radiant. This man was born to smile like this all the time. And he’s mine, you think. He’s all mine.

You giggle, tuck your face into his neck as you shake your head. Still grinning, he holds you tight, chuckles in kind when you say, “We’re idiots.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “But idiots in love.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst

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big-chicken-man · 3 years

Text

Drabble - Alone

What the hell was it about stormy nights that made Steelbeak so pensive? Was it the ambience? Maybe it was the allegory of how rough his life was. Regardless, he couldn’t find it in him to despise such weather until it slapped him with inconvenience. Tonight wasn’t busy, so the rain wasn’t a problem. The rooster sat by his lonesome in his favorite cafe, a cup of cocoa to compliment the establishment’s warmth. Steelbeak was glad he was the last patron remaining.

Solitude was something he was used to in all senses of the word. He grew to associate it with bittersweetness. It sheltered him from the noise of everyday life, but it also reminded him of how he had no one anymore, not since the fiasco at the lost library. Then again, did he truly have anyone back in FOWL either? If he wasn’t being commanded, he was either muzzled like a dog, or berated from those around him. Whether the insults came from an Egghead or high command, they pricked at him like incessant fire ants. That was the thing: despite his higher status in FOWL, even the lowly footsoldier didn’t see him the way he saw himself. He was a thug, a brute. He was stupid…

Steelbeak cringed from how bitter his cocoa suddenly became.

Stupid…stupid…the word bounced around in his head, adopted by a cacophony of voices familiar and distant. He hated it. Just what made him stupid anyway? Sure, he had a different way of going about things, but that didn’t mean he was worthless. He had value! At least, that’s what he tried to prove. The one time he had to be a threat, it was during his worst day at FOWL, and it lead to failure through some deus ex machina. Steelbeak swore that he had something to bring to the table. He too could be extraordinary. Another chance presented itself to him at the library, and he was so damn close. He took down Gizmoduck, Darkwing, and Launchpad, all while employing the use of the Intelli-ray. Hell, he fended himself against a robot kid and a marksman!

But even then, he had no choice but to run away, thanks to another, yet literal, ex machina. He became Steelbrain, but that still wasn’t enough. Just what made them so special anyway? What made them all so smart and Steelbeak dumb?

Sure, Bradford had the intellect to run FOWL. Then there was Heron who tweaked the Third-Eye Diamond, and that took a genius and a half. Phantom Blot knew how magic worked, Gandra used FOWL’s servers to create a virtual reality, and John found a way to cheat death…

Steelbeak’s frown deepened. Well, what about the McDucks? They couldn’t be that special or smart, right?

Scrooge was the richest man in the world. Huey was a genius, Louie was too clever, Dewey had the guts of a champion, and they weren’t even sixteen yet. Fenton was a genius, Gyro was also a genius, and Ludwig was the most genius of them all. Darkwing could take a hit like no one’s business, and Della learned rocket science just to get back to Earth. Then ,that one girl who possessed magic, and then Webby and Bentina, they defeated Heron in the past. Launchpad? He just…had a bunch of astonishing people to love and support him.

And here was Steelbeak, just some big guy with a metal beak, surrounded by textbook geniuses and the generously gifted. The only thing leftover from FOWL was his dirty money.

At least his mind was clearer and sharper because of the Intelli-Ray. Hey, that meant no one could call him stupid anymore: he possessed remarkable street smarts and book smarts now. But now, everyone that he could’ve proven his worth and intelligence to are gone. As for the McDucks, well, he was smart enough to steer clear of an obvious minefield.

“Everything okay over here?” A sweet voice asked, ending the glaring contest Steelbeak had with his reflection. He turned to the waitress with a worn grin.

“Yeah, ‘smatter of fact, here.”

As Steelbeak stood up, he reached into his wallet to retrieve his payment for the cocoa. The waitress’s eyes widened when the rooster placed a fifty in her hand and began to walk away, his umbrella in tow.

“But—“

“Keep it.” Steelbeak dismissed with a wave of the hand and a glance to the lady. She looked like a deer in headlights, but a wide smile soon crept on her face as she placed it into her pocket.

“I…Wow! Thank you, so much.”

The bell rung as Steelbeak opened the door, the hiss of heavy rain disturbing the tranquility of the cafe. He paused in the doorway to open his umbrella, and nod toward the waitress. Steelbeak stepped into the rain under the shield above him, rendering the cafe devoid of customers.

Maybe a good night's sleep would help him feel better.

#Drabble #Based on DT17's Finale #Tried to make it follow canon as closely as possible

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pallasperilous · 3 years

Text

Piledriver

Dean/Castiel 1815 words Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair Coda, Fix-It (sort of), Grief is a weird and protean beast, Second Person POV, but also Dean POV, I realize what a tall order that is y’all but I swear it’s mad judicious {AO3 version}

You’re not really sure when you started doing it.

That’s a fucking lie.

You started doing it ten, maybe twenty minutes after.

Not as a conscious thing, not like those snappy comebacks you think of the next day, or like those speeches you practice in your head and then never get the chance to deliver. (Although it seems like other people have better luck in that regard.)

It’s more like a tic — like the way Sam used to pick at his hand, or your mom used to hum the same little bit of Stairway to Heaven offkey. (Which was kind of a trip since she’d come back from, you know. There.)

You think: I love you, too.

It’s just a drumbeat of syllables running in the back of your head. Might as well be shave and a haircut. Which you could use, incidentally.

It eases off a little, after the universe ticks over. You’re so fucking relieved that you basically revert to a lower life form for awhile — you’re like a jellyfish, or a fungus, or a Yankees fan. For a few minutes there, things are pretty sweet.

Then the clock starts running again, and you and Sam are faced with the frankly fucked-up necessity of needing a hot meal and somewhere to pee.

It kicks back in then — during the peeing, specifically, because goddamn did the dude never get over what a fucking nightmare it is to have a bladder. Like it actually made him mad. Even after he got his batteries back and was once more able to, like, effervesce fluids out of his body or teleport them to the surface of Mars or whatever, he never stopped giving you pitying looks whenever he got up to use the can. On the road he’d ask if anybody needed a bathroom break at every single freeway exit. You chewed him out once that you in fact were not a four year-old or an Alzheimer’s patient and could therefore hold it for more than twenty minutes at a time, and he looked at you with such bottomless patience and empathy that you could’ve thrown him out of the fucking car. I love you too.

Instead of a heartbeat, it’s like a piledriver hitting the ground ten feet away.

I love you too. It rattles your fucking thighs as you wash your hands in the gas station bathroom. None of the other dudes do because dudes are fucking disgusting. This attitude was maybe part of the problem.

I love you too. You come out and the car’s moved and you have a hot second of freakout, then you see Sam’s just pulled it away from the pump and parked in the lot and honest to God (go team!) you almost burst into tears. What the fuck.

I love you, too.

That night you do your absolute best to lobotomize yourself (not to obliterate yourself, which is a sign of progress and for which effort you absolutely deserve a round of applause from…somebody), but the piledriver just keeps on pounding away and you realize that it’s either piledrive or get piledriven. Sam’s asleep six feet away after his own inpatient procedure but you’re really fucking starting to panic so you say it out loud, anyway.

I love you, too.

And something gives, eases off like a gas bubble turning a corner in your gut, and you pass out.

So you lean into it. You make it your thing. You figure you can either be losing your mind, or practicing, so you choose practicing. You’re showing the powers that be that you’re keeping the faith. You’re holding a torch. You’re being the change you want to see in the world. You’ve talked to coma patients before and you’ve prayed to this asshole before and this isn’t any different. Isn’t it?

Washing the dishes: I love you, too.

Checking the oil: I love you, too.

Swinging a machete and hitting that sweet spot between vertebrae where the head just pops right off, like a Lego dude: I love you, too.

Pulling on socks: I love you, too.

Burning that fucking jacket: I love you, too.

Not out loud, or at least, not where anybody can hear you. That would be weird.

And you know, you know, that he doesn’t hear you, either. You know that, worst of all, he didn’t even need to hear it. You’ve heard a lot of shit about unconditional love, but it’s never had any goddamn appeal to you because, what? Somebody loves you the same no matter what fucked up shit you do, no matter how you feel about them?

That’s either (a) some seriously poisoned Kool-Aid or (b) so huge it’s useless, like giving somebody a galaxy for their birthday. You want unconditional love? Get a fucking dog.

I love you, too.

Lately you’ve been swapping in phrases that have the same rhythm or meter or whatever, so you can say them out loud without worrying anybody more than usual. The rain in Spain does some heavy lifting for a couple weeks, then ba-DUMP-bump, tissshh! followed by the king of beers for about half a particularly shitty afternoon and then closing out with you bet your ass, which is a much better fit for your lifestyle.

So fine, great. Life goes on. You were the subject of his unconditional cosmic love-boner whatever and getting that off his chest was all he needed to go happily fucking off into the abyss. And you’re still down here (up here? over here?), drinking coffee and hating Mondays. Awesome. I love you, too.

This is around when you discover the best match for both meter and tone yet, one so close that it doesn’t even feel like a placebo for the real phrase. It’s a whole different drug, actually. It makes you feel like a million bucks, it’s absolute rocket fuel. If the original is whiskey, this shit is meth. You turn a whole nest of ghouls into one big ghoul smoothie and then at the bar later somebody nervously informs you that you were yelling it out loud the whole damn time.

The phrase is: go fuck yourself.

You imagine it at night, lying in the empty bed, your pulse hammering in time: him standing there, one big cow-eyed khaki rumple, and you yell: Go fuck yourself. You asshole. You bastard. You smug piece of shit. Go fuck yourself. How many times have we done this, and every fucking time you find a way to make it worse. Go fuck yourself.

I love you, too.

After a few weeks it loses its edge. You kinda knew it would, having some experience with the limits of amphetamines and your own rage-juice glands. It downgrades from a battle-cry to a slur. At some point you realize you’re not even saying it to him anymore. You’re saying it to you. Go fuck yourself.

You try to imagine him saying it instead. Go fuck yourself, in that nutso Sam the Eagle voice that he must’ve gotten out of a box of Cracker Jacks, because it sure didn’t come complimentary with Jimmy Novak’s dry-ass mouth. Go fuck yourself, Dean.

Somehow it’s still the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to you.

So you go back to the OG version, and this time it feels like it settles in. You do whatever the psychological equivalent is of buying it a dog bed and a food dish and a leash, and you take it out for walkies whenever it starts to chew on the furniture. I love you, too.

You get so used to its presence that sometimes you even forget it’s there. You’re joking around with Sam, eating sandwiches at some picnic grounds on the way to Sioux Falls for a social visit, and you say some dumb thing to him, who knows about what. Sam rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disgust as required by the kid brother certification board and snorts “I love you, man,” in the way that means how are you even allowed to exist, and you answer “I love you, too,” in the way that means I love you, too.

Sam has seen a lot of wild shit, but the look on his face after that is a brand new one to you.

“Checkmate, asshole,” you say, in case he’s worried you’re gonna off yourself in the bathroom or something.

You do get to say it, eventually.

Like most things in life, it happens after you’ve totally given up, and then totally given up giving up, and have achieved the spiritual equivalent of that shrug emoji Claire sends you sometimes. When the phrase is well past thinking about, when the words don’t even carry any meaning anymore; they’re like the thought version of blinking, or swallowing. A background process, until something flies into your eyeball or you try to breathe a tortilla chip.

So the tortilla chip shows up one day. Don’t worry too much about the details here, just take it for granted that it either required a heroic effort of years that nearly broke you, or that he just showed up unsolicited on the porch like a copy of The Watchtower. Or maybe you’re both dead; seriously, who cares, because regardless — he’s there, and you’re there, and for awhile other people are there too, but eventually they go away.

And it’s him, and it’s you. And if you hadn’t absolutely digested this thing in advance, if you hadn’t broken each word down into its atomic particles and cut and pasted them into your DNA so that 45th century forensic anthropologists from Mars could extract it from a fragment of the the mummified marrow of your left ass-bone, you might’ve said something else.

You said: “I love you, too.”

You realize, in the moment after you say it, that you have reached the limits of your preparations. You’re a samurai with a single move; you’re the cannon in the 1812 Overture; your photo’s in the dictionary under one-trick pony and you’ve got frosted tips and you’re blinking.

You say it again, and then a third time, and a lot of times after that. You keep saying it, for years, in varying degrees of franticness and horniness and happiness and honestly still-fucking-angriness and whatever else is on special that week. You say it to his face and to his dick and to his back and to the mere concept of him well after he’s left the room, left the state, left the dimension. Eventually you stop bothering to say anything else to each other. There are maybe half a million words in your native language, according to Sam, who uses them all, and with everybody else you keep on using the two hundred or so you feel confident about.

But with Castiel, you make do with just the four.

I love you.

I love you, too.

#spn fanfiction #destiel #deancas #spn 15x18 #spn 15x19 #spn spoilers #pallas perilous fic #fixit fic #15x18 coda

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weregreatatcrime · 4 years

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CHAPTER 8 COMMENTARY ON KANJIBARA AU FIC find the first post with previous commentary here! Just wanted to keep it from getting too long. Took me a while to get this up but it's fiiine

Just a big ol list of the Little things I love about my fic and some commentary!

First let me fucking say in my fics, the characters write themselves. However NEITHER Draal nor Kanjigar wanted to let this fucking chapter be written. It was a fucking nightmare.

Draal thumps around a lot in the house mostly on purpose- he COULD be a lot quieter but he knows they prefer knowing where he is. Also, he IS very heavy. Wooden floors and stairs don't hold up well.

Barbara's already got Mama mode activated for Draal but starts out trying to avoid it lmao bcz she doesn't wanna overstep her bounds

Me throwing Toby getting bullied for being chubby and the fact that autistic Jim gets bullied for not understanding people at y'all like AYYY WHAT'S SUBTLETY

There's a very poignant, bitter feeling when you're put down by someone and you KNOW it's not fair, but you 1) are so USED to it you're tired of fighting it and 2) know that... you can't do anything to change it regardless. And I figure all of Barbara's sons know that feeling very well.

Don't worry human ears can't reach that far, Kanjigar didn't hear any of their conversation. Actually he probably should've just to get his ass together. But he couldn't, because he's got dumb people ears.

The BITTERNESS Draal feels knowing Kanjigar accepted the help of a historian and a pacifist over his warrior son.

I've mentioned it before but Barbara has RAPIDLY picked up on the trollish habit of physical touch and bopping people and tapping and shit

The fact that Barbara wants to slap Kanjigar but can't because he's still injured

Draal learning? That his view of the Trollhunter? Was wrong?? And toxic???

DRAAL LEARNING?? THAT HE WOULD DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO KEEP HIS FATHER AS THE TROLLHUNTER BECAUSE IT MEANS HE'S A LI V E??? ??

Barbara's been half blind through all of this bcz she didn't put her glasses on

Draal: he's a weak puny human!

Barbara:

Draal: Uh- sorry-

Barbara: no u have a point

Draal digs his claws and fingers into things when he's trying to think bcz he likes to Move when he's trying to think, but also him trying not to damage Barbara's house

Let people hug trolls not by hugging their big chests but by hugging their heads. It's great. It's perfect. It's perfect for nuzzling opportunities.

I tooooootally implied Barbara being into DnD and fantasy lore as a teen/college kid

"Nan-see?"

Btw when Kanjigar got forced into sandals imagine like, a dog being put in shoes for the first time

Also when he leaned in close to talk to Barbara she got. Very flustered. Bcz. She's at mantiddy height. Big. Him Big. Oh Big Man. UH- WAIT WE CAN'T BE HORNY FOR HIM WE'RE MAD AT HIM FOR BEING A SHIT DAD

Nobody remarked on Nancy keeping guns in her china cabinets

"What is... pie?"

Kanjigar is STILL suffering from concussion-ville and is STILL blurting things out that he doesn't want to and Barbara is TRYING to be professional and objective about all this but GODDAMNIT she's basically already adopted another son Kanjigar BE A RESPONSIBLE FATHER-

Barbara's a nerd and she and Blinky have talked enough about humans vs trolls that she understands they have VERY different like, mental/emotional needs. But she is very human! And humans mother hen! We're v strong pack animals yay. Regardless of whether or not Draal is human she's going to treat him like one as long as it isn't dangerous

"If only because otherwise I’ll have a mopey, pouty troll dragging himself around my house and damaging the drywall.”

👏Concussions👏 fuck 👏up 👏your👏 ability👏 to👏 do 👏basic👏 things👏 like👏 function👏 like 👏a👏 normal 👏person 👏

There's a GREAT many reasons I can see why Kanjigar would have excluded Draal from his life. Most are pretty flimsy, but a few strike pretty hard. I mean... would it hurt worse if your father was slaughtered in combat like every other Trollhunter before him, or if your estranged father who you haven't talked to in years died? His logic is a bit faulty but there's some points I could see as somewhat valid

(It's totally all three)

#my stuff #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #kanjibara au #draal the deadly #kanjigar the courageous #commentary #my writing

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scaredofthebasement-blog · 4 years

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When Love Walks In – Chpt 22

(Note: After a long break, where I literally broke my right dominant wrist, I’m back! Also, it took me a beat to come to terms with Auston’s behaviour over the summer. I see him as a human being who is flawed and learning like the rest of us. Just like the rest of us, he has life lessons to learn. These may be different from yours or mine, they depend on many factors including age, education, life experience and parenting. I trust he learned from this one and knowing better will do better. I also see and have witnessed first hand, the good he does for others who are less fortunate. I’m a big fan and wish him every good thing in life. I hope you enjoy the rest of this story in the chapters to come. I promise there is a huge love scene coming up in future chapters that will have you melting.

Enjoy...and Happy New Year!)

When Love Walks In – Chpt 22 Dr Quinn fantasizes about Auston. Auston is worried about Quinn’s reaction.

(1977 Words)

As Quinn speeds out of Auston’s room, she manages to spy a recently cleaned and vacated hospital room to tuck into to compose herself. The last thing she needs is for someone to see her upset and have questions. Quinn rushes into the suite’s washroom and locks the door. Trying to catch her breath, she leans back up against the washroom door.

Ever the responsible doctor, Quinn pulls out her cell phone to text the head nurse on duty:

I’ve suddenly fallen ill and had to leave the patient, Auston Matthews, alone. He’ll need someone to check on him immediately as he’s highly susceptible to choking.

The head nurse responds right away, wishing Quinn better, telling her that they’re on it and thanking her for the notification.

After reading the return text, Quinn lets out a breath and looks up catching her image in the washroom mirror. She notices that her face is flush, and sees a smile breaking slowly across her face. Quinn covers her mouth embarrassed by how giddy Auston’s touch has made her and the reality of her confliction hits her, as it did when Auston had wrapped her in his arms; she begins to systematically crumble, sliding down the door into a heap on the floor.

Quinn talks to herself as she tries to figure out what just happened:

Quinn, Quinn, Quinn… What the hell’s going on Girl?

I’m a doctor…and I’m HIS doctor.

He was just concerned about me, and he was trying to comfort me because I was upset.

But I kissed him on the forehead! What the hell?! Why did I do that?!

The poor guy. He must be so baffled by the message I just sent him. Not right Quinn! He’s your patient!

Plus, if anyone saw that exchange, it would be the end of my career! I can’t be messing around with the heads of patients! What doctor hugs and kisses a patient on the head? What doctor cries in frustration in front of a patient! Very unprofessional Quinn.

But no one saw, right? I’m almost certain no one saw. Whew!

But he saw! Auston saw! What if he tells someone that his doctor kissed him on the head? OMG! I’m done! I am so done! He’ll press charges. I deserve it. Maybe I’ll go to jail? So fucking dumb! I’m a dumb ass! I deserve whatever I get.

But I just got caught up in the moment. He took me off guard when he grabbed me. Damn! He shouldn’t have grabbed me! Yeah, it’s his fault for grabbing me!

I was upset by the conversation about Josh and the emotions it brought up. Yeah, I was upset because I’m missing Josh. He took advantage of my vulnerability. He’s an Asshole! HE should go to jail! Maybe I’ll press charges on him?

Who am I kidding, I’d never press charges on him. He’s too sweet and cute for jail. Besides all he did was try to comfort me.

It was when Auston was telling me what he wants in a relationship that made me upset. I realized then that I want to be in a relationship too. But I want a relationship with HIM! Holy Shit! I’m in love with Auston!

Before Quinn can stop herself, her mind escapes into a fantasy of what it could have looked like back in Auston’s room, if she were able to tell Auston that she was in love with him and if he loved her back. It excites her to imagine what that moment could have been, without rules and morals; if he loved her too:

I’m upset.

He pulls me into him.

He’s holding me tight. His head is buried in my stomach.

I’m in tears. I want him to be mine.

My arms slip around his broad shoulders and we lock in the embrace.

He feels me reciprocate and looks up at me with puppy dog eyes.

He whispers, “Lock the door.”

His words excite me.

“K,” I whisper back and pull away reluctantly.

Auston watches as I grab a pen and write a note, ‘Meeting in Progress. Do not disturb.’ I sign it and tape it to the outside of the door. I lock the door.

The lights are dim. I slowly make my way back to him as he waits. He excites me with his looks, his smile, his glance. He catches my eye to check that I’m okay with what is happening. He’s smiling waiting on the edge of his bed. When I am close, he reaches out for my hands and pulls me to him.

“Come here,” he begs.

His touch makes me tingle and feeling his body causes my heart to dance.

He asks tenderly, “Hey…Sweetheart. Why so sad? Don’t be sad. Let me hold you.”

I hear love with every word spoken.

As he stands to hold me he buries his face in my neck.

He whispers, breathing into my ear. “Quinn. You drive me crazy. I’ve fallen madly in love with you.”

I melt.

I whisper breathlessly in his ear:

“I”

“Love”

“You”

“Auston.”

On “Auston”, he spins me around and lifts me up to position me softly upon his bed. He climbs over me, like an animal on his prey and hovers his body above me with his hands resting next to my head. His soft, dreamy eyes gaze into mine. He is watching me adoringly but hesitating. I smile back shyly, looking from his eyes to his mouth. I bite my bottom lip and look away. He’s going for it. As I look back to his eyes he engulfs my mouth in his hot mouth. His tongue dives in search of mine. We devour each other.

Our hearts are soaring.

He breaks away, panting. He searches my eyes as if he’s looking for an answer. He breathes, “I’m so fucking in love with you. I want you so bad. All mine.”

“Buzz…”

Quinn, breathing heavy is startled by her phone. She checks it and sighs in disappointment. It’s not important and it cut her off just as her fantasy was heating up.

Back to reality, Quinn realizes that she has been falling in love with Auston over time. She wonders if Auston could have feelings for her but can’t imagine that a playboy, star athlete, such as him, would be interested in a woman like her. Besides, Quinn figures it would be safer for her to avoid a relationship with him, a self-described ‘player’; as he’d only break her heart. After losing Josh that’s the last thing she needs. But regardless of how he may feel and how she feels, she reminds herself again that a relationship with Auston is not even a consideration since she is his doctor.

Sadness overwhelms Quinn as she accepts the reality of her situation. She sobs quietly on the floor, wiping away the tears that pour down her face.

My love life sucks so huge! I fall for a guy who dies and then fall for a guy who is my patient. What the hell is wrong with me? What did I do in another life to deserve this? She sniffs.

I have so much more to do for him as well as other patients. I need to put this behind me and focus on healing patients. I’ll let things cool down overnight and straighten things out with Auston tomorrow.

Dr Quinn walks out of the room and finds her way out of the hospital unnoticed.

In a trance of disappointment and heartbreak, she drives back to her condo.

I didn’t even have a relationship with Auston and my heart is broken, yet again.

Entering in her bedroom, she slips off her clothes, gets into bed and prays sleep will give her a reprieve from her sadness.

Quinn falls asleep on a pillow full of tears.

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

All the while, Auston has sat numbly, staring at the door of his hospital room wishing for his heart to come back to him and fill the void that was made the moment he released Quinn’s hands to let her go. He is sure that when she pulled her hands from his that she pulled his heart from his body.

It seems like a lifetime before Nurse Jacqui jolts him from his trance.

“Auston? Are you okay? Why are you sitting on the side of the bed? Do you need to use the washroom?” Jacqui asks.

Auston shifts himself back into his bed. He grabs his whiteboard and writes, “No I’m fine. Just needed to move a bit. I need to sleep now.” He wants to be left alone with his thoughts and hopes she lets him.

“Sure. Do you need anything first? Do you want a drink? Something to eat?” Jacqui asks.

Auston writes, “Yes drink. No food. Thx.”

Jacqui refills Auston’s water bottle and hands it to him. He drinks it carefully trying not to choke. Auston passes the bottle back to Jacqui when he’s had enough. He knows he’s only allowed to drink or eat with supervision.

Auston tries to get comfortable, and Jacqui assists him where she can.

“Auston, I’ll sit over in my usual chair reading. You get some rest. I understand Dr Quinn had to leave as she’s not feeling well, but we will continue with your schedule as planned. Melanie will arrive at 530pm to give you dinner.” Jacqui tells him.

Auston nods as he lays his weary head back on his pillow.

Is Quinn okay? God, I hope she’s okay. I’d give anything to hold her now. Where is she? What is she thinking? Did I blow it? Auston worries.

Auston manages to fall asleep for a nap by clearing his mind through meditation.

Alex shows up at 5:30 pm and sees Auston is eating and Melanie is with him overseeing things. When he’s finished eating, Melanie leaves Alex and Auston in the room alone.

Auston grabs his writing board and writes as fast as he can:

“Dr Quinn left early.

Upset.

I got her talking about Josh.

Asked why she loved him so much.

She asked me if I was ever in love.

I told her no.

I told her I’ve been a ‘player’ out of necessity but after my accident I re-evaluated things and want to have a serious relationship.

She said she wants that for me too. I said I want that for her.

I asked her if she could see having that with Dr Peters.

She said time will tell.

That’s when she started to look sick.

I tried to get out of bed to go to her. She rushed over to me cause she thought I might fall.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her to me. I hugged her and she hugged me back.

Then she pulled away. Told me I’m wonderful but she can’t.

She said she felt sick and had to go home but promised to see me tomorrow.

She apologized. She kissed my forehead and then pulled away and left the room in tears.”

“Holy crap! Auston! I leave you for a few hours and damn, Auston! For a guy in a hospital bed your life sure is extra. You okay?” Alex gasps.

“No. I feel numb. It was heaven holding her and her hugging me back. I was devastated when she pulled away and left me. But I think she might like me. I think she was upset cause she’s conflicted because she’s my doctor.” He answers.

“Let’s hope so and not cause you groped her,” Alex wonders.

“Alex, she likes me. I know it. I could feel it. You had to be there Alex,” Auston insists.

“I guess we’ll have to see what she has to say tomorrow,” Alex reasons.

“Yeah. I’m really scared, Alex.”

“Me too Oz. Me too.”

#auston matthews #auston matthews fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #toronto maple leafs #leafs #love story #auston #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #nhl

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peepingtoad · 4 years

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Anonymous said: Assuming Jiraiya could have either survived his encounter with Pein or been brought back to life afterwards, how do you imagine his relationship with Tsunade and Orochimaru would have changed? Do you think Orochimaru's comment about them "never being on the same page" is correct? | headcanon asks | always accepting! |

I think first of all I’ve got to tackle the phrase ‘never being on the same page’.

Now, I can’t remember off the top of my head when Oro said this, but I don’t recall there ever being any explanation as to what was meant by it (or it probably would have been something that stuck with me more). Orochimaru is pretty cryptic at times, and their experiences in general are probably pretty unique, being the token gothy weirdo. Their ‘not on the same page’ could well hold a different meaning than if Jiraiya or Tsunade were to claim they ‘weren’t on the same page’.

Did Orochimaru mean that they were never on the same page as the other two because they always felt like an outcast regardless of their efforts? Did they mean they disagreed on things all the time or had opposing views? Did they mean they were never around at the right time to help each other out, or kept secrets from each other while doing their own things? Did they simply mean to say that their methods of handling difficulties and life in general were never the same?

It could mean one of those things, a few of them, all of them, or more than the above.

But say their comment was ‘correct’ in the most general sense... is that a bad thing? We see that Orochimaru later develops in a way that they come to appreciate the value of the sun-moon dynamic far more than they once had. It’s something they talk to Mistuki about a lot, and the subtext of urging him never to let go of his ‘sun’, while understated, speaks quite clearly to me of the fact that they would not have let go of their ‘sun’ quite so easily if given another chance. It’s subtle, but there’s certainly an acknowledgment that they may not have appreciated what they had until it was truly lost.

So I guess whether or not their comment is ‘correct’ doesn’t actually matter to me, given that it’s a very personal and subjective statement in the first place, and that it doesn’t necessarily link to how their relationships would change, in my eyes, given the chance post-war. Because it can mean good things and bad things either way. People are required to be different in order to meet a uniquely brilliant middle ground; the Sannin’s differences, along with the fact they still worked as a team long after they were required to, is pretty firm evidence of that--a bond forged of understanding each other and being harmonious despite their differences, that only really showed cracks when pushed to extremes by the first long term world war that ended up wiping out their whole generation.

At the end of the day, they were described as the type of friends who bickered and had blow-up arguments over disagreements, but we don’t actually get enough canon evidence to suggest it was over anything serious for the most part. And when it got serious, there were many external factors going on that provide a damn good reason for it, and that was where being on different pages had a negative impact. There doesn’t seem to have been much communication between them during that time, they started flying solo rather than sticking together--the fact that is truly when things began to fall apart really says a lot about how strong their friendship actually was, differences or not.

The real evidence that Jiraiya and Orochimaru, at least, may not have been doomed had he lived, is in this attitude they show later on--the conviction with which they impress the value of friendship, even if it is between two vastly different souls on different pages to each other, on their son.

Having said that, I do think it would be awkward at first, trying to repair the friendship. Jiraiya would possibly be a little tentative about jumping too whole-heartedly into the best friend dynamic they once had, even if he would probably have all the vibrating energy of a dog that really wants to grab that toy and go wild with it. Of course, navigating Orochimaru’s parole would come with its difficulties too--but perhaps that’s what would be needed to save their reconciliation from getting too intense, with more talking and fewer tempers flaring? Maybe it would be surprisingly chill anyway, since we see Orochimaru themself chilling out immensely in the post-war blank period? Of course, there’s always the consideration that they would be the one most capable of and inclined towards bringing him back at all. That’s where it gets into more ‘what if’ fanfic territory!

Honestly though, I’m a big fan of the notion of Jiraiya, having actually survived, becoming their parole officer and starting to mend the friendship that way, while sort of helping them learn to be a person again. Either that or Jiraiya being granted the most freedom to interact with them in general and perhaps ease them back into Konoha life to a degree. I think the biggest change in their relationship here would be actually being around for each other, properly and consistently, and perhaps showing a little more vulnerability to each other. Aside from the biggest change--that being that they aren’t outright enemies anymore, pff!

... But now, onto Tsunade!

Honestly, I think it does largely depend on her and what she’s comfortable with. She and Jiraiya have always comfortably inhabited the drinking buddies/best friends dynamic where they avoided speaking about anything too heavy. This definitely continued when they reunited in the main series after so long; it was incredible just how easily they fell back into it. Nothing was sorted out between them, but they defintiely seemed to be comforted by each other, which is nothing to sniff at in this world. And of course, feelings going unspoken was prevalent up until Jiraiya left for Ame, where even as he basically admits he does still love her it’s framed in a joking sort of way, with the whole ‘if I make it back’ gamble. Saying it and allowing himself some honesty in that moment without actually putting the onus on her to respond or share how she actually feels, because he knows her well enough to know that she has been avoiding love like the plague. It would have been shitty of him to rope her into the Hokage position then bother her with his dumb old feelings, right?

And I feel that’s how he would continue to be overall, if he survived or was brought back. He might have one serious moment where he does tell her that he still loves her and always will, but aside from that he’ll continue to be her close friend and nothing else, unless she happens to reveal that she reciprocates. There may be peace now, no imminent threat of death constantly looming over them and making the prospect of having nice things to lose terrifying, but Tsunade is still a seriously traumatised woman. Any changes would have to come as baby steps, even small changes like being less evasive of their feelings and regrets than they once were, much less moving into romantic territory.

I dunno, I of course think that the manner of their last conversation was set up as a ‘this has always been sort of an unspoken thing deep down’, and basically makes them a canon ship in my eyes (albeit an irregular one), but even with that being the case I think they’d be very much capable of remaining in that same sphere they always have done for a long time after the dust settles. Just because it’s damn scary to go through what they all have and then just go talking about it and uprooting all the feelings and thoughts of old.

As for Jiraiya himself... I think, by the time he fights Pein/Nagato, he does realise what a failing it was to try and go at everything alone. He didn’t involve Tsunade or Orochimaru in his dreams and goals, and frankly he paid for it in losing them both--even if there was so much more to them both leaving, he still feels like he could have stopped it by not being the first one to leave. So I think the biggest change overall would be in him making sure those two know how he appreciates them. How he needs them, to be honest. And I think that’s where it doesn’t really matter if they’re all on the same page, so long as they are actually bloody talking to each other and being the supports for each other that they once were. You don’t have to have the same stance on everything to at least work on it.

#{memoirs(headcanons)}#{bonds | character dev}#{long post}#sorry i had to be so vague with this haha #i felt like the orochimaru quote was trying to lead me to a conclusion to the first question #but in my eyes the questions weren't really relevant to each other anyway #different = good and healthy when there's communication #and that's the real issue with those three #they were strongest together #and when they weren't it all went to hell #also thanks to dokuhebi for discussing this with a work-enraged me about 12 or so hours ago :'D #anonymous #{fanmail}#{headcanons | all things sannin}

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randomoranges · 4 years

Text

Early Morning Sunrise

Early May 2020

Étienne sits out on the steps of the back porch and watches Mercury trot around the chickens. He keeps a watchful eye on her, in case she would want a snack, but so far, she seems more interested in playing with them. If anything, the chickens are good at clucking at her if she gets too close.

It’s peaceful, out here in the morning, even if it’s a bit chilly for his liking, but he has an extra sweater on and a blanket over his lap. He could have slept some more, but he’s still on his fucked up sleep schedule and the change in time zone only helped some.

Still, there’s something tranquil about the early morning sun that rises ever so and the sight of his dog chasing the chickens around. It could be worse, he thinks to himself.

He likes being outside – away from the heaviness of inside. It’s still – loaded, in a sense. Less so than before, but he feels every reminder of the oh-so-perfect-and-wonderful-relationship Edward and Calvin have thrown to his face at every corner he takes. It was the same thing last summer. At least now, he has something tentative and new with Edward. At least now, he knows where he stands with Edward. Sort of. At least now, he feels less like a stranger. But only barely.

It’s complicated, he tells himself.

He sighs and watches as Mercury sniffs around a flowerbed.

She was very excited about the chickens. First time she had ever seen chickens, really. Étienne had leashed her up as she went about introducing herself to them. In case. He knew how much Edward loved his chickens. Treated them like pseudo-children at times. He could only imagine how devastated Edward would be if he told him Mercury had made a light snack of them. Wouldn’t really bode well for their little new relationship.

Mercury, thankfully, had been more interested in making new friends. The chickens had tolerated her. Somewhat.

Now, they’re used to her, but Étienne keeps watch and takes pictures he sends to Edward, until Edward responds some time later when he wakes up. He supposes there’s that advantage to his insomnia and his early mornings.

Mercury trots back to him and settles by his feet. He scratches her behind her ear and she licks his hand in response. A ghost of a smile appears on his face and he bends over to kiss the top of her head. Naturally, the correct response to that is for Mercury to lick his face. Étienne recoils slightly with a laugh and hugs her close for a moment. What had he ever done without her in his life beforehand?

He lets her go and she happily makes herself comfortable by his side, as though she already understands her bigger purpose in life. Étienne keeps an arm around her and a hand nestled in her soft fur. They’re both quiet, perhaps both lost in their own thoughts, as they observe the chickens, the sun rise and the trees that sway gently in the wind.

He has a vague understanding of time passing as the sun gets brighter and it gets maybe a degree or two warmer. Enough for him to unzip the sweater he’s wearing. He thinks about the state of affairs, the reasons behind this forced exile and the dynamics of Edward’s house. He lets everything wash over him and simply breathes as he tries to center himself.

Luckily, he’s been stuck in his own head long enough. He’s been able to put every other problem on the back burner, but now as he’s starting to feel marginally better, it means he has enough head space to freak out over other stuff. Therefore, instead of worrying over the state of the world, he can focus instead on the dynamic’s of Edward’s house. He’s not sure which is better or worse, but he would like to focus on literally anything else, even the chickens and the grass that’s slowly coming in.

Sometimes, if he’s honest with himself, he wishes Calvin weren’t in the equation.

Still, he recognises that Edward is happy, that Calvin isn’t exactly an asshole come to ruin his life personally, but – things could have been awkward without him there to add more complications to his life. He’s gotten to know Calvin, over the years, somehow or other. Gotten to see a different side to him through Calvin’s weird need to hang out with the unlikeliest of groups. If anything, Étienne got the chance to peek at what his brother sees in Calvin (not that he would ever tell any of that to Samuel), but even if it’s mellowed out his own opinion of the man, it still doesn’t make things any easier. It’s still hard. He’s still trying.

Half the time, Étienne feels like he’s walking on egg shells, wrong footed and out of practice from a number he once knew so well. He would have preferred navigating the uncertain waters of his relationship with Edward without Calvin being literally under the same roof, but apparently, that wasn’t how things worked in his life.

And – really, Étienne doesn’t mind Calvin – at least, not as a person, but – he’s still sort of waiting for Calvin to take him aside and tell him that he’d best mind his own business and get the hell out.

He would understand, really. He would probably feel the same. Maybe.

He’s not really sure. He supposed that also complicates things.

Étienne sighs and looks up to see a magpie jump from one branch to the other on the tree. It flies away after a moment and Étienne envies the bird’s ability to simply pick up and go. Leave everything behind.

He thinks he should get up, scrounge for something to eat, or something, but his heart isn’t into it. It’s nice out and he’s comfortable. He’s soothed by the view, the nature, and the clucking chickens. Plus, there are still times when he feels as though he’s in the way, or interrupting some secret alone time that Edward and Calvin desire but are too polite to ask for. Therefore, he tries to make himself scarce when there’s no reason for him to be out in the common places of the house. He’ll linger in the guestroom longer, will spend as much time as possible outside and he’s been known to take Mercury out for longer than necessary walks by himself just for that.

He likes to believe the other two haven’t picked up on his plan, but the fact remains that he’s been sent here for his own well being and that for some absurd reason, Edward (and even Calvin) have seemed to make it their mission to check up on him at every chance they get.

He hates it, but he also likes it. It makes some cold, dead part of him warm at the gesture.

The screen door behind him opens and then closes and Mercury lifts up her head for a moment to see what the intrusion is. Her tail starts wagging and she sits up and goes up a step to greet the newcomer. There’s a scuffle of feet over the floor and then a body sits next to Étienne on the steps. Mercury tries to get Calvin’s attention and raises herself up to greet him properly. Only once she is satisfied does she settle back between the both of them and a moment of silence befalls them again, broken by bird song and chickens.

“Thought you might be out here,” Calvin says to start the conversation. Étienne spares him a glance from the corner of his eyes. The other man is already dressed for the day and freshly showered from the looks of it. He looks like the perfect picture of health, but Étienne knows that in a way, Calvin also hides behind a facade. He wonders if they both don’t come here seeking the same things – a safe place to quietly break down and rebuild. It would say a lot about him – about Calvin, about both of them really, but Étienne isn’t in the mood to psychoanalyse himself or Calvin and the strange relationship and attraction they seem to have for Edward.

Étienne isn’t in the mood for small talk and is aware of how it looks. Calvin did nothing wrong and doesn’t deserve his pseudo-cold shoulder, but he genuinely wants to be left alone. He likes his quiet mornings sitting on Edward’s back porch and would like to be left to his musings.

But Calvin doesn’t seem to do quiet or alone. He seems to be constantly looking for movement and noise – distractions. He wonders what it could mean, if it’s not another facade for something else, but he reminds himself he’s not here to judge or ponder. Lord knows he has his own idiosyncrasies he likes to hide behind.

“Looks like it’s going to be another nice day; m’sure you’re gonna like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t mean to snap, or sound harsh, but even to his ears it sounds a little bit cold and sharp. Calvin wasn’t trying to instigate anything, has been the perfect host, has put up with him – put up with him reinserting himself as Edward’s – other love interest, and he’s been fine about the whole damned thing. Étienne could do with cutting the man some slack. He’s still not sure he would be as gallant and noble about the whole thing if the roles had been reversed.

He wants the floor to swallow him whole or for the magpie to pluck his eyes out.

“M’sorry,” He mumbles.

“No worries, it’s been a tough few weeks,” Calvin says and claps him on the knee. His hand is big and warm and Étienne watches the contrast between the dark colour of the sweatpants he’d worn to bed and Calvin’s light-skinned freckled hand.

Calvin takes his hand back after a moment and another silence settles between them – this time, it feels a little lighter and Étienne figures it’s a start.

“How d’you do it,” Étienne finally resigns himself to ask when the sun has finally reached its spot in the sky. He can hear more activity in the neighbourhood as people start bustling about. Daily walks, checking the mail, taking out the garbage bin and such. The few odd people who still have jobs to go to. “How d’you just – deal with all of this – being okay with this?” He points at himself and the space between him and the door, as if meaning him and Edward.

He expects Calvin to laugh and give him some spiel about a business model or something, use some dumb analogy and brush it off, but Calvin is surprisingly quiet as he thinks about it.

“It wasn’t just easy, regardless of what you think. I’ve had time to think it over – mull it over and – come to some type of term with it.” He starts and shrugs, knowing it sounds lame, but accepting the truth for what it is. “I mean – it did – sting in some way, when I realised he still – felt something for you. Still feels something. Felt like I wasn’t good enough, or something. And that opened up a whole other can of insecurities and fears. But – we spoke about it. Edward’s been adamant about it – we both have, about communicating and trying to be honest and on the same page. It’s helped.” He pauses there and looks over to Étienne.

Étienne wonders if Calvin isn’t trying to pass along some message as though saying “after the fuck ups the two of you had, I made it my mission to make sure Edward and I would have the superior relationship, so we communicate and are open about our feelings. We don’t stumble around issues, because we figured out this whole relationship thing because we’re better than you.” He knows it’s not that, he shoots the bubble of anger and jealousy that resurfaces again and tries to face his own insecurities face on instead.

Still, some part of him would prefer to throw something at Calvin’s face.

“It’s taken a while, but I realised that what matters most in the end – what matters to me, anyways, is that Edward is happy. He’s happy with me and you make him happy as well. Somehow or other, he wants us both in his life and – I came to peace with that. Had to mull it over a few times over – still, working on it. But – you’re not – you’re not a villain. It makes it easier. Knowing you. Knowing that you want Edward to be happy as well. We didn’t ask for this. Edward didn’t either. The best we can do is – work together – figure it out. I think it’s safe to say we all want the same thing, ultimately.”

Étienne is surprised by the answer. He’s surprised by the maturity and range behind the words. There’s acceptance and openness there. From Edward, and – Samuel even, he’s garnered information on Calvin, has gathered his own through the years by luncheons and brunches and Emma’s weird ideas of bonding with other cities, but – it still surprises him. He supposes his understanding of Calvin isn’t complete and that he’s therefore still maybe relying on some assumptions and stereotypes.

But – he’s relieved as well. To hear Calvin say that. To hear Calvin say that he doesn’t hate him or resent him for intruding on his perfect white picket fence boyfriend ideal, or whatever.

That deep down, he is also a little bit insecure and little bit – jealous – in his own way.

Étienne laughs, a soft little thing that takes Calvin by surprise.

Calvin looks at him as Étienne laughs and laughs some more. It’s a full on guffaw, with tears at the corner of his eyes as Étienne realises that all this time, Calvin really felt just like him and that as always, it had been in his head – that he had blown the issue up to gargantuan sizes yet again. He feels silly in the good way, feels a little bit lighter and he claps Calvin on the shoulder and leaves his hand there for a moment.

“You okay?” Calvin asks, feeling as though he just missed something.

“Yeah, I’m – thanks, for being honest.” He says as he takes a deep breath and comes down from his bout of laughter.

“Yeah, no worries,” They settle back again and fall quiet once more. This time, the air feels less charged and heavy and it almost feels like it could be the start of something – some new and exciting chapter.

“You know, you’re welcome here, right?” Calvin adds, completing an earlier thought. “You have a place here, whether you realise it or not. You’re not a stranger.”

Not for the first time, Étienne wonders if Calvin doesn’t just play dumb for the sake of appearance and as a deflection, just like he has on more than one occasion. If Calvin isn’t hiding behind a persona as well for his own schemes. Calvin, he realises, is also an enigma with facets he is quietly discovering. He supposes another good thing of this little trip is the time it gives him to discover these facets; not only of Calvin, but of Edward as well. Spending time with each other, truly and fully, without the distractions of outings and sightseeing.

“It’s slowly starting to sink in,” He admits and the comment makes Calvin crack a smile.

“Good. Oh, I almost forgot! The whole dang reason I came out looking for you!”

Étienne wonders what Calvin is on about. He looks ever so pleased with himself and also excited at having remembered whatever it is he had nearly forgotten, “I have a memo from Ed – he had to go out, told me to pass this along to you.” Étienne is about to ask what the memo is, but before he can, he finds himself with an armful of Calvin as the other man scoots closer to him and wraps him in a tight hug.

Étienne stills for a second, surprised, and unused to this from Calvin. It nearly startles him, really, but once he lets himself relax, he finds that – it’s a pretty decent hug. It’s a little awkward, from the position, the fact that Calvin and he don’t hug very often and because he hadn’t expected it, but – it’s nice. Warm and – comforting. He finds himself subconsciously leaning into it for a fraction of a second.

“He said he’ll be back soon and that the bicycle is ready if you want to use it. Oh and – this – hang on, hold still.” Étienne is once more surprised when Calvin leans in and kisses his cheek. He pulls away the moment after and looks self-satisfied that he’s delivered Edward’s message with success.

“You’re a bag full of surprises, aren’t you, McCall?” Étienne asks, turning back to stare at the trees and the chickens. Giving himself a moment to replace his mind and thoughts in order after all that. Tries to still his heart after it jump-started at the hug and the kiss.

“You bet, Sunshine, and you ain’t even seen nothin’ yet!”

Étienne laughs, again, and leans back against Calvin’s side. They remain that way, enjoying the quiet morning for a while longer, before Edward returns from his errands and Calvin suggests he makes pancakes for brunch.

For the first time since he’s arrived, Étienne starts to feel that maybe, just maybe, things will eventually work out.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: calgary #étienne maisonneuve #calvin something #calvin BRISEBOIS LOL #fic #projocanondoko

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gemder · 4 years

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a bubbline wip, featuring a dissociative episode by our fave punk rock vamp. set shortly after Stakes.

She doesn't know how long she's been hovering over the couch like this, with her gaze trained on the bumps and dips on the ceiling and her bass planted in her arms. How many times has she sung that old song, so old and resilient it survived the death and rebirth of the world (and the both of hers twice over, now) just by hiding in the corner of her mind she doesn't like to visit? She can't see the sun or moon rise through the entrance to her hideaway from this part of the house, and the cave-imposed darkness tells her nothing of the time or how much of it has passed.

She doesn't dare budge from her spot. She's been turned twice now; she knows from experience that any sudden action, anything to startle her base thought process, could spark that bloodlust from last time. That was some ugly biz, if she remembers correctly. It's been a while, but something like an uncontrollable urge to drain the lifeforce of every living creature within 30 miles sticks to you. She's just going to have to wait it out, until the itch in the back of her throat dies down and she doesn't worry it'll become an insatiable burning for hot blood, no matter how long it takes.

Marceline has had an excessive amount of time to learn how to be alone; 1003 years, in fact. So why does it never get any easier? Why does being left never hurt any less? Why does she seem to be so completely destined for eternal loneliness? What asshat decided she deserved to spend the entirety of her neverending life without a single constant presence?

Mom went out with promises of keeping safe and finding food and I love you so much, sweetie, that alone is strong enough to bring me back to you. It took two weeks before little Marcy came to the conclusion that her mom wasn't coming back with food or supplies, or even returning empty handed. Simon let a stupid magical crown take over every single cell of his brain and wrote a bunch of scattered letters about it while it happened instead of, you know, telling the frightened 7 year old she was going to be left soon. Dad just up and left to go back to running the Nightosphere after a few weeks, with nary a parting word nor any notice. Her post-apocalyptic comrades had no choice but to flee from an otherwise inevitable extinction. Bonnie had to go and grow up, and in the process decide that her 900-something year old girlfriend wasn't mature enough.

(She checked that old, busted up camper as often as she could over the following months. There was never another life in that thing after she hopped down the little steps and let the screen door slam back with the carelessness of a 6 year old.)

(She found a decomposed corpse months later that just happened to be wearing some torn up rags that looked like her mom’s old sweater and jeans. It must have just been a coincidence, though; there were a lot of recently dead back then, and even more moth-eaten sweaters in the world.)

(“I’m trying to save you, but who's going to save me?” ‘I don't know, old man, maybe you could have saved yourself? You could have not purposely used the magical relic that was making you go bananas?’ If a 7 year old could make it through the apocalypse without magic then so could a fully grown man.)

(He left her to survive on her own in the name of being executive manager of hell and he still wonders why she wants nothing to do with him, why she used to have such a hard time so much as calling him “dad” when he’s never been anything like what she was lead to believe dads were supposed to be like.)

(She’s 1000 years old, how in the name of the nightosphere could she not be mature enough?)

(Over the years she’s replaced the world “hell” with “Nightosphere” the same way the being once referred to as “God,” back when even she was young, is now called by their proper name of Glob. The Nightosphere really is hell, so it fits.)

(Sometimes she takes the time to think about how she's the heir apparent to the actual, literal, real life hell, and how she's one of the oldest beings around these days, maybe the oldest to still really be sane, but still a messed up teen.)

(She doesn't know how old she was when she was turned; years and months and all that are hard to keep track of when the species that invented it is all but extinct. Is she old enough to drive? Probably. She does and can regardless, because screw the old ways. Old enough to drink, smoke, vote? Debatable. The point is that she’s 1000 years old but actually, like, 18. What the fuck.)

She drifts, both mentally and physically. She's had plenty of time and isolation to ponder the Big Things about life and the world and why and how things happened the way they did, and what it means. She will have an abundance of opportunities in the future to think about these things, too. Some day she'll reflect on this part of her life in the far away, nostalgia-filtered sepia tones she currently thinks of her childhood and adolescence. She'll remember when Finn and Jake were the heroes of Ooo, when Simon used to chase after princesses who will have long since passed, when she couldn't get over her ex-girlfriend who happened to be sentient candy. It will be distant and she will miss it terribly, the same way she misses her mother, and Simon when he was Simon, and fries in a long-abandoned diner. But it will be a wound long since closed and numbed, like the deep scar she got on her calf sometime in her early teens that still exists today, preserved in her immortality and a sentimentality that prevented her from insta-healing it away, sting and blood long gone.

She has forever to reminisce, but only right now to live in the present. She makes mental patterns in the bumps on the ceiling, and slowly loses grip on her body. She is a million miles upwards, where the sky holds no oxygen and the stars are still pinpricks in a sea of indigo construction paper. Like a kid poking holes in the top of a jar of lightning bugs, equipped with a fork and enthusiasm at being able to destroy something for the sake of encapturing something else. She is, at the same time, hovering above her uncomfortably hard couch. One of her hands slips from its place atop her bass, and Shwabl licks it from his spot next to her on the dusty carpet.

She doesn't hear the knock at the door. She is right there, but she is centuries back and in a different part of the continent entirely. She doesn't hear Bonnie getting increasingly agitated, trying and failing not to raise her voice at her through the door. She doesn't notice when Bonnie lets herself in regardless of Marceline’s lack of response, or when Shwabl jumps up to attention at the guest.

It's the “Marceline, what -” that breaks her dissociative spell. That tone of exasperation in that particular voice is a very familiar one, especially within the last decade. She comes to to find that there are fresh tears in the corner of one eye and the words to a song as old as her youth on her lips.

“Oh, hey Bombòn. How goes it girl?” Marceline has had a millennium to convince the world that she's chill and totally not a big mess, and it shows in the lilt to her voice that screams ‘I'm just chillin’’ and not ‘I've been dissociating and crying and probably singing for who-knows-how-long and I'm really messed up’. She still doesn't dare move from her spot, because moving around could still trigger what she's trying to wait out.

“It's been three weeks, Marcy. Three weeks, and all that heavy biz, and no one's heard from you since. Doesn't that seem even a little bit irresponsible to you? Didn't you think people would worry? Or even wonder ‘hey, what happened to that girl who saved all our butts and got revampified?’”

“Dude, I've just been chilling. You know how it is; jams, games, pets, it keeps a girl busy. It’s cool. Ice cold, in fact.”

Bonnie sighs. Marceline has heard that sigh a million and three times over by now, and she's learned to like that particular sound from the pink girl; it's the one thing about herself that she can't manage to sweeten to the point of oversaturation, until it (like the rest of her) is practically dripping sugar. Marceline likes to deal with the authentic rather than the idealized versions of people, because the latter rarely ever means anything good is coming her way.

(She rationalizes that the Ice King component of Simon, while not idealized, is not authentic in the least; the products of full humans getting mixed up with magic seldom are. The authentic Simon Petrikov is the one who found a 6 year old girl in the ruins of a suburban New Mexico town and still had enough selflessness in the aftermath of the apocalypse to comfort her and take care of her.)

The sigh doesn't lead to the reprimanding the vampire expects. Instead, she watches as Bonnie leans down in her peripheral vision to pet Shwabl, expression focused intently on the dog. She's doing that same schooled neutrality shit she used to do during those globawful trade meetings - the ones Marcy used to steal her away from the go gallivanting through the rock candy mines.

“What kind of sweet tunes have you whipped up, then? Lay it on me girl.”

Marceline lets her face adopt a smirk - the expression has become a reflexive habit after centuries of being a bitter undead loner - even as something in her stomach drops. Bonnie rarely asks about her music because she knows so much of it is personal, and that which isn't is vulgar or morbid and prone to being shared regardless, not to mention the fact that Bonnie’s interests definitely don't lie in the arts, or punk rock music, or most of the uglier parts of Marceline.

“You know my latest album is the epitome of personal mush, Bons. It's so personal I'd have to kill you if you heard any of it. But, I do have a new demo about a fisherman.”

Bonnibel definitely wants something out of her; she has that smile she reserves for Cinnamon Bun and Finn when he's going on about dumb 13 year old boy things, the one that's polite and reservedly encouraging, the one that Marcy has always found to be condescending although it always looks as sweet as its wearer who is literally made out of candy, almost as sweet as the girl’s public persona.

The thing about being 1000 years old and also a teenage girl is that you spend forever being a socially-minded person on some level or another, because back in the day that's how girls were socialized to be - social-driven creatures who cared more about what Allyson wore on Tuesday or what Theresa said about Serena in math class than anything practical. So Marceline has had a long time to notice the tells and ticks of the select few she surrounds herself with often enough to care about. PB smiles like her kindergarten teacher used to on particularly trying days when she thinks the people she's with are idiots but can't call them out for it. Her eyebrows droop when she's so tired that sheer willpower will no longer keep them up. She plays with her hands when she's nervous. She used to chew on her hair when she was younger and in the process of creating her kingdom, when stress was a new feeling she hadn't yet made a feedback loop out of.

This is totally, completely because of the sexist socialization of the old world, and nothing else. Totally not because they dated for a good chunk of time, or because one or the other might, maybe be having rose-coloured thoughts about the other again.

“Everyone and their granny has heard that one, Marcy. If you've had all this time to do nothing but groove and game then I wanna hear some tunes! Don't be a butt about it.” She's trying to gode the older girl, but Marceline is itching to get out of this particular conversation. Somewhere in her cursed, mostly re-dried blood she knows this is a test.

“I don't bust into your lab and start interrogating you about your experiments - can you just lay off, man?” she says it more harshly than she had meant to, but being yanked back to reality and immediately questioned over every move will do that to a person. “Tell me what's been going on in Candyland. You finally get all the earwax off of your junk?”

“You know if you did ask about my science experiments I would be happy to tell you all about them - well, the ones that aren't classified. It's called caring, Marce, it's a thing that friends do.”

A tense silence follows as Marceline thinks of something biting (but not petty!) to throw back at her.

“And yeah, actually, I did. The dingus left a huge mess but there's nothing my purple cleaner can't get rid of.”

Bonnie can't leave a single box unticked, can she?

“Glob, that stuff is nasty. The fumes make me gag, and I don't even need to breathe!”

The princess raises a brow at her. The queen furrows both of hers in frustration and fixes her gaze back on the bumps on the ceiling. When she was younger she used to make images out of the dips and dots in the kindergarten room ceiling; the RV’s was smoothed and didn't allow that particular part of her imagination to play around.

“And I think the expression you're looking for is sharing is caring, Bubs. It's a thing they used to say waaaaaaaay back in the day whenever the old people got tired of little kids fighting over toys.”

*******

this was gonna be a longfic feat. mutual pining by our fave disaster gays and more references to marcy’s life pre- and during the apocalypse bc i have a lot of feelings about Stakes. might come back to it, who knows!!!

#ash talks #ash writes #bubbline #bubbline fanfic #writing wip

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kurtty-drabbles · 5 years

Text

Coraline au (intermission)

N/A: So, what the cats will do now that LK wants Kitty to defeat Squidboy?

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @sailorstar9 @discordsworld @bamfoftheundead

In a space where time does no matter, a sea of cats is talking, well, more like angrily discussing their next plan of action. Their leader is an elderly cat that is ascending far too quickly for everyone´s taste.

"Is unfair!" one of the cats screams meowing in the end. "How she will defeat Cthulu? Only an Outer God can defeat him...That stupid thing will be forever alone at this rate"

The other cats agree solemn with this line and Jupiter take the time to propose an idea, a very daring idea. "Yes, Cthulu is far too powerful for a human, even our Kitten, however, we need to think one problem at a time" he speaks as the other cats are listening. "Dagon has his eyes on Kitty and regardless if she accepts this mission or not, Dagon wants to have Kitty and that´s a problem we need to address"

"Dagon will not dare to hurt our Kitten" one of them speaks as if that resolves everything.

"Truth, but, he can find loopholes as we always do, her parents can be stuck in his city or be turned into smaller fishes and be sent to Kitty to eat, yes, he has done this in the past" Jupiter clarifies knowing their patron has done much worse.

"Then...what we should do? patrol them?" is a common suggest and Jupiter is insulted they think this will resolve, after all, Dagon can explore loopholes.

"No, I was thinking in ask help to the dogs" Jupiter suggest and silence follow through, no one speaks, until the elderly cat breaks the silence "is a risky move, cats and dogs may co-exist in peace, but, we never work together before"

"What a nice way to try," Jupiter said "the dogs are under Gaia´s protection and this Dagon wouldn´t dare to mess up"

"Very well, if the dogs agree with this plan, we shall work together"

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(I´m thinking in a panel I saw here on Tumblr about the animals of a city seeing weird shit)

A nice coolio is lay down in the green and lush site of the place he calls home. The sheep are in the place they should be and no wild animal in plain view or nearby. The coolio can enjoy the peaceful day, well, that was the intention.

"A cat in my dimension? That´s new" the dog replied and Jupiter can see the collar with the name Sparky there.

"Hello, Sparky, I came here to talk"

"Of course, talk away, but mind the tentacles...the sheep don´t share the same sense of humour as you do"

"I´m here to ask for help from the dogs, yes, all dogs" this makes Sparky pays attention "for the past years, we, the cats, have sponsored and take care of a human named Kitty Pryde, we believe she is perfect for our patron" Sparky makes a sound as if mocking either the statement or their patron " yeah, well, she and her family are living in a place where Dagon has control, Fortress City, and he plans to do something with her and the family"

The dog looks at Jupiter for a moment. "And Dagon wouldn´t be as dumb to cross our path if we agree with this...what we will get from this partnership? We like humans, but, Jupiter, your patron is a pain in the ass"

"Yeah, he is not that bad" Jupiter feels the need to defend IT at least a little "but if you help us, we will be owning you a big favour"

"Big enough to make IT go away when we want?"

"Yes"

"Then we have a deal"

________________________________________

Terry, for once, was making a fish(she rarely does this, not because of her stubborn need to show to talking cats she is in charge, but, because every time she brought fish...people look at her oddly and it makes Terry really uncomfortable) and was preparing the ingredients for this dish, when, out of the blue. Fluffy, a female cat with white fur and comes and goes at pleases her is staring down at Terry.

"Terry, stop making the fish" Fluffy said and Terry almost sighs is her life revolved in being Fluffy´s private chef?

"Why?"

"Go to the market and stock up the house" Fluffy ordered and adds "and takes this dog with you" and Terry turns around and almost jump to see a German Shepard next to her that comes out of nowhere.

"What is going on?"

"Dagon has eyes on you, Terry and assimilation is in order" the dog, who now Terry can see the name of Brutus, replied, and Terry is breathing in an out to calm herself.

"Wait, You told me Dagon wouldn´t hurt us" a silent accusation can be detected in her tone.

"Truth, but, that was before, your daughter is someone very special for Dagon and he may not want to play nice" Fluffy explained and Brutus gave a long look at the cat as if expecting her to say something more but the cat refuses.

"Dagon is not one to engage in rape, he detests that, is one of his few good qualities" Brutus explained "but he is not above in killing his own followers and you are less than a follower, you and your husband are human and if you stay in his way or refuse to cooperate"

"But...If he could do that with the cats here...no offence, but, why you can protect us? Should we just leave?"

"If you do that, then you will be murder, Dagon has means to attract humans here to increase the population, the real population, the fish one!" Fluffy answers.

"And he can´t do anything with Gaia´s animals here. Not even Dagon is dumb enough to mess with Gaia´s protegees."

"Who is Gaia?"

And her cellphone rings as Cameron is speaking with a heavy breath that something awful happened in his workplace(Terry heard him moaned in pain and bark and meow is ready next to him) "Terry, if the dogs are here, do what they said, I´ll have to go now...I´ll go home I promise you, I love you, I love you and your daughter" and hangs up.

Terry is paled and looks at the dog in front of her. Outside her house, there´s many cats and dogs waiting.

"What is my life now?"

__________________________________________________________

Miss Presley is a woman with an hourglass figure, pretty as the devil wanted and also, not human. She is a fish person(is a simple connotation that spares time for everyone) her long blonde hair is shinning today and her teeth are sharped and craved with blood from her recent meal.

Namor, the merman and Herald of Dagon is present and astonished such beautiful woman eat a human being whole, should someone as beautiful as her(almost as beautiful as Namor) have a dish prepared in her honour?

"Dagon...the Dogs and cats are guarding the Prydes. We couldn´t...keep Cameron for you" Miss Presley speaks as she lowers herself to the second man in the underground room. A handsome man indeed, but, not human.

"Miss Presley, you did an excellent job, my daughter, truly. The cats and dogs team-up is not predicted, but, either way, the Prydes can´t leave and they know this now" Dagon speaks pondering for a moment "is he still alive?"

"Yes, we couldn´t make him produce a son or daughter for you, I´m sorry"

"Don´t be, he is more importantly alive. Now, tell me, has the girl arrive as well?"

Now Namor takes the time to speak. "Dagon, the girl is being friendly with the X-men, I´m an X-men as well, I could seduce the girl and bring to you in one piece" only to Dagon Namor will bow.

"That...is a good plan, but, we don´t know for sure if she fancies man or woman, besides, the cats pick her for IT...and I know nothing about this little human, nothing except she is different from the regular humans," Dagon said a bit amused.

"She is crossing the bridge to come here, that I can feel, she is returning home" Dagon is pondering for a moment "Let´s give her a welcome reception, after all, she is an important figure in this game, remember the cat is with her, so, don´t hurt the cat"

Namor and Miss Presley nods and leave as Dagon is pondering about the next move.

What IT wants with the woman?

Nothing that concerns to you, Little Fish!

#coraline au #LK is that popular that dogs make a deal just to get rid of him #Jupiter the cat #Lovecraft Kurt #Dagon is bold #Namor is a manslut #Miss Presly has a name?#Kitty Pryde #Cameron Pryde does not cheat and is a good husband and father

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