#I mean at this point any art I make looks like a quick doodle *rolls eyes*

[katyahina]

[ethankyou]

Last year I had a chance to play Mörk Borg, which is the bleakest fantasy RPG I've ever played and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

So how'd it go?

Mörk Borg was probably one of the easiest games to learn. I made the joke at the table, if you've ever played D&D you are overqualified to play MB. It uses the D&D OGL, loosely, and is technically compatible with it, but this is not that kind of game. That's just all so you can roll your little d20.

The rules are free in the "bare bones" edition but trust me, you'll want to own the full art edition, get a physical copy and put it on your shelf. It is a gorgeous book and has a style that a lot of games lack. If I could distill about 10% of the style into my own games I would be extremely satisfied with my work.

Seriously like. Go to their website. Experience this. Do it now (or don't, I'm not your mom. But you should though).

This game feels in line with the perceived brutality of first edition d&d and its ilk. You may name your character if you like but don't get attached. You can have as little as 1 hit point and nothing pulls its punches here. Deaths are common, and expected and add to the feel of the world. You're not trying to save the world, not really. You're on the precipice of doom and you're just scavengers picking over the bones of the preeminent corpse of the world.

But you can also generate a new character very quickly with SCVMBIRTHER. Don't like your new one? Kill them and make a new one. As many as you like. It's a riot just generating these wretches and seeing what could be in store for you.

But while it is fun and also sometimes necessary to generate characters quickly like this, doing so misses out on one of my favorite parts of any RPG. The Character Sheet!

To me a good character sheet is like a window into the soul of the game.

The game has this whole, doodled in the margins of your math homework, zine you found in a dirty puddle, graphited in a bathroom stall at a crust punk show ass aesthetic and the whole book is just like this. And I am eating this shit up! Here's the alternate character sheet provided:

This soul appears to be a little scrunkled, can I get a new one?

Now I haven't talked about how the game plays yet or anything but just drink this in for a minute. If looking at this character sheet does not make you want to try this game then I don't know what else would!

I mean I guess knowing how the game plays would but like... Okay.

The game itself uses d20 rules, but much lighter. You have small stats, and add them to a d20 roll. No skills no proficiency bonus. You'll eat your 1's and you'll like it. The target numbers are usually pretty low, floating around 10-ish, unless you're dealing with something nasty.

You may have powers, but they seem to be pretty limited in their availability and uses. The game itself plays like D&D-lite, in that you are probably doing a dungeon crawl, or other dirty work you do as an adventurer. But you are not an adventurer, you are lowly scum just trying to make a quick buck. There's no heroics going on here. If your d&d group already plays like a bunch of murder hobos then you're basically already playing mork borg in spirit but just cosplaying as a bunch of heroes. This is the game you should be playing if you want to be a cutthroat little bastard.

The game uses Omens, a limited resource that you can use to improve what you're doing; deal max damage, lower damage taken, reroll a die (or someone else's) that kind of thing. You only get them back after a rest though so if you blow through them quickly you're at the mercy of fate (and fate is not merciful here).

Our group played Rotblack Sludge which is the introductory game from the main book. We did it in a single session pretty easily, even between doing food and a fair bit of goofing off. I imagine your group could do it in 1 as well, but 2 sessions tops for sure. There are a bunch of free adventures available on their website too if you wanted to get a little deeper! That link is to their "content" part of their site which is just an endless slew of free stuff. They really just want you to play their game. And quality enough that they know enough folks will buy it.

My main criticism of the game is that I'm not sure how this plays out in the long term. I think that narratively and thematically, the game is crushing it. But mechanically, the game is light. This is by design but I can see this turning away people looking for a long term replacement for d&d. I mean some committed groups will enjoy this forever regardless, but I feel like this has the legs for a few decent adventures before you'd wrap up and move on.

But a big part of long term games is character advancement. My understanding was that the levelling system in the game is pretty light to non-existent. It didn't come up in a one shot for obvious reasons. I'll admit I only own the free rules at this time, I'm still waiting for my copy of the actual book itself. So I had to go to my friend who ran the game to understand how the leveling system works. There's no experience points, so the group levels together. You check to see if you gain some hit points, you check to see if your stats increase, and you get a random piece of gear.

And when I say check I mean you roll some dice and compare to current. For hit points you roll 6d10. If the result is higher than your current max HP then you gain 1d6 max HP. Roll under and you lose 1 max HP. This choice frustrates me. I actually like that there's a chance to lose HP, but is this really the best way we could do this?

Okay that's not fair that's a knee jerk response. Let's talk about why it might work this way. This is a bleak world so it doesn't make sense for your characters to be able to heroically weather any storm. They're just people who got lucky and survived. So we want the ceiling for how many hit points a character can have to be on the low side. The system does do that, but it takes a weird path to get there, which feels out of place considering this is otherwise a very light game. I'm gonna talk about dice math for a bit so feel free to skip ahead to the next orange part if you feel sleepy.

The average of 6d10 is 33 (5.5x6), which means that characters who managed to level up multiple times are at much higher risk of losing a hit point. Average result of +1d6HP means about 3 hit points a level on average (accounting for the fact that you still could lose some along the way instead of gaining them). Assuming you start with 5 hit points (you might have 1-10 depending on your class), you're looking at 9 level ups before the odds are against you to gain HP. You might think damn. That's a long time. And assuming a character even lives to see level 10. And I agree.

So why does it need to be so convoluted along the way?

To replicate this system without the cumbersome dice roll comparisons you could have players roll 1d8-2: there's always a chance you'll get -1 HP, even 0 HP. After a character has 20+ HP it could change to 1d8-3, then 1d8-4 at 30 and so on. If you don't like the idea of players losing multiple HP then just have it be that any resulting negative is only -1 hp. But this way you're making 1 roll and decreasing the gain over time, while still gaining. You could also just roll a flat die every level, but I think in Mork Borg it is very thematic to have something like leveling up, which is normally comforting, be cause for fear.

Anyway this is easy enough to home brew out and it seems like a lot of folks do that. But I'm judging the game based on how it is not how I could change it.

The hit point math is done... FOR NOW.

The way stats level up is simpler. Roll a d6 for each stat. If the die is equal to or higher, gain +1 in that stat (max 6). If it's less, subtract 1 (max -3), a 1 is always a -1. I like the idea that your stats could fluctuate and that high stats are not safe bets. A few levels and weird rolls later and your worst stat could end up being your best. I think this part could be controversial but I like it and I like how they do it!

But there's not really much more to advancement than that. This is fine if you're just playing a short game. But you hear stories about people running campaigns for years on end and I guess... I just don't see that happening with Mork Borg. I might say it's not that kind of game but it actually kinda is though? They have rules for long term games.

The Calender of Nerthrubel fortells the end of the world. When 7 miseries have been accumulated, the world ends. At the start of the game you choose a die to roll for Miseries; as little as 1d2, as high as 1d100. The game master rolls the die and on a 1, the world gains a misery. So the size of the die does determine the upper limit of the game, but it is possible for the game to be over in as little as 7 in-game days regardless of the die type chosen. This is a very interesting mechanic! In fact I think it's one of the most interesting parts of the game! Most games struggle with a sense of urgency. Short of "you have 48 hours to save this prince" or "if you don't return with 25 wolf noses tomorrow you don't get paid", it can be hard to wrastle the players together to try and save the world in a timely manner. Meanwhile in Mork Borg your days are literally numbered. I can't imagine the tension that would come from being on your 6th misery knowing that every single day could be the last. That is truly bleak.

The role-playing opportunities in this setting for someone trying to grasp at the last ray of hope in the darkness, to fight against fate, or to battle the darkness within is truly incredible. The Dark Souls series has already probably come to mind by now for you and it's hard not to see that as an influence or at least a spiritual contender. There is something to be said about overcoming the odds and surviving in a bleak world. The Dark Souls franchise and periphery games have thrived on that for years. But when you die in that game, you come back you just lost some progress.

You don't come back when you die in Mork Borg, you just die.

So with no significant character advancement in the game, how do you meaningfully advance a character in a game like this? The game literally urges you not to get attached to your character. It's a bit tongue in cheek about it but it's not wrong.

At our table I was the only one who survived start to finish with the same character. And that wasn't from skill on my part i got a lot of dumb luck! We had 6 players and I think we had about 10 deaths? One player was on their like 4th wretch by the end of it! This seems excessive and I don't know if this is a standard experience, but we understood that's kind how it would go beforehand so our expectations were pretty set.

While I am sort of criticising this aspect, there is something pretty thrilling about going into a game without being too committed to your character. It makes those moments where you do realize them as a character in the narrative all the more meaningful, and more tragic when they die a terrible meaningless death. Nothing is precious in Mork Borg not even your life. So make the best of what you've got while you still have it.

Mork Borg is definitely not a perfect game.

But I cannot stop thinking about it and would drop any game to play it again, or even run it.

(and that's not even to speak of all the Borg spin offs like Pirate Borg, Orc Borg or CY_BORG!!!).

If you already play D&D or Pathfinder, Mork Borg is definitely worth your time to try, because you already know how to play it. It might not be for you, but if you go with the free rules and play a free adventure the only thing you're out is your time.

If you play other RPGs and enjoy dungeon crawls or hack and slash game play, this is still a great choice and will be easy to pick up and try.

If you're new to RPGs, Mork Borg is maybe a pretty weird one to start with, but is a really polished experience to try and a really easy game to cut your teeth on, so still not bad!

If you're more interested in character role playing, then Mork Borg might not be what you're looking for, but there are so many interesting narratives that can be explored here that I think would be really interesting and hard to replicate in other games!

If you're a power fantasy gamer, then I think Mork Borg might be a skip for you. Unless your power fantasy is to be a lobotomized mouse in Alley Cat Alley. No judgment, you do you.

If you took one look at the characters sheets up top and said "oh hell yeah I'm gonna play that!" and didn't read the rest of this lengthy text then we are already best friends but alas you'll never know it because you didn't read to the end... Oh well.

Now excuse me, I'm gonna dream about being ripped apart by a skeletal ooze and dying a painful death tonight (affectionate)!

[hiddennerdworld]

MHA Couples Dynamics with art by @leecheedoodles| Too Cool for Skool x Keener (Reader x Iida)

Masterlist

Warnings: none, all fluff stuff

A/N: eeeee I’m so excited about this. I saw this art and immediately was inspired. I would really like to do a series based on these. This is all thanks to leechee doodles here on Tumblr. They are v talented so check them out! I’ve seen others use their art, but if they don’t want me to I can always take it down. Enjoy :)

You and Iida definitely got off on the wrong foot

You guys didn’t hate each other per say, but you annoyed each other for sure

Iida just wanted his fellow classmates to be successful and tried to encourage you as class rep. And you just wanted to only take part in the aspects of hero work that you actually enjoy

In your own ways, you both stressed each other out

Iida would give you lectures any time you ditched class, saying you needed to be responsible in order to be the best hero you can be

You just stood and rolled your eyes the entire time with your arms crossed over your chest

Eventually, one day Iida just said fuck it (he didn’t actually phrase it that way bc he doesn’t use the bad words) and picked you up and carried you to class.

The whole time with you kicking and screaming, which doesn’t affect him bc he’s a fucking tree

This became routine. Iida was with you almost 24/7, keeping you in line. This caused even more tension between you guys

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Well you wouldn’t if you stopped acting like a baby and attended to your duties!” *snickers* “You’re gonna tell me you’re not a baby when you can’t even not laugh at the word ‘duty’?!!!”

The bickering wouldn’t stop and it was driving EVERYONE crazy

So as Aizawa solves all problems, he paired up the duo with pent up frustration for their final exam

You guys were rolling your eyes when you saw you had to work together but weren’t surprised tbh

It seemed like you guys weren’t gonna make it, but at the last second you were able to distract Cementoss and give Iida an in to dash up and capture him

You guys cheered and high fived when you realized you’d passed, the negative feelings towards each other forgotten

Afterward you guys had a talk.

“Good job out there today, Iida. I’m impressed on how you came up with a strategy so quick. I guess studying so much does actually help, huh.”

“Thank you, L/N! I appreciate the kind words, especially coming from someone who has such good control over their quirk like yourself!”

The whole time both of you were staring at the ground, blushing to hard to look at the other person while complimenting them. Iida still did the hand waving tho lmao

Afterwards, Iida still kept an eye on you always bc he thinks you have a lot of potential and wants you to do well

And you don’t find him as annoying anymore, so don’t really try to avoid him

This ends up with you guys basically just hanging out rather than him chaperoning you.

Training, studying, making food, you guys are together a lot

You and Iida occupied a table in the dining area for your studies for the millionth night in a row. The other students know better than to disturb you at this point. Yes, you guys are friends now, but you still bicker like an old married couple.

“I could really go for some ice cream right now,” you said while leaning back in your chair.

“L/N! You know that stuff isn’t good for you! Why do you wish to consume such sugary content?! Why don’t you eat an apple instead?!”

“I don’t think that’s how cravings work. Besides we have training tomorrow and always so I will still be keeping myself in shape. It’s one treat.”

“L/N, we are studying to become the best heroes! We need to be responsi-“

“But that’s just it! We are always going to be working to be the best we can be. You need to be able to enjoy yourself. Life isn’t all about work, you know?” You said standing up and grabbing his arm, “We’re going out. Come on!”

“Absolutely not! It is after curfew! It would be dangerous and-“ Iida lectured on and on until you guys were basically in front of the ice cream place. He tried to get you to stay back, but you were surprisingly strong when you were determined. (Also, he probably wasn’t resisting as much as he could’ve).

You guys went in and ordered. You got cookie dough with some chocolate syrup on top, and Iida got a scoop of vanilla on a cone, only because you insisted he get something. After you got the ice cream you went to a nearby park and sat on a bench.

“Mmmmmm this is so good. Totally worth it.” You say as you take your first bite, eyes closed while enjoying the delicious dessert.

“I’m not sure if it was worth breaking the rules, but as long you are enjoying yourself I guess it’s alright.”

“That’s because you got the most boring flavor. Here try some of mine.” You said raising a spoonful up to him.

This caused his face to go red and he stared at you with wide eyes for a few seconds before speaking. “No, L/N! I appreciate the offer but it would be inappropriate. Mine is perfectly fine and-“

As he was rambling, you shoved the spoon in his mouth, making him blush even harder. “L/N! You could’ve choked me.”

“But was it good though?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He said at almost a whisper.

A shit-eating grin grew on your face, “Told ya so. See, Iida look.” You gestured over to the sight in front of you. There were people scattered throughout the park enjoying their night, and you could even see the glowing city in the distance. “We are a part of what makes this all possible. There wouldn’t be people out here living their lives if we didn’t keep them safe. It may not be too often, but we still get to relish in the world we created too. It reminds us why we do what we do.”

Iida couldn’t help but just stare at you for a hot minute. You looked gorgeous under the moonlight while you looked around in awe. You were more wise than he ever gave you credit for. He had always thought you were carefree, but actually you just had cared about things differently than him and he failed to realize.

“You’re right, L/N. We should be able to enjoy this more often.”

“We?”

“Of course. Why would I do something fun without you?” Now you started to get all flustered. Feeling heat rush to your face, you covered it with your hands and looked toward the ground. “Are you alright? Sorry I didn’t mean to say anything that would upset you.”

“No, don’t worry. You didn’t upset me. I would love to spend some time with you.”

So you guys did. Well you already spent a lot of time together already but now you guys would go out and do something fun if you had free time

Like instead of training on the weekends, you guys sometimes walked around the park.

And every time you’d go, you guys would also visit the ice cream shop you guys went to that one night and try a new flavor

You also were participating more in class. You’re grades were getting better from the beginning of your guys’ relationship, but now you actually were invested.

After a test, you would show Iida your grade and thank him for all his help, and he would be so proud and excited for you

Of course, your classmates started to catch onto you guys being more and more friendly with each other

Hagakure snuck up on you guys one day while you were studying. “Alright, when did you two start dating? We all thought you hated each other but now we know it was all an act to throw us off, so spill the beans.”

“Oh, no we’re not dating.” You replied

“Well..” Iida started to talk and your eyes darted towards him

“I mean now that someone has said it, I wouldn’t be opposed to dating you, L/N. I really enjoy my time with you and think you’re a great person. Could I take you on an official date?”

“Y-yea I would really like that.”

“Awwww that was so adorable! I can’t believe I just help you guys get together!” She skipped out of the room, on her way to tell everyone her accomplishments

“Sorry, L/N, that probably wasn’t the best timing.”

“Call me Y/N”

“O-oh okay… Y/N. I’m looking forward to going out with you.”

“Me too, Tenya.” You said smiling and grabbing his hand.

Barely anything was said the rest of the time, but you guys couldn’t stop smiling and you didn’t let go of each other’s hands. Safe to say no information was retained from this study session

[spencersawkward]

hi i love your writing sm, could u do something w having sex w mgg in his trailer🦋

oh yes i can most definitely do that. i just did a blurb that included something similar but i have a whole other fantasy for this one that i think would be so hot. this is just like filthy smut i might have done a lil too much lol.

summary: reader goes to visit her friend, Matthew, on set. when he catches her doing something dirty in his trailer, he offers to help.

word count: 4.2k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, masturbation, dirty talk, face-sitting, degradation, Cocky Matthew, some semi-exhibitionism.

masterlist

my toes curl over the sheets and I let out a dissatisfied groan as I throw the abandoned vibrator onto the side table. ever since flying home from visiting friends in New York, I’ve been absolutely, embarrassingly... horny.

usually, my trusty toy is able to work wonders; this week has been rough, though. maybe it’s something to do with my stress-levels or maybe my body just doesn’t feel like cooperating. it doesn’t help that I have about an hour before I’m scheduled to visit my friend on the set of his show.

I haven’t seen Matthew in almost a year. between his shooting schedule and my own job getting more demanding, spending time together really hasn’t been possible. I miss his laugh and the way our conversations always flow so easily. whenever we hang out, it’s like we pick up right where we left off. and now, as I give up on trying to get one off before seeing him, I start to wonder what to expect. a tour? meeting his castmates?

to be completely honest, I don’t really want to do any of that. I’m sure they’re all very nice people and we’d have a good time, but the last week in the city was so full of group interactions that I’m really hoping to sit across from each other and just... talk.

there’s no point in speculating, though. instead, I glance over at my disappointing toy and sigh. maybe next time.

when I get there, Matthew texts me to wait for him so he can bring me to his trailer. everyone is bustling around, moving according to their own chaotic schedules. a couple golf carts occasionally roll through the space, toting actors and other personnel. it’d be overwhelming for anyone who isn’t used to it.

“Y/N!” Matthew’s voice cuts across the din of the set as he waves. he’s leaning out of the side of a golf cart that he’s driving, which makes me nervous as he pulls up to me. I raise my eyebrows in surprise as he stops the cart and hops out to wrap me in a hug.

he smells good, like expensive cologne and cool air. as he withdraws, he sets his hands on my shoulders and grins at me.

“you look great! how are you?” as usual, he’s talkative. I smile back, though, and take in his appearance. he’s always been handsome, but right now Matthew is looking especially good: the breeze has swept his curls, he’s got on a colorful button-up short-sleeve with parakeets on it, and there’s some stubble growing on his face that’s new. he looks older, more mature.

kind of sexy.

“I’m really well. cool ride you’ve got.” I nod to the golf cart and Matthew laughs.

“you wanna know a secret?” he smirks. I raise my eyebrows and he leans down a little to reach my height. “I’m not supposed to drive that.”

“how’d you get it?” I frown. knowing him, he probably managed to charm his way around the rules, but I’m sure there’s a funny story behind it as well. he’s full of weird anecdotes.

“one of my cast mates distracted the guy who runs the warehouse where they keep them.” he winks, then gestures for me to follow him. I slide into the passenger seat and before I can really process what’s happening, he’s swerving in a wide circle and speeding off.

“I’ve been meaning to call you,” he practically yells over the sound of the motor. “but I know you’ve been busy.”

“yeah, I actually just started writing for this new show.”

“you’re downtown, then?” he glances over with a smile and then we’re slowing to a stop. an enormous trailer sits among rows of other enormous trailers, presumably for his cast mates. he turns off the cart and turns his body to face me while I talk. zeroes in on me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

“for right now, yeah.” I can’t help the smile. it’s been a while since I’ve worked in Los Angeles; I was working as a writer on one of Matthew’s independent films when I got an offer in New York and decided to relocate. and even though it was amazing there, I missed California sunshine and I missed him. we were inseparable before I left.

“so, what I’m hearing is that you’re now legally bound to hang out with me.” he grins in that dazzling way of his. I laugh and nod, climbing out when he does. he opens the trailer door for me. “I have to go back to work in about twenty minutes, but afterwards I wanna take you to dinner.”

“oh, I could have come later. I’m sorry.” I turn to apologize, but he’s quick to wave it off.

“it’s fine. as long as you don’t mind spending an hour in here, it shouldn’t be too torturous.”

I peer around the space, noticing the little ways in which Matthew has made this place his own: aside from all the complimentary gift baskets and notes, the trailer is occupied by strange trinkets that he’s collected, random books and notebooks that scatter the couch and what looks like an attempt at a desk.

“wow.” I say. he sidles up next to me, sighing and realizing that it’s a bit cluttered.

“sorry about the mess. I haven’t really had time to clean up.”

“no, no, I meant ‘wow’ in a good way.” I walk over to the couch and sit down, patting the spot next to me. he smiles, pushes an acting theory book out of the way, and sinks into the cushions a safe distance from me.

“tell me about this job, then.” he immediately starts. I shrug.

“it’s nothing huge, just a teen drama. everyone I work with is brilliant, though.”

“that’s amazing. have you had a chance to work on your art?”

I think back to all the times when Matthew and I would spend free afternoons doing doodle competitions of the crew, usually on random scripts. they were judged by other cast mates, anyone who would take the time to look. I don’t think I was supposed to be on set as much as I was, but it was worth it.

“I wish. my schedule is so busy now, I barely have time to make dinner for myself.” I laugh. he leans back into the corner of the couch, resting his arm on top of the back. I pull one leg beneath me and mirror his actions.

“that’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing some new stuff.”

“I don’t think any of my co-workers would particularly enjoy the representations I do of them.”

“sour sports.” he says. the strangeness and vehemence of the sentiment makes me snort and I glance at the notebooks around the room.

“how about you? any new masterpieces?”

we go on like this for a while, just catching up and slipping into our inside jokes and memories as if they aren’t from a different time in our lives. although I was excited to see him today, there was a lingering nervousness about it going as planned. sometimes you try to reconnect and the spark is just... gone. but Matthew is still Matthew, and I’m still me.

he ends up leaving to go shoot sooner than I can believe, time passing quickly, and tells me to feel free to read any of his books or look through his sketchbooks. he never hides anything, and it’s admirable.

once he’s gone, I settle onto the couch with a used Ray Bradbury anthology that I found beneath a bag of sour candies and start to read.

my mind wanders, however, as I try to concentrate on the page. I think about how Matthew looks now, how the stubble makes his jaw even more defined. those wide, hazel eyes that always seem to glitter with enthusiasm. I don’t know if I’m still frustrated from the unsuccessful session with my vibrator earlier, but the thoughts begin to turn over in my mind and mingle with other ones.

there were moments with him that I remember, quiet ones where we’d be about to say goodnight or moments where he’d fall asleep on my shoulder in my apartment, where I’d look at him and consider the possibility. we get on so well, and he’s arguably one of my best friends. distance hasn’t changed that. there are things I would tell him that I haven’t told my other friends.

and when he’d brush against my skin, or grab my arm to get my attention, and my imagination would run wild. heated kisses and closed doors. finding the way to my bed in the dark, his hands on my waist while he crawls on top of me. things that never happened but that I imagined as if they were real memories seared into my mind.

and now, sitting in this trailer with this book and on this couch that smells like him, those feelings return like something lost, then found: rushing, feverish, overpowering. the images come in a flux, his weight on top of mine and his teeth dragging over my tits. on this couch, that’s all I want.

there’s a blush on my cheeks as I drop the book on the floor and undo the button on my pants. it won’t take me long; I can feel how wet I’m getting and I haven’t even thought that much about it. the pent-up excitement from earlier will overtake my senses. he said I have an hour, and this might take ten minutes tops.

as my fingertips brush over my panties, I close my eyes and imagine they’re his. curious, gentle, teasing before reaching below the waistband and cupping me. I whimper, starting to trace over the wet folds of my entrance with an eager hand. it feels good, right, and the heat of my body tells me that this time, it’ll work. my head is full of thoughts of him, and I dip a finger in, clenching around the digits. the heel of my palm presses into my clit and I moan, starting to work myself.

I imagine Matthew coming in here after he’s done and kissing me like he’s wasted enough time waiting; like he can’t wait another second to be with me. my pace quickens at the memory of his hands, veined and strong and sure, pumping into me. taunting me.

“Matthew...” I whine, removing my fingers to circle my clit with a hurried pressure. every second burns across my skin, reminding me that what I’m doing is wrong. I shouldn’t be touching myself in his trailer while he works, especially not when he’s coming back soon.

but it’s hot, too, and the rhythm I create is impossible to resist. I switch between fingering and toying with my bundle of nerves while clenching my free hand in the couch cushion. my eyes are squeezed shut as I get closer to orgasm, the knot in my stomach tightening with every moment.

“o-oh my god,” I hum. “Matthew--”

the sharp intake of breath makes my entire body freeze. my eyes fly open to see the bastard himself standing there, lips parted. he can’t seem to figure out where to look: my face, which was just contorted in pleasure while I moaned his name, or my pussy, which is almost completely on display now that I’ve managed to push my jeans down to my knees.

“oh my god.” I stutter, immediately removing my hand and sitting up. my cheeks are on fire and everything around me seems surreal. this can’t be real. “y-you weren’t supposed to be back for an hour.” I say stupidly. shit ton of luck that hour did me.

“we, uh, wrapped early.” he averts his eyes, then glances cautiously at my face. “I promise I walked in here before I knew. I never meant--”

“no, it’s fine.” I pull up my jeans, still too shocked to make any sweeping movements. he doesn’t seem quite sure what to do with himself, and I speak to break the silence. “sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wonder what you’d have done with an actual hour.” he says it like he’s attempting to lighten the mood, then winces as he realizes that he shouldn’t have said that. “sorry, bad joke. I’m just-- surprised.”

“Matthew, I’m so sorry--” I start. there’s literally no other direction to take this conversation. I feel like I’ve ruined our friendship within the span of a few seconds.

“were you saying my name?” he asks, eyebrows slightly raised. I would like to sink into the floor and never come up again, I think.

“well, the thing is--” I take a deep breath. “I don’t normally, um... do that in people’s trailers?” my frown makes him smile a little as he relaxes. now that I’m fully clothed, he doesn’t seem so daunted. I scoot up on the couch and glance between the open spot and him to get him to sit. standing only makes it weirder.

he obliges, watching me pull my knees into my chest before I start to explain. guilt is building in my chest now, so much more real after being caught.

“I don’t wanna make this even more awkward than it is, but I feel like I should make it clear that there’s a reason why I was doing it in here and I’m not some freak who, like, contaminates people’s space. like, I was just gonna be super quick about it and be done because-- and now I’m justifying it, which is even worse--”

“hey, Y/N, relax.” Matthew reaches out and touches my wrist, his fingers soft as they pull my attention to his. when I finally muster the courage to look him in the eyes, he’s got a small smile on his face. “I’m not mad or anything.”

“okay.” I sigh, spine going a little less rigid.

“you were moaning my name, though, right?” he smirks. my eyes widen.

“don’t get too cocky,” I try to play it off. “I haven’t been able to get off for the past few days and I only tried it to see if it would work.”

“looks like it did.” he glances between my flushed cheeks and the hand that was playing with myself, which is now sitting on my jeans. how is he being so fucking smooth right now?

“whatever.” I turn my face away, knowing that anything else would be damning.

“are you still... frustrated?” he asks. his voice is low. my face snaps up, jaw dropping. one of his hands is covering the crotch of his jeans, trying to hide something.

“why?”

“I can help you out. only if you want to, of course.” he says this in complete seriousness. my gaze passes over his features once again to make sure I’m not absolutely dreaming. every line in his face, the intensity of those pretty irises, feels too real to be fake.

“like...” I think about his hands, about what he’s offering. it’s heavier than just sex, but also maybe not. it doesn’t have to be; we’re adults. our friendship wouldn’t be shattered by one encounter.

“like I’ll eat you out right now and fuck you until you can’t take it anymore.” we’ve moved closer on the couch, our faces inches apart while he says it so quietly that I wouldn’t hear it otherwise. the way he licks his lips, stares at me, tells me that we’ve already passed the point of no return. there’s no use in holding back anymore.

“mhmm.” I nod. if I say anything more, I’ll reveal more than he wants to know. that I’ve wanted this for a while, even though I tried to forget the way he makes me feel.

“come here, then.” he beckons me forward and I impatiently crash my lips to his. he responds immediately, threading his fingers through my hair and pulling me to him. he’s greedy, but not in a way that overwhelms. like he’s trying to enjoy the moment. his nose brushes my cheek when he deepens the kiss, my hands looping around his neck. he begins to bite on my lower lip, tugging to get me to moan. I let him explore me, those features that he’s seen so many times but has never touched.

we’re hopeful in our embrace, and my mind feels like spring and how I imagine the earth feels when it’s in full bloom. excitement in my veins as we get more heated. when his fingers unbutton my jeans, he pulls away to take a moment.

“sit on my face.” he breathes out, feverish. I nod, getting up to shrug off my jeans. he watches, licking his lips when I pull down my panties and step out of them, then take off my top and bra. he leans back as if to sink down onto the couch for me, but I shake my head.

“take off your clothes first.” I tell him.

“you wanna see me naked?” he knows the truth, but wants me to say it. the smirk on his face makes me annoyingly aroused. I just start to go for the buttons on his shirt.

“yeah, I wanna see you naked.” I reply. this makes him grin and he helps me out by working on his jeans. we strip him down and then we’re both there, looking at each other.

“c’mere, beautiful.” he grabs my hip and pulls me closer until I get on the couch and position myself. he lies down flat, gesturing for me to scoot up his chest until my core is right above his face. “perfect.”

I’m about to poke a little fun at him for being so confident when he reaches up, wraps his hands around my thighs, and pulls me down against his face.

I yelp, overwhelmed by how he moans against my heat and starts to eat me out. his tongue moves expertly, lapping at the wetness that’s gathered between my legs before teasing my entrance. I release a series of noises that are downright sinful, but the red marks he’s leaving in my thighs tell me he’s loving my reaction. his nose brushes against my clit and I start to roll my hips against his face, falling apart already as he switches between sucking, licking, and sliding his tongue inside me. I grip onto his hair, mumbling like a prayer.

he takes the opportunity to quickly slap my ass before returning to my thighs, burying his face and working with a divine acuity. I can’t believe how good it feels, throwing my head back and arching my spine while I hold my tits. Matthew moves my hand and massages one while he stares up into my eyes, lust evident in every sound and motion.

“Matthew, please--” I gasp. “don’t stop.”

he groans, running his nails down my stomach while I ride his face. I’m needy for him, only uttering his name and more pleas for his tongue. and the sensation of him holding me down like he can’t get enough makes the knot from earlier return easily. I lean back a little, swirl my hips, and then it comes like a white-hot wave.

“oh my god—“ I can barely get it out, moving with abandon. “it’s so fucking good.”

he lets my body slow to a reasonable pace, drawing out the high until I’m swallowing all the air I can get and pull myself away from him. Matthew’s grinning, mouth glistening while he sits up a bit.

“such a wet little pussy.” he tells me, licking his lips. I’m pretty much resting on his chest and I start to move off of him when he quickly straightens himself, wraps his arms around my waist, and pushes me so I’m laying on my back at the other end of the couch with him leaning over me.

I brush his curls out of his face, appreciating the hunger in his face. he craves more of me, and the erection he’s pressing into my inner thigh is proof. I look up at him.

“you’re good.” I concede. he shrugs, smiles. butterflies.

“I just think about it a lot.” the response is simple, but it’s the right one. I blush and he grabs his dick, pumping it a few times before lining it up at my entrance. I search his eyes, those widened pupils, as he shoves into me.

“shit.” he moans, jaw dropping once he’s reaching the hilt. “give it to me, baby.” I can feel him deep inside, cock twitching against my walls as he settles. one of his arms is over me, supporting himself on the arm of the couch, while the other holds my waist.

I don’t speak, only bite down on my lip and whimper through the initial shocks of him. it isn’t until he pulls out that I get more vocal. he starts to roll his hips, never breaking eye contact while I arch my back and moan.

“harder.” I whisper. he tightens his grip on me and slams himself inside. my body instinctively moves up away from the pressure, but he brings me right back down.

“is this what you were thinking about?” he breathes out. “me fucking you like a slut?”

I nod urgently, but he uses an index finger to tilt my face back to his.

“tell me who you belong to, little slut.” his tone is low, laced with lust when he bites his lip and watches my reactions to his cock.

“you.” I whine quietly, grabbing his shoulders for stability while he plows into me.

“louder, sweetheart. you were plenty sure before.” he mocks, pausing after to moan in my ear like he’s absolutely losing it. he roughly tugs me further against him and the sensation makes me cry out.

“y-you-- fuck!”

“c’mon, baby.” he pants. we’re definitely rocking this trailer with the way he’s ramming my body right now. I can feel him like he’s in my ribs.  

“Matthew, oh god--”

“show me how you cum, Y/N. lemme see you fucking break.” the final word is punctuated by him bottoming-out within me, his noises their own stimulation to my senses. I’m trying to breathe but it’s so hard with all the thoughts firing in my brain. he doesn’t go easy on me.

“I’m cumming.” my hips jerk up into his, pussy fluttering like it’s trying to push him out. but the tension only makes him thrust harder, further, chasing his own release as I claw at his back and squeeze my legs around his torso.

“can I fill that tight little cunt up, baby?” he moans into my ear, our bodies like undulating waves. I nod and buck against him, which drives him mad as his thrusts get sloppier. we’re filthy together and it’s otherworldly. “good girl.”

he lets out a whimpering sound while he stills inside my body and cums. I feel him twitching, shooting his load into me. I’m writhing while I clench around him, both of us falling apart. for all his cockiness, he’s lovely when he’s orgasming-- mouth open, eyes rolling back into his head before focusing intently on my face, a sheen of sweat that glows on his cheekbones.

when he finally withdraws, leaving me naked and panting on his couch, his eyes run over my body appreciatively.

“that help?” he smirks as he straightens. I glare at him, kneeing him in the ribs, and he leans down to kiss my cheek, giving me a tender look. “I’m joking. are you okay?”

“more than okay.” I smile. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, closing and opening his mouth as if debating whether or not to say something else.

“you’re really beautiful, you know that?”

“thanks.” as if this man hasn’t already fucked me senseless, I blush, look away shyly. he grabs my clothes from the floor and hands them to me.

“do you want some water?” he’s worried about giving me space. there’s a question lingering between us that I’m afraid to ask, especially now that he hasn’t. Matthew has always been the more bold between the two of us.

“uh, sure.” if it means he takes his eyes off me long enough for me to regain my bearings, yes. I watch him pull on the rest of his clothes before standing and going over to his mini-fridge. I’ll need to clean up soon.

“so...” his voice is measured, hazel eyes slipping over my form.

“so.”

“dinner? and then breakfast?” he suggests. my eyebrows raise at the second question, one that he hasn’t mentioned until now. the implication makes me laugh.

“you think you’re getting this again?” I try to act nonchalant, as if I’m not already imagining it.

“oh, wait--” he frowns, hesitates. “that’s not what I meant.”

“what did you mean?” there’s a grin taking over my face, hopeful as I await his response. I guess we’re about to answer that question after all.

“I wanna finally take you on a date.” he smiles softly, surprisingly shy. I don’t even hesitate to answer.

“I’m in.”

[ibijau]

Futures past pt1 / On AO3

Nie Huaisang, sitting cross legged on his bed, tilted his head. It was a rather warm early evening in spring, and he had been getting ready for bed, so he was wearing only his inner clothes, and his hair was done in quick and messy braids so they wouldn’t get tangled during the night. Since he hadn’t been expecting anyone save perhaps his brother, if Nie Mingjue felt in the mood to shout at him for skipping practice again, his room was an awful mess, the floor covered in copies of some prints he’d bought recently. Tasteful prints, at least, not that it would have shocked his visitor too much if it had been porn, he guessed.

“I think I should scream,” Nie Huaisang said without conviction.

“But you won’t because you’re too curious,” Nie Huaisang retorted.

At least, Nie Huaisang thought that was himself. The man who had suddenly appeared in the middle of his room had his eyes, his nose, his lips, his general shape of face, even if his jaw was much sharper. He dressed well, in the sort of ornate styles Nie Huaisang absolutely would do if his brother weren’t forcing him to be reasonable, had a gorgeous fan in his hand, and wore an elaborate guan in his hair, the perfect picture of a rich and refined scholar. He didn’t even bother carrying a sabre, which Nie Huaisang found very satisfying for some reason.

“I don’t have time to play games,” the older man announced, opening his fan with an elegant yet disdainful gesture that his younger self hoped to reproduce someday. He supposed he would, in time. “I am you, from the future. A little over twenty years, if you must know, and it is not a pretty sight here. Some people are going to make a mess of things and while I’ve done what was needed to right every wrong, I don’t see why I shouldn’t try to prevent those wrongs.”

Nie Huaisang hunched up, one elbow on his leg, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

“I don’t think you’re me. I wouldn’t ever put that much effort into anything. Good try on the disguise though. It’s a bit rude you didn’t make me taller, but it is a good detail, it really sells it.”

The man threw him a disgusted look. “Sometimes, I understand why da-ge ended up like this,” he muttered. “I really was insufferable. Listen up. When you were seven, you stole da-ge’s favourite robes, the set he always wore to go to conferences. You thought they were the prettiest thing you’d ever seen, and you wanted to try them on and pretend you were, against all evidence, as great as da-ge. You wore them for less than an incense stick’s time before dropping ink on them. They were completely ruined, in spite of your efforts, so you just burned them.”

Nie Huaisang startled so badly he half fell on his side, before scrambling toward the back of his bed, suddenly terrified. That incident happened years before, and he’d never told anyone. Nie Mingjue had been furious for weeks. To that day, Nie Huaisang still didn’t know how he hadn’t been discovered… but it was something only he knew, something he’d never shared with anyone.

He stared at this cold, distant man in front of him, with his venomous eyes and disdainful air, and didn’t like what he saw. How could that be his future?

Guessing his thoughts, the man smiled.

“Da-ge dies in a few years,” he announced, startling Nie Huaisang again. “It’s tragic, and cruel, and we’re going to do everything we can to avoid it. You’re going to help, of course.”

So shocked he couldn’t breathe, Nie Huaisang weakly nodded.

It seemed impossible that his brother could ever die, least of all that he might die in the twenty years to come. He would have said the same of his father once, certainly, but his father was well into his sixties already, and anyway he was murdered so it was not the same.

Nie Huaisang gasped and grabbed his pillow, hugging it tight against his body for comfort, as if he weren’t already fifteen and far too old for that.

“When you say da-ge dies, you mean… he’s going to be killed by someone,” Nie Huaisang guessed, curling up on himself, hoping to be wrong.

The expression on the face of that man he would become softened.

“Maybe you’re not hopeless,” he said. “Maybe all I needed was a chance to do a little more… Yes, he’s going to be murdered. Or he would be murdered. We won’t let it happen. You won’t let it happen. I’m only here for a little time, it’s not easy to come here, but I’m hoping to return in a few months if all goes well.”

Something relaxed in Nie Huaisang’s shoulders. It seemed his brother’s death wasn’t something that would happen in the very near future then. That was a relief, when Nie Huaisang was about to leave home and go study for a year in the Cloud Recesses. From all the way down south, it would have been difficult to protect Nie Mingjue.

“So, what am I supposed to do then?” Nie Huaisang asked, still clutching his pillow. “You’d know I’m not much good at anything, so why aren’t you trying to warn da-ge directly? Oh, or am I the only one who can see you?”

“I’m… not sure if others can see me,” the man admitted, hiding behind his fan at that admission, exactly as Nie Huaisang did when embarrassed. “And I don’t have enough time to experiment. Besides, da-ge is so stubborn, he wouldn’t trust a stranger so easily. He can’t be blackmailed over a burned robe.”

“Rude!”

“That’s what you get for calling me short. Now come over here, grab something to write. I don’t want you to forget any of this, and I know how your memory is. Hurry!”

Nie Huaisang reluctantly let go of his pillow, and hopped down from the bed, grumbling the whole time. What was the point of being sent to the Cloud Recesses if he ended up becoming a man with such dreadful manners?

He grabbed a brush, hastily prepared some ink, and sat on the floor before looking up at his future self, waiting for instruction like a sullen child forced to listen in class.

“The first thing you need to know,” the man before him said, “is that there’s going to be a war with Qishan Wen.”

“Duh,” Nie Huaisang retorted, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t the brightest person in the world, but even he could guess as much. “Is that how da-ge dies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if even Wen Ruohan could do anything to him!” his older self said, with a mix of disdain and pride. “Da-ge becomes a war hero, of course. But that war is what will eventually cause his death. Not that it matters yet, you have about two years and a half before the war starts, so…”

Nie Huaisang dropped his brush with a gasp, splattering ink over his sheet of paper.

“Two years? The war is in just two years?”

His older self clicked his tongue impatiently.

“Focus! This is irrelevant right now! What matters is taking measure so certain things don’t happen during that war. Now, the most important would be…”

He paused, looking down at Nie Huaisang. The longer he stared, the more annoyed the older man appeared. That look of frustration was one Nie Huaisang was quite used to, especially coming from his elders, but also sometimes from people of his own generation. He usually didn’t mind, though just a week before one kid half his age had looked at him like that over his posture during sabre practice, and that had stung a little, to be honest.

More often than not, people would accompany that exasperated stare with a ‘what will we do with you?’ and though his older self didn’t say the words, he was clearly thinking them.

“There’s a boy, living in Yunping City, named Meng Yao,” the man announced, before giving a number of details about that boy, such as the name of his mother, the address where he might be found, his age, his looks, and plenty other things. Nie Huaisang wrote it all down, and even doodled a very quick portrait based on that description, to which his older self nodded, looking nearly approving for a moment. Before Nie Huaisang could enjoy that, the man turned grim again. “You have to find this boy, and make sure he doesn’t join Lanling Jin. Do you understand? No matter what, Meng Yao cannot join Lanling Jin. If he does, there will be great risk to da-ge.”

There was an odd inflection on that cannot. Or at least, it was odd to hear it coming from himself, because it was the tone of voice people had when saying it’d be a shame if Wen Ruohan choked on his next meal, or if Jin Guangshan’s dick got chopped off by a demon on a Night Hunt.

But that Meng Yao was just a boy, just a few months older than Nie Huaisang himself. Even if he became a danger in later times, for now there was no way he could harm anyone. And even if he couldn’t join the Jin, there might be other sects, if he was so determined to be a cultivator. Maybe he could even be brought into Qinghe Nie, if he had real talent. Nie Mingjue didn’t care much what people’s origins were as long as they worked hard, though it was an opinion not everyone in the clan shared. It’d be a great way to kill two birds with one stone.

“Is he going to be a problem soon?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Only, it’s not like I can travel on my own, and Yunping City is pretty far from Gusu anyway, and…”

“A few weeks after your arrive, Jiang zongzhu invites Lan Qiren and his nephews to help him with a creature that causes problems near Yunping City,” his older self announced, lazily fanning himself. “I didn’t go, personally, but I’m sure you could find a way to go along. You’ll have to, it’s your best chance. Speaking of which…” he closed his fan with a sharp gesture and pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. “You have to get Lan Xichen to trust you in the future, so take this year in Gusu as a chance and become the best friend he’s ever had.”

Nie Huaisang nearly dropped his brush again and grimaced.

“Oh. Do I really have to? I mean, he’s so…”

He made a vague hand gesture, words failing him to describe Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen wasn’t a bad person. That wasn’t it. He was, in fact, very good, everyone said so. He was smart, and polite, and well educated, and amazing with cultivation, and with martial arts, and… and he was just so boring. He was, without a doubt, the most boring person Nie Huaisang had ever met. He was always too careful when speaking, too serious, too perfect, too much exactly how grown ups thought boys their age should act. He was an old man’s idea of a young man. He was really, really boring and while Nie Huaisang was very glad his brother had at least one friend, he was very judgmental toward Nie Mingjue for having chosen such a person for a companion.

If his older self’s dark expression was anything to go by, Lan Xichen’s personality didn’t look like it improved much in the future.

“I wouldn’t do this if there was another choice,” the man said. “But if da-ge couldn’t properly burn bridges with san-ge, then it’s pointless to try driving him away from er-ge, they’re too close. So you’ll have to do what’s needed to save da-ge, and become friends with Lan Xichen. It is vital. We’re going to do what we can so da-ge doesn’t die, but if it still comes to pass, you’ll need allies and I suppose that’s at least one thing he might be good for. Let’s see if he really meant what he said that time,” Nie Huaisang’s future self muttered somberly. “I don’t expect anything to come of this, but it can’t hurt.”

“But I don’t want to be friends with him,” Nie Huaisang grumbled.

“Good, because he won’t be your friend,” the man retorted coldly. “Don’t get attached to him, he’s not worth it. But make sure to become someone he’ll fully trust. Make yourself dearer to him than even da-ge is. Nothing less than that will do.”

That sounded even more difficult and boring than actually becoming friends with Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang thought. He pouted at the perspective of such a daunting task, wondering if he really loved his brother enough to put so much effort into saving him.

“I don’t even know how to become close to Lan gongzi!” he whined. “He doesn’t like anything interesting, he’s the most boring person in the world! How do I…”

“Figure it out!” his older self snapped. “Do you think I’d be here if I knew how to deal with him? Besides, I’m running out of time already. I’ll try to return to you a month after Qingming, when the spell has recharged. It should be before the Night Hunt in Yunping City, but you’ll need to have made progress with Lan Xichen already. Remember that we’re doing this for da-ge!”

Before Nie Huaisang could protest, the man standing before him suddenly disappeared, leaving no trace of his presence. It would have been easy to think it nothing but a dream, if not for that detailed list of information about that Meng Yao from Yunping City. Even like that, it really was unsettling, and Nie Huaisang stayed frozen in place for a long while, kneeling on the floor, staring at a list about a boy he was maybe supposed to kill. It seemed like complete madness, and maybe he should have ran to his brother, explained everything to him, except…

Except there had been such pain in his older self’s voice every time he spoke of Nie Mingjue, and his anger at having failed to protect their brother in his own life had been obvious. Something had happened there. Something he hadn’t even explained, Nie Huaisang suddenly realised. His older self hadn’t told him how their brother died, and how could he convince Nie Mingjue that he might be in danger when he didn’t even know who would strike him, or when?

It might be better to wait then. After all, Nie Huaisang’s older self had said that Nie Mingjue would be a great hero in a future war, and that war wouldn’t start for over two more years. Until then, Nie Huaisang might as well try to meet that Meng Yao when he had the chance, and he would also (he shivered in distaste) try to see what could be done about Lan Xichen. Having come to that conclusion, Nie Huaisang carefully folded the sheet of paper containing his notes about Meng Yao, and put it away. He then cleaned his brush, put some order around him, and finally went to sleep.

His last thought was that next time, when his older self returned, he would definitely ask more details about Nie Mingjue’s death.

-

In the days that followed that encounter with his future self, Nie Huaisang made efforts to be a better brother. He still wasn’t sure how much he believed about that encounter he’d had, but it certainly made him quite sentimental to realise that Nie Mingjue would die someday. It was clear that there would be a war soon after all, whether it happened when his future self said it would or not, and people certainly tended to die during conflicts.

So as he finished preparing for his rapidly approaching stay in Gusu, Nie Huaisang tried to fully enjoy his brother’s company and commit every moment spent together to memory, in case something happened.

A very noble sentiment, except his brother was a complete pain in the ass.

If Nie Huaisang hugged him, Nie Mingjue asked him what he’d broken this time, or what favour he was about to request. If Nie Huaisang suggested they spent more time together, Nie Mingjue just took him to the training grounds and forced him to practice the sabre, or even worse tried to spar with him, which was cruel and barbaric.

Nie Mingjue was the absolute worst person in the entire world, and while Nie Huaisang was still going to try his best to keep him alive, he wasn’t sure why.

Because Nie Mingjue was so unbearable and annoying and unable to appreciate his brother’s immense kindness, Nie Huaisang found it a relief of sorts when he finally left for the Cloud Recesses.

The trip itself was nothing memorable. Nie Huaisang spent most of it wishing he had a golden core so he could fly his sabre and go faster than this carriage, or trying to figure out how he was supposed to befriend the oh-so-boring Lan Xichen. By the time he and the disciple accompanying him reached Gusu, he still hadn’t found an answer to that problem. He would have to figure it out on the fly then.

The carriage was left at the foot of the mountain where the Cloud Recesses laid, and the long trek by foot started. Nie Huaisang, adverse to any unnecessary physical effort, found that he didn’t actually mind too much going up the mountain. The landscape was so exquisite there, every turn of the path revealing something worth painting. On the few occasions he’d been there before to accompany his brother at conferences, he’d always admired how Gusu Lan had found such an amazing place to live in, and promised himself he’d make the best of things if he ever got to come study there. He would have forgotten to bring his sabre if Nie Mingjue hadn’t packed it for him, but his luggage was full of paper of the highest quality, and it wouldn’t be used to take notes.

At the gate of the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang and his brother’s disciple had to wait to be brought in. Because he was a somewhat more important guest than some of the other visiting disciples, Nie Huaisang was greeted by Lan Qiren in person, his eldest nephew in tow.

While Lan Qiren guided him inside and explained a number of rules he didn’t intend to follow, Nie Huaisang couldn’t help observing Lan Xichen with more attention than he’d ever done before. He was somewhat handsome, if you liked that sort. A little tall and gangly, though it was less jarring when he wasn’t hanging out with Nie Mingjue who was older and had fully finished growing. Nie Huaisang figured that hanging out with him would at least give him something nice to look at, even if he didn’t expect the two of them to ever find much to talk about.

“And this is where you will be staying,” Lan Qiren announced when they arrived in front of a small house. “We will let you get settled and rest from your trip. If you have any requests…”

“I’d love a tour of the Cloud Recesses!” Nie Huaisang said without thinking, then turned to look at Lan Xichen. “Lan gongzi, would you please give me a tour? I’m sure there’s no one who could do it better than you.”

Since they had never spoken much before, Nie Huaisang had of course expected that Lan Xichen would be a little surprised over such a request. But Lan Xichen wasn’t just surprised, he was shocked, his eyes opening wide and his face growing pale, as if Nie Huaisang had just grown a second head and announced he’d be feeding on the blood of infants. Lan Xichen’s polite smile even dropped for a moment, though of course it quickly returned. In a moment, he had regained perfect control of himself, but Nie Huaisang was still puzzled and entertained by that extreme reaction.

“I’m glad Nie gongzi thinks well of me,” Lan Xichen said calmly. “But I am sure I can find someone better suited to give you a tour.”

“But I want it to be you,” Nie Huaisang insisted, pretending not to notice the other Nie disciples glaring at him for already causing problems on his first day. “It’d be nice if it were you. Da-ge always says you’re so clever and knows so many things, so I really want you to be my guide.”

Lan Xichen appeared to hesitate. Nie Huaisang braced himself for rejection. He hadn’t expected to have his caprice granted anyway, and just wanted to throw it out there that he was going to be pestering Lan Xichen in the future. Then, to his surprise, the older boy nodded.

“Very well. I will give you a tour this afternoon, Nie gongzi,” Lan Xichen said. “I have no urgent obligations, and it is the least I can do for a friend’s relative. Unless shufu has objections?”

Lan Qiren had none. The Nie were left to settle down, promised lunch would be brought to them soon, and then Lan Xichen would come in the early afternoon to show Nie Huaisang around, while someone else would do the same for the other Nie disciples. It was a great plan, a great occasion for Nie Huaisang to gain Lan Xichen’s favour as instructed… and it sounded impossibly boring.

All too soon, the time for that tour came. Nie Huaisang, unhappy with their too simple accomodations and the unappealing meal they had been served, was not in a great mood when Lan Xichen knocked on the door. He had been in the Cloud Recesses less than half a day, and already the place disappointed him.

To his credit, Lan Xichen wasn’t a bad guide. He made sure to match his pace to Nie Huaisang’s as they walked, he had something to explain about nearly every building, and patiently repeated the most important rules of life in the Cloud Recesses which Nie Huaisang had ignored when Lan Qiren gave them. It was easier to listen to Lan Xichen than to Lan Qiren anyway, there was a certain warmth to his voice that his uncle simply lacked. Lan Xichen could probably have made a lecture sound like a conversation. It would have been a very lovely time, if Nie Huaisang had cared about any of that, which he didn’t. Everything in the Cloud Recesses was about cultivation and rules, which was nearly as boring as the Unclean Realm where everything was about cultivation and martial arts.

“And what do you do for fun here?” Nie Huaisang desperately asked after a while when Lan Xichen explained that a certain building was meant to enhance the effects of meditation.

“The library is that way,” Lan Xichen announced.

“Does it have anything fun, or is it only cultivation treaties?”

“We collect poetry and history treaties as well,” Lan Xichen said. “And music sheets, of course,” he added after a moment, looking uncomfortable. “I… are you much interested in music, Nie gongzi?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “No, but I guess it’s better than cultivation, as far as fun things go. I’m supposed to learn the guqin at some point, but it’s hard to find the time, and da-ge prefers that I focus on the sabre.”

“Qinghe Nie has traditionally been more focused on martial arts,” Lan Xichen noted. “Though since you are here, perhaps you might enjoy trying different things. You are here to learn after all.”

Nie Huaisang stared at the older boy with surprise. Up until then, Lan Xichen had never seemed to care what Nie Huaisang did or didn’t do, and he never contradicted Nie Mingjue whenever his friend complained about having a lazy little brother who wasn’t interested in the things he ought to have been interested in. Without being sure, Nie Huaisang suspected that Lan Xichen thought him a little stupid, and just not very skilled in general.

“Maybe it’s worth a try,” Nie Huaisang mused. “I do like music a lot. My father used to say I have a good ear for it. Not like da-ge. He wouldn’t know one melody from another even if his life depended on it!”

“Is that so,” Lan Xichen weakly replied, turning very pale, as if he might faint.

“Lan gongzi, are you unwell?”

“It’s nothing important,” Lan Xichen said, smiling again in that annoying manner of his. “Let’s continue walking. I think you really might like the library, and then… it wouldn’t be part of a normal tour, but would you like me to show you the way to the back hills if we have time? I remember your brother mentioning that you like birds, and there are many to be seen there.”

“That would be lovely,” Nie Huaisang agreed, surprised and delighted by that offer. It was likely that Nie Mingjue had just been complaining about that particular hobby of his, as he so often did, but if Lan Xichen had translated that into something positive, Nie Huaisang was glad. “Do you like birds as well, Lan gongzi?”

“I’ve never paid them much attention,” Lan Xichen admitted. “I suppose they are fine creatures.”

That, clearly, was all he had to say on the subject. It was a very boring answer, Nie Huaisang thought. But then, Lan Xichen really was a boring person, so that was no surprise. Nie Huaisang thus dropped the topic, and forced himself to pay some degree of attention as Lan Xichen resumed talking about the history of the Cloud Recesses.

At least, the library really did seem quite interesting, aside from all the cultivation texts. And since they actually managed to check the back hills for a little bit before dinner, Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise to find that there were a great many birds there, as well as plenty of spaces to explore, and quite a few vistas to paint.

Getting along with Lan Xichen was going to be so boring, but at least the rest of his stay could be turned into something quite fun.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

chapter 34 (part II)

Fake Making-It

Social Media AU

part I

again, this isn’t proofread, because I literally wrote it all today, so sorry for any mistakes!

~^~

Lucas feels a little lost. He’s been looking around for what feels like hours, and he can’t find Sander. He hasn’t seen Robbe, either, or their friends Moyo and Aaron.

He isn’t sure if he’s looking for Jens.

He finds himself in the dimly lit bathrooms, and he sighs, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a gulp. He moves to the sinks and glances at himself in the mirror, brushing a hand through his curls. It’s a pointless attempt, trying to coerce them back into place. He gives up fairly quickly and takes another drink. His heart has sped up to the slightly uncomfortable rhythm of intoxicated.

For a moment he just stands there, bottle hanging by his side, and takes a few slow breaths. It doesn’t really do anything to steady his heartbeat, but it helps clear his head a little. This is when he finally takes notice of the humming.

He furrows his brows and spins around, eyeing the closed stall in the corner. Listening more intently, he realises the humming is a quiet singing, and he creeps closer to the stall and stares at the door. From here he can make out a few words, but he doesn’t have to to recognise the voice.

“Jens?”

The singing stops.

Lucas waits, and after a moment, he hears the slide of the lock and the door swings open. It reveals Jens curled up in the cramped space, sitting on the closed toilet with his back to one wall and his feet pressed to the other. He has his own beer cradled in his lap, with his other hand still holding the door open, and he’s staring at Lucas.

Lucas purses his lips to stop them from turning up in a smile. “What are you doing?”

Jens is blushing slightly. He shrugs. “There’s more people now. They were staring at me.”

“So you’re hiding, by singing?”

“I didn’t think there was anyone in here,” he grumbles.

Lucas huffs a laugh, smile coming out in full. “Obviously.” He leans against the door of the stall as Jens rolls his eyes, and tilts his head consideringly. “Why didn’t you come get one of us?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you. Couldn’t find Robbe.”

Lucas hums. “I can’t find them either.”

“No Sander?”

“Nope, up and disappeared.”

Jens sniffs. “On Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s after midnight now, so…”

“Still. Shouldn’t have abandoned you.”

Lucas takes a long breath, quiet enough that Jens doesn’t notice, the musician having resorted to staring at the wall again. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to think about it. Not when Jens is right here. Now when they’re supposed to be giving him a good night. He swallows down his protests and reassurances and instead says, “It’ll be really weird if someone finds you in here.”

“Yeah, but now you’re here.”

“I think that probably makes it weirder,” Lucas points out, smiling again. Jens doesn’t respond, and he sighs, knocking his fist on the stall door before turning on his heel. “Come on.”

He hears Jens scrambling after him with a small sound of protest. “What? I don’t wanna go back out there.”

“So we won’t. Well, we’ll just pass through.”

“Where are we going, then?”

Lucas looks around at him and raises his brows, pushing through the door back out to the bar. “Wherever you want.”

Slowly, Jens smiles.

They weave their way through the crowd, Jens sticking close behind him, so close that Lucas can feel his heat. He’s almost sure Jens actually has a hand curled in the back of his shirt, can feel the knuckles brushing against his spine. He ignores it and leads them to the room they’d left their coats, and Jens releases him to fish out his phone. He messages Robbe, to ask where the hell he is and to tell him they’re leaving. Before he has even hit send, there’s someone calling his name.

Lucas shoots a quick glance in that vague direction and doesn’t see any of their friends. He takes Jens by the wrist and draws him towards the front door, speeding up when more calls come and Jens begins urging him on. Lucas keeps a firm hold on him and gets them to the door. They’re almost running now, and they don’t stop as they burst through the door and start down the street. Beyond that, they’re laughing. Giggling like girls, downright giddy. Lucas is glad they had abandoned their beers in the bar, because by now he’s sure they’d have spilled them all over the street and themselves.

It’s only when they’ve made it onto a new street that they latch onto each other and stop, trying to catch their breath. Instead they catch each other’s eyes and break into laughter again.

Jens lets out an exaggerated ‘woo’ of relief, still clutching at Lucas’s collar. “Nice save,” he approves.

“Oh yeah,” Lucas snorts. He’s still holding onto both of Jens’s arms. “Very well thought out on my end.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Jens mocks, completing it with a small bow. He almost trips as he does so, and it sends them into another fit of giggles as he flounders for Lucas’s hand. Lucas waits until he’s steady, heart hammering, and then quickly lets go.

They take another moment to catch their breaths and look at where they’ve ended up, and then Lucas raises his brows at Jens.

Jens looks back at him and swallows. “There’s a swingset and stuff by the skatepark. It should be dead this late.”

Lucas tucks his hands into the pockets of his coats and nods, finding his lips drawing up in a smile again. “Lead the way.”

They’re quiet as they make their way through the dark streets, still sticking close but no longer touching. Jens scuffs his feet every few steps, and Lucas wonders if he wishes he was skating. It seems, even now, like his preferred method of transport. He picks up the pace, and Lucas does his best to keep up with the other’s longer legs.

They make it to a small park, set up with a kids climbing frame and slide and, as promised, a swingset. Jens makes a beeline directly for it and sits on one of them, tucking his arms around the chains and digging his feet into the ground to start pushing himself back and forth.

For a moment, Lucas simply watches, smiling. He had wondered if Jens was actually taking a day off, giving himself time to chill, but he hadn’t seemed at all relaxed in the bar. Now, however, he does, swinging gently back and forth with his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips, uncaring of Lucas watching him. Then he opens his eyes and meets Lucas’s, and beckons him over with a flick of his hand.

Lucas goes. It takes a moment to get settled comfortably in the swing, and he wishes he’d just worn his denim jacket instead of the long black coat he kept for more formal occasions. He’d watched Jens’s eyes sweep over him at the start of the night, however, and that had reassured him of his choice.

He wraps his hands around the chains and kicks himself into a swinging motion. “This is pretty much exactly like the one Isa used to love at home.”

“Isa?” Jens questions.

“One of my friends from school,” Lucas explains, smiling wider. “We still talk. For some reason she used to think a swingset was a great place for serious conversation.”

Jens huffs, pushing himself to match the speed and height of Lucas’s swings. “Okay. Serious conversation time, then.”

“Oh shit. Walked into that one.”

Jens huffs again, shooting him a grin. “When did you get into designing? Or how?”

“Oh.” This is a much safer topic than Lucas had expected. “I don’t know. I always kind of liked art, but even that, I kept it mostly private, just doodling and stuff where no one would see. I kind of dulled everything about myself down like that. My fashion sense was just as good as yours, which…”

“Hey,” Jens protests, though he’s fighting a smile.

Lucas grins, shrugging. “Then, I don’t know, it didn’t feel like me. So one day I just started fucking around with some of my clothes. I bought this like, multi-pack of kids fabric paint and just went for it. It was a fucking mess.”

Jens laughs, loud and surprised. “But it made you think, hey, I just wanna do this for the rest of my life?”

“God, no,” Lucas snorts, and Jens laughs louder. “But it still felt...good. I made the mess look purposeful and turned it into this paint-splatter, tie-dye, rainbow thing and I wore it the next day and Isa’s friend, Engel, kept asking where I got it and then begged me to make her something when I explained and, I don’t know. Since then I just kind of started, making stuff for my friends, and it spiraled from there.”

“And now here you are,” Jens muses.

“With the biggest celebrity in Antwerp.”

It’s teasing more than it is genuine, and Jens scoffs and twists his swing around to kick at Lucas, resulting in a rough tangle of legs. Jens yelps and grabs onto the chains with his hands when he’s almost tugged from the seat. Lucas tosses his head in a laugh and almost tips backwards. They’re both probably a little bit tipsy. Not drunk, definitely not, but both had clearly been on their way. Jens possibly more so than him.

“How are you?” Lucas thinks to ask. “After everything today. Was the stressing necessary?”

Jens starts swinging again and thinks before shaking his head. “No, probably not. I mean it when I say it’s not why I do it, you know, the whole publicity thing. I didn’t decide I wanted to be a celebrity, I just love making music and I thought how cool it would be if I managed to do it for a living. But then when people actually like it...it feels good, you know? It feels like I’m doing something but also like, I don’t know, I’m understood. Like people like me for what I have to say.”

“Or it could be because you’re hot.”

This startles another laugh out of Jens. “Okay, objectify me some more, why don’t you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Dumbass.” Jens grins.

“Hey, we’re having a serious conversation,” Lucas protests, kicking out at him this time, unable to help grinning back. Jens mimes zipping his lips and Lucas nods approvingly. “When did you realise this is what you wanted to do?”

Jens doesn’t hesitate. “Always. Music is the only thing I ever felt really passionate about, I guess. For the same reason as you. It’s just my version of art that makes me feel like myself.”

Lucas drags his feet against the grass underneath him until he stops swinging. Jens has already stilled, and he turns his head to look at Lucas. “You always do that,” Lucas says. “Say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you understand. You say it so confidently. Like you know me.”

“Don’t I?” Jens asks, brow furrowed and still smiling slightly. Before Lucas can answer, he says, “If I don’t, I want to.”

Lucas swallows. His question comes out as a whisper. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jens admits.

Lucas sways slightly, looking down at the ground even as he twists his body towards Jens, listening. Jens’s feet creep towards his own as he twists around, too.

“I just want to. I don’t know, I feel like you understand, too. I just like you. I want to know you and I want you to know me.”

It shocks Lucas into looking at him, and it also shocks him into silence.

Jens’s cheeks turn rosy, and Lucas guesses it isn’t from the cold. Jens laughs nervously and slides his feet, accidentally knocking into Lucas’s. “Sorry, that was probably weird. I’m just—I’m not used to getting to know people like you, Lucas, and it just, it feels good. I don’t think there even is anyone else like you.”

Lucas leans forward and kisses him.

It’s soft. Tentative. A drawn-out press of lips, frozen in a drawn-out second in time, all in the single breath caught in Lucas’s throat. Then Jens presses back, raises his hand to cup Lucas’s head, and time jerks back into motion.

Lucas instantly reaches up to grab his face, pulling him in, and Jens’s free hand comes to grip his wrist and hold him in place. Lucas’s heart batters at his ribs, grateful.

He’s not sixteen anymore. He’s had his fair share of kisses. It shouldn’t—usually doesn’t—make him nervous. But this, Jens, is something he doesn’t think he ever could have prepared himself for. Jens is careful and he isn’t. He’s experienced, knows what he’s doing, and yet he takes it easy, waits for Lucas to respond to every move before making another. His kiss is gentle and his grip is tight, lips warm and fingers cold. Lucas is less focused on the tongue in his mouth and more aware of the riot in his stomach, the beat of his pulse in his ears. Kissing Jens is nothing and everything like he expected, as surprising and beautiful as the man himself. Lucas can’t remember why he hasn’t done this before. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t been doing this, kissing Jens, forever. Or at least, since he first saw him.

Then Jens is shoving him away and Lucas almost topples off his swing, breath rushing out of him as his heart plummets.

Jens wipes his mouth and harshly says, “What the fuck?”

Lucas gapes. He tries to speak and only makes a wounded, croaky noise. He clears his throat and licks his lips before managing to ask, “What?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jens looks furious. Lucas doesn’t understand. “I—did you not want to? But you...you kissed me back.”

Jens laughs, and even that sounds angry. “So it’s my fault. No. Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck.”

“Jens,” Lucas pleads.

“No, fuck, look. I don’t know, what’s going on with you and Sander but I—no. I won’t do this. Jesus, Lucas, why would you make me do that?”

Oh. Oh fuck. That’s why he’s never done this before.

“Oh, no, Jens, no. You’ve—it’s not what you think, I swear—“

“Whatever you have going on, figure it out, Lucas. But I can’t—I’m not that person. I’m not being that person. After I told you—fuck, I’m not a consolation prize.” Jens stands up abruptly, and Lucas follows, but Jens holds a hand out before he can step any closer. “Don’t,” he says sharply.

They stare at each other in a silent standoff, Lucas feeling his world crumble as he watches the same thing happen to Jens’s resolve. Jens’s hand falls back to his side, and he looks entirely sober now as he gazes at Lucas with glistening eyes.

“I thought we were actually friends,” Jens says, voice trembly. Lucas shakes his head, pleading. “But after everything I said, you’re just like everyone else.”

“Jens, please, just listen to me,” Lucas begs.

He steps closer and Jens steps back. “Why should I?” he demands. “What are you going to say? I don’t want your explanations or excuses, Lucas. I thought you were honest.”

Lucas feels like he’s openly wounded. Bleeding. Surely Jens can see that. Surely he knows that he’s wrong. But Lucas—Lucas can’t tell him. He’d promised. He’d promised his best friend.

“Well?” Jens pushes.

Lucas shakes his head helplessly, and Jens’s expression falls the rest of the way. “Just—can you let me take you home? You shouldn’t be out alone like this.”

Jens laughs, but it’s just a breath. Incredulous. He takes another few steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t. Just—just don’t.” Then he’s turning on his heel and walking away.

Lucas wants to go after him. He should. He knows he should. But he can’t. There’s no point.

There’s nothing he can say.

~^~

tag list: @allthewayornowayy @wedarkacademia @lockerfivethreefive @yellowballoon @gucciboner @nora-keinwitz @moonskam @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @akucecilia @hischbabe @evaksobbe @alittleemo @boring-side-effect @franboos @debussyatmidnight

next chapter

[belovasangel]

Kintsugi

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!GN!Reader

WC: 1641

Summary: Peter needs a push to help an old ally.

Warnings: Swearing, ANGST, hopeful ending

A/N: First off, thank you for reading this. I haven’t written in maybe a year so this might be not the best. I want to shout out Polaroid15 for inspiring me to write. Something else in this fic I should mention, Peter’s identity isn’t exposed and in the Blip he aged according to current-time (so in this he is 18-19)

“In Japanese culture, Kintsugi is the reformative art to repair broken pottery. The shattered pieces are taken and glued back together with a binding agency and gold paint. There is a metaphor between each crack and gold stroke, as the meaning is deeper than restoring a pot. It’s meant to give hope and to empower those who are deemed ‘broken.’ The point is to tell people to embrace their insecurities and you will be okay in the end.”

Peter Parker rolled his eyes and looked back at his notes. The background film of his art history course droned on, as the school stuck the Blipped students into a course to graduate faster. He began to doodle along the sides of the pages, drawing the Spider-Man suit and a few webs. He thought of Ned, sitting on his MIT campus, working on his computer engineering software, and hoped he was thinking of Peter as well. Him and Ned made a pact back in freshman year to attend MIT together and when the Blip hit, Ned kept his promise. And at this rate, Peter will be in their dorm room by March. 

He looked back up at the lecture briefly to watch the credits roll, only to notice afterwards the teacher had fallen asleep at the desk. The other students got the same idea to pack up and leave for the weekend early. Peter began stuffing his notes in his backpack and stood to walk out, only to bump into a fast body.

“Hey-” 

Peter looked up, his backpack falling to the floor in a heavy heap. He looked up angrily, fully expecting Flash to be staring back, however he saw the red-faced (Y/N) staring back with doe eyes. “Peter, I am so sorry...” 

He huffed and shoved (Y/N) back with his shoulder to grab his stuff. “You can leave, ya know? Don’t need to watch me pick up the mess you made.” He audibly heard them gulp and quicken their breathing. With a quick shuffle, they walked out of the class. Peter stood quickly and recalled the events leading to their icy encounter. He can feel sympathetic towards them, as Mr. Stark passed away tragically about a year ago. While Peter has come to terms painfully with his death, he can tell (Y/N) still is struggling. He knows they had a plan to attend Yale or Stanford after this, but those plans have derailed fully. Peter knew (Y/N) wasn’t fully ready to accept they need to grow up and move on. He wouldn’t be the one to put gasoline on an already erupting fire. Hopefully Pepper can say something

He began walking down the halls of the school, remembering the small memories along the halls. Lifting the lockers during Homecoming to get his suit, him and Ned discussing the plans to build the Death Star, and even when MJ first opened her locker next to the two (and immediately asked, “what are you two losers looking at?”). Fond, fond memories. 

Peter hopped on the subway, getting minorly excited to begin patrolling the city. May has plans tonight, he hopes it’s a date so he can spy once or twice, but overall it’s sitting on buildings and eating those amazing subs. The moment Peter stepped into the apartment, May was on him. “Hey, my beautiful boy genius, how was school?”

He laughed as she kissed and pinched his cheeks. “Hey May. It was fine, boring. How are you, need any date prep?” She turned bright red and looked back to the newspaper. “Peter, I told you it’s not a date. Happy and I are-”

“Your date is with Happy?” Peter popped his backpack to the floor with a quick thump. May gave a sheepish look, fully expecting this from him. “Peter I promise you, Happy is super kind and is going to treat me great tonight.”

He sighed, pulling at his hair minorly. “Do I need to chaperone you?” She laughed and shook her head, “we’ll be fine Pete. Anyways, to change the subject, Pepper called you earlier and asked for you to swing by the Tower when you get a chance.” Peter nodded, head still foggy with holy fuck, Happy is going to get with my Aunt.

He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and ran to his room, changing into his suit and flopping out the window. Within the first few hours, Peter stopped three guys from breaking into cars, saved a cat from a tree and rescued an old lady from oncoming traffic. As the sun was setting, and Peter got to enjoy the sunset with his sub, he decided to call Pepper.

“Hey Pep, what’s going on?”

He could hear her sigh on the other side, and he took a bite in anticipation. “I need your help Peter. And I know you won’t like it.” With a mouthful of spinach, salami and bread, he said muffled, “you can count on me.”

“I need you to help (Y/N).” Peter promptly spit his sub out of his mouth with a sharp cough and inhale. “What? What’s wrong?” Pepper sighed again. “(Y/N) isn’t okay. They’re only leaving their room for school and that’s it. I deliver them breakfast and dinner, we barely talk between the doors. Plus they come home late every night and I need to know what’s going on.”

Peter bit his inner cheek. Of course (Y/N) is being selfish towards Pepper, seems about right. Peter felt like this was a sign, to finally see what’s going on and help Pepper reconnect with her kid. Yet, Peter didn’t want to give (Y/N) any slack. They’re being rude and not grateful for what they have. “Of course, Pepper. I’ll keep you posted. Does K.A.R.E.N. have her location?”

“No, she turned off her location a while ago. Thank you Peter.” He nodded, knowing she couldn’t see. With a quick end, he threw the mask on and dove off the crane. He searched every alley in all of Queens, ever corner store, checked every rooftop and park and bridge and under every car. He found a huge ass tree and even climbed it. Peter didn’t want to let Pepper down, even if he felt more and more annoyed with (Y/N). He knew they wouldn’t leave the city, but this was getting ridiculous. Eventually, around 11:30 P.M., he found them sitting in front of a large mural of Tony. There were flowers along the painting, along with lit candles and teddy bears. Peter felt his blood boiling, knowing they could have had their location on this whole time. 

“What the fuck are you doing (Y/N)? Pepper is besides herself worried. You’re being so fucking selfish, leaving her alone every damn night. She is suffering, wondering why her own child won’t talk to her while you’re out here hiding! What are you scared of? Why can’t you grow up? He died! Get over it!”

Peter creeped up closer and closer to them, not listening to the sniffling and heaving breaths of (Y/N). As he reached them, he saw they were hunched over and panting. “What’s wrong? Get up,” Peter sneered as he pulled their shoulder back. He let out a gasp and let go, in complete shock of what he saw. Their face was littered with bruises and cuts. Their right eye was completely swollen and the under eye bags were as dark as the sky. “Are you okay?”

They scoffed and pushed away Peter’s hand, and struggled to get off the ground. Many groans and gasps were shed as they stood slouched. Peter quickly noticed the large gash on their side, and he could tell they were severely injured. “We need to get you to the tower right now, c’mon.” 

As he got closer, (Y/N) stumbled back to avoid his touch. Peter scoffed and tried to reach again, but with the same result. “Stop being stupid and let me help you.” They stopped and let out a large laugh. “Now you fucking care about me, when it will make you look good. I can just imagine Pepper telling me how great and caring you are, and how brave you were to go searching for their lost child. Fuck off with this savior complex, Peter, you can’t save everyone! Some people were meant to suffer and burn and fucking die in the end.”

Peter had never felt so confused in his life. He tried reaching out for the third time and was shut down. They began to walk towards him, fire and tears in their eyes. “Do you have any idea how much fucking pain I feel every day? When my father died, Pepper and I were so shattered, but instead of staying with family she decided to work with you, the great and friendly Spider-Man! Why help your own kin when the prodigy is doing just as bad? I am so sick of living in your shadow Peter! It’s like the universe is telling me I was a mistake! You ruined my life. You are the reason my father is dead. You are the reason I wish it was me instead!”

They fell to their knees in agony, letting out screaming sobs and pained sounds. He quickly recovered, wiping his own tears to comfort them. “I am so sorry (Y/N), I am so so sorry.” Peter put his hands under their arms and lifted them into his arms, as fast as he could go to avoid another lash out. He began to swing them back, and in a quiet voice, (Y/N) whispered into his neck. “Why wasn’t it me, Peter?”

And in that moment, Peter realized that some people need help being put back together. Maybe Kintsugi isn’t so dumb after all.

[nypmphetsbastard]

PARADIS ISLAND

Genre: slowburn fanfiction, college!au

Pairing: yelena x fem!reader

Summary: college becomes a whirlpool of new people and emotions once you meet a woman by the name of yelena manages to weasel her way into your once perfect life and tear down everything you ever thought to be true. From religious views to friendship, she builds something new. Now, she introduces you to new world she likes to call Paradis Island.

Warnings: angst, smut, hurt/comfort, struggles with Religion, homophobic comments/people

A/N: this story is posted on ao3 {NYMPHETSBASTARD} as well as wattpad {SUGACODED} because wattpad is acting a fool and I need another place to save this story👍

————

Leaving home was always a rough time for both parent and child. Anybody who grew up in a loving home tended to stick to that home like glue, not wanting to separate from it and instead choosing to go to schools and jobs closer to home, closer to family. Those without however, preferred their freedom. When the clock struck 12 and everybody went to sleep was the only time they'd have to themselves, the only time they'd ever have to feel safe and relaxed — leaving home wasn't as hard on them.

You...well you were a different story. You didn't like a lot of things, being grabbed, having things snatched out of your hands, people taking your food without permission, somebody talking to you when you're clearly trying to avoid them — the list could go on. But growing up leaving you home never seemed to cross your mind. For whatever reason you felt like things were fine at home, not perfect but not terrible either, nine year old you didn't stop to think that one day you'd have to make the decision to move away from your friends and family. The small town you were in had a lot of older people, ones that never separated from their high school popularity phase and believed that the world revolved around them and them only, the others were newly young adults seeking any way out. You hoped you'd be the ladder.

Your parents had never spoken to you about leaving the house, meaning you grew up only learning what was taught in school. World War One and two, Pearl Harbor, slavery, and other shitty thing America did and or went through throughout the course of centuries on end — all only ever learned or discussed in school. The main focus in your household was religion and religion only. It's what you grew up to be right, nothing else existed in your mind besides that.

There was nothing wrong with that. Well...until around the time high school hit. Senior year was the year stressed to you since you were a freshman, you could barley fathom the fact that you'd have to apply for colleges, work on a bunch of different essays and possibly move away when you were young and you could still barley understand it now. But it was only then, then when they had handed you that slip of paper of which colleges you were going to apply to did you realize something; you didn't want to end up in a boring old relationship with a guy from your sophomore geometry class, get married, have a couple of kids that would send you to a nursing home and never live the life you dreamed of having.

You wanted that Disney channel teenage life, teenage adventures that would give you enough memories to last a lifetime and successfully say you lived your life to the fullest. While your teenage years had been spent in a church every weekday, your nose in school books and your bedtime forever stuck at the time 8:30, you swore your adulthood would be different.

Everything would be different.

"Are you sure you're not missing anything, hun?" Your mother asked nervously watching you pack the trunk up with your suitcase and extra bags. You yawned into your hand due to the more than early hours you guys were beginning the trip in order to make it early to your destination.

"You made a list mom, I don't think there's anything I could miss." She smiled your small joke and got in the passenger seat of the car, "You know, you guys really don't have to come. It's nearly a 4 and half hour drive over there, not including the drive back." You mentioned

"We already told you we're going to stop by my mother in laws and stay for a while." Your father explained, you sighed and got into the backseat of the car.

You brought your favorite stuffy and laid your head on it against the window as you prepared yourself for the 4 hour drive from your old childhood home to a new place where new memories could be made. It felt almost nostalgic watching your entire childhood fly by from behind a window. The blue slide you loved going up and down on till you felt like throwing up. The metal pole that always terrified you trying to go down. The monkey bars you taught yourself to climb because of the lack of friends you had that could teach you. It all seemed to disappear behind flashes of trees and road as the car drifted further and further away from the place you called home.

"Morning sunshine! We're here!" Your father exclaimed, waking you out of your slumber. You groaned quietly and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, taking a moment to look out the window at the large building in front of you. Gawking at the size, you shook your head and stepped out of the car to get a closer look.

"This is much smaller than the one I went to." Mentioned your father, squinting up at the building and helping you pull your suitcase out of the trunk.

"That's because you went to community college, honey." You chuckled at your moms observation and rolled your suitcase up to the sidewalk.

"Well I'll see you guys—" you started until your words were cut off by your mother slapping her hands down on your shoulders and giving you a firm look.

"I better not come visit you in a few months and see you with a purple Mohawk, piercings and a girlfriend, you hear me?" You nodded at her dramatic remarks and felt yourself internally cringe at her words.

"Hopefully we come back to you with a kind little boyfriend and a college degree we can show off to the rest of the family." Your father said, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders and gave you a tight lipped smile.

"Call us when you get settled and show us your roommate."

"And if they're anything we told you to not look like or if they smoke, drink or are sexually active in public, please change roommates."

They listed off, you internally rolled your eyes but still managed to give them a nod.

"Okay, I get it. Bye." You waved them off and stayed on the sidewalk till their old beat up grey car pulled away from the university.

Sighing, you rolled your shoulders back, grabbed all your things and walked the 10 minutes all the way to your side of the dorms. Personally, you had no clue who your roommate was besides their name but you knew even if you got a wild one you wouldn't change rooms. It didn't matter to you wether or not your roommate had purple hair, while your parents and nearly everyone in life tended to stick their nose in the business of others, you had no care in the world about anybody else.

From the moment you stepped into your new room, your nostrils were immediately being wrapped in by the smell of vanilla and incense. You looked around the room and noticed that only half of it was done up while the other was plain and void of any decoration.

"Hello, who are you?" A soft voice asked politely and there in front of you stood one of the prettiest girls you'd ever seen. She was a short young woman with long, disheveled shoulder-length black hair, a Greek nose and relaxed dark eyes.

"Oh sorry! I'm your new roommate, you're Pieck Finger, right?" You greeted her, shaking her surprisingly soft hands and placing your bags down on the floor next to you.

"Sorry about the smell, I'm lighting some incense to cleanse the new room. I just got here last night."

"Mhm, are you religious?" You asked, pointing to the black leather notebook in her hand. She looked down at it but smiled and shook her head.

"Ah no, I'm Agnostic. Although my childhood friend practices Hinduism and I guess I pick up on some things." She explained, you nodded at her words and made a mental note to ask her what the hell agnostic meant at a later time. Her eyes went down to the bags in your hand and reached out to grab your suitcase.

"Here I got this, I'll put this on your side of the bed and let me know if I can help with setting anything up." She offered kindly, you nodded at her offer and the two of you immediately got to work.

As you folded your clothes into a drawer and hung them up in a closet and Pieck finished wrapping your bed in it's covers and blankets, the two of you talked. Talked as if you'd been friends since birth. Pieck felt like someone you could truly se yourself being friends with in the long run of college, she was also someone your parents would most likely accept and allow you to stay with. The two of you bonded over certain interests, Pieck had a knack for writing — poems, full books, it didn't matter; you were the artistic one. Always doodling on something or recreating famous art paintings in your room, usually religious paintings as your parents always told you that if you were going to have painting as a hobby you might as well paint something useful.

"Finally, we're done." You sighed, exhaustedly throwing yourself onto the newly made bed. Pieck chuckled and stood up, grabbing her belongings and putting them into a small book bag.

"Hey, me and my friends are meeting in the library later, would you like to come?" She asked, you mulled over the idea for a quick second and nodded your head.

The walk from your dorm and the library gave you and Pieck even more time to get to know each other. She explained how most people from her old high school had come to the nearest college, it being this one which is why she never worried about not making any friends. Your eyes nearly popped out of your eye socket as you stepped up to the large library building, it being much bigger than any library your town had to offer. Pieck held the door open for you as you stepped in and took a moment to admire the large area.

"Psst, Pieck!" Whispered a voice, you looked over to see a brown haired woman in big round glasses waving the two of you over with a wide grin on her face. Pieck waved back and walked over the round table with the two other people sitting and you following behind her.

"Hey guys, this is my new roommate. This is—"

"Hange Zoë, nice to meet you!" The glasses wearing woman exclaimed excitedly taking your hand in her and shaking it vigorously. A nearby librarian glared her way and hushed her, she smiled and apologized to the old woman.

"I'm Porco." Replied the blonde boy on the other side of the table dryly.

You waved at him awkwardly and sat down next to Pieck, yet it was only after they began pulling out their books did you realize you had nothing with you. Tapping the dark haired girl on the shoulder, you motioned towards the bookshelf's and stood up to leave once Pieck nodded her head.

You walked around aimlessly with no true destination or book in mind till you came across a bookshelf, this one different than the others and tucked away in a little corner. It was old and basic but it still had integrity. The wood was straight and it hugged the wall. On closer inspection you could see scratches, the wood a little more pale where it had been dinged. You touched the roughness, not minding one bit and looked at the books inside. The fiction section had always been your favorite growing up, your parents believed books like Harry Potter were some sort of books that demonic and plaguing words hidden within them so you only ever grew up reading them in short amounts of time in the library before they could find you.

A small gasp made its way up your throat as your eyes landed across a book titled Alice in Wonderland, one of your top favorites. The ladder that usually came along with each bookshelf was currently being occupied yet this specific bookshelf seemed to take up nearly the entire wall of the library — this might've been one of the first things you couldn't successfully grab with ease. You reached your hand up to grab the book, your fingertips only slightly touching them before the book suddenly disappeared from your grasp and a warm presence creeped up behind you, towering over your frame.

Looking up, your eyes met a pair deep dark eyes staring down at you, the book now forgotten in your mind as it was now clouded with the face of the person in front of you. It was only after a couple seconds that you blinked out of your trance and stepped back, falling straight between the bookshelf and the person. You felt...intimidated. The person in front of you was more than taller than you, a height you thought was nearly impossible. They tilted their head to the side, bent down a bit and held the book out in their hand as your eyes stayed trained on theirs.

"Do you want it?" They asked, you nearly jumped in your skin at the sound of their somewhat deep voice.

"Huh?"

"The book." You looked down and finally registered the fact that they'd picked up the book you were grabbing at and now held it out to  you.

"O-oh right, thank you." You stuttered, mentally cursing yourself for acting this way. While your eyes strayed away from theirs, they went downward to the person's appearance.

They wore a dark green turtleneck sweater paired with high waisted black pants, accentuating their long legs and black lace up Oxford shoes — their entire appearance intimidated you. The center of their nose pierced through with silver piece of jewelry.

"I..." you regretted opening your mouth the second the words came out, "gotta go," the words spilled out of your mouth as you immediately walked around them and towards your table, the interaction still replaying in your head on loop. It wasn't until you rapidly sat yourself down next to Pieck that you felt like you could breath.

You weren't the most social person in the world but you also weren't the most nervous, but they...their presence, their height, the look in their eyes, it all seemed to send you into frenzy. Ignoring the slightly worried look you got from Pieck, you open the notebook given to you and tried to let the interaction seep away into your memories. Yet it didn't work. Every word on the paper seemed to fly over your head, your mind never sticking to the sentences given to you. Hell, you could barley read about Alice's shitty life without comparing it to what had just occurred. It was all too fresh. Too new. Too...interesting.

"Mornin' Pieck." Greeted a deep voice from behind you, turning around you were faced with a tall blonde haired man with small circle glasses resting on his nose.

"Good mornin, Zeke." Pieck responded kindly, the man looked around the table greeting everyone till his eyes met yours.

"I don't think I've met you before, and who must you be?" He bowed down respectfully and held out his hand, you looked at it confused for a second before sliding your hand into his and watching as he leaned his head down to plant a kiss at the back of your hand.

Before you could protest, a different hand gripped Zeke's shoulder, he pulled away and turned around to find his female companion standing above him with a blank expression on her face — one he'd gotten used to over the course of their friendship. Meanwhile your breath was caught in your throat at the sight of the intimidating person you'd met only moments before.

"Your book, Zeke." They said plainly, Zeke pulled away from you and took the textbook of their hands, thanking them and skimming through the textbook as both of your eyes never left theirs.

"Good morning, Yelena." Pieck greeted her with a smile, finally, Yelena's eyes drifted away from yours and were now on Pieck, the sides of her lips quirking up into a smirk for a second.

"Good morning, Pieck." Your eyes went back and forth between them in confusion until another person popped up behind Zeke.

"Hey guys, hey hange, Pieck." The dark haired man bun wearing boy said, leaning his arm against Zeke's shoulder despite them being the same height.

"Guess I'm just invisible then" spoke up Porco with an offended look on his face, the dark haired boy simply looked at him and blinked.

"Oh no I knew you were there, I just don't care. Anyways, are you guys coming to my big party tonight?" He asked excitedly, Zeke scoffed and pushed his glasses further up his face.

"Tch, we're not children, Eren. Why would we go to some teenage party?" Eren scoffed at the blonde mans response.

"Yeah obviously not you, old man, you're fucking ancient. I was talking to Pieck and..." he looked at you with a confused expression before shrugging and pointing at you, "and her."

"I'm not even that old—"

"Sorry, Eren but you already know my answer." She apologized, Eren pouted and groaned.

"Oh come on, please, Pieck? The last time you went everybody loved you, please?" He begged Pieck, placing his hands on her arm that was leaned against the wooden chair she sat at.

"Aw sorry, kid. I love them all too but I gotta tutoring session today." She apologized sympathetically, patting the boys head and turning to you, "what about you?"

You jumped at the sudden spotlight on you but shook your head regardless, "If Pieck's not going then neither am I." Eren groaned again and tried puppy dog eyes on the long haired woman in front of him.

"Look Pieck, you're deriving your new friend here with the experience of a fun college party." She smiled at his explanation which apparently told Eren enough that he stopped bugging her and stood up to his full height, slamming his shoulder into Zeke's as he walked away and mumbled something under his breath. Zeke almost turned around to go after him until Yelena outstretched her arm to stop him.

"He's a child." She pointed out

"He's a little shit, is what he is." Zeke complained, you looked over at Hange for information.

"They're brothers." She stated, your mouth made an o shape as you finally came to understand why the two seemed to have so much beef between them.

"Half brothers, Hange. Don't associate me with that brat." Zeke huffed, everyone chuckling at the mans clear discomfort with him and Eren being in the same room let alone sentence. "Anyways, we've gotta go, me and Yelena have business to take care of." Zeke said.

"Jeez, you make it sound like the two of you are hooking up." Porco mentioned with a disgusted look on his face,

"What if we are?" He joked playfully until he looked up to see Yelena towering over him with a straight look on her face, Zeke cleared his throat and shook his head, "Kidding, kidding."

The two of them walked out of the library and the three other people at your table continued on their reading while your mind was racked with a bunch of questions of the new characters you just met. You tried to avoid eye contact with Yelena when she was leaving but could still feel her piercing gaze stay onto you until she couldn't anymore.

"So are they?" You inquired with a whisper, leaning over Pieck's shoulder

"Are they what?"

"Zeke and Yelena. Are they..." you raised your eyebrows as the words clicked in Pieck's mind and the other two at the table began laughing into their books.

"No, sweetie, they're not sleeping together or dating." She denied

"Pfft, the day we see Yelena with a man is the day pigs fly." Chuckled Porco, you looked at them confused at their jokes.

"Yelena's a lesbian, babe." Pieck finished your thought and your eyes slightly widened at her response, not expecting it. Embarrassment silently creeped into your mind as you groaned and tucked your head into your arms.

"Well now I feel stupid." The three of them laughed and Pieck rubbed your back.

For some reason, those words felt like a small weight lifted off your shoulders. You couldn't understand why you felt so...happy that she wasn't with Zeke in that way. Maybe you just wanted to her friend. Yeah....that had to be it....her friend.

[xfandomwritingsx]

Hold Your Breath – Chapter Five: Helping Hands - Draco Malfoy

-gif source unknown-

Description: After decisions put you on opposite side of the war, returning to Hogwarts to finish your education proves to be challenging. Maybe closure isn’t the only thing you need from Draco.

Approx. Word Count:

A/N: Well…hello. Yes I’m still alive and working on this story. I had a hell of a time writing this chapter for no reason at all. Hopefully now that I’ve bitten the bullet and gotten it out of the way, I can get everything flowing more smoothly again.

Story Masterpost

December 1998

You arrive to Potions just a little before everyone else. The air around Hogwarts is brisk and chilled, just how you’ve grown accustom to enjoying, so you’d woken earlier than usual to take a walk around the grounds before your first class.

You take a seat at a middle table on the far side of the room. You’ve started to avoid the back rows as it feels too much like hiding but you don’t like being front and center in lessons, so you’ve found a comfort in middle and off to the side. Unpacking your bag, you take a look at the lesson board that Slughorn is still currently prepping.

The room slowly fills with more students, a slight bustle of movement and conversation coming with it. You keep your focus on the board, already pulling out a quill to jot down notes and pulling out your lesson book to flip to the correct page.

When the chair next to you is pulled from the table, you assume without looking up that someone is taking it to make a seat at another table. It’s not until there’s a body in the chair and the person is shuffling through their bag that you realize someone actually chose to sit beside you. Your confusion at this only rises when you turn your head to see the person is Draco. He doesn’t look at you or acknowledge you in any way, but you still feel a little pull in your chest as you watch him.

Then you cast your eyes around the classroom. There are still plenty of open seats which clearly means he’s purposefully chosen to sit next to you. Your heart beats a little faster and you find that pull in your chest to be a slight fear. Is anyone watching you? Do they notice him sitting here? Do they think you’re friends again?

You give a small shake to your head and face front again. What does it matter if anyone thinks you’re friends? Besides, you’re clearly not friends when there’s no greetings exchanged, right? You’re not friends.

Draco remains silent and unbothered by you when the lesson begins. Slughorn’s lecture at least takes your focus off of him and the rest of the students as you concentrate. It doesn’t take long for you to immerse yourself in the lesson and nearly forget about Draco’s presence entirely.

You’re jotting down notes, shifting your glance between your parchment and the blackboard. It’s nearly twenty minutes into the lecture when you notice words appearing on the margins of your page that you haven’t written.

Notice he said three sprigs and the book says two? Trust the book.

You recognize the handwriting immediately and you can’t help the way your head snaps to look at Draco who is still ignoring you entirely. He’s stoic enough that you second guess yourself. Maybe you’re imagining things? Curious and apprehensive, you look back to your notes. The extra bit of advice is still there, permanently inked into the parchment. You run your finger over it briefly and you’re sure it’s his.

It’s been over a year, but you still recognize it easily. Written notes had always been how you two had chosen to communicate when you were friends. You used to have books filled with notes exchanged between the two of you. Everything from jokes to flirtations to helpful tips for classes. You’re lost in thoughts and memories when more words start to fill in beneath the pads of your fingers.

Focus. He writes. No wonder you’re dreadful with potions. You’re not sure if it’s meant playfully or as a sharp jab. You used to be able to literally read his tone, but now you’re unsure and out of sync with him. It gives you a sinking feeling somewhere in your belly.

This time when you look at him from the corner of your eye, he looks back at you. He gives you a pointed look, baffled by your eyes on him. With a sharp, but subtle tilt of his head and raise of his brow, he indicates to you to face forward and listen to Slughorn’s droning. You straighten your back, clear your throat quietly, and refocus on the lesson.

Draco continues to help you throughout the lesson. He does it mostly silently through notes and small gestures, rarely actually speaking to you. The lack of spoken words makes it feel secretive, though you don’t truly believe you are meant to be hiding your interactions. It also makes it feel more personal. Understanding his directions and critiques without the use of words only serves to remind you how connected you still are with him.

He does things as small as raise an eyebrow or tap his finger onto the table and you understand exactly what he’s telling you. As he gives a stir to his cauldron, you wonder if anyone else can read him like you do. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends. You have to assume someone has picked up on his habits and behaviors.

You don’t like the way your stomach curls at the thought.

The feeling tightens and turns to a pleasurable heat as his knee knocks seemingly casually into yours beneath the table. It’s not subtle or soft and judging by the way he ignores the contact, you assume it’s an accident. But then you notice his knee barely moves away. It drifts just enough to no longer be touching you, but you can feel the edges of your pants brush against each other and it’s enough to leave you wondering if he did anything by accident.

The lesson ends just as quickly as it started, your mind having constantly run off on its own. With a swish of his wand, both his and your cauldrons are emptied as everyone around you starts to gather their things. You look once more to Draco and find him still avoiding your eyes, instead shuffling around his bag. You stand to leave, ready to go back to your room and study and try to forget about anything Draco Malfoy related.

Before you can even sweep your bag onto your shoulder, there’s a pale hand sliding a star chart across the table towards you. Surprised, you raise an eyebrow at Draco. He taps his fingers on the chart.

“I need this back by tomorrow,” he says. “Will you have enough time?” It’s not the most polite way to ask you to review his work and you have to bite your tongue to refrain from snapping back at him with a smart remark. He releases the chart and waits for your reply.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” is all you give him before rolling the chart up and putting it gently in your bag. You turn away to leave before he can say anything more, but you could swear there’s a slight upwards tilt in his lips.

~~~

The common room is dark and empty by the time you finish your work and pull Draco’s star chart from your bag. You had completed your assignments slower than usual, finding yourself purposefully waiting for everyone to disperse before you took it out. You choose not to examine the reasons that may be for. Maybe some other time. But not now.

His chart is almost accurate, an improvement from the last time you saw him draw one. Every time he used to bring one to you, it was always wrong. Stars were in the completely wrong quadrants. Sometimes he even had stars from the wrong hemisphere depicted. You wonder if without your aid in the subject, he’s actually started researching and learning. Either that or he found someone else to copy off of. Either is possible, you suppose.

As you mark some corrections with a colored quill, you admire his work. Draco may have been dreadful with accuracy, but his charts were always so elegant and that, you notice, hasn’t changed. His lines are graceful and effortless, varying in thickness from pressure on his quill as he no doubt flicked his wrist without thought or care. Your fingers trace the dried ink and a smile tilts at your mouth.

His natural artistry is not something too many people know about Draco. What he would call the equivalent of children’s stick figures, you’d call works of art. He used to doodle little images on his work, on your notes, even on your hand once or twice and you were always mesmerized by them.  

Your fingers drift down from the dark quill strokes to a small blank corner of the parchment. The little white space of nothing gives you a little pang of nostalgia. You used to conceal little messages to each other, often on homework, that the other could reveal whenever they wanted. Occasionally, Draco would draw you a small image in the corner of the paper and while you always knew they were your favorite to reveal, you hadn’t realized how much you missed them until just now. Just another thing to add to your list of emotions when it comes to him.

You sigh and refocus on correcting his work, but when you’ve finished and his chart is filled with little bits of your handwriting to explain what you’d done, your eyes fall back to the still empty corner of the page. You look over your shoulder briefly, making sure no one is in the room and then before giving yourself time to think about you, you’re writing a small message in that corner.

The moment your quill lifts away from making the period at the end of your sentence, you feel a surge of regret. You should remove it. Use a quick charm and act like it never happened. Or you could conceal it. After all, what’s the harm in doing so? He would never see it because he’d never reveal it.

But what if he did? What if he pulls it out when he’s alone, much like you are now, and casts the same revealing charm he used to and sees your little message? The brief thought slips into a daydream. If he were to even think of using the revealing charm, it would mean he thought there was a chance you’d write something, that he was hoping for it, looking for it. You can see his little, hidden smile in your mind and the way his fingertips would dance over your writing much like yours had his chart.

The draw of the possibility is too appealing in the middle of the night. You silently talk yourself into it, calling it a risk-free decision. Either he wants you to do it or he’ll never see it. You slip your wand out of the robes you’re still wearing and whisper the incantation as you press the tip to your written words. There’s a rush in your blood and a flutter in your chest as you watch the ink slowly disappear on the parchment.

When there’s no trace of the words anymore, you feel a mix of emotions; anxiety, release, anticipation. You’re committed now though. Before you can change your mind, you roll up his star chart and put it back in your bag and prepare to go to bed with the echo of your words floating through your mind.

I miss you.

---

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[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.6

You wake up sometime around one. Not too late in the day given your morning. With a decent amount of sleep under your belt you roll over and start striping your bed of its sheets. Then you make your way across your room, picking up stray clothes as you go to your hamper and dump your collection of dirty linens and clothes into it. You carry the hamper to the bathroom where you load half into the washer. There's no real point in separating the clothes from colored items and pastels or whites. You're only twenty-four and don't have your life totally figured out yet. You can be a little lazy with laundry.

Once your first load of laundry is being washed you go to do your weekly tidy of your home. The one good thing that came from the paranoia of your car's break in was you rearranged all the furniture of the home, thus cleaning as you went. So that means it's more of a quick wipe down of counters and sweeping today. Maybe you'd organize your art supplies while doing your laundry. It's an activity that wouldn't distract you too much and make you forget you had laundry in the wash.

You finish washing the dishes from this morning you begin wiping the counters and tabletop when you notice your fidget cube is still on the table where Toby left it earlier.

'Don't want to lose this. Back to the bookshelf where you belong.' When you get to the living room's bookshelf you notice one of your book's is missing. Ironically it's The Book Thief.

'Tobias probably picked it up and put it down somewhere.' you'd keep your eyes peeled for the book while you cleaned.

After wiping down bookshelves, tables, counters, even the mantel over the fire place you still hadn't found your missing book. You probably picked it right up and placed it right back down without even realizing. You'll just keep an eye out until you find it. You don't even reread books, you really just kept a copy to lend out to people when they ask what your favorite books are. It isn't a real big deal if you can't find it, plus there's bound to be a copy floating somewhere in a thrift shop or yard sale.

The washer chimes right as you grab the broom to sweep. Pausing this task to go retrieve your laundry and do the rest. You empty the dirty clothes left in the basket onto the floor and place the clean wet ones inside the basket. After starting the final load you carry the basket out back. As nice as this home is its still small and doesn't have a dryer, which early summer is fine but come fall and winter might be more cumbersome. Seeing as you have to hang the laundry out to dry outside. Maybe when it gets cold you'll just do smaller loads and hang them up in the bathroom or over the fire place. But that's a thought for future you. Right now current you is struggling yet again to get a fitted sheet to sit on the line. Fitted sheets are probably Satan himself in disguise.

When you finish stringing all the laundry up you take a moment to just enjoy the quiet and the peace that comes with the outside. It's nice out here, maybe after you finish the last few chores today you can come out and just draw, it'd be a good way to also keep an eye on this weather in case it turns. While it hasn't happened yet you're very aware of the risks you take by ignoring the existence of meteorologists. And by that you mean just not bothering to look up the weather for the day.

Heading back inside you restart your task of sweeping. Like you thought you've finished before the washer has even completed it's first cycle. The house isn't too big so it's easy to clean it from top to bottom within a day normally, but today you had even less to do thanks to this week's rearranging. So you move on to organizing your art supplies and separating all materials by medium.

Of course arranging materials is never easy, after all you end up staring at all your horded empty sketch books and note how your thumbnail notebooks are just covered in doodles and random scribbles but no real art or ideas. Maybe it's time to start kicking yourself into gear. You ran into a major period of burnout before moving and now with this fresh start you might be able to focus on progressing with art, even if you don't pursue it as a career. You've always loved the ability to draw and create images that make others happy. But right in this moment you just want to make yourself happy. Maybe you could start small just a few still lifes and see how you feel after that.

Hearing the chime of the washer you hurry to finish putting away the supplies in their newly assigned places. Just as before you transfer the wet and clean clothes into the awaiting basket and take them out to be hung to dry. You don't have another fitted sheet this go round so it goes by much faster than it previously had. Now with all of your washing for today hung you head back inside to grab a fresh sketchbook.

Having never been one for scenery, more of a portrait artist, you start off with small things. A few stills of a flower under the window, the old tire swing on the tree, and even the blue jay that dove for dinner right in front of you. Of course all of these were warm ups done in a few minutes, though you really wish you had more time on the blue jay one. You really need practice with things that aren't people.

The warm ups of course don't look very good, but you can still see what you'd been going for. The hatching and smudging you'd done, to increase depth and give the quick drawing more life, did help a little but it was clear this was an area where you weren't skilled. But that didn't deter you, after all you  needed more practice and wouldn't be getting better without it.

Deciding to draw the scene before you, a small open meadow surrounded by trees, in other words your backyard with your drying laundry. You start off slow and make sure to actually look and take in the yard in front of you, doing your best to not just make up the trees and their shapes as you go. Soon you are lost in the meditative muscle memory of drawing. The scratching of pencil scrapping across paper further lulling you into a trance like state as you etch out the scenery.

A harsh breeze blows through and the loud flapping of sheet hitting sheet knocks you loose from your trance. Checking to make sure none of your laundry was flying off, it hadn't the laundry was still secured to the line. Smiling you glance down to actually see what you've sketched out so far. It isn't too bad, though you aren't sure how long you've been working on it, the trees all have a distinct shape rather than your typical cartoon one size fits all attempts. Scanning the page your eyes catch onto something off, out in the tree line it looks like you'd drawn a figure hiding behind a tree.

Hearing the beating of your heart that's currently hammering against your chest you look around. Did your mind do that as a joke or had someone genuinely been watching you draw? Your mouth is dry as your eyes scan the tree line for any sign of what could've been mistaken for a person, but you saw nothing. No one was there. Had anyone ever really been there? Why would you draw that? Why wouldn't you remember doing it? You don't feel safe out here anymore. There are eyes watching you you can feel it. They may not physically be there but the phantom eyes that surround you and cause your skin to crawl make sure you know of their presence. You take that as a sign to head inside for the evening, one that doesn't need to be repeated.

You lock the door immediately behind you and check your phone. It's seven, and you have an email notification. Thanking whatever power for the distraction you slide down your back door and open the notification. It's from Hollis!

YN r u  coming to SND? It's that teen beach zombie movie u love. Y;know the awful D list one Blk and wht with the 50yos playing teenagers

Lemme know I'll save your seat.

Sent 6:47 P.M.

They're so sweet to remember you loved this awful D list zombie movie. Horrible subplots and main plot and all. But you're a little spooked right now and watching even that joke of a horror movie is probably too much for you. You doubt you'd feel better by the time ten rolls around to watch it. Not to mention your battery's still drained from Toby this morning. And knowing for a fact you'd probably stay late to talk till morning with Hollis, Jake, and Kirby you decide it's best to skip this week. Just not having the energy to handle Saturday Night Dead.

Nah, sorry man. Battery's dead from being social earlier. Thanks tho, I do appreciate you! ….....,.... lemme know what next week's movie is!

Sent 7:10 P.M.

It'd probably be a good time to make something for dinner, there's a box of mac n cheese in the pantry. Simple but always beloved. As you wait for Hollis to respond you start on boiling water. But you didn't have to wait too long since they'd answered near instantly.

Chill, don worry we'll catch ya next week

…..oooop

ot not...Kirb's said it's the start of watching the entire warren file collection

starting from the beginning

...well the first movie released, Insidious. LOL we probs won't ever see you again.

Sent 7:12 P.M.

How dare Kirby betray you like this. First off those movies are awful, and like not cheesy awful just awful awful. Not to mention he knows how you feel about the Warrens and their cases. You have a power point presentation ready for that dick the next time you see him. ...well not literally but you'd make one to prove a point!

Where's Kirby now? I just wanna talk, I just wanna talk is all.

Sent 7:18 P.M.

Already ran off toy vermont probably

will we get blessed with a ted talk nxt week?

Sent 7:20 P.M.

I can't tell if you're joking or not. If you aren't then yea I can make a power point and we'll play that instead of the movies. Every week until this town understands the severity of this.

Sent 7:21 P.M.

Ya just jkin.

Your passionate hate is funny tho, so could be good to do something mid warren marathon.

Sent 7:23 P.M.

Guess the dissertation on how horrendous the “exorcisms” were will have to wait. They'd just been joking. This is probably a good ending of the conversation anyway, it's hard to tell sometimes but you feel you'll just run in circles with the current topic or worse fall into a rant that they won't read all the way through because they'll have left with the rest of the stunt gang to get dinner before heading over to the Cryptonomica for Saturday Night Dead. Hollis is typically a real good sport about this kinda thing but you'd rather not bog down their night with your hate boner for the Warrens.

'I'll let them know later that I'll still come to Saturday Night Dead next week.' you think as you dump the pasta into the water that finally came to a boil. It's quiet as you cook your macaroni dinner. You'd normally not notice the lack of sound or life in your home before, but maybe having Connor and Toby over put things into perspective. Guests aren't really a thing you've ever had, you always feel rude if your social battery runs out before someone's stay is over. But maybe you're lonely, and it's put you on edge.

Though this week would've put anyone on edge, you have still been alone in this house for two months. That can't be healthy for your mental well being, humans are social creatures by nature after all. Maybe you could get a pet, something that'd make it's fair share of noise and give the home a bit more life than your normally hollow shell wondering the halls. Are you even sure you want a pet? Do you have time for one? You have the standard nine to five, but what about when you're off on a nightly trip because of your sleeplessness? What if you forgot about them? Hell your brain's been so foggy these last few months, it wouldn't be surprising.

Like a sign from the divine themselves, the pot of water boils over. Steam is rising as the sizzling is heard. Your head snaps twice to the right as you scramble to lower the heat and raise the pot off the eye. Putting it down on an unused eye you give it a quick stir and thankfully no pasta got burned to the bottom of the pan....this time. The pasta seems a little crunchy but a texture you'll eat so you kill the hot eye and start on the cheese portion of your mac n cheese.

As you eat you continue your original debate about getting a pet. Ultimately deciding that you just aren't ready for that kind of responsibility right now. Sure you'd had tons of pets in your parents' home but that was with a financial safety net and back when your mental health wasn't all over the place. Not to mention the pets were family pets and responsibility was split three ways.

There isn't much room in your home for you to have a roommate, and that presents a whole nother set of challenges. You could try to make friends through online forums again! It's hard to talk to people in general but you always get scared off before replying to a comment or post. Or overshare to the point people infantize you. Even better trying therapy out could help with your loneliness. Hah ok good one, even if you had money for it consistently you don't think you could trust someone knowing all your secrets but not knowing any of theirs. And while that in and of it self is an example of why you need it, you're rational enough to realize you aren't ready for that either.

After finishing your meal you put away the left overs and clean the dishes. You'll be happier tomorrow knowing they aren't your problem to deal with. You start to make your way to your bedroom but freeze just before the hall.

'You shouldn't stay here...you need to leave.'

A glance at the time tells you it's eight thirty-nine, if you left right now you could make it to Saturday Night Dead with time to spare. You don't need to fill the loneliness with new friends, just spend time with the ones you already have. Duh. Turning you grab your keys off the bookshelf and take one of the masks hanging from a hook by the door.

Checking your door was locked and locking your car once you were in, you're ready to drive. Knowing you're still overstimulated you forgo the music on this drive, hoping it will calm you down enough to enjoy the movie and some down time with friends. And that would help put a pin in your self isolating habits. It'd really be nice if you brought movie snacks over to surprise the gang. You're pretty sure the mini mart carries everything you need. Jake likes swedish fish, Hollis is addicted to those extreme sour airhead ropes, and Kirby's a weirdo with his love of red vines and surge. Hahaha that man will die before he's thirty-eight.

Still having the extra time you deiced to stop by the mini mart and grab the candy. What's the worse that can happen you have another panic attack in front of strangers. Plus you hadn't seen Magnolia the last few times and you'd hate for her to think you'd been ignoring her. Pulling into the empty mini mart parking lot you take a breath to steel your resolve before leaving your car.

Tim looks at the door when he hears the chime and stiffens when he sees you. Fuck you did have a panic attack in front of this guy last night, plus you really haven't formally met. But didn't Toby say his roommate was named Tim? And he and Brian were both here talking with Tim last night before you came in. That can't be coincidence.

“uh...hi?” you say awkwardly standing in the doorway, door closed behind you.

“um, hi?” perfect he's just as awkward in this situation as you are. You can work with this.

Moving through the first two isles you keep your eyes peeled for Magnolia, even though you can make this an in and out trip for candy, you do miss the little bodega cat.

“Wh- hey are you, are you even ok to be here?” Tim calls as he rounds the counter and makes his way to you.

“Huh? Oh...oh yea. I'm chill now.” you hear the bell before you see her. The little ting tin ting of her bell that comes with the grace only fluffy cats have.

“You literally collapsed on the floor last night after blacking out while driving.” his tone is very stern. He and Nate would probably get on like a house on fire. The grumpy old men who secretly care a lot duo.

“I don't remember collapsing...but I know I didn't drive.” well you don't know that but you do firmly believe that.

The man is just turning into the isle when you spot the floof sauntering just behind him. Magnolia didn't spare either of you a glance as she made her way to the counter. Probably going to her bed, an old shipping box for apples, you'd just meet her over there then. With no warning to the man you squeeze past him and and follow the cat. Agitated footsteps following after you in your quest to pet the cat.

Magnolia perks up upon seeing you, the flicking of her tail letting you know she's anticipating her pets. The huffing Tim hovering behind you isn't as pleased with your actions as the cat is. The man is radiating negativity, annoyance maybe or is it concern that breeds frustrated anger? The second he starts to clear his throat, as if to remind you of his hovering, you roll your eyes.

Looking back at him over your shoulder you see him in all his grumpy man glory.  His brow was furrowed so hard his thick eyebrows nearly covered his eyes. But with the way his lips emoted the man before you looked more like a pouting muppet. It would be funny if it weren't for the foreboding feeling of the moments before being reprimanded by a teacher.

When you straighten up you take note that your eyes meet perfectly. He's the same height as you that's surprising, you thought he'd be taller than 5'7. His eyes widen slightly at seeing your full height, it must've thrown him off since the first time he saw you, you'd actively been trying, and had succeeded at looking smaller.

“What are you doing here?” well he doesn't get thrown off for long.

Running a hand through Magnolia's fur a few more times as you respond, “Petting Magnolia.” you really are a little shit sometimes.

“No...no, why are you out? Toby had to take you home last night, you shouldn't just be waltzing around town after that.” maybe it was frustrated concern.

“Oh I'm fine now.”

Magnolia at this point has jumped up on the counter and is headbutting you for more attention. Chuckling you turn your attention back to her. Meanwhile Tim behind you is at a loss for words.

“Fine?? You don't just...bounce back from a panic attack.”there's personal experience behind those words.

“I just rationalize things fast.” Hearing the trill of the clock on the wall reminds you that you need to grab those snacks and head over to the Cryptonomica for movie night.

Going to the candy isle you grab one of each of the gang's favorites, you snag a bag of white cheddar popcorn on the way to the counter and place your items there. Tim doesn't get a word out before you rush off to the cooler near the back that is in all honesty pretty sketch. Like who even makes  Fruitopia anymore? That stuff got discontinued in the early 2000s. The cooler even has Hi-C Ecto Coolers...you might actually check if they're in date and grab a few.

Rummaging around the cooler you finally spot the weird tech green and black splattered can proudly stating SURGE. It has no date...questionable at best. But hey it's only Kirby drinking it, and it's been well established that man will die well before middle age.   Grabbing a can to check the Ecto Coolers, luck is on your side! These cans are from the re-release that happened as a promotion for the Ghostbusters revival a few years back, they'll be good for another two years! For now you'll just take one so you won't have to worry about lugging cans around for the movie.

Once your new items are placed on the counter the expression on Tim's face cannot even be described. The questions of the surge are probably the ones easiest to read...or they're just the most predictable.

“Kirby likes red vines and surge, sickening right?” Maybe a little joke will break the ice.

“...Like that little round pink...thing?”  What?

The laughter is coming out before you can stop it, the image of said pink Kirby consuming red vines and surge only to accessorize as your friend comes to mind. It's adorable and cursed at the same time. Adorably cursed. You'll have to draw that and print a few copies to hang around the Cryptonomica.

“No,” you're choking on giggles at this point, “Kirby, the owner of the Cryptonomica.” catching your breath and regaining your composure, “It's that tourist trap just across from the RV park.”

“Oh.” normally such a short cold reply would make you shut down the conversation. But This is Toby's roommate, and if you want to be friends with Toby, you'll probably run into him a lot more. Plus if he's a new night shift cashier it wouldn't hurt to be on good terms with him for when you're out on adventures.

“Yea, hey Toby mentioned you three just came to town, so you might not have known but the Cryptonomica does a weekly movie night on Saturdays. Saturday Night Dead. Normally it's awful old horror movies but next week they're starting a Warren Case files “arch”.” Tim doesn't take the conversation bait at the pause.

“It's a great way to meet other locals, you guys should check it out if you get the chance. It starts at ten and runs till one or so on most weeks.” Olive branch has been extended.

Tim relaxes for the first time since you got here tonight. The sheepish look on his face and twitchy pupils give the impression he's thinking it over. He sighs and nods before saying, “Yea, that sounds...nice.”

Olive branch skeptically taken! You'll count this one as a win in your book. With the mood lightened Tim breaks the ice a bit further.

“Surge and red vines can not be good for you.”

“Right! If living off mountain dew and pizza rolls doesn't kill him, this for sure will.” you both have a small laugh at that. It's nice to finally have cleared up the mix up from the beginning of the week. Which reminds you.

“Oh...um...I'm YN by the way. It's nice to meet you...sorry for the two,” your neck tics to the side, “previous nights.” you finish.

“Tim...and it,uh happens sometimes...'s fine.” Score awkward acknowledgment of previous meetings and you can now erase those from your nightly anxieties.

Tim finishes ringing and bagging your items and you pay. Giving another pet to the curled up kitty on the counter you nod farewell to Tim.

A trill rings out from the clock on the wall. It's ten.

Two heads snap to look at the wall. You take a second glance at your phone while Tim checks his watch. Both say the clock on the wall is correct. But it just turned nine not even ten minutes ago. Right? You can brush off yourself loosing track of time but when you involve another person that just doesn't make sense. Tim looks just as concerned as you. Only Magnolia lays unaffected by the lost fifty minutes.

“I should go.” Tim nods numbly to you as you exit the store.

You won't be able to make it to the movie, well you could but you'd disturb someone if you walked in mid movie. Choosing to go home instead you drive, once again without music. Entering your home you hang your mask back on the hook. Putting away the drinks and snacks for next weekend, you make your way to your bedroom. Once again freezing just before the hallway. Turning to your living room you can see a book in the middle of your coffee table. You definitely don't remember the book being there, and doubt you'd miss it out in the open. But as you got closer you could confirm, even in the dark, that it was The Book Thief.

[tybaku]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30691259

Midoriya Izuku finds the incarnation of beauty and divinity sitting at a window of a hole-in-the-wall café just a few blocks away from home.

Or: An artist in search of inspiration unexpectedly finds a new muse.

When Izuku lays eyes on him, it’s like salvation.

It’s a feeling of warmth, like fire licking at the grooves of his teeth and spreading throughout the apples of his cheeks. It’s a pleasant thing, the following lurch in the very pit of his chest, like all the air in his lungs had turned into honey the color of molten gold. It’s electric in the way he can feel it’s lingering buzz in his fingertips just as he’s left in a reverie.

Izuku hasn’t felt this way in weeks.

A thin, reserved smile finds its way onto his bitten lips as he twirls his mechanical pencil between his fingers. If he were an artist of a different medium—say, a photographer—he would capture this very moment for safe keeping, have it frozen in all its sharp and bright clarity and contrast. (But he is not, so he will have to make due with his pencil and paper.)

It’s a gray kind of day today. Storm clouds were rumbling gently in the sky, crooning and purring in the promise of rainfall. It set a somber mood, and a gloomy undertone to the colors of the café Izuku frequented, despite its yellow lights and setup of deep, rich browns, reds, and oranges.

Though it did pair perfectly with the man who sat by the window.

Izuku’s eyes fell, and his pencil danced on the paper of his sketchbook. Curves and corners formed a light, faint base, precise enough to embody a sitting figure. Izuku looks up again, eyes gently observing the piece in front of him.

And damn if that man at the window didn’t resemble something straight out of a Rembrandt. He was soft, pale colors, from fair skin to blond hair, and awfully kind on the eyes, muted and light. He held a dark sort of overtone over his features and the way he breathed, grays and blues amongst warmth.

He’s wearing a scarf in a bright shade of cream low on his neck, and the material gives off the impression of cotton, which is soft and comforting in the current cold of late autumn. His clothes are dark, old, and large, falling off his slim figure. His eyes are downcast, and though Izuku can’t quite tell from this distance, they are deep and dim in hue, and enraptured by the laptop in front of him, a halo of cool light illuminating his high cheeks and sharp jaw.

Simply put, the man at the window was agonizingly gorgeous, and Izuku was determined to capture his beauty on sketch paper.

He’s quietly scribbling his third concept drawing (he quietly berated himself for not bringing any paints today, but then considered the fact he wasn’t even planning to draw at the café anyway, and he could always just start a piece when he got home as long as he had a decent thumbnail) when the man stops, rolls his shoulders back, and rises from his seat.

Surprised, Izuku nearly drops his pencil, not having expected any movement and having forgotten the man at the window wasn’t actually modeling for him, nor made of marble. (He could be though, Izuku thinks. If he let me, I could immortalize him with just my hands.)

The man steps up to the counter and orders a coffee.

Izuku watches him wait as subtly as he can, glasses slipping to the tip of his nose with how often his head moves up and down, and up and down again in order to somewhat perfect the piece in his book.

Faintly, he realizes that he should maybe be a little more inconspicuous about his sightseeing, but he’s too thrilled about finally finding a view that was actually worth looking at. Plus, the man hasn’t yet noticed Izuku’s stare on his stern profile, even if the artist was just as tactful about it as a toddler.

Izuku rolls his own shoulders, a mimic of what the man had done earlier, and continues. When the man returns to his seat, Izuku is on his third sheet of paper.

They’re faint, quick doodles now, thumbnails overlapping thumbnails, because Izuku is rapidly losing his patience, and doesn’t want to spend more than a minute on a sketch. He’s too excited now, and the ideas keep coming in, insistent on making their presence known even as the page becomes more and more crowded, filled to the brim with messy artwork.

The man finally meets his eye, and scowls.

Embarrassed, Izuku ducks his head quickly, pretending to be occupied with his sketchbook. It’s a half-truth really, because he has been busy with it for the past twenty something minutes. Only now there’s a more than healthy flush to his cheeks that can’t be blamed on the chilly weather. He looks up tentatively.

The man has gone back to glaring at his laptop screen and sipping on what Izuku assumes to be his dark brew (with exactly two and a half packets of sugar substitute—Izuku knows this because he had seen him pour and stir them into his mug at the sidebar before he took his seat again).

Izuku lets out a quiet sigh of relief as the heat in his face fades out like a dying candle, and then resumes his sketching calmly. He never really could draw when he knew someone was watching, it made him feel too nervous, and much too exposed. One is meant to create art privately, and wholeheartedly, not under a persistent microscope.

Then again, Izuku probably shouldn’t be out in public if he wanted privacy and be away from prying eyes. Even if they are a deep, rich shade of brown that sat on his skin like hot, burning coal. (Even if they are red and piercing like they must be in another life, in another painting of beauty.)

And it wasn’t as if Izuku came to the little coffeehouse with the intention to create, he had simply wanted to mill about, and see if maybe he could find some inspiration outside his lonely studio apartment, and even his actual art studio. He never thought he would actually strike gold, and have to sit down to milk it for all it was worth.

Unfortunately, there comes a point where all the gold runs out, and Izuku is left with dirty hands and an ache in his chest.

The man packs up his belongings and leaves. The bell above the door sings cheerily. Izuku watches as the man breathes a puff of air like smoke before he shields his mouth from the cold with his scarf. Izuku's eyes fall when the man rounds a corner and disappears from view.

The coffee in the mug Izuku bought out of courtesy has gone cold, since he had been far too busy trying to map out the shapes and shadows of the man at the window. He looks down into it, detested, not being able to help feeling a little upset about the man’s departure.

If I had asked, Izuku thinks rather absently, would he have stayed?

He shakes his head at himself, hair tickling his cheeks, feeling a little ridiculous. That wasn’t something you could just ask of someone you didn’t even know the name of. It wasn’t appropriate by any means, to ask a stranger something so intimate. To stay. And just so you could admire them and the lines of their human body, and preserve them on sketch paper for you to have and hold selfishly.

So really, there wasn’t anything Izuku could’ve done to prevent the inevitable. The loss of a light and warmth so bright it felt holy—the inside of a dying sun, the core of a supernova.

What he does do, however, is take advantage of all that he had basked in and hurry on home with intent of creating a new art piece of paints, making sure to leave a fat tip on the underside of his untouched coffee before leaving the shop with a little spring to his step and a pink blush on his face.

He makes it home in a flurry, hair wildly windswept and cold air in his panting mouth, having broken into a sprint, and then a run, by the time he was only a block away from his apartment, nerves buzzing under his skin. He had taken two steps at a time up the stairs and into his studio, as if he were being chased by a madman. (He was the only madman around really, one who was much too eager to capture what he felt back at the café on a canvas with his oils at home, rather than make the trip to his professional workspace.)

Izuku makes a quick beeline to his art desk (it’s standing where maybe a television stand would be if he had one, right in front of his comfy loveseat, and it’s covered in all sorts of paints because Izuku tends to use it as a glorified paint palette) and sets his sketchbook down on the cleanest spot he could find, immediately crouching down in order to rummage through his art supply bins for his spare oil paints.

He mutters as he does this, about colors and brushes and the man at the window of the café, but it’s nothing short of white noise to his ears, a harmless habit. It helped him focus in fact, his own whispered musings to an empty room, and it helped him relax enough to calm the heart trying to break his rib cage and beat a gaping wound through his chest.

He finally finds the oils, and then the brushes, that he needs to replicate the image in his head that burns in the backs of his eyes. He sets them all down on his art desk, only where it’s dry, and moves about the apartment in search of the final, most important ingredient: a canvas.

He looks down, around, and behind every piece of furniture, grumbling under his breath. After about five minutes, it finally sinks in, and he makes a terrible discovery: there were no clean canvases he could use.

Usually, he would have one or two lying around, for easy commission pieces, and even when the occasional creative mood would randomly strike, but as of late, he hasn’t actually been painting much of anything, whether it be for personal purposes or professional pursuits. And his past self had figured the canvases in his art studio would suffice because of this, so he hadn’t bought any to keep at home.

His past self was a bumbling idiot.

Determined, and not yet ready to detach himself from this bout of sudden inspiration, Izuku rolls up his sleeves, gathers his supplies, and gets to work, canvas or no canvas. He paints and paints until his knuckles ache and his jaw goes sore from clenching in concentration.

He finishes his piece with tired arms and oils not only on his face, but on his plastic frames. He finishes liberated, with relief strung throughout him.

Admittedly, it’s not his best piece, for his living room wall isn’t suited for his oils, but Izuku can’t help but think it’s his most beautiful. It’s the first thumbnail he made of the man at the window of the café, one where he’s looking out the window, blown out right on the wall, his sharp yet soft profile glowing gently with warm, nude colors.

The man at the window takes Izuku’s breath away all over again.

Warm in the face, Izuku lets his eyes wander away, and fall to the wooden floor. The sun is bright and high in the sky now, a telltale sign of noon, beaming hot yellows into the apartment, and beating down onto the back of his clothes. The lighting is wonderful, and perfect for a picture, but a seed of greed is already sprouting in the mouth of Izuku’s stomach.

This sight, this piece, wasn’t one he was willingly to share with anyone just yet, if ever. It feels too deeply personal somehow, and much too intimate to showcase on any of his social medias, much less his professional art blog. Plus, it’s not even a complete piece, or one he can profit off of, since it lies dormant on his wall. There wasn’t a reason to post this anywhere, and there wasn’t a reason why Izuku should even want to. This piece was for his eyes only.

Embarrassed at the mere thought, Izuku brings his stained hands to his face, no doubt smearing more oil paint onto his blushy cheeks. Now what kind of reasoning was that? He didn’t want to share? The man at the window was only his to admire? How selfish! And how embarrassing! Izuku thinks in a flushing stupor, berating himself in belated humiliation. He hadn’t meant to think any of that, honest!

The artist smacks his face once, and then twice, to pull himself back together. Nevermind all that, there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep some of his work to himself in the first place. Just like his personal, and very much private sketchbook where he allowed himself to experiment and make mistakes, this living room piece served as an act of unexpected creativity and originality, a subjective study of an intriguing character.

At the very least, Izuku had fully convinced himself of this in less than a minute, not allowing himself to think about the matter any further lest he wanted to mutter a whole dissertation about it straight through the wall and into his neighbor’s apartment. (The walls here weren’t as thick as they were supposed to be, unfortunately.) (Vaguely, Izuku recalls his apartment lease and its rules, specifically the too-lengthy paragraph under “alterations” and how he was not allowed to “paint, wallpaper, alter, or redecorate without written consent of the landlord.”)

Izuku brings his thumb to his mouth and bites down on the painted nail to keep himself quiet, letting his eyes settle back up to his artwork. It truly was an astonishing piece, if he did say so himself. It was very new, and very different from any of his other work, and it reflected an entirely distinct side of Izuku’s artistic capabilities. It felt real, and warm, and overwhelmingly human; very dissimilar from his usual painting style.

It was nude, and dark, and utterly stunning in all the unexpectedly right ways. A handsome painting crafted by hands that never knew they could portray such divinity.

A fresh flame ignites in Izuku all over again, and his hands go back to feel the blood rising in his face once more. It was becoming increasingly more and more difficult for him to mellow out of this stage of embarrassing elation, since each time he tries to take a look to admire his piece he gets worked all up, and ends up awkward and out of place in his own home. He just—He just needs something more.

Huffing, Izuku removes his glasses and wipes them down with the hem of his shirt. His hands go a little blurry under his gaze, which was a little watery and soft at the edges, far-sightedness at its best. As he removes any paint off his lenses, he allows his mind to wander just a bit, back to his painting, and back to the prospect of sharing.

He nearly drops his glasses moments after, right on the line of a most groundbreaking revelation—a victory caused by something straight out of a storybook or myth, one where stars, planets, suns, minds, and hearts aligned.

Izuku fits his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and quickly fishes his phone out of his pocket, inputting his passcode with no hesitation.

He had some calls to make.

[lutrain2020]

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Squido!

Commission:  I haven't and don't really intend to. I don't want to take anyone's hard-earned money. Just ask me to draw things and there's a good chance I will.

Social Media:  Tumblr: @sky-squido​ AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido/pseuds/sky_squido

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

Call me Squido! I love to draw and write but I'm also super extraverted and I love interacting with humans so always feel free to chat with me! Aside from drawing and writing, I just love being outside and have a tumblr sideblog dedicated exclusively to nature photos I take. I love mountains, the ocean, the sky, and just about everything else in this beautiful world of ours! If you ever feel like having an internet stranger give you a thousand word rant, ask me why my favorite color is blue and you will not be disappointed!

What got you into creating? what inspires you to keep creating?

I've been drawing for as long as I can remember and can't seem to stop, though I take long breaks sometimes I always seem to come back to it again. I try not to have anything in mind when I draw, but to start sketching and let the drawing happen. Sometimes I find that what I'm trying to draw is not what my drawing wants to be (if that makes any sense) and change what I'm making halfway through. It makes drawing a really relaxing and carefree therapeutic experience! Writing is different. I've always enjoyed writing, but I didn't write much and never shared my writing with anyone because I thought it was super pretentious. It wasn't until entering High School and joining the literature club and making a deal with a friend that we'd share our writing with each other that I actually gained any sort of confidence in my ability and sought to improve it. Being in that club and sharing my pieces at the open mics was a really encouraging experience! I invite everyone to share their writing, even if it's with some random internet stranger (I'm open anytime!) if they're unsure of their abilities. A little encouragement goes a long way! Now that I'm on Discord, ao3, and tumblr, I receive so much more feedback than I ever have before! It's been super encouraging! What inspires me most is definitely nature. Even if my ideas aren't directly related to the outdoors, I get my best ideas there. Fandoms are also a great idea generator. The sheer volume of headcanons and prompts is enough to make me dizzy with ideas!

What's your creative process like?

I love sketching. My favorite thing about drawing digitally is that I can sketch as much as I like and never worry about wasting materials! Often times my sketches turn themselves into drawings without permission and other times they stubbornly remain sketches for all eternity. I always dive right in because I have no patience and the idea I started out with generally isn't that great but in the process of pursuing it, it spirals out of control and sometimes the idea gets better and sometimes it gets worse but I just kinda roll with it. Creating is a really chill process for me and while I regularly scream stuff like "I'M DRAWING ON THE WRONG LAYER NONONONONONO" or "NO HECK FRICK SHOOT IT SMUDGED HECK HECK GET THE ERASER QUICK," the creative process is a great way for me to unwind. I'm the same way about writing. I never plan or outline and just kind of roll with things. I mean I generally have the basic jist in mind, but I try to not have a plan so I can keep the story driven by the characters and not force them into acting the way I wanted them to in the outline I made hours or even days ago. Creating is my opportunity to break free so I don't really see what good a plan or outline does me. I'm a pretty spontaneous person!

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I like to take pictures, but it's not really my main focus. I've been mostly digitally drawing—I use my iPad Pro and Procreate—but lately I've been pencil sketching with just your average everyday mechanical pencil (I'd forgotten how nice the texture of paper was! Clearly I spent too much time drawing on my iPad!). I have these Stabilio chalk pastels I love to pieces, but have also spent a great deal of time with watercolors. Digital is my primary medium currently, though.

Is there a specific scene wrote that you are particularly proud of?

"Sky’s golden scales are glowing with reflected light from the sun while beneath them, the same pulsing blue in her mane runs like a river as her very skin is alive with electricity. The sun’s beginning to dip, fading through the color wheel from yellow to deep orange to scarlet and the world is bathed in watercolor and hue shifted through the rainbow until all that was blue becomes red. This new alien world begins to darken as red fades to deep purple-pink, the clouds catching last vestiges of gold in their pillowy folds, yet Sky continues rippling with lighting, the bright blue flowing like blood through her veins and the gold shimmering in the eerie azure glow. We weave through the winds and zephyrs and I close my eyes and let the breeze caress my hair and when I reopen them, I’m standing back on the ground again in a world long since darkened by night. I place my hand over my beating heart where Sky is still laughing with joy and smile because once you’ve awakened your dragon, you don’t need wings to fly anymore."

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing or art?

Every fanartist and fanfic writer that posts their stuff online is an inspiration to me. Even if their stuff isn't very good—especially if it isn't very good—it's a huge testament to the courage of the creator and their bravery in expressing themself! I sat on fanfic and fanart for years and never shared it and here were kids half my age putting out art that was their first experiment in a new medium and a little shaky but it was still out there and they were still being supported by the community and that really inspired me to reach out and stop lurking in fandom and actually get involved!

is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as a creator?

I feel like everyone has these periods where they were just gaining confidence in their artistic ability but suddenly everything they make is trash and they're not happy with any of it and they feel so down and worthless and "where did all of my hard-earned ability go? Will I ever get it back?" I think this is a pretty common experience and when I find myself there, I find it most helpful to share what I make anyway, even if I hate it, with someone who I know will give it to me straight because they'll point out the deeper problems—the root of the issue—that I hadn't even noticed and I can use that information to grow as an artist. Bad pieces are just as valuable as good ones. There was also a time where I had a lot of trouble developing a style. I did a lot of experimenting and never found anything I liked. What happened is I just kept drawing and whatever popped out eventually evolved into my style. I used to get frustrated that I couldn't draw anything without a reference, but after years and years of using references and drawing some of the same things over and over again, you won't need the references anymore. I mean, they're great and you should always feel free to use them, but over time, you won't need to look up a picture of every little thing you try to doodle.

What got you into writing or art?

My silly twitchy fingers can't ever seem to stop drawing! Same with writing. Words and ideas follow me around, little plot bunnies pestering me until they get written down somewhere. I was greatly inspired by the works of C.S. Lewis in my writing, especially his Cosmic Trilogy. My art style was aided by Hiromu Arakawa's Fullmetal Alchemist, which was a valuable stepping stone in developing my own style. Other than that, it was my own insatiable desire to MAKE THINGS that spurred me onwards. I don't think I could stop if I tried!

What's your favorite part of the creative process?

After you've got that first paragraph and you've found a flow and you've got a topic and you just GO. I get into the zone and the story starts happening on its own and I'm not an author anymore, I'm just a channel between the world of the piece and the page. That's my favorite. I love watching things take shape. I love shading a sketch for these same reasons. The whole drawing comes together and becomes A Thing and it's the most exciting time to be a creator. Something else inside you has taken over and you're just along for the ride. I have no idea if my experiences are common at all but this is what it's like for me!

What's your least favorite part of the creative process?

EDITING. I HAVE ZERO PATIENCE. THE THING IS DONE. WHY DO I HAVE TO KEEP LOOKING AT IT. CAN I POST IT YET. This leaves me with a lot of holes in what I make and I can't do a very clean, super detailed drawing unless it's for an art class and I'm forced to keep working on it. I have a terrible habit of never proofreading my things!

What's your favorite type of scene to write?

AAH hard question! I love writing description and places where I can really let my inner 19th century romantic be unleashed but I also love a good emotional moment between two characters. Something tense. I like fight scenes, but I try to keep them brief and interesting. Sometimes I find scenes where I have no idea what's going on and I try to avoid that, but it's really hard sometimes.

What's the hardest for you to create?

I have so much trouble with endings. I can generally figure something out, but there's always a moment of panic before the end like "heck I wrote everything I wanted how do I wrap this up????" That's probably a byproduct of me planning nothing XD I sometimes have trouble with characterization and making sure everyone acts the way they actually would. The hardest part is continuing after you have an "oh heck what do I do now" moment that breaks you out of your zone and all of your ideas and plot threads turn invisible or evaporate or go wherever it is they go when you're looking for them.

What's your favorite genre to write?

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST. Wellll... scratch that. I love something adventure-y and plot driven with a lot of really meaningful character interactions. I've always had trouble putting my writing into genres, but I guess that kind of speaks for itself in a way.

What fandoms do you enjoy creating for?

Linked Universe is the fandom I have created and posted the most for by a LONG SHOT. I found LU shortly after making my tumblr and I joined the Discord shortly thereafter. Since then, it has been nonstop inspiration and creativity for me! I tend to get sucked into one fandom and it consumes me for a few months before I silently drift out of it and never think about it again. LU is the fandom I've been the most active in EVER though—and it's still going—so there's a good chance I'm never getting off this ride.

What's the work you are most proud of?

AAAAAAAAAAH MY BABIES. okay um here's the first and only fanfic I've ever posted anywhere but I'm really happy with: https://sky-squido.tumblr.com/post/618964544219463680/turn-back-time-a-linked-universe-fanfic I have a lot of other pieces kicking about, but they're not fandom so I haven't shared them yet. I probably will after I touch them up a bit.

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Not really? I don't really know where my ideas come from to be honest!

Where do you post your finished works?

my tumblr. I tag stuff #squido writes and #squido draws so you can find them easily. I also put them on the discord but they get lost in the stream of other works pretty quickly so stick to my tumblr. I also have an ao3 now! https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

Turn Back Time was actually live written in the Discord, but entirely unplanned and in the #angst channel! It was just a headcanon but then I started describing it and like 2 hours and 5k words later I'm sitting in the Discord like "what just happened??"

[stilwater-saint]

I have 15 whole followers (WOOOOOO) So im officially giving myself permission to GUSH about my bosses.

This is Grant

He's my main boss and lowkey my main OC. He's a Bisexual man, and kinda part demon? When he was in the comma, he made a deal with a demon. He could come back, protect his sister, rebuild the saints, for the price of his body. All he had to do, was house the demon and its powers. He agreed.

This is his sister, Gia (Aka: Arson)

Arson is the character i play when I just kinda wanna destroy shit. Shes pan a pan woman trying, and succeeding, in holding her own against the boys. She fancys herself the muscle of the operation. She takes next to nothing seriously except her involvement in the saints. As far as shes concerned, they saved her and her brothers life.

Here's a pen doodle of them together

Out of the 2, Grant is more level headed. He didn't used to be, but after the death of Carlos he promised himself he wouldn't loose anyone else, and to do that, he knew he had to start acting like a leader, and not a gang banger.

Grant used to be a chaotic ball of fire. He'd run into things without thinking, shoot first, ask questions later. You'd think the incident with Lin or the boat bombing would have calmed him, but no. All it did was feed the fire. It wasn't until Carlos died that he realized just what he'd gotten himself into.

Arson is the opposite. She's been a wild child her whole life and is more than happy to continue to be so. She thinks Grant thinks too much. Who needs a plan when guns exist?

In reality, shes fucking terrified that is she stops, people will view her as weak, or she'll buckle under the pressure. It's a man's world, and she's well aware of it. To get any respect from the saints, and to get out of her brothers shadow, you gotta make some noise.

BACKSTORY:

(TW: MENTIONS OF S*XUAL ASSULT)

The Twins weren't nessicarly poor growing up, but they weren't rich. They were born Upper middle class thanks to their dad. They were aware of their roll in their fathers socity. Dress nice, stay quite. Set pieces in the so called perfect life.

Until their dad got caught fucking his secretary in his office.

One grueling divorce later, the twins found themselves moving into the Row with their Mother. She was determined to make it on her own without her Exs money, and the kids were determined to have nothing to do with their father. It still made for a very lonely life. When their mother wasn't working, she was trying to find comfort an another creep. A creep that often couldn't keep his hands to himself. Both kids were subjugated to it at least once. Neither spoke up. Neither twin wanted to breath their mothers heart again.

So they started spending more time out of the house. They were in high-school at this point. They spent time at friends houses, couch surfing and coming up with any excuse not to go home. Notably, at this point Grant meets Johnny. Their social circles ran adjacent to eachother, and the two could often be found in the Joint Circle together. Even crashing on Johnny's couch once or twice. But for the most part, Johnny and the twins weren't close at the point.

That doesn't happen until after graduation. Arson got as far away as possible for collage, going to study law of all things. She wanted to be a divorce lawyer. Grant stayed home to take care of his mom, and was an Art major at the local community College. Go Skeeters! He picked up a job, moved to the Dorms, and was content. At least he told himself that.

He was walking home from work when the events of saints row 1 open up. Face to face with death, it sparked something inside him again. What was an art degree going to do for him? He already knew how to draw, but it wasn't going to get him anywhere. He wasn't going to change the world flipping burgers at freckle bitches.

But, maybe he would fighting for the Saints. Julius was right. There was a problem with gangs in the row. He'd noticed it all the way back in 8th grade when he moved to the row. And he wanted to be apart of the solution.

Grant put all of his chips down on the Saints. Going as far as to quit his job and drop out of collage and using his savings on an first month's rent on an apartment. He had a month to make it.

Arson, still Gia at this time, knew none of this. She was busy selling her soul to fit in with the rich kids at college. Trying to prove that she belonged there, not only to the kids that looked down at her for her scholarship, but to herself.

She hated it there. She knew nothing about the saints. She knew Grant had made friends, and reconnected with that Johnny guy. But she thought he was thriving in college, and that he liked his job, though how someone could be happy at freckle bitches shed never know. She wished she could though. She was looking for an excuse to drop. She felt like every second she spend in this brick prison a little more of her died.

That was until one frantic late night call. "LINS DEAD, I COULDNT GET HER OUT, SHES DEAD" He was drunk and frantic. "Whos dead?" She asked, "LIN, LINS DEAD, THEY PUT US IN A TRUNK AND PUSHED US IN THE HARBOR" "Who did?!" "THE ROLLERZ" "THE WHO?!"

Yea, Grant had a lot of explaining to do in the morning. He maybe even over explained. Once Gia realized just how in over his head Grant was, she dropped out to go take care of her brother. When they were kids they always took care of eachother, and now was no different.

When she joined, she didn't really feel comfortable giving her real name though. I mean, this was a gang, they were going to be doing illegal gang shit. So, she gave the first word she could think of as a name. "Arson." And, it stuck. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel more comfortable with that title anyway. Gia never quit fit.

Together the twins were a powerhouse. If Grant couldn't handle it, Arson could. And if you had to fight them together God help your soul. Grant will tell you he'd be nowhere if it wasn't for his sister, and Arson would agree.

Umm yea thats the "quick" rundown lol. Theyre way more fleshed out than this, I swear. If you have any questions please ask!! My inbox is always open. These are my babies and now I share them with you 💜

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Silver Lining

Summary:  My sketchbook twist on what happened in the episode The Storm while Johanna was alone in her car. You know, technically, it could have happened...

Inspired by something I said in this rewatch post

Notes:  Okay so originally this was going to be something very different with lots of obliviousness and mutual pining, but then it hit me that outside of the angsty hell that is The Mistakes We Made, I have no established relationship fics??? Time to fix that. Also I wanted to jump into the “librarian and Johanna were secretly dating during season 1” bandwagon before season 2 comes along and crushes our dreams.

Read it on ao3

The art supply store had been deserted, presumably because of the storm raging outside, which seemed to only get worse by the minute. Uneasy over the weather, Johanna’s shopping was quick, and she only bought what was absolutely essential, even though she promised herself to come back some other time.

She couldn’t fathom what was happening that day. Even in the height of winter, it never snowed like that in Trolberg, not as far as she remembered. It could be one of those freaky effects of global warming, she supposed, but it still was weird that it had happened so suddenly.

Returning home was not an option. The roads were completely blocked by heaps of pristine snow, and she’d certainly catch her death if she attempted the walk back, thus why she’d called Hilda. She’d wanted to tell her why she wouldn’t be returning home so soon, but knowing her daughter as she did, she also found it wise to warn her not to leave the house. Just in case she had any grand ideas.

After putting down the phone, she looked around only to realize that the stores were all closing, turning off their lights and closing their curtains. Johanna could see where they were coming from, seeing as no customer would face this storm for things like art supplies or doughnuts, but she had hoped at least one of them would be available for her to stay inside and make use of the heating. Seeing no other option, though, she returned to her car.

Her cellphone had no signal, and she was sure that that, too, was due to the weather. The supplies she’d bought weren’t enough for her to get ahead on her work, or even to doodle, so she was stuck with people-watching to pass her time. Everyone she saw looked like they were hurrying somewhere, and Johanna silently wished good luck to each of them, even though she knew that they would only be able to go so far before being forced to find somewhere to stay immediately.

None of the anxious faces she saw evoked more than a brief memory from her, either people who frequented her favorite cafe at the same time as her, or perhaps people she’d helped during her time working at the hardware store. Until one did.

Johanna recognized her colours before her face, because even though she was looking down at the ground, stepping carefully on the snowy street, her black clothes and purple hair always gave her away. She was curled in on herself, apparently clutching something to her belly to protect it from the snow.

Her house wasn’t nearby, Johanna knew this. The only reason she was outside at all was because of the weekly coven meeting that the witches of Trolberg did every Sunday morning. She must have been caught abruptly by the storm when she was already on her way.

Feeling icy wind on her face as she opened the car’s door, Johanna waved her hand in the air and tried to shout to get her attention.

“Maven!” Though she knew the woman to get lost in thought while she walked, Maven heard her right away, and a look of recognition overtook her face when she glanced at the yellow car. “Come here, you’ll freeze to death!”

There was barely a second of deliberation before the librarian crossed the street and headed for the passenger seat. When she opened the door, Johanna was already sitting down again, and she helped herself inside the car.

“Thank you, Anna.” She said, incredibly relieved that Johanna had been there in the exact moment she’d needed her. “You just saved me.”

The smile Johanna gave her stole her breath, making her feel warmer in spite of the freezing cold she’d just come out of. She always had that power of making the room feel like it was filled with a light so strong that it seeped all the way into Maven’s heart, and it was one of those things Maven knew she’d never tire of.

“Well, I’m glad to be of help. How was the meeting?”

Maven shrugged, opening her coat’s zipper to get rid of the icy garment.

“It was alright. Harvesting season is coming closer and we are planning on blessing the crops nearby.” She said, throwing the coat on the backseats. “Heavens know they’ll need it with this storm. The elders also warned me that they’ll be coming to the library this week with a group of children who showed gifts to the occult arts. You know, to teach them about the path. So I guess that will be interesting.”

The most intriguing topic on the reunion had been, by far, the concern over a group of kids who had caused a commotion in the cemetery. One member of their coven had recently made contact with a ghost, only to find it unwilling to help her ‘because of the human children of their town that had been disrespecting their eternal slumber’. Maven had to admit that she’d had to make an effort not to laugh when their spirit worker told this story, but unless she had a death wish, she should not let Johanna in on this. It wasn’t lying, she told herself. It was simply not snitching on Hilda. Besides, since Johanna wasn’t a witch, Maven shouldn’t even be telling her any of that to begin with.

“What about you?” She asked, trying to shake the ghosts away from her mind. “What are you doing out here in this storm?”

“Oh, I came for art supplies.” Johanna pointed at the shopping bag on the backseat. “Wasn’t quite this bad when I left home. I wonder what on earth brought on this crazy weather.”

“Oh, weather spirits undoubtedly.” Maven said as she took off her gloves, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

“Weather spirits?”

“Yes, I can sense they’re the ones behind this. Besides, the coven has been observing some very unusual weather spirit activity in town. We could be here for a while.”

Looking worriedly at the sky, Johanna only noticed that Maven was offering her something when she all but shoved it under her nose. She blinked, picking a cupcake up on her hands. It was still warm and exhaled a sweet apple scent, with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top of it.

Maven’s left hand was inside a paper bag, which Johanna assumed was what she’d been trying to protect from the snow when she’d been outside. After taking another cupcake, she folded the bag closed.

“One of the witches made too many cupcakes and brought them to give us. Very convenient to have them right now.”

“Oh, that smells lovely.” Johanna said. “Are you sure you don’t want to take it home for yourself? I’m not going to starve if I have to wait a few more hours to eat.”

Maven smiled right before taking a bite of her own cupcake, shaking her head fondly in exasperation.

“I’m your girlfriend, Johanna.” She said when she finished chewing. “If I don’t feed you, who will?”

Johanna rolled her eyes playfully as she brought the cake to her lips, humming in satisfaction at the sweet taste. Along with seeing Hilda happy and with new friends, her newfound relationship with Maven was what made her be thankful every day that they’d moved back to Trolberg.

“So, these weather spirits.” Johanna began while each of them focused on their sweet. “Any idea of why they went haywire?”

“Hard to tell, really. They’ll pick fights with each other over anything, but for a storm this strong it has got to be an enormous gathering of them. I honestly don’t know what could have caused this, but one of the elders specifies in weather magic. Maybe he knows, I’ll ask him about it when he goes to the library with the initiates.”

Frowning, Johanna felt herself getting more worried.

“So there’s no way to know when this will stop.”

“I’m afraid not.” Noticing her girlfriend’s unease, Maven tried to catch her gaze, but Johanna seemed to look everywhere but at her. “Anna? Are you okay?”

“I’m just a little worried about Hilda.” She answered. “She’s alone at home with Alfur. I told her to stay put, but even so… she’s just a kid, and if anything happens, she has no way to talk to me.”

“Hey.” Maven put a hand on Johanna’s shoulder, trying to ground her to the moment and not leave her to imagine every bad scenario she could. “I know I don’t know her like you do, but from what you’ve told me she’s a smart and brave little girl. She’ll be fine. If you want to worry about anything, I’d suggest worrying about us at the moment. We’re due to become icicles any minute now.”

Johanna chuckled, grateful for Maven being with her in that moment. She always seemed to know what to say to make her feel better.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She sighed, relaxing the weight of her body against the seat and taking one more bite. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw that Maven had taken a pen out of her pocket and was now scribbling something on the paper bag the cupcakes had been on.

“I’m not kidding, if this storm gets any worse I don’t know if the car’s heating will keep up.” She said when Johanna shot her a questioning look. “I don’t have many sigils memorized, but luckily Ruth packed a heat one with the cupcakes. I’ll just activate a few and we should be fine.”

Indeed, on top of her tight there was a small paper square with a doodle in it, which Maven had already copied three times on the bag, and was now doing a fourth one. If Johanna saw that symbol and no one told her of its meaning, she’d wave it off as some sort of stylized drawing of a spider, or perhaps of a flame from a certain point of view, so she was glad to be with someone who knew better.

After finishing the drawings, she put the pen aside and began to carefully rip the sigils from each other. When she had the four pieces of paper, she pressed the first one against her window and recited some words that Johanna couldn’t recognize. Listening to witch language always felt singular to Johanna, like even though she’d never learned it, something deep inside her felt awake when she heard it, like it was in her blood. She’d asked Maven about it once, receiving the answer that this wasn’t an unusual feeling. The language of witches is the language of the Earth, which we’re all part of, she’d said. Johanna couldn’t say in all honesty that she’d understood, but it had seemed to make sense to her girlfriend so she hadn’t pressed any further.

When she removed her hand from the glass, the paper had disappeared, and only the symbol remained on the window, shining with orange light as if it was on fire. Then, it vanished leaving no trace on the window.

Johanna continued to stare at where the sigil had been while Maven maneuvered herself to the back of the car to repeat the process with the back windows. Magic never failed to leave her astonished.

It registered on the back of her mind that the car was indeed getting warmer, especially when the librarian activated the third sigil on the window behind Johanna’s seat. After Maven had done that too, Johanna felt her put her elbow on her seat, near her neck, leaning the other against the passenger seat. She was kneeling on the car’s floor, practically by Johanna’s side in the gap between the two front seats. The look she was wearing immediately gave away to Johanna that she wanted to talk about something.

“Anna, I wanted to ask you…” She began, proving her right. “When do you think it will be okay to tell her about us?”

“Her?” Johanna frowned.

“Hilda, I mean. Obviously I’ll understand if you want to keep our relationship just between ourselves for some time. But what do you think she’ll think of me?”

Johanna opened a smile and leaned towards Maven, kissing her cheek. When she retreated, she had to bite back a giggle at how flustered her girlfriend looked.

“Hilda will love you.” Johanna answered honestly. She’d admittedly thought about how Hilda and Maven’s relationship would be, and she was afraid, just not the way one would expect. Her fear was that they’d get along a little too much and Johanna would have to run after them every other day, trying to stop them from getting killed at the hands of a magical creature they’d attempted to befriend or a spirit they’d summoned. Though it was possible that there would be some unease between them at the beginning, the thought that they wouldn’t see eye to eye didn’t even sound possible to Johanna.

“The only reason I haven’t told her yet is because she seems to have a lot on her mind right now. Some trouble with her friends, I think, but she won’t tell me yet. But it’s a conversation I want to have with her as soon as she’s alright again.”

Maven looked away from Johanna, now feeling silly for having asked. It wasn’t like her to be insecure like that, but this truly mattered to her. Whether Hilda approved of her or not would be decisive for how far she and Johanna would be able to take their relationship. Besides, if Johanna told her daughter about them, then that would mean that she took their relationship seriously, so she couldn’t help but care about it.

At least Johanna hadn’t taken it the wrong way, her pursed smile as she put a stray lock of Maven’s hair behind her ear telling her that her girlfriend was probably very amused. She could practically hear Johanna calling her ‘adorable’, stopping herself from doing so only because she knew how Maven didn’t like being called cute.

“I’m… very happy to hear you think so. And I hope whatever is troubling Hilda gets solved soon.”

“I do too. Are you done with your sigils already?”

Between her fingers, she was still holding one last piece of paper, and she flickered her wrist so that it was in front of Johanna’s eyes.

“There’s one more, but I’ll need your help this time.”

“How so- oh.” Before Johanna had time to wonder in what way she could possibly help Maven with magic, her girlfriend had already deposited herself in her lap.

Johanna wasn’t one to blush often, but she was certain the heat on her cheeks was not because of the sigils.

“Just keep this up. I only need to activate this one near your corner of the car.”

Maven then pressed her palm with the sigil to the window, repeating the incantation. This time Johanna was distracted by more than just the magic, in a way that she barely noticed it when the casting was finished and the car was filled by cozy warmth.

“That’s good.” Maven said, approving her own work. “I can go to my seat now, if you want me to.”

Realizing that she’d abstractedly put her arms around Maven’s waist, interlacing her fingers near her side, Johanna shrugged and then caught Maven by surprise by learning in to kiss her lips sweetly. It would have been a very romantic cenario, snug with her love while snow piled outside, if only they weren’t there because they were trapped inside a car due to a mysterious storm. Still, she was with Maven and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere, dearest.”

_#_#_#_

Maven did go back to her seat eventually, but it was only because Johanna remembered a deck of cards that she kept in the glove compartment and after some time they decided to play something. It didn’t take long at all for the librarian to realize that she was pretty bad at that, but seeing Johanna’s childlike joy every time she won a match, she couldn’t even be annoyed.

Safe and sound inside the car, the storm hadn’t really been on the forefront of their minds. The magic kept them comfortable and the flow of people running from the weather outside was all but nonexistent at that point. But they did realize when the few rays of sunshine that made it through the thick layers of clouds became stronger.

Both of them put their cards down, the change so noticeable that they wanted to get a good look at what had happened. While Maven only lowered her window and stuck her head out, Johanna stepped out of the car to look at the sky.

“At last!” Johanna sighed with relief as the clouds became smaller, making a gap just above them.

From her side of the car, Maven was more interested in another thing she’d noticed than in the changing weather. Either her eyes deceived her, or a thunderbird was flying away at that very moment. What it had been doing in the middle of that tempest was anyone’s guess.

However, they were soon startled by the booming sound of thunder, and watched in stunned silence as one of the remaining clouds seemed to swell unnaturally, darkening at each moment that passed. Johanna closed the door by her side just in time to not get hit by the first drops of water.

They were static while they watched the rain pour down, not believing in the situation even though it was happening right in front of their eyes. Stunned by the abrupt turns, a laugh escaped Johanna’s lips, and soon the absurd picture that she made, laughing like a madwoman while monstrous rain surrounded them made Maven break into giggles as well.

“Well dearest, I think we’re going to be here for even longer.” She said after she had gathered herself enough to form a coherent sentence.

Picking up her girlfriend’s cards as well as her own, she began shuffling them together.

“In that case, I would like a revenge match.”

“Alright, but I warn you that you’ll regret it.”

Huffing in feigned outrage, Maven began distributing their cards, and the ones that were left she put to the side.

“In the end I’m glad, you know.” Johanna said after they began their match, making the librarian frown at her. “For the storm. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t even see you today, let alone spend some time with you.”

“Me too, Anna.” Maven smiled. “Me too.”

[mcleaha]

hello lovelies ! i’m bøffy , i’m 20 years old , prefer she/her pronouns , and currently reside in the pst timezone ! uhh . . . i am posting this intro at nearly 5 AM my time , and i would be almost willing to bet it’s littered with errors and it’s . . . probably a bit all – over – the – place since this is very much a new muse ! however , with that being said , if you give this a like , i will definitely contact you via tumblr ims or d!scord ( 𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓪 / 𝓮𝔁𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓪#1384 ) to plot !

[  jasmine brown  . 21  .  cis female .  she/her  ] just saw MALEAH AMICK dragging their suitcase up the steps to CABIN 1B  .  good luck living with HER  ,  i hear that that they’re INDECISIVE  ,  FORGETFUL ,  SOCIABLE  & CREATIVE  .  Apparently they’re the ATTACKING MIDFIELDER .  let’s hope the upcoming season doesn’t affect their JUNIOR year of ART EDUCATION .

STATS:

name: maleah amick .

nickname(s): leah .

age: twenty one .

gender identity: cis female .

pronouns: she/her .

sexual orientation: bisexual / biromantic .

birthday: 26 february 1999 .

zodiac sign: pisces .

myer-briggs: esfj .

pinterest: coming soon !

HISTORY:

               born on the 26th of february 1999 in orlando , florida , maleah was the youngest of the three amick siblings . her mother worked as a prestigious board – certified pediatric surgeon at a local children’s hospital , and her father worked as a high school mathematics teacher and volunteered as the school’s unpaid soccer coach , a move that saved the program from ending due to budget cuts ( he claims he was roped into the position as a first – year teacher with no seniority , but while he’s reluctant to admit it , he eventually grew a passion for the sport he had previously known little about ) .

               with her mother’s long shifts and emergency work – related calls , she ultimately became closer to her father and two older brothers while growing up . most knew her father as a man who towered over them at 6’7” , ordering his team to run laps or practice drills ; however , maleah knew him as the man who would crawl around the living room floor playing barbies with her or would prepare fruit and herbal teas as she twirled around dressed as a princess , declaring it time for a royal tea party . just as easily , she could be found exploring the great outdoors or playing whatever sport was currently in season alongside her brothers .

               she practically followed in her brothers’ footsteps . as they approached high school , each brother chose one sport to specialize in , hoping to secure a position on a college team and eventually on a professional team . maleah did not have professional athletic goals , but although she had immaculate grades with limited effort put towards academics , she knew extra – curricular activities were important for college applications . thus , when it was maleah’s turn to choose which sport to pursue , rather than having to weigh the pros and cons and make her own decision ( or perhaps , fearing that she would make the wrong decision ) , she simply chose the sport that her brothers had previously chosen : soccer .

               her high school coach knew the perfect position for maleah . years of informal practice with her brothers in the backyard had enhanced her skills . she had learned how to evade skilled high school defenses by pretending as if she was heading in one direction before bolting in the other .  soccer was one of the few areas in life in which she possessed enough knowledge to make quick and effective decisions ; she could read the field and immediately determine the best course of action : dribble , pass , or shoot . ultimately , she possessed the vision and the creativity necessary to secure playmaking and goal-scoring opportunities for her team .

               with a line of college scholarships , both academic and athletic , waiting for the attacking midfielder’s choice ( unfortunately , none from either of the schools her brothers played for ) , the time came for maleah to make a decision . as deadlines for summer practices , class registration , and tuition payments crept closer , she finally determined a means of deciding . she numbered her offer letters , 1 through 13 , and allowed a random number generator to make the decision for her . thus , mere chance ( or perhaps fate ) led maleah to hollis university .

               her first semester at hollis was . . . rough , to put it lightly . while most freshman shed a few tears as they watched their parents’ car drive off into the distance , homesickness lingered in maleah’s life . coasting through high school with limited effort had done her zero favors ; with no effective study skills , her grades dropped dramatically . between soccer and trying to salvage her grade point average , a social life was virtually out of question . ultimately , she found herself on academic probation , unable to play soccer , for her second semester of freshman year at hollis .

               luckily , she was able to develop effective study habits , and even discovered along the way that maybe pre – med was not the best major for her . when asked what she wanted to do , maleah gave an entire list of generic answers – “i want to help people” and “i want to make a difference” came up quite often , but nothing specific enough to point her in the right direction . thus , she changed her major almost every semester , desperately seeking for the right fit . in the meantime , though it took several letters petitioning her temporary removal from the team , she was able to resume playing soccer during her sophomore year .

               as junior year approached , maleah was almost certain that she was back in her coach’s good graces – no longer viewed with a sense of skepticism . she had proven herself capable , finding her name on the dean’s list nearly every semester and assisting her team in numerous wins throughout the soccer season . however , with hollis’ soccer teams’ restructuring , maleah can’t help but question if her coach views her as a valued athlete or a liability .

PERSONALITY:

               two words : social butterfly . almost to a fault . even if someone has expressed quite literally zero interest in talking to her / getting to know her , she will still make an attempt . kind of a . . . people – pleaser , in a sense , she just wants to be well – liked ?

               avoids ! conflict ! at ! all ! costs ! generally just . . . tries to avoid people or situations that upset her . not very prone to like . . . yelling or crying , but those close to her can definitely sense a change in her demeanor when she’s upset ? just . . . a lot more tense , probably lots of eye – rolling and just . . . subtle , quiet signs that she is over whatever the problem is .

               kinda . . . chill , mellow , easygoing ? she very much lives in the moment , and tries not to stress too much about the future . always down for a drink , a party , whatever – genuinely just around for some fun and some friends !!!

               the kind of person who genuinely gets excited over like those fun facts and jokes that are on popsicle sticks and whatnot – absolutely must share the information with everyone within earshot . honestly , those jokes are very . . . on point with her own personal sense of humor jflakdsj .

HEADCANONS:

               she suffers from a terrible case of youngest child syndrome . ultimately , without guidance , she’s terribly irresponsible . she’s always having to run extra laps because she sets her alarm too late to make it to morning practices on time . she’s always receiving overdraft fees for spending more money than is available in her checking account . forgets everything – from homework assignments to names to grabbing her keys before locking the door on her way out . just . . . imagine a child asking for an adult’s help and her looking around until she comes to the realization that “ oh , shit , i am an adult ” .

               she’s practically always doodling – in the corners of notebooks , on napkins while eating lunch , on her clothing , on her own skin . she loves making art , particularly drawing or painting portraits or nature . ( ultimately , she only decided to incorporate this into her choice of major after hollis threatened to not allow any further changes to her major ) .

               she has a . . . unique sense of style . she has a passion for thrifting and upcycling . practically lives in hoodies and t – shirts that she has purchased from secondhand stores and cropped herself . always adding cool iron-on patches to her clothing . she should be listed as your emergency contact if you’re prone to ripping your clothing because she can definitely fix it .

               she probably thinks she’s good at trash-talking on the field , but she actually sounds like a second grader ( and that’s being kind ) . if you looked at her browser history , there’s probably at least one record of her actually googling “ best soccer trash talk ” .

CONNECTIONS:

friends !! friends she’s met through courses throughout her adventures of attempting every major possible , mayhaps soccer friendships that continue off the field , mayhaps that complicated emerging new friendship state for some who are new to hollis ! unlikely friends ! best friends !!! quite literally those unbreakable ride – or – die friendships !

muses !! i feel like every artist needs that little dose of inspiration , even if it’s simply the inspiration of a work – in – progress portrait throughout the duration of camp ! complaints of “ stop moving ! ” and her stopping every ten minutes to ask what they think and probably at some point , her flinging a brush dripping of paint in their direction (if things didn’t end in an all – out paint fight djlfakds ) .

enemies !! honestly i’m sure there is ?? so much ?? potential for this , bt . . . mayhaps someone’s just . . . fed up w her irresponsibility ? thinks she doesn’t take her soccer position seriously ? maybe someone doesn’t think she takes anything seriously ( they wouldn’t be . . . wrong tbh ) . maybe someone from cali takes that “ california vs florida ” feud a little too seriously jflskdja . idk there’s always bound to be personality clashes !

exes !! relationships that ended badly , so she actively tries to avoid them and who even knows what happens when she’s forced to acknowledge their existence at some point at this camp !!! maybe relationships that ended on mutual terms so they’re still p chill with each other ?? maybe ended relationships that never quite got closure so there’s still unresolved feelings !!

hook-ups !! they are . . . college students . they are . . . college students stuck at a camp all summer . idk i feel like this one is pretty self – explanatory jflakds .

honestly i am tired & want to sleep , bt genuinely i am up for & open to anything ! good influences , bad influences , unrequited crushes , requited crushes , idk the world is y(our) oyster !! these are . . . rlly just some ideas to get the whole process started bc i am actually terrible at . . . thinking of plot ideas on the spot . always open to jst . . . doing a thread and seeing how things naturally flow too !

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Chapter 35 - Concours D'arts Musicaux

Author’s Note: Here we go!!!

I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but I do enjoy it a lot. Also, I'm sure you were all expecting a strong language warning, and you would be correct! 'Pissed' and 'Bitch'. Not nearly as many as you expected, huh?

Chapter Summary: The music competition. 🎉

First | Previous | Next

“You sure you want to go?” Allan asks.

“No one would be upset if you backed out,” Claude reminds her.

Marinette sighs shakily, glancing out her window towards her former school. She’d honestly been doing a lot better when it came to her classmates, but she hadn’t been back to the school itself since…

Since that day.

She massages her wrist unconsciously, thinking of the confrontation, the yelling, the fall. She still can’t really remember much past Chloe finding her in the bathroom.

Claude, Allan and Felix are in her room with her, on their way to the competition. Felix puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Marinette?”

She turns back to them, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She can do this.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m still going to go. Worst case scenario, I leave early, right?”

“Indeed,” Felix agrees.

Nodding, she leads them out of her room, and the group makes their way out of the house. They walk across the street, and stare up at the school for a moment.

Marinette walks up the stairs, taking in the sight of the main courtyard, packed with students from all over for the competition. Oh, Kwami, there’s so many people-

“Marinette?!” A quiet voice says, barely loud enough to be heard.

The three boys ready themselves to deal with more of Bustier’s class. To their surprise, Marinette quickly finds the speaker and breaks into a grin, hurrying over.

“Marc! It’s been so long! How have you been?” She’s speaking to a dark haired boy in a red hoodie. Not part of Bustier’s class.

“I-I’ve been f-fine. Art club is s-so quiet without you, everyone was s-so worried, because you just disappeared, and your c-class was awful. Nathaniel said…” he trails off, frowning.

Marinette copies him. “What happened?”

“He w-was just saying a-awful stuff, and we br-broke u-up… he wouldn’t even work with me anymore, because L-Lila said she’d get him c-connected to a real writer-”

Marinette bristles. “He did what?”

Marc shrugs helplessly, “I- I think he figured it out eventually, he’s b-been sitting away fr-from everyone now.”

“But he hasn’t spoken to you? Hasn’t apologized?”

When he doesn’t meet her eyes, she gets her answer.

“Come on, we’re going to talk to him. He has no right to treat you like that and not apologize.” Marinette leads the boy up the stairs. Claude, Felix and Allan, who had watched the entire interaction smile and follow after her.

She’s doing well so far.

They arrive outside of what must be the art room, if the inside is anything to go by. Nathaniel, who they do recognize, is sitting inside, doodling idly.

Marinette’s got that look in her eyes, as she steps inside. “Nathaniel.”

His eyes snap to her immediately, and he stares at her in shock for a little bit before speaking, “M-Marinette? Y-You’re here?!”

She just stares at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I’m so sorry! About-”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” She pushes Marc forward gently, he’s looking at the floor, “Did you really abandon him like that?”

Nathaniel fidgets in his chair, “Well, Lila a-also said-” he realizes what he’s saying, “W-wait! I meant it differently! That came out wrong! I just… I’m sorry, Marc, I didn’t think a-about anything really, and, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he mumbles.

There’s tension in the room, from the unresolved issues between the boys. Marinette knows this doesn’t involve her. She shakes her head. “I think I’ll let you two talk.”

As she walks down the hallway, Claude stays back a moment to address Nathaniel, “She may have said otherwise, but she deserves an apology. The way she was treated here was vile and inexcusable.”

Only when Nathaniel nods shakily does the actor hurry to catch up to their friends. Marinette is speaking, “I just can’t believe that Nathaniel and Marc broke up! They had a great relationship! Lila really did a number on the class.”

“Don’t give Lie-la so much credit, Dupain-Cheng. It was you,” Chloe interrupts, appearing out of nowhere.

“What?” “The morons here get akumatized so much for a reason. You were the only one who tried to actually communicate, and the class fell apart without you. Everyday Ladybug and all that. All the couples have basically broken up, with the exception of Lahiffe and Césaire, because Lahiffe has no backbone and Césaire thinks they’re the definition of a healthy relationship.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Chloe. They’re perfectly capable of sorting out their problems on their own,” Marinette argues.

Chloe scoffs, shaking her head but dropping the conversation.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Do my eyes deceive me or has the storm finally passed and our shining rainbow is back?!”

Marinette turns, sees Aurore standing a little ways down the hall, “Aurore! It’s been so long!”

She runs up to give her a hug. The taller girl rolls her eyes, “And whose fault is that?”

Marinette shrugs sheepishly, “Sorry, I-” “Not yours, little cloud! It’s that horrible hurricane that’s swept through here! She’s blocking out the sun, and that’s all we had left without you!”

“Oh, I know about that.”

At Marinette’s expression, Aurore smirks, “Ooh! There’s a storm brewing!”

The designer winks. “Perhaps.”

While the two girls chat, Chloe stands with the three boys Marinette had come with. “Marinette really downplays how many people loved her here. I’m not even sure she realizes she was pretty popular.”

Allan shrugs. “She hasn’t noticed at our school either, but she definitely is.”

“Good. She deserves people who appreciate her.”

Eventually, Aurore and Marinette part, and the group wanders away. Marinette shows them around the school as best she can. At one point, they get separated for some time and Marinette ducks into a classroom. She wanted to get out of the way of the people in the hallway to text her friends quickly. That plan is forgotten when she sees who is inside.

Lila and Alya stare at her in shock momentarily, before Lila shudders and pretends to hide behind Alya in a terrified manner. The former journalist pats her ‘friend’ comfortingly before standing and turning to Marinette.

“What are you doing here, Monsternette?”

The girl recovers from her shock and sighs sadly, “I’m here for the concert.”

Lila gasps. “I won’t let you harass my boyfriend!”

Marinette scowls, uneasiness giving way to fury. “I’m not the one harassing Adrien, and he’s not your boyfriend willingly!”

“Just because you’re some jealous creep, doesn’t mean you get to attack my bestie like that!” Alya yells.

“Oh, would you grow up?!” Marinette growls, gesturing wildly, “This isn’t some tv show where every action I take is because of some boy! Despite what you may think, I have a life outside of a romantic one!”

“Sure, so the fact that you’ve finally dropped the kicked puppy act has nothing to do with the fact that Adrien isn’t here?” Alya retorts.

Marinette stares at her. “What.”

“Please. Do you think we’re stupid? Everything you’ve ever done has been an act to gain sympathy. Thankfully, we had Lila to open up our eyes. All those times you pretended to do nice things? They were all so that we’d like you, honestly-”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying? You’re delusional! You think that was all an act? Do you think I pushed myself down the stairs and sprained my own wrist for sympathy points from a class that already hated me and a boy who wasn’t even there?!”

Alya opens her mouth to argue, but Marinette isn’t finished, “No! No! You do not get to downplay my feelings or how I was treated! Do any of you even realize how long it took me to properly heal from all that?!”

“It was just a few bruises-” “Emotionally! I didn’t even think that the people hanging out with me regularly for months even considered me their friend despite how obvious it was until I heard them call me that when they didn’t know I was around! I spent months feeling like any slip up would cause a repeat performance of what happened here! Do you have any idea how tiring that is? The effects it can have on someone?!”

Alya’s face softens, and she looks concerned for a moment. It really hadn’t occurred to her that Marinette might have been the victim. Then Lila speaks, “N-nice story, but I’m sure A-Alya won’t fall for it the way L-L-Ladybug d-did.”

Alya scowls, sympathy gone, “Of course not. Unlike anyone dense enough to like you wherever you go now-”

“I do not appreciate you insulting the entire population of the school we attend,” Felix interrupts.

Marinette turns to see Felix, Allan and Claude standing in the doorway, each of them looking beyond furious. She beams, running to give them all a tight hug.

“Now, whether or not you’ll excuse us, we have better things to do than try and carve stone with a stick,” Claude retorts as they turn away.

Down the hall a little ways, Allan is hugging Marinette tightly, and the girl is giggling slightly.

“Allan, it’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Still gonna’ hug you, ‘Nette. I can’t believe that of all the times you had to run int’ them it was the one time we weren’t there.”

Claude races over and joins the hug, and Felix just smiles at his friends.

When they separate, Claude looks at Marinette worriedly, “We heard some of that before we arrived. Did you really spend months thinking we didn’t consider you our friend?”

Marinette’s face colors a little and she looks away slightly, “In hindsight it was kind of dumb, but yeah. I thought you were all just being nice.”

“Nope!” Allan hugs her again, “You need more hugs.”

“For sure!” Claude agrees.

She only laughs, returning the gesture. When she’s finally freed, Felix gives her a quick one as well, having waited out the group hugs.

“Let’s not let them ruin our fun, I can keep showing you around!” Marinette suggests. The others readily agree, and they all move on. Lila and Alya aren’t their priority at the moment.

Soon enough, it’s almost time for the performance, so they go over their final preparations to reveal Lila once and for all.

“Alright, so first we show the slide with the public records proving she was in Paris when she was ‘traveling’, then her interview so that Jagged and Ali will speak up, then we can play the museum recording, and by then her mom will probably have some choice words, and by that time the police will have arrived, anything else?” “Nah, too much could over do it. We’ve got plenty more evidence if it’s needed though,” Allan says.

“Ms. Marinette! I was 87.3% certain you would show up for this event!”

The four turn to see a small robot floating nearby, “I wish to speak with you! I believe that Max is ill, as he seems to be suffering from delusions. He caught it from his classmates and I noted that you had immunity, and was wondering if you could help me!”

“You’re adorable,” Claude whispers.

“Markov!” Marinette greets the robot, “Actually, you might be able to help…”

---

The concert is over, and everyone did splendidly - to the surprise of no one at all. Allegra is back with her friends, and they’re all congratulating her.

It’s bittersweet in that Adrien can’t be with them yet.

The large projected image on the wall glitches, catching everyone’s attention. For a moment, it seems as if it goes back to normal, before it glitches again, changing to show a very different image this time.

Displayed on the wall are the dates in which Lila had supposedly been traveling with her mother. Directly next to them are public records showing her mother had been in Paris.

Some quiet murmurs begin to get around. Mostly confusion, either visitors who didn't even know of Lila, or people beginning to suspect the truth.

Next is a video, straight from the Ladyblog (someone had saved all the posts and made a site to act as an archive), of Lila claiming to know Jagged Stone and Prince Ali. This had been a ‘special feature’, a two-in-one interview of Lila talking about both of them in one clip.

“Oh yes, Jagged and I are very close. Basically best friends - well, after Ladybug of course - we first met when I saved his kitten from a runway. That’s when I got tinnitus. Anyways, I met with Prince Ali soon after because that’s actually why I’d been at the airport. Ali and I basically grew up together and I was on my way to visit.”

She continues, blabbering on about both celebrities for some time.

When it ends, there’s an outraged cry from the back, “That’s so not rock n’ roll! I’ve never met that girl, and she makes me sound like some creep! That’s defamation! Not cool!”

The crowd turns to see a fuming Jagged and Penny. Soon after, another woman stands, Prince Ali beside her, “Prince Ali would never associate with such a blatant liar. His only childhood friends are in Achu.”

The murmurs get louder, until a voice calls over the noise, “Lila Diablo Rossi, what is the meaning of this?! You haven’t been traveling, you said the school was closed! You said that Ladybug was incapable and that Paris was unsafe!”

Mrs. Rossi is fuming, trying to spot her daughter in the crowd. Everyone is furious now, because no one gets to speak about the city’s heroes like that.

Before anyone else can speak up, the screen changes again. There’s some text, with audio playing in the background.

 The following audio was recorded when Ms. Lila Rossi happened to find a former classmate at the Louvre. This classmate had always claimed Lila was lying, and Ms. Rossi drove them out of the school through intense bullying. It has been edited to keep this person anonymous.

 “-is you! Here I thought this would be a boring field trip! This is a spectacular surprise though!

“See, I told you I knew what I was doing. No one’s seen you in months and they all still  hate your guts - rightfully so of course.”

There are footsteps as the speaker approaches the phone.

“You know, they call me their everyday Ladybug now? I’m honestly insulted - not only did they give me your old dumb title, but they’re comparing me to her. They were that is, until I changed that.

“Look at you! You’re pathetic! I can’t believe I considered you a legitimate threat to me. I could have just left you be and they would have eventually left you in their own time.

“Those morons could walk in right now and would still believe me if I told them you attacked me. They just despise you that much. Not that I can blame them - you’re just so detestable.”

 There’s a stunned silence as everyone takes in what they just heard. The doors burst open, Ladybug and Chat Noir stand tall, accompanied by multiple policemen and people in suits with stern faces.

Ladybug steps forward, “Lila Rossi. You are under arrest for working with and assisting a known terrorist for your own personal gain.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“There has been plenty of circumstantial evidence, but Chat and I never had any substantial proof. Then, a civilian got footage of you capturing an akuma and using it to akumatize yourself.”

The room erupts. People are shouting and screaming, Mrs. Rossi looks shell-shocked. The crowd pushes the girl forward, and she’s fighting.

“No! You can’t do this! I have immunity!”

“No. No you don’t,” Mrs. Rossi manages.

Lila pales. “...what?”

Her mother doesn’t respond, looking faint.

“I’m Gabriel Agreste’s future daughter-in-law! There’s no way-”

Chat interrupts, “Oh yes, that. We know all about that. The deal you made? We aren’t sure of the exact details, whether you made a deal with Mr. Agreste or with Hawkmoth who went after Mr. Agreste, but we know. Adrien was forced into that relationship, so there’s probably a few more charges to add to your list since you were well aware that he didn’t like you in that way.” “Sexual harassment isn’t okay,” Ladybug chimes in, “And surely you’re aware that’s what you were doing?”

At this point people have their phones out and are recording the whole thing. One of the people with stern faces steps forward, “Mrs. Rossi, you may want to come with us.”

She nods, following the procession weakly.

Ladybug and Chat take off. Soon enough, Marinette and Adrien slip back inside, showing up behind their friends, “Look who I found!”

Adrien waves awkwardly, though no one notices as he’s crushed in a tight group hug. He laughs happily as he returns the hug, it’s good to be back.

The moment he’s released, a yellow blur nearly knocks him to the ground.

“Hey, Chlo’.”

She hides her face, and while she may be silent, he can tell she’s likely crying. After about a minute or so though, she pulls away, looking as pristine as ever.

“Well, I say we get out of this place and away from these utterly ridiculous people.”

No one argues, and they head outside, quickly heading into the bakery. Adrien is ushered inside Marinette’s room where he’s bombarded with more hugs, everyone talking at once.

After they separate, they find their own spots to sit, and Marinette turns to the model, “So, what do you want to do?”

He hesitates, unsure, “Hmm… video games?”

“Yeah!” Claude cheers.

Marinette gets the stuff out and offers a controller to Adrien. Felix opts out, and conveniently enough, Allegra and Chloe are also left to wait. The girls sit next to each other, blushing lightly and pointedly not looking at each other.

Allegra’s hand lightly moves to rest over Chloe’s. She turns to look at their hands, then back to the braided girl beside her, who is suddenly very invested in the game. Chloe smiles, turning back to the screen as well.

Neither notice Felix sneakily taking a picture and sending it to the group chat.

---

Earlier:

 Today’s the day! Alya is so excited for the competition! It’ll be fun to see Adrien perform, and maybe they can hang out afterwards. Lila has been an absolute godsend when it comes to convincing Gabriel to allow Adrien more free time.

It’s such a shame that she sprained her wrist again and can’t conduct the concert as she usually would.

Lila is nervous that all her usual bandmates wouldn’t be happy to see her, seeing as she ‘abandoned them’ so Alya is comforting her in an empty classroom.

“Lila, I promise, no one-”

The door opens.

She steps in.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Alya can only stare, unprepared for this. Some traitorous part of her is happy to see her. Missed her.

Alya is disgusted with herself.

Lila shudders, attempting to hide behind her real friend. That’s all it takes to shake Alya from her stupor, she pats Lila gently and turns to her former bestie.

“What are you doing here, Monsternette?”

She sighs. “I’m here for the concert.”

Lila gasps. “I won’t let you harass my boyfriend!”

Alya’s heart goes out to her. Even when faced with Marinette. Her love and loyalty to Adrien shows no bounds. Alya is relieved that she is beginning to make progress. When it had been several months and Lila hadn’t seemed to recover at all from Marinette’s bullying, the class feared that the damage done was irreversible.

Marinette scowls, glaring at the two, as if they were the bad guys here. “I’m not the one harassing Adrien, and he’s not your boyfriend willingly!”

Oh she did not just-

Lila’s self-esteem is bad enough, and she’s confessed to Lila that she worries people will think she’s not worthy of dating someone as great as Adrien. Alya wonders if Marineitte was the source of that, because though they haven’t seen her in a while, it certainly sounds like something she would do.

“Just because you’re some jealous creep, doesn’t mean you get to attack my bestie like that!” Alya yells.

“Oh, would you grow up?!” Marinette growls, gesturing wildly, “This isn’t some tv show where every action I take is because of some boy! Despite what you may think, I have a life outside of a romantic one!”

But there is no other explanation! Alya wants to shout. Why else would someone like Marinette bully someone like Lila?! Some part of her- some jealous part of her reached out and corrupted the rest of her, dragging that sweet girl that Alya once knew into some pit of cruelty.

Alya had been her best friend long enough to know that Marinette can go to extremes when it’s something she cares about.

Even if she shouldn’t care.

Even if it isn’t her business.

“Sure, so the fact that you’ve finally dropped the kicked puppy act has nothing to do with the fact that Adrien isn’t here?” Alya retorts.

The other girl looks at her incredulously. “What.”

“Please. Do you think we’re stupid? Everything you’ve ever done has been an act to gain sympathy.” If Alya had to tell the truth, she’d admit that she’d been… hesitant to believe at first that all of the nice things Marinette had done were just a ruse. Of course, now there’s no other explanation. People don’t just change personalities like a switch. If Lila’s testimonies were anything to go by, Marinette is not the girl they all thought she was. “Thankfully, we had Lila to open up our eyes. All those times you pretended to do nice things? They were all so that we’d like you, honestly-”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying? You’re delusional! You think that was all an act? Do you think I pushed myself down the stairs and sprained my own wrist for sympathy points from a class that already hated me and a boy who wasn’t even there?!”

She makes good points, but it’s not like Adrien wouldn’t have found out! Then he would have been hovering over ‘poor Marinette’ for being injured! Lila had explained it! It made sense!

Or did it?

Alya opens her mouth to point this out, but Marinette cuts her off, “No! No! You do not get to downplay my feelings or how I was treated! Do any of you even realize how long it took me to properly heal from all that?!”

This time Alya does get a chance to point out the inaccuracies. “It was just a few bruises-” “Emotionally!” Marinette interjects, “I didn’t even think that the people hanging out with me regularly for months even considered me their friend despite how obvious it was until I heard them call me that when they didn’t know I was around! I spent months feeling like any slip up would cause a repeat performance of what happened here! Do you have any idea how tiring that is? The effects it can have on someone?!”

Oh god. Was it possible? Had they been wrong all along?! But… then they’d… Marinette had-

Lila whimpers. “N-nice story, but I’m sure A-Alya won’t fall for it the way L-L-Ladybug d-did.”

Alya scowls. She’s disgusted with herself for almost falling for that. “Of course not. Unlike anyone dense enough to like you wherever you go now-”

“I do not appreciate you insulting the entire population of the school we attend,” A vaguely familiar blonde boy interrupts.

Marinette’s face lights up at the three boys who have occupied the doorway. She rushes to hug them, and one of them speaks.

“Now, whether or not you’ll excuse us, we have better things to do than try and carve stone with a stick.”

And then they’re gone.

---

Lila had never understood why villains in stories were described as ‘cackling’ until she’d started doing this.

The pure power she feels every time she gets her latest sheep to turn against one of their own.

The way the target she chooses looks.

Utterly broken.

Completely destroyed.

It’s sensational!

It’s marvelous and she’s completely addicted.

It had been borne of boredom, but now it’s her very lifeblood. A high that never ends.

Until it does.

She’s stricken with horror, unable to do anything but stare at the projected images on the screen.

How?!

She’s been doing this for forever, and she’d never been caught by anyone other than a few insignificant brats. They’d been dealt with.

Her own mother didn’t even know!

And now…

Everything is fast forward and everything is slow motion.

The crowd pushes her forward and she finally remembers herself.

She is Lila Rossi. She’s made of stronger stuff than this! So she fights, because that’s all she has left. Pure animal instinct to kick and scream and shout.

“No! You can’t do this! I have immunity!”

“No. No you don’t,” her mother whispers.

Lila feels her remaining spirit drain away. “...what?”

At her mother’s silence Lila pulls herself together. Fine. So no diplomatic immunity. That’s fine. She can still work without that. She’s got her will. There’s always a way out. She is better than these imbeciles! They can’t just treat her like a commoner! A nobody!

“I’m Gabriel Agreste’s future daughter-in-law! There’s no way-”

Then Chat Noir speaks and all the rest of her hope disappears. She’s lost everything.

She doesn’t bother fighting anymore, submitting to the authorities.

There’s no use anymore. This is her end.

It’s all come crashing down.

---

Alya is next to Lila when it happens. The screen glitches and changes.

Everything changes.

Lila lied, and they all turned on Marinette.

Marinette, who had done nothing.

Nothing at all to deserve this.

Marinette who had done nothing.

Nothing to get back at them for all the pain they’d caused.

She’d just left them. Slipped out of their lives, and carried away like a leaf in the wind.

She had every right to be furious with them, and instead she just walked away.

Left them.

Alya knows she should be beyond pissed, though she’s not sure if it would be for Lila, or for what they all did for Lila, or even solely for herself.

And yet…

The guilt is what hits her first, and once it digs its dark claws into the pit of her stomach that’s all she can feel. Her heart feels torn to shreds and her knees can barely support her. With the guilt comes the shame, and it’s not nearly as potent but it’s just the cherry on top.

She’s not paying attention, because nothing matters right now because good god what did they do to Marinette?!

---

In a few hours time, Marinette and her friends are all decorating cookies in the kitchen.

One drops, and it breaks apart. Claude grins, and Allegra glares at them.

“Well, I guess-”

“Don’t. You already-!”

“-that’s just the way the cookie crumbles!”

Allegra sighs defeatedly. Adrien looks up. “What do you call it when you use a deer-shaped cookie cutter?”

Allan smiles. “What?”

“A cookie doe!”

Marinette and Allegra sigh. Felix just shakes his head.

“This is really friend-chip goals, huh?”

“Claude, these are sugar cookies,” Felix remarks drily.

“Hey, why did the Oreo go to the dentist?” Adrien turns to Claude.

They feign innocence as they turn to him, “Why?”

“To get his filling replaced!”

It’s almost impressive how many puns they get through without repeating while everyone finishes the cookies.

When the cookies are done, they turn on the TV, finding a news broadcast. Nadja Chamack is turning to the camera seriously.

“Shocking news in Paris today. If you’re just tuning in, you’re going to want to stay. During a musical arts competition at Collège Françoise Dupont, it was revealed that one Lila Rossi has been actively working with Hawkmoth himself for sometime now, doing everything from akumatizing herself, to manipulating others to be prone to akumatization themselves..”

“This is called karma, bitch!” Chloe cheers from where she and Allegra are sitting together.

“Language!” Adrien calls. The blonde only sticks her tongue out defiantly.

“Ms. Rossi is being held outside of the city pending investigation, but authorities assure us that this was investigated thoroughly before they made the public arrest. Ladybug and Chat Noir themselves assisted in the investigation, revealing that Ms. Rossi’s motivation was, in part, forcing Adrien Agreste to be her boyfriend. That’s right folks, Paris’ favorite couple has been revealed to be nothing more than an abusive relationship consisting of an involuntary victimized Adrien Agreste and a teen terrorist in the making.”

Everyone cheers at that.

“The Agreste brand has issued a brief public statement saying that they are unaffiliated with Hawkmoth, and that they were unaware of Ms. Rossi’s crimes. Adrien’s location is unknown. It is assumed he is taking a break from the media spotlight, and everyone agrees that after going through what is now known to be regular sexual harassment, he certainly deserves the break. Gabriel Agreste is under public fire for how Adrien was treated and some theorize he could be a close accomplice to Hawkmoth, if not the man himself. He is not the only one under fire though, as it was revealed that Collège Françoise Dupont allowed Ms. Rossi to get away with an astonishing amount of offenses while enrolled there. She faked disabilities, missed months of school with no real proof of where she was, and even caused one of her former classmates to leave the school due to the intense bullying she received while there. Speaking both as a mother and a friend of the child’s family, I am appalled that such behavior was not only allowed, but actively encouraged. Authorities assure us that investigations are underway - both into the school and the Agrestes, but many can’t help but feel that this is not enough. No amount of investigation can undo the pain caused by this individual.”

The broadcast continues, but the group tunes it out. Marinette sighs, “She’s gone. She’s gone and she won’t be coming back!”

“Finally.” Chloe rolls her eyes.

“It is a relief,” Felix comments, “that we will not have to deal with her nonsense anymore.”

“I’m glad that those awful classmates won’t have any reason to bother you now Mari,” Allegra sighs.

“About that…” Marinette raises a finger hesitantly. Allegra and Adrien look at her, while the other boys just frown. Chloe scowls.

“Yeah, they had a run-in before the performance,” Claude sighs.

“What did they do?” The two blondes say in unison.

“Nothing really,” Marinette shrugs. Adrien disagrees, if the way he hugs her tighter is anything to go by.

“We got separated and she ran into them in a classroom. Lie-la was up to her usual tricks, and Alya was defending her from Mari,” Claude starts.

“She held her own pretty well, but we got her outta’ there once we got there.” Allan smiles at the pigtailed girl proudly.

“Then she was hugged,” Felix states a-matter-of-factly.

Claude looks at Marinette meaningfully, asking permission. She understands and nods.

They sigh, “We also found out that Marinette didn’t think we considered her a friend for a few months.”

“Apparently, we were just being nice,” Allan remarks.

Allegra squawks, turning to Marinette, who is being held even tighter by the model beside her, “I will come over there and hug the low self-esteem out of you!”

“Already on it,” Adrien says. Marinette giggles as Allegra hugs her too.

Chloe is fuming, “Ugh, I think Queen Bee should come out of retirement just so Pollen and I can sting some people. Both of those wannabe faux foxes and their lackeys.”

Allegra turns to her, though still hugging her friend, “I think Honey Bee would be perfectly willing to do that herself.”

“I don’t think Kit Mime deserves to be compared to either of them,” Allan pipes up. Claude smiles.

“No superheroes are going to do anything to anyone,” Marinette reprimands. Adrien recognizes her Ladybug Voice™.

Chloe sticks her tongue out, “You’re not the boss of me. I’m also not hearing any protests to me just beating them up without the miraculous.”

Marinette glares at her.

“I don’t think you need to do much,” Adrien interjects, “I’m sure it won’t take much convincing for Chat Noir to pay them a visit.”

“These are all wonderful ideas.” Felix nods approvingly.

Marinette sighs in defeat.

---

Adrien and Marinette wave at everyone as they go, each with their own share of cookies (Chloe with extras for Sabrina). Marinette turns to him, “When do you have to-”

His phone rings, and he sighs, “Speak of the devil.”

She waits, watching. He keeps his face impassive as he hangs up and turns to her.

“Well?” “Father says that it may be for the best to ‘hide from the media’ here if it’s alright with your parents,” he reveals, grinning cheekily once he’s finished speaking.

She hugs him, “He’s basically bribing you with a sleepover, but right now I’m just glad that you get to stay over!”

Hurrying inside, she calls to her parents, “Maman? Papa? Can Adrien stay the night?””

Sabine pokes her head out from a doorway, “Of course, dear!”

That’s all Marinette needs to hear before she leads Adrien upstairs to her room hurriedly.

“If you’re not careful, I might just think you’re excited to have me over, Princess.” He smirks.

“I am! Usually you’re stuck in my room! Not to mention that you’re finally free from her.”

“I’m with her, Kid,” Plagg mutters lazily.

“I’m so proud of both of you! Both of you went through terrible things that you didn’t deserve at all, and you made it out without even being akumatized. You deserve a break!” Tikki chirps, “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

Marinette smiles softly, petting Tikki until the Kwami smiles again, “It’s not your fault, Tikki.”

Tikki just looks at her mournfully, and the two Gods fly off to speak, giving their charges a break.

Adrien flops across Marinette, looking at her happily. She’s about to tease him when he slow blinks at her and she blushes lightly. He grins, then grins more when she returns the blink.

He snuggles against her, purring happily. She laughs, her hands finding his hair. They sit contentedly in silence for a little bit until Adrien notices Marinette drooping slightly, holding back a yawn. They’ve been sitting together for a while, his head in her lap while she scratches his scalp idly. She’s slowed, and stares forward blankly, blinking slowly every so often and seemingly just a few moments from dropping to the floor. She doesn’t realize she’s been found out yet, continuing to scratch where his cat ears would be.

He frowns, she wouldn’t normally hide being tired, unless-

“Marinette, I thought I made you promise not to overwork yourself,” he reprimands.

She flushes slightly, “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted. When was the last time you slept, and how much sleep have you been getting most nights?” He sits up, studying her.

She slumps, knowing there’s no use trying to hide it. “I technically never promised. I just wanted to make sure that this went smoothly. For your information though, I slept last night.” She sticks out her tongue at him.

“How long?”

“...four hours. Three or less for the past week and a half?”

He gives her a look, and she just grins sheepishly. Shaking his head in feigned exasperation, he scoops her up into his arms. She kicks her feet, “Hey! I don’t need to go to bed, I can just sleep in tomorrow!”

“Yes, yes you do need to sleep now. I know how awful being overworked is, but you don’t have someone making sure you have time for sleep, so I will be doing that.”

She harrumphs, wrinkling her nose.

He reaches the top of the steps to her bed, turning and flopping backwards onto the mattress. The pair bounce slightly, and Adrien lets Marinette go to allow her to get into a more comfortable position.

“Oh, so you’re planning on just watching me to make sure I sleep?” Marinette teases.

Adrien shuts his eyes. “Nope. I’m a cat, so I’ll take any o-purr-tunity I can to nap.”

He knows she rolled her eyes, even if he can’t see her. She lies down next to him, huffing so he knows just how awful he is for having the audacity to make her rest properly.

After a few minutes, he feels the mattress shift as she carefully sits up, trying to go down and presumably work on some project. His eyes fly open, and he grabs her wrist. “Excuse you, I believe you’re supposed to be sleeping. I guess we’ll be doing this the hard way then.”

Before she can protest, he pulls her arm out from under her, catching her as gravity pulls her down.

“I’m not tired.”

“That’s because you’re being a stubborn baby bug.”

She scoffs, “Alley cat!”

“And proud of it,” he murmurs, pressing his face into her hair.

He leans against her pillows, dragging her with him so that she’s farther from the edge of the loft. Nestling her head under his, she reaches her arm over to give him a sideways hug. His other arm is wrapped around her back, and he carefully undoes her loose pigtails with his fingers. She hums appreciatively.

“I’m not tired you know,” she mumbles.

He just purrs louder, holding her closer.

She yawns, “Still… not…”

She never finishes the sentence.

Adrien grins, hearing her breathing beginning to even out. He rubs soothing circles on her back, trying to get her to rest sooner. He knows he was successful when her soft breathes line up with the pattern of sleep.

It’s not long before he goes the same way.

---

Author’s Note: There's a lot happening here, where do I even begin?

Anyone curious as to Lila's middle name? It means 'devil'. Very fitting.

Don't you love it when the resident supervillain is too busy doing PR to cause anything?

Sabrina is with her father, sipping her tea and watching Lila's world burn.

I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this long awaited chapter!! As I said in the beginning note, I'm not satisfied with it. Something just feels off, but who knows? I could be crazy! I hope this lived up to all the hype! 💖

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts, theories, constructive criticism, or anything really in my ask box, in replies or through reblogs. I love seeing what you think!

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