#I should draw the bakery itself more often (<- will probably not do that)

[froggychair05]

Scrolled so much, now i know how the structure of the bakery is >:)

Really excited to do the backgrounds 🙈🙈

Here's Jesse also! Walking around with his work fit, he doesn't even realize how messy he is, he's so silly

AAAUGH THE LIGHTING ON THESE IS BEAUTIFUL??? HELLO???

MESSY LITTLE GUY HE’S SO CUTE!!

[werejusttouchingeachother]

Whipped

(d.ksoo)

Req: fluff + smut with Kyungsoo by @johnniverse​ Pairing: actor!Kyungsoo x baker!reader Words: 10,609k Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut Warning: cursing, smut, mature Summary: Your close friendship with Korea’s favourite actor is suddenly strained when he begins acting strange after returning home. Three nights of disappointment and several drinks later, the memory of a rhubarb Eton mess lingers in the air as you find yourself finally seeing your best friend in a different light. Tags: actor!Soo, slightly chef!Soo, baker!reader, cursing, flirting, sexual tension and fluffy smut A/N: To the req, I hope you like it and it isnt too cringy lol, I always struggle with fluff. Also P.S, I’m never doing the fake texting image thing ever again, I had to use both my phone and laptop to edit/upload the pics in order and it was a pain in the ass especially for a fic this long (and on a side-note, props to all the text-message fic authors, this sHIT IS HARD JFC SERIOUSLY Y’ALL ARE AMAZING AND DEDICATED AF, I APPRECIATE THE EFFORT)

The smell of butter and dough that surrounded you usually helped calm your nerves but tonight could perhaps be the first time that was an exception. After all, it had been months since you last saw your best friend, Kyungsoo.

There weren’t many people around at this late hour of the night and you were thankful for the silence, for the peaceful atmosphere that was usually a rare occurrence at the bakery’s kitchen. Only when your nerves had crept into your worried thoughts as the silence prolonged had you finally scrolling to the playlist of soft instrumentals that you usually had playing at the bakery during work hours, letting the music fill the empty kitchen while you worked.

You hum softly to Billie Eilish and Khalid’s ‘lovely' as you place the tiny specks of edible gold foil atop the chocolate tart. Kyungsoo didn’t love the gold foil—he called it “too bougie”—but you knew that he didn’t hate it either. Besides, you couldn’t help the dramatic flair that you always brought to your desserts; it was what you were popular for, after all.

You’d met Kyungsoo as a customer at your artisan café almost three years ago when he’d dropped by late in the night to ask for a full-sized cake. You’d heard your co-worker Yixing apologetically inform him that there weren’t any such cakes readily available just a few minutes short to closing hours and that customers usually pre-ordered them in advance but you’d stepped out of the back-kitchen then to ask the desperate-sounding customer whether a red velvet cheesecake was fine with him.

You can still recall how you’d stumbled over your own words as your eyes finally fell on the late-night customer—Do Kyungsoo, the upcoming handsome actor who had swept over the nation with his popularity after his latest movie. Your first thought had immediately been, ‘Holy hell, he looks more beautiful than he does on the screen’.

It was only much later that you’d revealed to him that the original recipient of the cake was a little girl turning eight the next day. Kyungsoo had been stunned at the revelation and even to the present day, he still wondered why you hadn’t turned him away to find another bakery instead of going to the hassle of giving away a pre-baked cake that resulted in you pulling an all-nighter to bake another for the actual customer.

But how could you have refused? With his warm earnest brown eyes that reminded you of the pools of dark chocolate batter that you’d been whisking back in the kitchen, his cheeks that shone like freshly glazed pastries with the sheepish heart-shaped smile that put even the sun to shame, you couldn’t help but relent and give him the red velvet cheesecake that you’d been preparing for a client to pick up the next morning.

Although Kyungsoo had left in a hurry after accepting the box that night, he had visited the bakery around brunch hour the next day to thank you personally—and “properly”.  Both of you had introduced yourselves and you’d been surprised at how down-to-earth and friendly he’d been, taken aback by his genuine interest in your bakery and all the desserts that you’d had. After conversing, there grew a mutual admiration—you’d never imagined that such a famous actor was also an incredible cook with an intense passion for food while having such an avid interest and genuine fascination towards your baking.

It had been the initial blossoming of a beautiful delectable friendship. You’d never thought you’d grow as close to him as you did but there was an instant connection after that first conversation at the kitchen of your bakery, a way in which both your personalities perfectly complemented each other and fit together just right. Of course, your mutual interest for food only fuelled the friendship further.

That was three years ago. Back then, it had started as a friendship but slowly bloomed to an unhealthy crush on your part. And who could blame you? Kyungsoo was unbelievably perfect—with his charming smile, his friendly and kind nature, his heart of gold and just by being an absolute sweetheart, you struggled to keep your emotions at bay as you got closer to him. He set the standard entirely too high and there was a small part of you that even blamed him for never being able to find a boyfriend. Every blind date and man that your friends introduced you to all paled in comparison to Kyungsoo, multiple meals and walks spent with them feeling extremely dreary when you spent the entire time drawing analyses of them in your mind based off of Kyungsoo as the yardstick.

However, it was a secret that you were certain you’d carry to your grave. He already had hordes of fangirls and half the country pining for him, he didn’t need to worry about you shooting heart-eyes at him too.

Besides, you cherished your relationship with Kyungsoo entirely far too much to risk losing all of it with a silly confession. You were close with his mother who called you more often than she even called him sometimes to chat with you idly about recipes, you knew how he hated parsley a lot more than he let on, how he’d admitted that your lemon meringue pies were his favourite dessert in the entire world and how he hated early morning shoots the most and could never get used to them no matter how many times he did it.

It wasn’t one-sided—he knew you like the back of his hand too. Kyungsoo knew about your coffee addiction that he always called unhealthy, how much you loved crafting recipes in your kitchen late into the night until you got it perfect, how you absolutely hated thunderstorms and could even tell whenever you were upset even from a mere text, prompting him to call you as soon as he could to talk about it.

It was too much to risk such a great friendship for a stupid crush. He meant too much to you which is exactly why you’d settled for never ever confessing to him.

You hum softly as you finally pulled your face away from the table, a satisfied smile coming upon your face as the finished tart lay atop the marble counter, gold flecks glinting in the yellow lights of the kitchen.

You picked up your phone then, frowning as you noticed the lack of texts. Kyungsoo had finally completed the premiere and tour for his latest movie, arriving back home early today morning for a well-deserved break, albeit short. You knew that his friends would most probably throw him a party—as per their tradition—but he’d texted you earlier that he would definitely drop by the bakery around midnight, at the latest.

Which was your tradition. He’d visit his mother, have a meal with his parents and then come straight to you, loudly yelling that you’d better have his favourite pies waiting for him, “or else”.

You stare at your phone, contemplating if you should send a picture of the tart and fully utilise his weakness for sweet treats against him but the screen suddenly lights up with an incoming message.

You sigh as you place your phone back on the counter and glance dejectedly down at the tarts. Pursuing your lips, you wondered if there was something wrong and if Kyungsoo was okay—it was the first time that he’d cancelled on your tradition of meeting you on the day that he got back itself.

He’s at home, probably well-fed, pampered and completely spoiled rotten by his mother so you decided to not dwell further on it. You place the tarts into airtight containers and placed them in the fridge then, yawning softly as you decided to call it a day and head home.

You were positive that you could see the colour red as you glanced at the clock hanging over the paintings on your wall, feeling more livid than you’d ever been.

It had been three days. Three days since Kyungsoo had arrived and your stupid “tradition” was in shreds—the both of you hadn’t met at all.

The day after the night he spent at his parents’ place, you waited for him all morning at the bakery before texting him. He’d called you immediately and apologised profusely, saying that he had to meet his manager at the company and that something urgent had come up. You’d let it go again but he hadn’t contacted you at all after that and you’d waited all day until finally calling him right before bed.

The conversation had been short, his words muted and seeming tired so you’d hung up without pressing too much.

But then you’d went over directly to his parents’ place yesterday. You’d been stunned to find that he wasn’t there, his mother cheerfully mentioning that he had left early in the morning “because of some work” and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you’d lost your appetite. After stuffing yourself full with an entire lunch that his mother had not let you leave without, you’d called him. He’d apologised again, “another work thing” and finally ended the call after mutually agreeing that he’d come over to your place early the next morning, eat breakfast with him and heading back to the bakery later in the afternoon.

It was the next morning, the pancakes you’d made were cold and soggy now, the clock read 10:19AM and Kyungsoo was nowhere in sight.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” you hissed murderously, grabbing your phone and pulling up your messages to text him.

You shoved your phone away in fury, grabbing the plate of pancakes and hurriedly storing them back in the oven before grabbing the keys to your car and heading out of your apartment. You had half-a-mind to drive over to the company and ask his manager which goddamn hotel he was staying at before taking a deep breath, muttering a string of curses lowly to clear your head and pulling out of the parking space.

The entire day was a mess. Chanyeol, your commis baker, was surprised to see you head in earlier than you said you would, all of the kitchen crew and bakers flinching as you glared and yelled at them to get their shit together. You busied yourself in the kitchen, feeling Johnny’s wary eyes on you as you punched the dough like a possessed madwoman. Perhaps you weren't as good at masking your emotions as you thought you were, the entire staff catching onto the fact that their usually-cheerful patisserie chef was perhaps not seeing dough for fresh bread but instead visualising the mochi cheeks of the man whom Korea had lovingly dubbed as the actor with the most perfect heart-shaped smile.

Perfect, my ass, you thought derisively.

The day passed in phases. By 4PM, you’d baked way more puff pastries than necessary, waving off Chanyeol who meekly suggested to stop making so many since there was already a piling excess which would most probably be wasted if not sold by tonight. You told them all to just take some home, that there were your treat and involuntarily, your hands started to slow down as evening dawned, your upper arms beginning to ache slightly because you didn’t pace yourself in your rage.

You sighed as you headed to the back of the kitchen, walking through the smaller door that was alongside the pantry—a smaller space that was solely for you, a place that you lovingly called your own and was the birth of many of your sweet creations.

The anger shifted to the second phase in the evening, one that infuriated you more because at least you were productive with your fury. Now, you just slumped at the marble countertop while staring at the small fridge in the corner that still held the gold-leafed chocolate tart from two nights ago.

You sighed as you buried your face in your flour-stained palms. This has never happened and it was stressing you out in levels that you had never expected it to—because you’d never had a fight with Kyungsoo. Petty arguments, sure, but nothing that couldn’t be solved with his spaghetti or your macaroons.

Then again, he’d never been like this. Never had he avoided you, never had he cancelled multiple times on you repeatedly, never had he broke the sacred tradition of meeting you as soon as he was back. It had been too many times now to be a mere coincidence, he was definitely avoiding you. You could tell that he was lying and your anger from today morning had subsided to just an intense worry that felt like cramps in your lower abdomen, sighs falling from your lips as you wondered what was wrong.

You thought about calling his mother for a brief moment but you could already guess that she was just as oblivious as you, maybe even more. She hadn’t seemed fazed when you’d went over yesterday, hadn’t noticed the distress on your face as you realised that you’d missed him yet again.

The rest of the day seemed to drag on forever. Your limbs were sore and you knew your bed would be nothing short of welcoming right now but you didn’t want to go back home in a state like this where your thoughts would be louder than ever.

Around 9PM, you decided to call it a day and closed up early. You could see the relief in everyone’s faces, especially Chanyeol who looked like he wanted nothing more than to go home and pass out. Once the entire crew had left the bakery with a box of all your rage-fuelled treats—Chanyeol had been right, there had been way too many puff pastries, cake pops and enough cookies for the entire neighbourhood—you sat alone in your workspace with nothing but silence echoing around you.

Sighing softly, you stood up and connected your phone to the small Bluetooth speakers placed at the corner of the room, putting on your Coldplay playlist. You washed your hands in the sink before setting out to make the lemon meringue pie.

There was a reason why Kyungsoo loved it the most amongst every other dessert you made—it was your go-to dessert whenever you were upset. Although the recipe wasn’t challenging nor was it particularly difficult to make, it does require a lot of patience and dedication to get a flawless pie every time. Kyungsoo loved watching you create it; you’d lost count of the number of times he’d walked in to see you furiously whipping the cream filling for the pie. The amount of concentration it took at each step usually helped calm your nerves, distracting your noisy thoughts enough to focus on the dessert at hand.

Initially, you’d thought he called it his favourite only because he’d seen first-hand how much effort it took to bake it but then Kyungsoo had explained that he could taste the effort, that the tarty tanginess of the lemon filling which would first wash over his tongue slowly morphs into the subtle sweet aftertaste of the creamy meringue which was addicting enough to make you crave for more.

There was a small part of you that didn’t believe him when he’d said that and an even smaller part that had been too flattered to believe it, unable to even form a coherent response to it but baking the pie now made your chest ache as it occurred to you that it’d probably join the tarts in the fridge from two nights ago.

The lemon meringue pies tasted best when eaten immediately and he knew it—which was exactly why he often sat around to watch you make it.

You decided not to dwell on it. Once you were done with the pie, you’d call him one last time to ask if he could meet you wherever possible tonight itself. You’d use the pies as an extra leverage, perhaps as a ruse to just lure him out. Just so you could yell at him for being an idiot right at his face instead of at the phone.

You’d just lined the pastry base into the pan and chilled it for an hour before baking it in the oven while you whisked the lemon filling. The humming of the oven had involuntarily made your shoulders loosen up as you lost yourself in making the lemon filling and you were softly singing along to Yellow as it echoed around the small kitchen space.  

The song suddenly stopped and your hands froze reflexively as you turned around to see your phone lighting up with an incoming call.

‘satansoo😈💕’

You dropped the whisk immediately and grabbed the dishcloth, wiping your hands hastily as you strode around the counter. You threw the cloth aside, hands still feeling slightly sticky as you grabbed your phone and disconnected the Bluetooth connection.

Your voice was slightly breathless as you finally answered, “Soo? Hello? Kyungsoo?”

There was dull music faintly thumping in the background but at a distance, as if muted. You frowned as the pause on the other side of the call lasted for almost three seconds before finally hearing an unfamiliar male voice.

“Hello? Y/N? Is this Y/N?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me,” you said loudly, furrowing your eyebrows as you felt a sense of dread creep into you. “Who is this? Where’s—?”

“You were the first on his emergency contact list,” the man interrupted, making your heart drop to your feet.

“What’s going on?” You asked hurriedly in a panic, your eyes widening as you felt your stomach twist. “Where’s Kyungsoo? Is he okay?”

“Ma’am, my name is Woo Shik and I’m the bartender at Club Exodus. Your friend is really really drunk,” the man replied, sounding slightly exasperated. “He came in around 7PM and got a room alone although we told him that he can’t do that singly but he insisted and said he’d even pay more for it. And now-now he’s just really drunk. He’s been yelling your name for the past half hour and crying something about rhu.. rhu something? Itaewon mess?”

“Rhubarb Eton mess,” you deadpanned, sighing. “I’m… I’ll be there as soon as I can. Could you just text me the address of the club, to this number?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll send the location right now.”

“Okay, thank you, I’ll be there.”

You hang up quickly and your limbs feel like they’re frozen, uncoordinated from your brain as you will yourself to move. You feel disoriented, a thousand thoughts flying through your head as you quickly pull off your messy apron and grab your phone. You don’t bother fixing yourself much, knowing that you probably smelled like fresh dough and lemons as you hurriedly shut off the oven. You pause as you notice the halfway baked pie shell, wondering if you should call Chanyeol and ask him if he could clean up in here as a favour.

The large grandfather clock in the main lounge area of the bakery suddenly sounded, echoing softly in the back-kitchen and you glanced down at your phone.

10PM.

He’s been drinking by himself for three hours.

“Fuck it,” you mutter, snatching the oven mitts and not even bothering to put it on as you use it just to shield your hand whilst grabbing the hot pie tray.

Your legs seem to move faster than your brain then, your body moving almost robotically as you threw the half-whisked lemon filling in its large glass bowl, the pastry shell and the cream for the meringue into the small fridge. It only held a few failed recipes and a couple of disfigured-looking pastries that you usually snacked on, along with Soo’s dark chocolate gold tart from two nights ago that you hadn’t had the heart to throw away, having expected him to walk into the bakery at some godforsaken hour and claim the dessert.

You felt a slight ache now as you stashed everything into the fridge, knowing how many ingredients that you’d just wasted because there was no way even you could resurrect or save this disaster after leaving this kitchen now.

Knowing that there was no time to regret it, you quickly cleaned up the counters and the rest of the workspace, grabbing your car keys and the lock to the bakery. You closed up the store and hurriedly got into the car, pulling up the location that the bartender had just sent you as you started driving to the club.

Your worry finally had a chance to fully materialise through the drive, your anxiety not allowing you to even play the radio as you raced to Club Exodus. It briefly occurred to you that there probably was a huge problem, something big that was worrying Kyungsoo if he was willing to go to the extent of booking a hotel room away from his parents and even avoiding you.

If there was anyone besides his mother who could read and see through him as well as she did, it was you.

God, Kyungsoo, what is going on?

You pulled up to the front of the club in almost half an hour, quickly jumping out and hurriedly gesturing to the car at the valet service guy standing at the entrance before heading in.

You approached the woman at the reception, your voice low as you asked, “I’m looking for Woo Shik? He’s with a friend of mine…”

“Oh yes, ma’am, hold on.” You weren’t even looking around the place, your senses almost numbed with tension as you followed the uniformed man to whom she gestured, one step behind him as he lead you away from what sounded like the main hall with its booming music that you could feel reverberating through the walls.

He showed you to a door and you could already hear Kyungsoo’s deep laughter even before entering. You pushed open the door and your eyes immediately fell on your best friend, his cheeks appearing redder than you’d ever seen them as he laid back on the black leather couches. A man in the dark burgundy uniform of the club who you assumed to be Woo Shik was trying to clear the table alongside the couch in a desperate attempt to save the bottles and glasses of alcohol from falling onto the floor.  

“Kyungsoo,” you said flatly and Woo Shik looked up from the couch towards you, wide eyes filled with exasperation.

“Y/N?” He asked hopefully and you nodded, sighing.

“Did he drink more after we called?” You asked, stepping into the room fully and scrunching your nose in disgust at the way the place was reeking with alcohol.

“No, but he’d been chugging for a while and they’re all settling in now, I think,” Woo Shik explained tiredly, stepping away to let you walk around the table towards your drunk best friend.

You forgot what to even say as you looked at Kyungsoo who was giggling giddily on the couch, his eyes closed as his hands flailed mindlessly. He looked almost smaller in the way that he was curled up on the leather seats and you could see that he’d grown thinner since the last time you’d seen him. His cheeks were very flushed and that’s when you realised that this was the first time you’d seen him so shit-faced drunk. Of the both of you, he was the one with the higher tolerance and he’d seen you blackout drunk more times than you’d seen him in the past three years and it occurred to you that he must have definitely had way too much than usual tonight to be like this.

“Soo,” you heard yourself mumble, your hands reaching for his that were still blindly reaching for something in the air. His eyes snap open when he feels your hands clasp around his, dark shining gaze shifting towards you. You watch as his eyes widen and even before you can react, his grip tightens fiercely around your hand as he yanks you to him with a high-pitched squeal of your name.

You curse as you almost collapse on top of him on the couch, feeling his body beneath yours that was radiating so much warmth that you would have mistaken him to have a fever if it weren’t for all the alcohol lying around.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiii,” Kyungsoo slurred, smiling happily up at you as he wrapped his arms snugly around your middle while staring down at you. You felt your heart slightly melt at his elated expression, your anger and worry momentarily dissipating as you gazed back into his shining eyes.

“Hi,” you replied softly, feeling almost shy from the way he was looking at you as you realised that Woo Shik was still in the room and probably waiting for you to collect the mess that you had in your arms who had caused him enough trouble.

“Okay, can you sit up?” You ask slowly like you’re talking to a child as you pull away enough to help him sit upright. He’s still gripping one of your hands tightly and you let him use your other arm as a support to pull him upwards slowly so as not to make him dizzy.

You look up at Woo Shik then, your tone apologetic as you ask, “How much is all of this?”

“He already paid, ma’am,” Woo Shik replied, shaking his head at you.

“Okay, I’ll just take him away then, I’m so sorry for the trouble,” You quickly say as you grab Kyungsoo’s arm and throw it around your neck. You put your own arm around his waist, holding him to your side while trying not to inhale the alcohol-stench reeking off of him. Woo Shik offers help but you shake your head at him as you help Kyungsoo out of the club. He suggests the back entrance then, mentioning that it’d be safer because of his actor status and quickly hurries to tell the valet to bring your car.

You manage, with much difficulty, to finally seat Kyungsoo inside your car and strap him in safely. Once he is settled, you sincerely thank Woo Shik for all his help and make a mental note to send him some treats tomorrow and finally get back into your car. After driving away from the club, you slow down at a secluded alley and turn to Kyungsoo whose head is turned to face the window.

You gently shake his shoulder, wondering if he’s asleep as you softly call out, “Soo? Kyungsoo?”

His eyes blink open slowly and he turns to you, appearing almost woozy. You watch then as his eyes widen and the same elated expression from earlier washes over his face, his arms reaching out to wrap tightly around your frame as he again exclaims, “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii.”

“Yeah, yeah, hi, hi,” you mutter, rolling your eyes in exasperation as you try to pull away from his death-grip. Any other time, you’d have been taking videos of him like this to use as precious blackmail later.

“Soo,” you call out his name again as you try to get his attention on you. Once he is blinking at you while still grinning like an idiot, you enunciate slowly, “Your hotel. Where is it? Which hotel are you staying at?”

Kyungsoo blinks incomprehensibly and you see his grin widen, mouth opening excitedly to squeal your name again and you manage to grab his arms, stopping him from hugging you yet again.

“Kyungsoo!” You call out loudly, watching him flinch and you instantly lower your tone as you slump back in your seat while staring at him helplessly. There was no way you could take him back to his parents’ place when he was like this and you knew that his mother didn’t know the hotel that he was staying at either since she hadn’t mentioned it the last time.

Sighing, you turn with resignation towards the steering wheel and start up the car again, deciding to just take him home.

It wasn’t like he’d never been to your place before—he’d slept over on your couch multiple times but this would be the first time that he’d be doing it when absolutely wasted.

Kyungsoo hums softly beneath his breath as you drive and you’re quiet, listening to him as you chew on your lip nervously while wondering if you should talk to him. You knew he was drunk as hell and by the state that he was in, you guessed that his chances of remembering any of this tomorrow morning would probably be extremely low.

You decided to risk it.

“Soo,” you started tentatively and you were surprised when the humming stopped, knowing his attention was on you. You clear your throat before asking slowly, “Why didn’t you meet me?”

He frowns and you can hear the pout in his voice as he slurs, “Because you’re an idiot.”

You turn to look at him in amazement, eyes wide at the stupid response. “What?”

You turn back to the road as he continues, “It’s true. My mother says so too.”

“Your-your mother?” You sputtered, feeling more confused by the second. What the hell is he talking about? “She said not to meet me because I’m an idiot?”

“Nooooooooo,” Kyungsoo whined and you noticed him shift in his seat slightly from your peripheral as he explained, “I decided not to meet you. Mom told me that I’m an idiot. I think you’re the idiot but Mom says it’s me.”

You should just pull over and leave him on the roadside.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm as you reminded yourself to treat him like a child. He is a child and you need information so you tried again, slowly asking, “Why are we idiots?”

There’s a pause then and Kyungsoo mumbles something in reply, incoherent again.

You slow to a stop at the red light as you turn to face him fully now, squinting at him. “What? Why are we idiots, Kyungsoo?”

“Because I like you,” Kyungsoo sighs loudly and your eyes widen then, heart jumping to your throat.

Everything freezes around you and you stare at him, certain that you’d heard wrong as he leans back against the headrest, sighing dramatically again as he softly explains, “I’ve liked you for a long time but you’re an idiot to never see it. Mom told me I’m the idiot for never telling you but you’re the idiot for never seeing the signs.”

“S-signs?” You repeated, your voice cracking in your throat. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you ask quietly, “What signs?”

Kyungsoo sighs again, longer this time and you’re almost tempted to grab him by his shoulders and shake him angrily to get him to speak faster. You felt like you were going to be sick and this idiot was putting on the show of his life, acting dramatically like his rent was due the next morning.

“Sooooooo many signs, Y/N,” he slurs your name, dragging his words tiredly as he turns to you. He faces you and pouts childishly as he asks, “You think I run to all my friends’ arms whenever I come home on break? You think I cook with parsley which I hate with all my heart for anyone else? It’s only for you, because of how much you love it on your spaghetti. Most of my friends don’t even know I cook. I never even had a thing for sweets until you and I told you that but you’re an idiot. You thought its cause I love everything you make that much but that’s only a part of it. You idiot.”

You stare at him speechlessly and jump when you hear a loud honk behind you. Dazed, you look ahead and realise the traffic lights had changed to green, slowly prompting you to shift the gear and start driving again as the cars continued honking noisily behind.

You swallowed loudly, hearing an internal screaming in your head as you tried to gather your thoughts and process the words you’d just heard. You’re about to ask more, you don’t even know what, when you hear him murmuring softly again. You catch the word ‘rhubarb’ and start to ask why he kept ranting about your Rhubarb Eton mess custard and that’s when it suddenly hits you.

The last time that he’d come home for break, the time that he’d spent with you before leaving for the movie that he’d just finished shooting, you’d made him the Rhubarb Eton mess custard. The call to travel to Japan had been abrupt, causing him to have to leave on short notice and he’d spent the night before his flight with you at the bakery. It was after working hours, close to midnight and you’d been experimenting and crafting desserts with rhubarbs since they were in-season and had whipped up the Rhubarb Eton mess custard quickly just for him.

He’d watched you in his usual seat opposite the counter as you made it and after having his first spoon, he’d scooped a spoonful of the creamy custard and fed it to you. After taking the bite, however, the blood-red juice of the rhubarb had stained your lips with a bit of the whipped cream at the edge of your mouth.

Kyungsoo had reached out almost reflexively, his thumb swiping against your lip and you’d gone still, both of your gazes locking as you’d felt the atmosphere shift. You thought it had only been in your head, that it had only been you wondering what the expression on his face would be if you leaned forward and sucked the cream from his thumb, if his eyes would dilate watching your lips wrap around his digit the way that you were sure your eyes had when his hand had reached towards your mouth.

You could still recall how terse the silence had been then, both of you in a silent stare-off as you waited for the other to make a move and Kyungsoo had finally broken the moment by retrieving his hand, flashing you an innocent grin as he licked the cream from his thumb and quietly finished the rest of the dessert.

Your heart had been hammering in your chest that whole night and you’d never even known.

“Oh god,” you breathed out involuntarily as understanding finally dawned over you. Kyungsoo had been humming beside you again but at your words, he went quiet and you continued, “The rhubarb custard. You’re talking about—”

Kyungsoo groaned loudly then, confirming your suspicions as he huffed in annoyance.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad that night,” he almost whined and you felt your cheeks reddening at his confession as he continues ranting, “You were just standing there with your lips looking all glossy and red from the syrup and that stupid whipped cream on your upper lip! I was already upset cause I had to leave you so soon and you were just standing there like an idiot and I just wanted to eat you instead of that damn custard.”

Holy fucking hell. “Kyung—”

“I’ve been whipped for you forever, Y/N,” Kyungsoo admitted, shutting you up abruptly. “I’m whipped for you like your whipped cream. Like your Eton mess. Like your perfect custard. Like your pies. Like—”

“Okay, okay, I get it, I get it,” you quickly interrupt him, desperately wanting him to shut up because you were certain that you’d cause an accident with the way your heart was pounding right now, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your thoughts were disorienting. You were driving mindlessly, taking longer routes because you didn’t how much longer this conversation would go, if it would last all the way to your apartment or if he’d sober up once he got home. You felt like you were dreaming, like this conversation was unreal and wondered briefly if you’d gotten drunk with him too back at the club and this was just some cruel dream.

“Why…” you croak and you clear your throat before trying again. “Why didn’t you meet me?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“I swear to god, I’m going to—” You loudly inhale through your mouth, knuckles almost turning white around the steering wheel as you grit out, “Did. You. Avoid. Me. Because you like me?”

“Min Ah…”

He trailed off and you frowned in confusion, pausing as you faintly recognised the name. “‘Min Ah’? Jung Min Ah? Isn’t that your co-star for the movie you just did?”

Kyungsoo nods and he mumbles sleepily, “She said she likes me during the wrap-up party but I could only think of you. I didn’t want to see you until I got my shit together and sorted out my feelings because I didn’t want to accidentally confess to you.” He pauses then and you’re surprised when he lets out a loud humourless laugh. “Maybe I am the idiot.”  

You hesitate before asking, “Why don’t you want to confess to me?”

Kyungsoo is quiet for a while after that and you glance at him, wondering if he’d fallen asleep but he appears to be deep in thought. His words are almost unheard as he finally mumbles, “Because I don’t want to lose you.”

You fall silent at his heavy words, the intensity of the underlying meaning getting to you as you feel something break inside of you.

You don’t say anything for the rest of the ride then and Kyungsoo dozes off, falling asleep cutely with his mouth hanging open as he lays his head back against the seat while you drown in your thoughts.

Regardless of your feelings and how much you liked him too, the words that Kyungsoo had just uttered terrified you. Friendships were stable, they endured even the ugliest of fights and lasted longer while relationships were fragile; one slip and you could lose Kyungsoo. He didn’t confess to you because he didn’t know about your feelings but now that you knew that he felt the same, you didn’t know if you were brave enough to take the risk.

It could be the end to something beautiful.

But it could also be the beginning to something more beautiful, a small voice in your head reminded you.

Or it could be the beginning to something even more beautiful that would soon reach its untimely but inevitable end and leave you with only heartache and the absence of a best friend that you’d have to burden forever.

You sighed softly as you finally parked your car in front of your apartment. You glanced at Kyungsoo and realised he was sleeping soundly, looking so warm and comfortable that it made you hesitate in awakening him. You got out of the car and walked to his side, throwing his arm around your shoulder while softly calling his name. He woke up enough to step out of the car and you helped him up to your apartment, panting by the time you finally reached your door.

You lead him straight to your bedroom, resigning to spend the night on your couch since you knew he could definitely use the entire bed in the state that he was in. You help him out of the thickly-lined trench coat that he was wearing, holding your breath to not inhale the stench of the alcohol as you decided to just throw them all with the laundry tomorrow morning.

You remove his shoes and pull off his socks but your hands hesitate mid-air before reaching for his pants. It’s not like you hadn’t seen his legs before or anything—god knows he’d helped undress you from uncomfortable clothes on multiple nights when you’d gotten too drunk—but your stomach was twisting now as if he was a whole new person who you were stripping.

God, stop overthinking it.

You force yourself to help him out of his pants, purposefully not letting your eyes go astray as you decided to leave him in the thin black sweater that he was wearing and his boxers. You grabbed your blankets and tucked it around him, smiling slightly when you notice Kyungsoo immediately snuggle to the warm sheets like a child, making himself comfortable as he closed his eyes.

You went to the kitchen then, grabbing a tall glass of water and some aspirin pills before heading back to your room. You’d just placed them on the small bedside table and was turning to leave when you felt a fierce grip on your wrist.

Your breath stopped in your throat as you looked down to see Kyungsoo holding onto you, half-lidded eyes gazing up at you as he whispered one word.

“Stay.”

You step towards the bed then, getting on your knees on the floor so that your face would be at the same level as his. You raised the hand that he wasn’t holding to stroke his cheek gently as you murmured, “Sleep, Soo.”

He was quiet, his eyes still dark and intense as they remained locked with yours. Your heart thudded as you briefly wondered if he’d come to his senses and if he remembered everything that he’d just revealed to you but then he opens his mouth again.

“Do you know something?” His voice is hushed, like he’s telling you a secret and you shake your head quietly.

“You always smell like the bakery,” he whispers, smiling softly in a way that made your heart ache. “You smell like fresh bread and sweet vanilla and strong coffee. You smell like happiness. Like home.”

A soft sigh of disbelief escapes your parted lips at his words, his eyes having closed off while he spoke as he slowly fell into deep slumber.

You were so goddamn blind.

“We’re both idiots,” you snort quietly as you gently loosen his grip around your wrist and walk out of the room.

But you decided to be the bigger idiot.

You heard Kyungsoo shuffling inside your room around noon the next day, making you glance at your bedroom door from where you sat on the couch.

The night had seemed to last forever. After putting Kyungsoo to bed, you’d spent the entire night tossing and turning on the couch restlessly. You briefly considered waking up and baking something or even heading to the bakery so that you could angrily complete that lemon meringue pie you’d left half-baked but your body was extremely exhausted and refused to even move. All the activities of the strenuous day yesterday had completely worn you out yet your brain refused to cooperate, unwilling to grant you the bliss of sleep as your thoughts grew louder with each passing hour of the night. Kyungsoo’s words, his drunken confession all echoed like a haunting melody within your head, forcing you to reminisce and reassess every moment that you’d spent together, viewing it in a light that you’d assumed to only be exclusive to you but had perhaps been the same light that he’d been seeing you in as well.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You felt more conflicted than you did when he had stood you up and you began to wonder if it had even been a good idea to even go to the club last night.

Should you have even brought him back to your place?

You could hear the shower in your room then and you knew he was probably washing off the events from last night, the stench of all the drinks that he’d downed. You sighed as you grabbed his chopsticks for the Chinese take-out that you’d just ordered—both of your go-to hangover food—since you knew he’d probably be hungry. You hadn’t bothered with breakfast because you knew that he wouldn’t wake up by then so you’d just settled on brunch.

The door opens and your heart jumps as you look up, eyes locking with Kyungsoo. He’d found one of his tees that he’d given you—“you stole it,” he insisted—and sweatpants that he’d left here from a previous sleepover. He looked better than he did last night and you cleared your throat, ignoring the nervous flutter in your chest as you asked blankly, “How’s your head?”

Kyungsoo nodded, stepping forward into the room. “It’s a lot better now. I woke up in the night with a headache and had the aspirin before sleeping again.” He hesitated before murmuring, “Thanks.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why’d you drink so much then, idiot?” You snort as you start to stand up, grabbing your phone.

You gesture to the food on the table. “I ordered Chinese. Have lunch and take another aspirin before you head back… home. Or to the hotel. Or wherever.”

Kyungsoo frowned at you as you searched for your bag. “Wait, what? You’re leaving?”

“I have a bakery to run, Kyungsoo,” you snort, finding your bag and grabbing your car keys as you head for the door while muttering, “I can’t keep coming in late because of you—”

“Y/N, I remember last night.”

You stop, hand freezing on the doorknob as your entire body goes still. Your back is facing him but you can feel his gaze on your back, feel the weight of it.

Kyungsoo’s usual deadpan tone sounds more wry than you’d ever heard it then as he says, “I remember last night so you can stop faking it and talk to me.”

Shit, shit, shit.

You take a breath, forcing yourself to slowly turn around and face him. You relent, throwing the keys and bag aside, crossing your arms in an effort to not reveal the way that your hands are slightly trembling as you nonchalantly reply, “I’m not faking anything, Kyungsoo, I am very mad at you.”

He rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to answer but you cut him off by asking, “How much?”

His gaze shifts to you and you clarify, “How much do you remember?”

“Enough,” Kyungsoo replies, carefully watching you now. When you don’t falter, he concedes, “Enough to know that I confessed to you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you uncross your arms. “Look, it doesn’t have to be—”

“Is this your answer?”

You stop then, looking up at him with wide eyes. You frown at the shift in tone, noticing the despair that he was trying to hide in his expression as you ask, “What do you mean?”

“The fact that you’re pretending that nothing happened,” he answered, stepping forward as he spoke. “The fact that you’re ignoring everything I told you last night. Does it mean that this is never happening? That you’ve never liked me the way I’ve liked you?”

Your eyes are wide, back pressed to the door as he stood in front of you. The words that you wished to respond—even though you had no idea what they even were—were stuck in your throat as you gazed up at him, your breath growing shorter as you felt him raise his arm beside you to place it on the door as if to cage you in.

“Y/N,” he whispered your name, his close proximity and husky voice making your head feel like it was going to spin. Your lips parted of their own accord, head slightly arching back to look up at him as his plush lips hovered over your own. His face was close enough that his warm breath was mingling with yours and you could smell the minty toothpaste—your minty toothpaste.

Your heart was hammering so loudly in your chest that you could hear it, your eyes greedily drinking in the close proximity as they ran over his face with enough scrutiny to commit every detail to memory—the way his long lashes looked against his pale cheek, the tiny almost invisible mole right over his upper lip and the way his eyes looked like they were shining from within as they gazed at you.

Your breath audibly hitched in your throat as he leaned his head slightly to the side, angling his lips to yours until there was only a fraction of space between your mouths. You held your breath as he murmured, the words brushing against your parted lips, “Stop me, Y/N.”

And then Kyungsoo was kissing you.

Your eyes seemed to refuse to close, your body frozen like a statue and your arms were immobile at your sides as you felt his plush lips press against yours. It was light, hesitant and tentative like he was waiting for you to shove him off any second but you could feel the blood pounding through your head and coursing within every vein at that moment.

Fuck it.

You raised your hands tentatively, closing your eyes and almost collapsed back into the door as you started kissing him back. You felt Kyungsoo move his hand from the door then to gingerly place it on your hip and his other hand took your raised one that was hovering between your bodies to place it on his shoulder.

You made a soft sound of approval as you finally melted into the kiss, closing your eyes and digging your fingers into his shoulder to kiss him harder. Kyungsoo grabbed you by your hip then, holding you flush against him as he started kissing you more passionately while you dropped cupped his face with both your hands. You traced your tongue over his lower lip slowly and he was instantly parting his lips, slipping his own tongue into your mouth. Your guess was right earlier, you could taste the mint and as corny as it was, it had never tasted sweeter.

The kiss grew tender as he realised how breathless you seemed to be getting, both of your pulling away slightly while smiling against each other’s lips. Your eyes fluttered open to see Kyungsoo was smiling so hard that his eyes had become little crescents as they looked at you.

“You didn’t stop me,” Kyungsoo breathed out, sounding incredulous enough that you let out a soft laugh.

“You’re an idiot,” you repeated his words from last night, thumb stroking his cheek affectionately before correcting, “Well, we both are. I wouldn’t have stopped you ever, Soo.”

He pauses, gaze shifting from both your eyes as he asks quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For the same reasons you didn’t,” you replied with a sheepish smile. You suddenly grin with the memory of last night as you say, “If only you told me earlier, I could have said that I’m whipped for you too.”

Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrowed at that, nose scrunching cutely in confusion as he repeats, “Too?”

“You said last night that you’re whipped for me like whipped cream. That you’re whipped like my Eton mess, like my pies, like my custard—”

“Oh my god, stop!” Kyungsoo buried his face in the crook of your neck in embarrassment, making you burst out laughing aloud as you fully wrapped your arms around his back and held him to you. His voice was muffled as he mumbled, “Most of those things aren’t even whipped.”

“I know!” You laughed again and pulled him away enough from you to look at his face. His cheeks were faintly rosy and it reminded you of last night again.

His voice is grumpy as he asks, “What else did I say last night?”

“A lot of things,” you teased, grinning as you kissed the corner of his mouth. “Enough to torture you for at least a decade.” You gasp exaggeratedly, raising your voice dramatically as you wonder aloud, “Who would have ever thought that Korea’s favourite actor Do Kyungsoo who has an internal breakdown every time he has to do aegyo and act cute was actually so cheesy and corny? That he would look me in the eyes, with his chest out while proudly saying that he is whipped for me like my whipped cream, that he would rather eat me than my custard—”

Kyungsoo grabbed your face then and shutting you up by kissing you again. You grinned against his mouth as he wrapped his arms fully around your waist, lifting you up against the door so that your legs curl around his lean hips.

“Aren’t you hungry?” You murmured into the kiss.

“Yeah, for you,” he countered, kissing your jawline. His husky voice right in your ear made the small hairs on the back of your neck rise as he groaned, “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this?”

“Mm, show me,” you hummed, taking his face into your hands again as you kissed him harder. You thought Kyungsoo would lead you to the couch but he carries you to your bedroom instead, laying you down on the edge so that your legs are hanging off the edge of the bed. You blink up at him, pouting slightly as you clutch the front of your shirt—his shirt. Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow then, smirking slightly as he asks, “In a hurry, are we?”

“You think you’re the only one who’s been waiting forever?” You retort, using your elbows to push yourself back further up the mattress. You grab his hand and yank him harshly towards you, making him stumble slightly as he almost fell over your body while you started lifting his shirt off of him.

Kyungsoo raises his arms, helping you pull off the thin shirt and you immediately grab his shoulders, pushing him onto the bed beneath you. He blinks up at you in surprise as you throw your leg over his waist to straddle him, his gaze questioning as he looks at the blouse that you still had on.

“I’m going to be so late for work,” you muttered, pulling the blouse off your neck and throwing it across the room as Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at you.

“Chanyeol can hold the fort down for one day, Y/N,” he snorts as he sits upright against the headboard to grab your hips and seat you on his lap properly. You feel the growing bulge beneath his sweatpants brush against your clothed core and your lips part open of their own accord, making him smirk almost dangerously at you as he murmurs, “Has anyone told you that you’re a workaholic, babygirl?”

The word is so foreign from his lips, his expression so foreign yet familiar as he gripped your hips tightly to adjust you right over the tent in his pants. He leans forward and kisses you with an almost vehement fervour, trailing his hungry mouth over your cheeks, jawline and down the curve of your neck. You sigh softly, eyes closing and head arching back as you feel his plush mouth suck on the sensitive soft spot on your throat, his tongue licking incessantly.

Kyungsoo’s hands move almost unnoticeably, curving around your back to unclasp your bra as he marks up your neck. There’s a fire coursing through your body, making you feel as if you’d been plugged into a circuit—every place on your body that he was touching; his lips, his fingers, his firm thighs spread beneath your own, his warm breath were all sending crackles and tingles of electricity through your veins.

You could feel the outline of his hardness against your thin shorts now, your wet heat pressed right up against him and his fingers expertly pull the bra off your body. His cool fingers are cupping your breasts then, thumbs stroking your nipples experimentally as he teasingly thrusts his hips up into you.

A loud moan leaves your lips unintentionally at the sparks of arousal ignited by his touch and your eyes snap open as you hear yourself, feeling Kyungsoo still slightly beneath you at the very porn-star-like noise that you’d just made.

He pulls away from your neck to look up at your wide eyes and you’re already opening your mouth to apologise, feeling the embarrassment swallowing you but he grabs the side of your neck then, kissing you fiercely.

“You sound so fucking beautiful,” he groaned huskily, closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice a breathy whisper as he said, “To think that I could have been hearing those moans all this time.”

Your heart swells with an emotion that you can’t quite describe, an overwhelming need to feel as much of him taking over your senses as you crash your lips to his heatedly. Kyungsoo responds immediately, kissing you back just as hard as his fingers continue playing with your breasts and tweaking the nipples while you moan just for him.

Your own hand that had been on his chest lowers down his torso and slips underneath the elastic band of his sweatpants. Your fingers immediately wrap around his length, eliciting a groan at the back of his throat as you smile into the kiss while stroking him up and down.

Lips latching onto the spot beneath his ear, you kiss and suck at the skin gently while pressing him back against the headboard. Teasingly, you explore his length leisurely with your hand and feel the way that it is already slick with pre-cum, using your thumb to spread the fluid around the slit.

You gasp against his neck when his hands tighten harshly around your breasts, fingers squeezing your nipple roughly enough that you felt it all the way in your throbbing pussy. Quickening the pace of your wrist, you continue circling the soft bulbous head of his dick with your thumb while he gropes your breasts. You pull away then to look at him, watching the way his chest heaves with the movement of your hand and his eyes flutter dazedly at you.

His gaze is unfocused and you lean forward then, kissing him as you start stroking his length with repeated up-and-down motions. Kyungsoo grabs your wrist then, stopping you and he pulls away from your mouth enough to say, “You’re going to make me cum like this.”

Kyungsoo’s hands find your hips then, tugging at the black shorts that you had on and you let him slip his hands beneath the waistband, pulling both your shorts and panties down your bare thighs. You raise your ass off his lap and yank the material from around your ankles hurriedly before straddling him again.

You grab his erection then, holding your breath and watch Kyungsoo’s face, noticing the awe on his face as you rub his head over your slit that was glistening with arousal.

“Oh fuck,” he curses lowly as you guide his dick inside you, the head parting open your dripping slit and your eyes were already fluttering at the immense pleasure you felt with just his tip inside you. You didn’t even realise the way you’d been whimpering until Kyungsoo shifts his gaze higher to watch your face, staring at you as you arched your head back while slowly pushing yourself down onto his length.

Your free hand is on his shoulder, his own wrapped around your wrist as you whimpered his name breathily when you feel his thick length stretching your tight walls open in the most pleasurable way. Kyungsoo’s arms wrap around your waist then as you begin moving up and down on his lap, riding his dick at an already speedy pace while you felt your lower abdomen tighten with arousal.

His plush lips latched onto your breast then and you moaned loudly, grabbing the back of his head and holding it to your chest as he sucked your nipple into his warm mouth. The wet warmth of his tongue and lips, along with the way his dick felt inside you as the tip brushed against your clit with every movement you made all had you soon trembling on his lap as you tried to reach both your highs.

Growing impatient, Kyungsoo grabs your hips then and pulls you off of his length, making you gasp at the sudden feeling of emptiness, your walls desperately clenching around nothing. He shifts you around so that you’re lying back on the mattress, hands quickly removing the sweatpants that he still had on before crawling back atop you and spreading your legs wide.

His eyes are dark and heavy as they watch your face clearer then, memorising the way your lids flutter when he pushes his dick into your throbbing wetness again. You mewl softly as he fills you up again, already addicted to the way he feels inside you as you wrap your arms around his back.  

You don’t get a moment longer to relish in the feeling as Kyungsoo immediately starts moving his hips at a quick and snappy pace against you, thrusting into you roughly enough that you can hear the echoes of skin slapping against skin. The wet squelching noises of your core become louder with every thrust, your walls tightening with the looming orgasm as he fucks you and you don’t realise how loud you are until he lowers his face to your chest.

Walls clenching around him tightly as if to suck him inside you, he groans at how utterly tight you feel as he thrusts faster. Your pussy convulses as his teeth sinks into your sore breast, Kyungsoo realising how sensitive you are over there by the way your body instantly reacts to him as you feel yourself finally fall off the edge.

Your nails are digging into his back and you groan as Kyungsoo’s hips stutter against yours, the rapid way that your pussy clenches and unclenches around him as you cum setting off his own orgasm. You gasp as you feel his warm heat flood into your slickness, filling you up as he continues sloppily thrusting to draw out both your orgasms.

You’re whining his name into his flushed neck as you slowly come down from your high, hand lowering to the small of his back as he collapses on top of you. He buries his face in your shoulder, breathing hard as you wrap your other hand around the back of his head while trying to catch your own breath. Feeling him soften inside you, he begins to pull away slightly but you wrap your leg around him and push him to his side so that he is still inside you with your body still pressed up against him.

You’d always thought Kyungsoo looked beautiful but you don’t think you’d ever seen him as radiant as he was right now, basking in a post-orgasm glow as he smiles at you. His gaze is filled with so much warmth and affection, the same expression that he’d had yesterday at the club when he’d first seen you and you feel shy all over again.

“Hi,” you mutter embarrassedly and Kyungsoo laughs softly, nudging your nose with his own.

“Hi,” he teases back, grinning.  

He wraps his arm around your waist then, pulling you to his chest and you snuggle in that familiar warmth, smiling when you feel him bury his nose in your hair and inhale, remembering his drunken words from earlier.

‘You smell like happiness. Like home’.

You tightened your arms around Kyungsoo then, finally being able to realise the emotions that you always felt around him, that you always felt with him and that you felt now when you held him. The way that your heart had always swelled with every touch and gaze of his, that indescribable happiness that took over your entire body every time that he came back from a shoot and you had your arms around him again.

Best friend or boyfriend, Kyungsoo was your happiness.

He was your home.

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 12

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns how to be a person, and grapples with how to help the other Volstrucker survivors, and his students, in a way he had never been helped.

Content warnings: References to Caleb's backstory, depression, poverty

Chapter summary: Caleb and the Nein meet up in Nicodranas, and he can no longer delay telling them of his failure to protect someone who desperately needed him. But, as it turns out, he was not the only person keeping secrets about that day.

Chapter notes: This is a somewhat chaotic chapter. Enjoy and let chaos reign, I guess! Chapter title is from Three by Sleeping At Last

****

Chapter 12: A mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell but I'm slowly learning how to break this spell

Essek teleported the four of them to the Blooming Grove the following morning to pick up Caduceus, who offered to message Wensforth to save the wizards the spell. They had breakfast in the Grove with the Clays, and got their hands dirty in the garden for a while, until Caleb rolled the aches from his shoulders and began to draw the teleportation circle to Tidepeak Tower.

“I might have to go back earlier than the rest of you,” said Beauregard. “Dairon’s guiding the monks on the Nico hunt for now, but they’re super busy.”

“We can send you back whenever you need,” said Essek.

Caleb’s next few chalk strokes were a bit more aggressive than they needed to be. It was hard not to feel guilty for leaving Rexxentrum while Nico was out on his own and people were searching for him. Essek sat on the floor by his side, knocking their knees together. He felt better, and no one made any mention of his silent outburst.

He completed the final stroke and the five of them rushed through, landing in a familiar tower, where Wensforth waited in the doorway.

“Welcome, welcome.” Wensforth guided them down the stairs. “The master is eager to speak with you.”

Yussa was already arranged on a couch in the sitting area on the ground floor, delicate fingers holding a teacup. Once borderline inscrutable, the man smiled at them as he often did these days. Especially to Caleb, on whom Jester thought Yussa had a crush. Caleb was more of the mind that Yussa saw him as little more than a precocious child, given their respective ages, but his particular fondness was evident all the same.

“Oremid tells me you are teaching at the Soltryce Academy now,” Yussa said. “Sit. We should talk.”

“Hi, Yussa,” Beauregard said, a little pointedly. “How’ve you been?”

“I am well, Beauregard. It is good to see you. All of you.”

They arranged themselves on the soft couches in the space, Caleb sitting across Yussa for ease of conversation, given the man clearly had things to say today. Essek was at Caleb’s side, slightly further than he would be just around the Nein, but close enough to be a comfort whenever Caleb’s anxiety spiked nonetheless.

Essek had been to Yussa’s tower a few times in Caleb’s company before. Given everything the Nein had put Yussa through already, the man had taken the presence of a fugitive of the Kryn Dynasty in his stride.

With a gesture from Yussa, his teapot lifted and poured itself into the other five cups on the little table in the centre of the room. Then, in turn, each cup floated into the hands of his visitors. Caleb accepted his with a soft thanks, slipping into Zemnian out of habit. He had spoken more Zemnian in the last few weeks than he had in years. It was always the little words, the pleases and thank yous, the hellos and goodbyes, that stuck the hardest.

“So…” Yussa honed in on him again. “Teaching. A step down from the original job they offered you, I hear.”

“Teaching is a better use of my time than spying.” There were more things Caleb could say about the Archmage of Civil Influence as a position, and most of them were far less polite. “Astrid always wanted that position more than I did anyway.”

“Good. You might survive to old age after all, for a human.”

Essek flinched a little at the reminder of Caleb’s shorter lifespan. Yussa’s eyes tracked the movement, but he let it pass without comment.

“Are we third-wheeling for you guys again?” Beau asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “Because we can, like, go.”

Caduceus placed a package on Yussa’s table. “Here, I brought that tea you liked last time.”

“Yes, thank you. You are all welcome to stay if you like.”

Beauregard was already standing up. “Nah, I think we’re good. Cool to see you again with your face where it belongs.” She awkwardly finger-gunned in Yussa’s direction, backing towards the door.

She, Yasha and Caduceus left the tower.

Yussa watched them go with amusement. “It seems my social graces are rather rusty.”

“They don’t mind,” said Caleb. “They have met too many wizards to be offended.” Essek snickered into his hand, finally relaxing a bit. “So, you were saying?”

“Teaching is good work, if you can tolerate the children,” said Yussa. “I did it myself for a time. For one to turn down an archmage position… you must have a goal.”

“Leave the Empire better than I found it,” Caleb said. That encompassed all his knotted up feelings about it.

Yussa raised a single well-kept eyebrow. “Interesting. What is your definition of ‘better’, if I may ask?”

Caleb did have a vision for this, and the situation with Felix and Nico had thrown into sharp, painful relief how far there was to go, and how much pain he would never be able to prevent. “No more children thrown on the pyre. No more stolen childhoods. No more abuse. A government and its mages who choose to consider simple human cost, before they consider their own selfish ambitions.” Caleb was typically more reserved with Yussa, but the more he spoke of this, the harder it became to restrain his emotions. “No more wizards with a god complex who think themselves above basic compassion and ethics. No more butchering the innocent to grease the wheels of war. Just… no more.”

“A lofty goal,” Yussa said, quiet. “One that would take the remainder of my lifetime, or even young Essek’s lifetime, let alone yours.”

“I know. Hence the importance of teaching these things to those who will come after me.”

Yussa hummed thoughtfully. “I wish you luck. More powerful men than yourself have tried, and been consumed.”

“Been there, done that. Have the trauma.” Caleb wasn’t sure where he found the capacity to joke, even flatly, about all of this. Sometimes it was easier to get the point across if he allowed for a bit of sarcasm. “In my experience, the children put at the mercy of these people may need the most help. And that is something I can do.”

“I will watch your progress.” Yussa finished his tea, setting the cup aside. “Now, enough of mundane matters. I have been tinkering with Willi some more. Would you like to see the results?”

“Always.” Caleb missed that golem terribly.

They lost a few hours discussing the golems of the Happy Fun Ball, and comparing notes about the pre-Calamity Aeormatons the Nein had encountered. Caleb and Essek had run across Devexian a few times in their travels since. It was a good use of time, and it settled Caleb’s nerves. He felt better.

***

Once they left Tidepeak Tower, Essek disguised as a blonde half-elf, they headed over to Veth’s place. Caleb was somewhat nervous about this, because he knew she would see through any of his bullshit and know he was going through something. And then he would have to explain everything to the rest of the Nein. And, of course, Jester already had an inkling thanks to Astrid.

There was no getting out of this. And it wasn’t that Caleb didn’t want them to know, exactly. He had just grown tired of explaining it. And he knew what little equilibrium he had managed to find would fall away as soon as Veth said or did anything in response, and he would break all over again.

Nevertheless, he messaged Veth as soon as they stepped out of the tower. “Hallo, Veth. Essek and I are on our way to your place. Be there soon.” Then, for old time’s sake: “You can reply to this message.”

The first sound that came through was Veth’s trademark screech. “Caleb! We made lunch. Get over here!” A split-second’s pause. “Good shot! Oh, sorry Lebby. Luc shot Beau in the ass. Like mother, like son.”

Luc was going to be a menace as a teenager. Caleb intended to be around to see it. And probably try to save a little bit of Yeza’s sanity if possible.

Caleb and Essek took their time wandering through Nicodranas. The streets were filled with people out for lunch, enticing scents curling through the air. Caleb and Essek stopped by a bakery to grab some pastries for the group (mostly Jester)--there had evidently been some Zemnian influence on Nicodranas, or the other way around, as treats such as bee stings could be found in both areas. Nicodranas made them a touch sweeter and stickier.

Caleb also grabbed a fresh loaf of bread, though he did not shove his hands into it this time. He hadn’t known that was a poverty thing until Beau and Jester had reacted so strongly to him doing it that one time. He still thought it was a useful trick, but it apparently unnerved people. Bread mittens had kept him warm many times in the freezing cold when he had no one to look out for him, and had to choose between food and something as simple as mittens.

Anyway, bread was wonderful.

They wound through the streets until they reached Veth’s place. There was an unpleasant feeling in the pit of Caleb’s stomach that he couldn’t quite describe. Unease or dread felt too uncharitable, but the feeling was somewhere in that neighbourhood. Essek slipped his hand into Caleb’s, gently leading him to the door. Essek knocked, and it was thrown open in seconds and Veth had already thrown herself at Caleb’s abdomen, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Caleb almost broke then and there. He carefully rested a hand on the top of her head, sliding his fingers through her hair, looking ahead but not really seeing anything. Veth gave him a final squeeze and stepped back, grabbing his hand on the way. It took Caleb a second too long to lock eyes with her, by which time whatever joy had been on her face had been replaced with worry.

“Hi, Lebby,” she said, in a careful soft tone she used whenever he was teetering on the brink of crashing down. “What’s the matter?”

Caleb took a careful breath, and spoke in a measured tone. “I will tell you, but we should eat first. I may not be able to later.”

Veth tugged him inside, Essek taking care of the door and following them through the house. The rest of the Nein were already crammed into the kitchen, stuffing their faces with a simple stew that smelled delightful. It must have been one of the recipes Veth remembered from Felderwin.

Jester leapt upon him with a hug, dragging Essek in with her. “You’re here! It’s so good to see you! We got chased by a dragon turtle again and I turned it into a sea slug like last time, and we got away!”

“This happened at sea, I assume?” asked Caleb, who knew enough about Jester to take nothing at face value.

“Of course, Caleb. Don’t be silly!” Jester let him go, and booped his nose. He managed not to flinch.

Caleb wordlessly held out the pastries and bread. Jester squealed and grabbed them off him, shoving them into the centre of the table. Veth grabbed an enormous knife and began to cut the bread while the rest of the Nein shuffled around to make room for two more chairs. It was a tight fit, and Caleb was firmly sandwiched between Essek and Beauregard, but it felt somewhat akin to Essek’s nighttime pressure on his back and sometimes chest that crushed his soul back into his body. Their thighs were jammed together now, and it was easy to hook his ankle around Essek’s and keep himself grounded. For now.

A bowl was shoved in his direction and he ate mechanically, dimly aware of the chatter around him. Luc’s voice was among the loudest, and it was good to hear his voice. After everything the boy had been through, on Caleb’s account no less. No matter what anyone else said.

Caleb was going to spiral if he didn’t get a hold of himself. And he wanted to have a good time in Nicodranas; he didn’t know when he would be back here. Not to mention he would prefer not to retraumatise the already traumatised toddler by having a breakdown in the middle of lunch.

So he ate. Slowly. Methodically. He silently counted each mouthful, because he needed to count something. And when he had finished the stew, he felt more present in his surroundings. Veth distributed slices of bread with little pots of spiced olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and the Nein continued to chatter away as they tore off pieces of bread, dunked them into the oil, and finished off the loaf. Caleb was glad they liked it. And that Veth had been here long enough to have picked up a local bread tradition to share with them all.

“This is good bread, Caleb,” said Jester.

“I went to the bakery you recommended,” Caleb replied.

“That was months ago! You remembered!”

Caleb tapped his temple.

“Caleb has a very good memory,” Veth said warmly, as if everyone at the table wasn’t already keenly aware.

“I’m a bit curious about that,” said Kingsley, his tail smacking Beauregard in the arm, ignoring her as she slapped it off her. “Have you always been like that?”

“My memory was always good, ja,” said Caleb. It was rare for Kingsley to ask about someone’s past; very Molly-esque, not that Caleb would ever tell him that. “I could count things very well, especially time, and naturally had good recall. I did develop it further at school, but it was always there.”

Most people who found out about Caleb’s memory either saw it as an interesting party trick, or a useful tool if they were more like Trent. He did not speak of the downsides of having a near-infallible memory very often.

But Kingsley was looking at him with sharpness in his eyes behind the easy smile. “Maybe I’m biased since I barely remember anything that this body did before a few months ago, but that sounds feckin’ awful.” He said it lightly, but Caleb could hear the edge in his voice. Kingsley had been around when Caleb had told his story to Beauregard in the Grove; he had the context, and his own experiences, to put things together.

“A blessing and a curse, ja.”

The mood at the table threatened to darken, but Luc was thankfully oblivious to it, and instead started babbling about a huge bug the Brenattos had found in the garden yesterday. And that his father had screamed very loudly. Caleb sat back from the conversation, but was pleased when the tension broke.

“It really was adorable,” Veth was saying.

Yeza rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, and you were my valiant saviour once again.”

But lunch was just about wrapping up at this point, and Veth would soon turn her focus back onto Caleb and his problems. Caleb’s lunch sat like a stone in his stomach, and maybe he shouldn’t have eaten quite that much. But it was hard to say no to a home-cooked meal surrounded by the people he loved most in this world. Those who were still alive, anyway.

Veth, charitably, let Caleb have a few extra minutes while she and Yeza cleared the table before she sat back down with a sigh, and turned her eyes to him. “All right. What’s the matter?”

Yeza picked Luc up. “I think we’ll go for a walk.” He didn’t know every little thing about Caleb’s shit, but he knew enough to understand whatever they were about to discuss was not something Luc needed to hear. “We’ll be back in an hour.”

As soon as they were gone, Jester spoke up. “Astrid said some stuff happened, but she wouldn’t tell me what.”

Caleb sighed deeply. “All right. I will tell you. Some of you already know what happened. I would appreciate your assistance.”

Beauregard knocked her knee against his. “We’ll help. But you should start.”

So he did. Caleb told the Nein that Astrid had been reaching out to the Volstrucker, and that two boys had been unaccounted for. He led most of the explanation of how they had come to understand what this probably meant, and to make plans for it. Beauregard began to speak up a bit when he spoke of finding Felix and convincing him to speak to them, of bringing in Caduceus to lift the modified memory. Caduceus began to add pieces where relevant, of the things he saw. Of scrying on Nico, and learning where he was.

Beauregard led the discussion of rushing after him and finding the house ablaze, and Caleb very briefly spoke of his experience on the upper floor, and finding the bodies of Nico’s parents. The memories were too vivid, and choked him up a bit, so Beauregard took over once again, and then Caduceus after they had traded places to help Caleb try to save the Baumanns.

“I do have a confession to make,” said Caduceus.

“Oh?” said Caleb, who couldn’t say much else at the moment.

“I was still scrying when Nico lit the fire,” Caduceus admitted. “I saw how he reacted to it. I chose not to inform you, because I feared leaving the scry before your arrival, in case something else happened. I… in the moment, I did not think telling you would have helped, but I wanted to apologise. I wanted to explain all this earlier, but...” Caduceus didn’t finish--maybe he had realised that would be jumping a bit ahead in the story. But Caleb understood.

There had been a small shred of curiosity in the back of Caleb’s mind, but he had been too preoccupied to give it much thought. But Caduceus’s explanation made sense; he had weighed up the benefits of both options and chosen the one he thought best in the moment. Leaving the scry to tell Caleb the house was already ablaze probably wouldn’t have made much difference. The Baumanns had already been long dead by the time he reached them. So Caleb harboured no ill will towards Caduceus for the difficult choice he had made, nor did he resent Caduceus for not telling him sooner, when Caleb had been far too unwell.

“There is no need to apologise,” Caleb told him. “You made a hard decision. Thank you for telling me now, when I am better able to handle it. Are you all right?”

Caduceus smiled sadly at him. “I understand you better now. Not in the way either of us wanted, but I’m all right now that I’ve told you.” He straightened, clearing his throat. “Anyway, where were we?”

They briefly talked about the night they had Nico, and that it had been a bad one for Caleb, and then Essek chipped in to describe the Greater Restoration spell the following morning. And the chaos that had ensued. Caleb spoke briefly about the chase on his side of things, with Beau and Yasha contributing theirs.

“We didn’t find him,” said Beauregard. “Monks and Volstrucker are still on the lookout. Caleb thinks the kid probably ran for the woods to get some cover. He taught Felix the Sending spell and took him back home to his parents.”

“Felix and I message Nico regularly,” said Caleb. “No responses yet.” And, because he was with the Nein, and because they loved him, he said, “I… feel a bit useless, at the moment.”

Jester reached across the table, tears in her eyes, and squeezed his hand. “You’re not useless, Caleb. You’re really smart, and really cool.”

“You’ve done a lot for those kids,” said Fjord. “I’m sure they both appreciate it, even if Nico isn’t talking to you. He’ll find you when he’s ready.”

“Maybe,” Caleb murmured. He was tired.

Veth was watching him, mouth downturned at the corners. “Caleb. Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come over.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to her. An apology wasn’t enough. And he didn’t know if he could explain it right now. He looked away from her, down at the table, and tried not to crack apart with guilt. He was not doing a very good job.

A flash of movement, and Veth had launched herself across the table and into his lap. “Oh, Cay Cay, honey. No. Shh.” She squished his cheeks, which he only now realised were wet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Caleb buried his face in her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m not angry, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it. It’s okay.”

That only made him feel worse. Breathing was hard. Two hands, belonging to two different people, found their way to his back, rubbing slow circles. The more delicate hand--Essek’s--applied a little more pressure than the other. Probably Beauregard. She was next to him.

“You’re all right, Caleb,” said Caduceus. “We’ve got you.”

Caleb laughed wetly, remembering those exact words from Fjord as they had guided him home after a panic attack behind the coffee shop. Maybe this was a thing now. Or at least a thing from the Wildmother devotees of the Nein.

The rest of the day was quiet. Caleb composed himself after a while, and set up his lesson plans and speech notes on the floor of the Brenattos’ living room. A cup of dead people tea at his side. Surrounded by the chatter of his friends, and Essek’s head on his shoulder as he worked through a book written in Undercommon.

Yeza and Luc returned after a while, and Luc napped on the couch at Caleb’s back. Breathing loudly into his ear. It should have been annoying, but really wasn’t. The boy woke up some time later and wriggled his way onto the floor, peppering Caleb with questions about what he was doing. Caleb was more than happy to answer, hoping he had simplified it enough for the boy. Luc was very clever, but he was also very young.

Most of the Nein drifted away once Caleb seemed more stable. Jester, Fjord and Kingsley went off to check on their crew (including Vandran), and hang out with Marion. Caleb expected he would see her at the Chateau in the evening for dinner. Beau and Yasha had wandered off to the fish market.

Caduceus was still around, and Caleb suspected he actually felt much worse than he was letting on. But he seemed content to chat with Yeza and Veth over tea in the kitchen. Caleb caught snatches of the conversation; it seemed they were trying to explain some alchemical concepts to him. There was a good chance that Caduceus did have some knowledge in the area, but not in the same scientific way. Which made such a conversation all the more entertaining, as fragments of it drifted into the living room as the Brenattos and Caduceus tried to reconcile their wildly different experiences of very similar things.

Luc had just finished asking Caleb what a cantrip was, drawn from his lesson notes for Beginner’s Transmutation. The boy climbed into his lap, resting his head against Caleb’s collarbone. At first, Caleb thought he was still groggy from his nap. Then:

“Uncle Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“Are you having a bad day?”

That was a far cry from most of Caleb’s interactions with Luc, where he was mostly playing the part of the fun uncle with cool magic tricks. Essek hadn’t spent as much time with Luc, and was still phenomenally awkward around both him and Yeza, and even he seemed to notice the shift. Essek froze, his eyes glued to the one spot on the page.

“What do you mean?” Caleb asked Luc.

Luc shrugged. “Your eyes are puffy.”

Caleb chuckled at that; trust a small child to have no filter. “Ja, okay. I cried a bit earlier. Your mother and our friends took good care of me, though.” He thought back to Luc’s question. “We all have bad days, ja?”

Luc nodded, face pressed against Caleb’s shirt. “I had a bad day yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I was remembering something that hurt a lot. And sometimes when I remember it, I get really sad and can’t think about anything else.”

Caleb, unfortunately, knew exactly what Luc was remembering. Veth didn’t bring it up often, but she had occasionally mentioned that Luc would have entire days after waking from nightmares of fire where he was just… out of sorts. Not wanting to play. Or even shoot his crossbow. Caleb could relate to the feeling.

So he set his pen aside and wrapped his arms around Luc. “Ja, that happens to me, too. Shall we stick together for today? We can cheer each other up.”

Luc just nodded, and Caleb rocked him side-to-side. The boy was probably still recovering, both from his disturbed sleep and the depressive episode.

“You’re good with him,” Essek said later, when Luc had fallen asleep against his chest.

Yeza ducked his head out of the kitchen, probably concerned that Luc was up to mischief in his silence, but his expression cleared when he saw the boy was sleeping. “Thank you, Caleb.”

Luc was not only a child, but also a halfling child, so it was a simple matter for even Caleb to hold him throughout the day. He felt better having someone else to care for, and Luc seemed to find comfort in Caleb’s attention.

***

That evening, they all visited the Lavish Chateau for dinner. Essek was in his blonde half-elf disguise again while the group ate on the ground floor. Luc was still clingy with Caleb, but he genuinely didn’t mind. He balanced the boy in his lap while they ate dinner. The chef had prepared a mildly spiced rice dish for the table that was easy for both of them to eat in this situation.

Marion joined them, graceful and lovely as ever. Like Yeza, she had not held ill will for what had befallen her during Trent’s pursuit. In fact, on more than one occasion, she had joked that she should thank “that horrible man” for forcing her to spend time with Babenon while in hiding. The situation was still complicated between the pair, and Caleb understood those kinds of complications better than most of the Nein. But she seemed happier than she had been in a long time.

Jester had apparently updated Marion with every shred of information she had gleaned from the Nein, so Marion was already aware of Caleb’s new job, and that he and the lesbians had a house together in Rexxentrum.

“It’s quite the change, I imagine,” she said.

“Oh, ja. I still wake up sometimes and have to pinch myself.”

“If you ever find yourself in Rexxentrum,” said Beauregard, “we’d love to have you.” She even managed not to look constipated or aggressive while saying it, which was a far cry from the prickly woman Caleb had met in Trostenwald all that time ago.

Marion smiled warmly. “Unlikely, but I will be sure to take you up on the offer if the need arises. How is your work, Beauregard?”

She glanced at Caleb, and sighed. “Complicated. But Caleb’s ex is the new archmage in the Assembly, and she’s actually not a shitty person most of the time. So that helps.”

Marion looked to Caleb, amused. “How does she feel about your new partner?”

Gods, Caleb had never gotten to have this kind of conversation with his own mother. So, even though the reminder hurt a bit, he indulged her. “Oh. Uh. Well, you see…”

“Caleb’s had a threesome,” Jester supplied helpfully.

“I see.” Now Marion looked very entertained. “We all have hidden depths. The two people who came to warn us about your teacher?”

“Ja.” Caleb’s face was hot, and probably as red as his hair. “They are… respectful of us. But they also told me they would, ah…” He remembered there was a small child on his lap who absolutely did not need to go around telling people he would cut off their balls. “They would cut off an important part of his anatomy if he ever hurt me. So, I think they approve.”

Essek made a choked sound. “You did not tell me this.”

“I was preoccupied.” Caleb didn’t need to elaborate; Essek would figure out what he meant.

Essek relaxed marginally, and knocked their knees together. “Right.” He wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, even if he didn’t have to worry about drawing attention to himself.

Marion looked to Essek. “Good luck.”

He laughed nervously. “Thank you. I will need it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Caleb said. Astrid and Wulf cared too much for Caleb to hurt him, now that they were no longer in a situation where it was required of them.

“Moral of the story,” Beauregard said, already three cups in. “Caleb’s got game.”

“I really do not,” Caleb said flatly.

“Real recognises real, Caleb, and you’re lookin’ real familiar.”

Caleb sighed, relieved that Luc was preoccupied with a puzzle cube he had brought the Brenattos last time he was in town. “We have talked about this before.”

“Yeah, but it’s different in front of Marion. She knows what I’m talking about.”

Marion chuckled softly behind her hand. “Indeed I do.”

“Caleb’s a loving guy, if you know what I mean,” said Jester, and her eyebrow waggle was too much for him to bear. Caleb did not stop loving people, and while it was easier to deal with his feelings for Jester now they were both in stable, happy relationships, there would always be an edge for Caleb. A point where he had to step back.

Kingsley, also quite drunk at this point, was biting his lip while he watched Caleb. “Oh, really?” The flirting from Kingsley was far easier to handle, even if the ghost of Molly made any joy bittersweet.

“That’s quite enough, I think,” said Essek. Gods, Caleb was both relieved and terrified by how well the man could read him these days.

Kingsley and Jester both pouted, and Caleb pounded back his glass of wine so he didn’t have to look at them.

Later, as Caleb carried Luc through the nighttime streets alongside Essek, Veth and Yeza, Essek tugged gently on his sleeve.

“Maybe this is a bad time,” Essek said quietly, tilting his head to check that Luc was asleep. He was. “And I do not expect answers you do not wish to give. But, may I ask you something?”

Caleb glanced ahead, where Veth had grabbed Yeza’s ass; they weren’t listening to this conversation. “All right.”

“I know the nature of our circumstances means we cannot be together all the time,” Essek said quietly. “I had a… proposal, I suppose. I don’t know how to word it, or if you will be insulted. But I notice you are very…” He cleared his throat. “What the fuck am I saying? You are a sexual person, and I enjoy that very much about you. And while we are together, I am happy for us both to fulfill our needs with each other.”

“But?” Caleb had not fully recovered from Jester and Kingsley at the Chateau.

“Well, I was wondering. You know I do not experience attraction as often as you do. That I need to be close to someone, and I am close to very few people. You are the first in many years to have caught my interest in this way. But I know it’s not the same for you.”

“Essek, I love you, but please get to the point.”

“Right.” Essek chuckled, and it was out of sheer discomfort. “I just wanted to say, that if you choose to scratch that, ah, itch while I am not around, I would be okay with that.”

Caleb didn’t know what he had expected from Essek, but certainly not that. “Oh. Um. Good to know.”

Essek glanced around in the dark, evidently found nothing of concern, and kissed Caleb’s cheek. “You are still my priority in that department. And I want to remain yours as well.”

“You are.”

“Good. There will be times when we are apart for a long time. You are still mine, through all of it, but I don’t mind if you, ah, take your pleasures as you need them.”

“That is… generous.” Caleb’s mind was not coping with this conversation at all. “I will… think about it.”

The Brenatto home came into view at that point, and Caleb was relieved that it effectively ended this discussion. Caleb had never really talked about it, but he had also never hidden from Essek the fact he had a lot of feelings for many people going at any one time. Essek came first. Always. And he wasn’t sure if he would ever take Essek up on the offer to invite someone else into his bed in Essek’s absence. But it was good of him to say.

He felt seen, in a strange way. Even though Essek was firmly monogamous, and extremely demisexual, he understood Caleb better than most.

So, as long as Essek wasn’t being self-sacrificing by offering this, Caleb was grateful for it. Even if he never acted on it. He couldn’t think about it right now. Probably wouldn’t for a long time. And if he did think about it, he certainly would not be doing that while Essek was very much within his reach, rendering the offer irrelevant.

They stepped inside the house after Veth and Yeza, and offered to watch Luc for a while. Though no one said anything explicitly for fear of Luc waking and hearing the conversation, it had evidently been some time since Veth and Yeza had been intimate together.

So Caleb and Essek sat in the sitting room for a while, quietly working on their respective studies, with Luc napping in Caleb’s arms.

[quicksilversquared]

Traps and Sneaks: Chapter 1 (of 2)

As the Guardian, it's Marinette's job to protect the Miracle Box and all of the Miraculous inside of it from evil. Obviously just sticking it away somewhere hidden isn't going to cut it, so Marinette makes a box to hide it in. A booby-trapped box. A very dangerous booby-trapped box.

And if a certain someone gets their thieving little fingers caught in it, so be it.

Having the Miracle Box just sitting around in her room was stressful.

Sure, Master Fu had left her the gramophone that he had hidden the box in when he was the Guardian, but it just didn't fit with her room. It stuck out like a sore thumb, very obviously not belonging to her. Add in the fact that Chat Noir and Hawkmoth had both seen it and knew that it was associated with the Miraculous, and only a crazy person would keep using it to hide the Miracle Box.

Despite the amount of pressure she had pushing on her from all sides, Marinette was not a crazy person. Yet, at least.

"So I know that I can't use the gramophone, but that doesn't solve the problem of what I can use," Marinette told Tikki, absentmindedly doodling on a piece of paper as she tried to brainstorm. Both gramophone and Miracle Box were hidden in her storage bench at the moment, but they couldn't stay there. "It needs to be hidden, and it needs to not stick out at all. Which, well..."

Master Fu's things don't qualify went unsaid.

"Well, you should make sure that it's locked away," Tikki told her. "And that it won't be possible for you to accidentally leave it unlocked. And then make sure that no one can accidentally stumble on it. And keep in mind that you babysit pretty often, so..."

Marinette shook her head. In her first night as Guardian, she hadn't been able to sleep at all (something that Tikki still didn't know, because she hadn't wanted to worry her kwami) and had spent the time brainstorming some initial changes that she would have to make so that she could handle her new duties without getting overwhelmed. One of the first things to come up was the fact that both Alya's sisters and Nino's brother didn't know the definition of privacy or not prying, and she was going to have all sorts of herbs and other ingredients for potions in her room. There really wasn't any way to stop babysitting Manon without questions, but Manon also wasn't over that often and it was usually during the day, when she could go to the park. "I told Nino and Alya that I can't babysit their siblings anymore, I'm just too busy. Manon will still be over sometimes, but I can make sure that we stay downstairs."

"Still, keep in mind that you have friends over pretty often," Tikki added. "So the point remains."

Marinette nodded, glancing back towards her storage bench. It did have a lock on it (which was a new addition, honestly), but it wasn't the kind that would re-lock automatically if she was in a hurry. Her friends wouldn't dig in it- or they didn't normally, at least- so theywouldn't notice if it was locked, but because of the whole not-auto-relocking thing, she would probably spend a not insignificant amount of time during fights worrying if she had remembered to re-lock it afterwards, and that would be a distraction. Especially if an akuma showed up near the bakery or worse, entered her room.

That bench had been thrown around more than once during akuma fights. If she forgot to re-lock it one day and that happened and the gramophone tumbled out, that was her secret identity spoiled. And that could not happen.

Maybe she could have a locked box for the Miracle Box inside of the locked storage bench, and then just move the emptied gramophone to storage? Then if she forgot to re-lock one of the two locks, it wouldn't matter so much. That meant that she would have to build a custom box for the Miracle Box to go in, but it wasn't as though she hadn't done that before, with her diary box-

Marinette froze. That was it! She could build a booby trap into the storage bench, to make sure that the Miracle Box would be kept safe. Or maybe it would be smarter (and easier) to build the trap into the smaller custom box that she was going to put together to hold the Miracle Box, which would then go inside of the bench. There would be less chance of someone (probably Manon) getting caught and hurt by a booby trap if it was behind not one but two sets of locks, and then she could build it into the box itself instead of adding it on later. Add on the fact that she would have to create some way to disarm the booby trap (preferably before she opened the box), plus the fact that it would be better to not have any visible alterations to her storage bench, and that made the custom box idea even more favorable.

Almost automatically, Marinette flipped her doodle-filled paper over and started sketching. The box she was going to make would have to be large enough to hold the Miracle Box, but fit closely enough that the Miracle Box wouldn't rattle around. Too tight, and she would have trouble putting it in and getting it out. She could use thick foam to line the inside, with grooves so that her fingers wouldn't have any trouble getting around the box to pull it out. It would be square, because- well, that was a fairly standard, non-descript shape. And maybe there would be a double lock on the box, too- the first one would open to a top compartment, which would just have some papers in it, maybe. The papers would hide the false bottom- well, as much as they could when the false bottom made up most of the box- and also throw off anyone who shook the box in hopes of getting a clue of what was inside. Then the lock inside would lead to the actual Miracle Box.

Now, for the outside of the box...what should it look like? She could go for the same sort of look as her diary box, young and fun and done to the best of her ability. Marinette could also try to go for something similar to the gramophone, with decorations and hidden buttons, but- well, that seemed like a lot of work, eating up a lot of time that she already didn't have to spare, and it would stand out. If someone found out that she was Ladybug, then if they stumbled across a box like that it would catch their attention at once.

And really, the same thing would apply if she went for a style like her diary box. It would be large enough and nice enough to draw someone's attention, and if there was something off about it- if it was oddly heavy or something- then that would be pretty suspicious.

Which left the option of making a box that looked sloppy, like something she might have made as a child or as a trial run when learning how to make boxes, but that was actually very solid. It would make sense to have it tucked away if it was an earlier project that hadn't turned out well, and if it looked flimsy- well, it wouldn't be something that most people would expect to be holding magical jewelry. Marinette actually had a couple boxes that she had decorated as a kid still sitting around, and- well, maybe they weren't the nicest things to look at, but they did a good enough job of holding beads and thread and whatever other art supplies Marinette needed organized.

And of course, they were also a good reminder to actually put things away once she was done with them, because Marinette wasn't exactly interested in having her earlier projects sitting out. So having the box that she was planning tucked away hopefully wouldn't raise any flags if anyone ever stumbled on it.

Smiling, Marinette considered the drawing she had just made. It was just an initial sketch, of course, and she would probably end up making some changes to it before it actually got made, but she was liking the idea more and more. Maybe making it would take up a good chunk of her already-limited free time for a bit, but that was just the price of being Guardian.

At least she had some practice making trap boxes. Sure, this one would be a step up, but it was hardly going to be going to be completely unfamiliar territory.

  The box project had somehow rocketed from being a modified diary box to something much more in only a couple short days.

Marinette had pulled out a whole bunch of the kwamis to bounce the idea off of them and see if they could see any flaws in her plan, and they had very quickly brought up the point that Hawkmoth had a sword and might just try to cut his way through the booby-trapped box, bypassing the locks and whatever trap she came up with altogether. It wasn't like she was just dealing with Chloe and Sabrina again. Hawkmoth was a bigger bad, and had more tools at his disposal.

Even if he didn't have a sword, he would probably be able to get through. Marinette had seen her yo-yo's string cut through solid metal before, and Chat Noir had been able to smash a lot of things with his baton that- well, that would normally take a machine to crush like that. She had been pretty let down at that- what, did she just have to rely on doing a good job of hiding the box?- until the kwamis pointed out that Master Fu's gramophone box had been reinforced, using metal that had been enchanted by the Guardians. At first, Marinette had groaned, since she hadn't gotten that sort of training, but then she remembered one very important detail, one that somehow she had overlooked for too long.

With Feast defeated and the contents of its stomach returned to their previous places in the exact state that they had been in when the sentimonster consumed them, the Temple of the Guardians was back. The Order was back. Maybe she didn't have Master Fu as a mentor and a resource anymore, but she was hardly alone. And maybe they spoke different languages, but surely magic could help them somehow.

And that was how Marinette found herself locked in her room (to keep nosy parents and surprise friend visitors alike out) while she transformed in front of a white sheet that she had hung from her wall, hiding any identifying details. She had reached out to the temple beforehand, messaging them on her yo-yo several times before she finally got through to someone and managed to set up a video-chat time. Now, she was just nervously waiting for the Guardian that had agreed to chat with her to call.

Hopefully they would be willing to help. Hopefully they wouldn't think that she was too young and immature to hold the title of Guardian. Hopefully they wouldn't say that she had to give up her role and someone else- someone trained- would take her place.

The kwamis didn't think that it was likely. Master Fu had approved of her, she was doing a great job, and the Guardians were hardly about to relocate to Paris to take over the fight, particularly considering that there was a pretty significant language barrier.

And then her yo-yo rang. Ladybug scrambled for a second, swiping her accept call button as quickly as she could. The screen display crackled for a moment, then settled to reveal a man who- well, who was clearly transformed with a Miraculous, but his outfit was styled after a monk's robes, at least from what she could see. It wasn't the kind of outfit that would be good for fighting in, but she supposed that if they were simply studying the Miraculous and their powers, it didn't really matter if there were dangling things that could snag or be grabbed.

"Hi!" Ladybug said right away, flashing what she hoped was a confident smile. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me! It's very much appreciated."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and the Guardian tilted his head, considering his- well, the screen on whatever weapon he got with his transformation. Then he started talking- or, rather, his lips started moving, but there was no sound.

For a long moment, Ladybug nearly panicked- was there something wrong with the connection?- and then the audio started coming through, slightly stilted and mechanical as the kwami magic translated his words, albeit with a small lag.

"Yes, hello! It is nice to hear from you, Ladybug. I am the Guardian Master Norbu. We have heard that there is some sort of Miraculous disturbance in Paris and that you are now a Junior Guardian. We would like to offer our assistance in any way we can. Can you give us a summary of what is going on there?"

"Of course!" Ladybug said at once, her mind already whirring as she tried to figure out how to best tell Master Norbu about what was going on. "So, Hawkmoth- a Butterfly user- started attacking Paris over a year ago. We usually get an akuma once every two or three days, though there have been some times when we get several attacks in a row. We've also had one time when Hawkmoth somehow gave himself a power-up and send out hundreds of akumas at the same time. He didn't attack for a week after that, so I assume that that took a lot out of him. We've also had a Peacock user attacking. She didn't come out until his big attack, and then only came out occasionally. Master Fu thought that the Miraculous might be corrupted..." She trailed off as the Guardian held up a hand, clearly wanting to say something.

"So there are two supervillains now... how many superheroes?"

"There's two of us on full-time," Ladybug said after a pause, making sure that Master Norbu was done talking before starting to speak again. "Chat Noir and I. We have temporary superheroes that we sometimes pull in when we need a boost. Or we used to, but Hawkmoth managed to find out the identities of almost all of them with an akuma. I'm working on finding new teammates, but it's not easy."

"Yes, I can imagine that it would be difficult to quickly assess who would and would not be reliable enough to trust with a Miraculous," Master Norbu agreed. "Here, we have years to pick out kids suitable for training, and then we can decide between those kids who is worthy of holding a Miraculous and joining our ranks. It is still hard to find people, and we have dozens of us and plenty of time to look around for candidates that meet our standards."

Ladybug tried not to cringe at that and ask what their standards were. Her "standards" really just consisted of people that she knew, who she knew would return their Miraculous when asked and who she could trust to fight alongside her. And even those standards hadn't always been met- Chloe wasn't someone she trusted at all, even before she went all dark-side, but she had just needed another teammate who knew how to use their Miraculous already.

"Anyway, I interrupted," Master Norbu apologized. "Do continue."

Quickly, Ladybug summarized the rest of their situation- the frequency of the sentimonster attacks on top of the akuma attacks, the reemergence of Feast and its defeat, and Master Fu's downfall. That brought them to where they were now, with her the Paris Guardian despite her fairly basic training.

"To tell you the truth, it sounds like Wang Fu managed to pass on the majority of what he had learned before the temples fell," Master Norbu told her once she was finished. "There are somethings, like translations, that take years to learn how to do with any sort of reliable accuracy and speed. And then of course repetition and practice will help things stick better than rushed lessons."

"Right." Marinette worried her lip, then decided to dive into the reason she called. She didn't know how long she would be left uninterrupted, so it would be best for her to dive right into the problem that she needed help with. "So the reason I reached out to you is because I'm currently trying to ensure the safety of the Miracle Box. It's being stored in my room, hidden in a storage bench. I wanted to make a box that could hold it, but- well, let me show you the picture I drew. I'd want the box to be locked and have two compartments, a top bit that'll just have papers or something, and then bottom that opens to where the Miracle Box would be. And then the top would have a spring, like this box." She set aside the drawing and held up her diary box. "If I reach in and pick up the diary, like so-"

The box snapped shut over her wrist. Ladybug waved it at the Guardian, then pulled out her key to get the box off.

"I can see where you are going with that," Master Norbu said, smiling. "It looks like quite the design. My concerns with it would be if it would hold up to a Miraculous weapon, and whether someone who got trapped in it would simply be able to wrench their hand out when it snapped shut. It might be an inconvenience, but unless the trap is going to do some damage..."

"The kwamis thought that the Order might be able to make some sort of enchanted metal to go in the box to keep Hawkmoth from simply slicing it open," Ladybug told him. "It's the reason I reached out, actually. That's not something that I would know how to make, but it sounds like it would be a pretty good solution."

"We can do that. You would need to either cut and shape the pieces yourself or give us exact measurements, but it is a straightforward enough process to put on the enchantment, if you know what you're doing. And we certainly do." Master Norbu smiled at her. "It's a good plan. Do you have any further ideas about perhaps upgrading the trap hidden in the box's upper portion?"

Ladybug leaned forward, leaning her chin against her palm and her elbow against her knee, thinking it over. At first, she wasn't coming up with anything, but then her mind drifted to the sort of things she had wished on Hawkmoth in her darkest, most frustrated moments, times when she was tired and angry and tired of dealing with Hawkmoth's nonsense.

And that provided a whole slew of ideas.

"I'm thinking maybe something like a bear trap," Ladybug said slowly, taking her chin off of her hand and reaching for a notebook. "One of those ones with the teeth. Except..." She tugged her phone over to her lap, googling bear traps. "They're not supposed to break legs, just hold them. So it might be a tougher hold than my trap box, but not damaging."

"Eh, some sharpening and a few enchantments will take care of that," Master Norbu decided, nodding his head sharply. "I have a few things in mind, actually. Though you would have to come up with some sort of release mechanism to make sure that you do not get caught in the trap."

Ladybug nodded. She had a few ideas already, modifications of her diary snap box's mechanism. She could try some of those and puzzle out something that would be safe for her using just wood before transferring it into metal form. "I can do that. I came up with the mechanism for my diary box, so I know how the basic version of the spring works and how I can maybe modify it. I'll start working on some prototypes right away."

"And we will get to work on the metal for you to use," Master Norbu assured her. He glanced back and off to the side. "And I think that is my cue to go, unless there is something else that you wanted to discuss right away?"

"That's all for now," Marinette assured him. "Thank you so much!"

"It is nothing. We are happy to help. Take care, Ladybug."

"Goodbye!"

With that, the call ended. Ladybug let out a long breath- oh, wow, she had still been jittery through that entire call- and closed her yoyo, releasing her transformation. As the last sparkles faded, she turned around and started taking down the sheet she had hung as backdrop before she could forget.

Tikki zipped around her eagerly. "So? How did it go? Did they agree to help? Did they have any suggestions?"

"It went well," Marinette told her, smiling as she pulled the last corner loose and the sheet fluttered down into her arms. "And yes to both of your questions. Master Norbu agreed to make the enchanted metal right away. And he did suggest that I modify the booby trap, actually- now, it's gonna have knives."

Tikki could only blink, taken aback. "Good god."

  It was all too easy to swing by a hardware store across the city after a weekend akuma attack ended there. Marinette picked her way through the store, familiar enough with the layout that it didn't take long at all for her to figure out what she needed for both her box and for her prototype spring trap.

There were a lot of gears and wires and screws that were going to be involved, and she was going to have to look at her lock mechanisms to see how she could ensure that it would all tie together and never fail on her. But she had gotten a lot of things to play with so that she could hopefully have something to report the next time that she checked in with Master Norbu.

And then it was time to start the trial-and-error process of making the snap mechanism.

It was difficult.

There were moving parts everywhere, it seemed, and connections that had to be just so. Pieces for the different components kept getting tangled up, wires and gears snarling and coming to a stop before they could do what they were meant to.

"Maybe you should break the trap down to its separate parts," Tikki suggested. "There's the lock, the connection between the lock and the spring, and then the spring for the trap."

"And the extra thing that I wanted to put in, to lock the bear trap in place when it closes, and how that would tie into the lock release," Marinette added. "Which will have to be cast in the enchanted metal. Everything that will be exposed from the top will be. But as long as I have the pieces, in theory we'd be able to cast them? I'd assume so, at least. I don't really have any experience with metalworking." She tipped her head to the side, considering the mess of gears in front of her. "Breaking it down into those steps makes sense, though. Then I can figure out exactly where things are going wrong."

"Exactly!"

Marinette considered the pieces sprawled out in front of her. After a moment, she pushed the majority of the mess to the side, pulling her faux-trap (made of wood, because that was easy enough to throw together) in front of her. That was the main part and the most important, so everything here had to be solid and perfect. If it wasn't, then any of her intended safety measures elsewhere would be useless. Like this, it was easier to see her pieces and how they fit together. All of a sudden, the path forward became obvious and Marinette flung herself into her work again, test-fitting gears and putting them in place. An improved spring mechanism came together in a flash, closely followed by the piece that would lock the trap shut, making it completely resistant to being pried open. Then there had to be a connection between that and the actual lock so that it could be disarmed when she unlocked the box properly, even if the unlocking happened after the trap shut.

It was a pity that she wouldn't be able to show anyone else her work, really. All of the moving parts- the majority of which had to be positioned so that they could be hidden- were an absolute beast to wrestle with and would definitely be worth some extra credit if she could show Madam Mendeleev. But that wasn't the point of the trap, and she had to make sure that she didn't do anything to make anyone suspicious about what she was up to.

Even if she could really use the extra credit in Math since an akuma attack had meant that she hadn't been able to study for the latest test properly.

"Don't forget to take breaks," Tikki cautioned as Marinette added a small piece that- when the box was unlocked and the trap was disarmed- would flip from showing the red side to the green side, just in case. She knew how much of a rush she tended to be in when she had to come get more Miraculous during akuma attacks, so the additional warning- or reassurance, whichever- about whether things were disarmed or not would be much appreciated, even with all of the other failsafes in place. "And don't forget your homework! I know you want to have a prototype ready ASAP, but you can't neglect your civilian responsibilities."

"No worries there, I'm all caught up," Marinette assured her. "I worked ahead on my homework while I was waiting for the Guardians to get back to me, and then I've been getting little stuff like readings done between classes." It was normally time that she would spend chatting with Alya and her other friends and classmates, but between the fact that she needed to not be letting herself get overwhelmed thanks to schoolwork piling up because of akuma attacks and the fact that Lila seemed to spend the time between classes holding court, it wasn't exactly a tough choice. She reached over, tapping the small calendar that sat on her desk. It was a new addition, but a useful one. "And I can see when I have things due, so they won't sneak up on me like they did before. I've learned!"

Tikki perked up. "Oh, right! I knew that. You're doing a good job, Marinette!"

"I try." Marinette flashed a smile at her kwami, then turned back to her work. "Now, to attach all of this to the lock..."

  The making of the actual box came next, after Marinette was satisfied with her mock-up of the trap and how well it worked. A few small details had needed to be ironed out before she declared that step complete- it was absolutely critical that nothing could get jolted out of place if the box got knocked around, both so that the trap wouldn't stay armed by accident and so that the entire lock wouldn't jam up at some critical moment and refuse to disarm and open- and so Marinette's demo rig had undergone several rounds of rigorous shaking, knocking around, testing, and fixing.

But now it was absolutely rock solid and she could get to the next part. Making the box would be easy enough- a friend of her dad's owned plenty of woodworking tools, and he was willing to let her use them under his supervision, or, if the tool was deemed too dangerous for her skill level, he would listen to what she wanted and then do the work for her. All she had to do was have all of her plans ready, and then she could reach out and probably have that part done and over with in an afternoon. It would be easy-peasy. She had the time.

Or at least she would if she could persuade the Guardians that really, now was not the time for them to try to do long-distance learning to continue her training. Apparently they had held a meeting after her call to Master Norbu and were concerned about a Guardian in an active battle zone having had such limited training. Obviously it wouldn't be practical for her to move and join them, but they could send assignments. And they had sent assignments, with the clear expectation that she would complete them as soon as possible. And the number of assignments kept increasing, faster than Marinette could ever hope to finish them. There were readings and spells and potions and ingredients to learn the properties of and details about side powers that different Miraculous had, ones that became more available as users got more advanced but only in certain conditions...

It was all interesting information, and useful, but it was a lot, and it seemed like the Order was expecting her to read through and study everything right away. So Ladybug had to bring it up when Master Norbu called to check in with her.

"Okay, I can see where this information might come in handy and obviously it's a good idea to have a solid base to work off of and more information means more tools for me to use, but I don't have time to add extra lessons on top of everything else and still do the box, and I think that's a priority," Ladybug told the older Guardian. She had only managed to finish one of the 'assignments' that had been sent, and just looking at the others piling up was exhausting. Exhausting and stressful and anxiety-inducing. She didn't want to appear ungrateful, or as though she didn't appreciate the Order's efforts to get her better trained, or like she wasn't taking her role seriously, but hadn't she already given up enough of her free time and her life to the Miraculous? Was she going to be expected to devote her every waking hour- at least those not spent in school- to the Miraculous, too? "And if I try to get all of it done, I'm going to end up all stressed out, and that's not safe with the Butterfly on the loose."

Master Norbu considered that, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Yes, I can understand that. Trying to learn while stressed is less than ideal for retaining information, too. Would there be a time where you could do the lessons without overstretching yourself? Some are quite important. For example..." He glanced off to the side, picking up a stack of paper and flipping through it before landing on a particular page. "The potions are quite important, I would say. Particularly the one I picked out for you to practice. It is a healing potion, and would come in handy if you or Chat Noir got injured outside of the suit. Or if something went wrong with the trap and it ended up mangling your hand. It is a difficult potion, but I know you have made other ones before and that one would be particularly useful."

"Oh, I hadn't even seen that assignment yet." It felt terrible to admit, but the assignments had been piling up so much that it had been stressing her out more and more to even look at them. "I agree, though. That would be one to prioritize for sure."

"I can mark ones to prioritize," Master Norbu told her. "Ones that would be of immediate use and properly relevant to you. In our excitement over having a new Guardian to train, I believe that several of us temporarily forgot that you are in the middle of a battle zone and might not have the time for all of the regular training."

"That would be great." Ladybug let out a long breath, not sure if she was feeling more stressed or less. One or two lessons she could probably manage as long as the Order didn't expect them to be done right away, but if things were marked priority then maybe they would expect that she get them done quickly. "As for the others... I do have holidays from school. Summer holiday in particular would be the best for getting Miraculous lessons done. They're not coming up super soon, but I won't have to deal with other homework then."

"That will have to do," Master Norbu decided. "We do not want to add stress to your plate. No, I know that we want her to learn everything!" he called to someone off-screen. "But we cannot ignore Ladybug's other responsibilities, which are many in number, or her mental health. We will focus on the practical and the helpful, and those can be done when you have the time to spare. The Miracle Box's safety should come first, you are correct, as should your stability. Let us know if you have all of the ingredients you need for the potion. If not, we can arrange to get them to you when we have the metal ready for your box. Speaking of which- I am assuming that we are still waiting on exact measurements?"

Ladybug nodded. "Yeah. The guy who's helping me with the tools for the box might have more suggestions and that could affect some of the measurements. Probably not, since the measurements inside have to stay the same to hold the Zodiac Box, but just in case."

"Remember to account for the thickness of the metal inside," Master Norbu reminded her. "I would hate for you to get the box near completion and then have to redo all of it because of an oversight like that."

"Of course." She had been sure to ask them for the thickness of the metal for that exact purpose, and given herself a little extra wriggle room just in case. It wasn't much- and it would easily be accounted for by a little bit of extra foam- but it would make sure that her entire project wasn't destroyed by metal that wasn't quite the right thickness or a cut that was a few millimeters off.

"Good." Master Norbu looked pleased. "I'm glad that you're taking everything into consideration. Will you have the wood pieces finished soon? We have all of the metal enchanted and ready to cut and mold as soon as we get the word."

"Definitely," Ladybug assured him. "I was going to reach out to the guy I know who has power tools today. I just had to do this call first, and then I can see when he'll be available to help me with picking out the wood and using the tools."

Master Norbu's eyebrows rose. "Well! I do not want to keep you, then. I hope to hear from you soon, Ladybug."

"Of course!"

  The wood pieces were cut, and all of the enchanted metal had been Portaled from Tibet to Paris. The metal sheets were just like Ladybug had requested, the gears cast perfectly- and even with a few extras, should one or two tumble off of Marinette's desk and get lost- and the bear trap parts all made and sharpened beyond belief.

Marinette shook out her hand with a wince as she glanced towards the finished knifelike blades of the trap. Her finger had just brushed against one of the sharpened teeth earlier as she was laying out the pieces, and it had cut her- not badly, but enough to hurt. Thankfully she had pre-made the healing potion and had been able to vanish the cut away to nothing but a memory in no time, but it was obvious that she was going to have to be very, very careful.

Thankfully, the Order had also made a leather guard to go over the teeth, just to make it a little safer to handle while she assembled everything. Otherwise, Marinette really wouldn't know how she was going to handle it well enough to make sure that everything was securely attached into place. Even with the guard on, she was going to have to be careful.

The inner box went together first, and then the metal layer on the outside. The shoddy-looking outer layer was put on top of that, hiding the metal altogether. That change in the design had been suggested by her father's friend, actually, and had been both so that the metal would be hidden and secret and to make it easier for her to put the box together.

It took a little bit to get the cuts for the keyholes all lined up, and then those- both the regular lock, and the 'mistake' lock for the trap- were inserted before the last screws were bolted into place on the box, holding the outer layer together firmly. Then, very carefully, Marinette started fitting the gears and connections together for the spring and the trap.

Thankfully she had told her parents that she had a Very Serious Project that she had to work on (for school, she had claimed) and that they were not to interrupt her, and if any of her friends came over unexpectedly to hang out, she wasn't available and they couldn't come up. The only thing that could possibly interrupt her now was an akuma.

"Does it feel good to have this be the final product?" Tikki asked as Marinette slotted another gear into place. "Knowing that once this is done, you're going to get to use it and not have to worry about it anymore?"

"I worry that I'll mess something up on this and that would be bad, but that's why I went to the dump and got all of that scrap wood." Marinette nodded over to the partially-hidden pile of wood- mostly old table and chair legs that she had collected. There was a lot of it, but that- and the fact that it would have been hard to explain to literally anyone- was the reason why she had used the Horse to go to the dump in the first place to get the scrap wood. "But yeah, it's going to be nice to see everything come together and not have that project hanging over my head."

Tikki smiled, then tilted her head to the side, considering the box. "I thought it would look- well, messier. I thought you said that you wanted it to look like a beginner's project."

"Yeah, but too messy, and it'll be pretty obvious that I was doing it on purpose. You'll see." Marinette checked her prototype again to make sure that she was doing everything right, then picked up the next piece. "It's a balancing act. That, and I didn't want to have to deal with splinters, which would have been the most obvious sign of a beginner project."

"Ooh, yeah, that wouldn't be any fun!"

"And it would have looked pretty odd, if my parents saw it," Marinette added. She frowned at the piece in her hand, then swapped it out for a different one, just a little smaller. "They know that Dad's friend does all of the cutting and helps with the sanding. Even if this was one of my earliest projects, they would know something was up if the pieces weren't cut right. Besides, splinters are fairly easy to fix- a regular square of sandpaper could probably help a lot, and even if I was younger and just doing the project for fun, I would do that much at least."

All of the gears and other pieces were together by lunch, when Marinette took a short break to actually eat something. As soon as she was done and her dishes were cleaned up, she returned upstairs to finish up the structure of the box itself and put the last bits of the trap together.

And then it was time to make the box look like a beginner's project.

"See, I have this putty that will go over the screws and hide them," Marinette told Tikki as she worked, carefully hiding each screw under a smoothed layer of putty. She would have to sand it down later, but that wasn't a big deal at all. "And then I have these really terrible nails that I'm going to be putting in. They probably won't all go in completely straight, and it'll look like they're the only thing holding the box together. Add in the fact that the outer layer of wood is really thin and cheap-looking 'cause it's plywood, and it'll look like I don't know what I'm doing."

"And the reason why the trap lock is crooked is because it's supposed to look like a mistake, right?"

"Exactly." It had hurt her inside just a little to deliberately put the lock in crooked- upside down and crooked, no less- but she wanted it to look like she had done a practice run with the lock on a bit of scrap plywood and then had to use the piece in her box. That way, she didn't have to worry about hiding the lock to disarm the bear trap somehow. Marinette finished the screw she was on, then flipped the box over in her hands, looking for any screws that she missed. "We're getting close, Tikki."

Tikki cheered, zipping around in a circle. "Great! And then the Miracle Box will be safe, and we don't have to worry about Hawkmoth enslaving any more kwamis!"

"Exactly." Marinette finished hiding the last exposed screw and sat back, examining her work. "Now that just has to dry before I can sand it and put any varnish on. While we wait- Tikki, can you pass me the nails?"

  The box was done, and it was glorious.

Maybe it didn't look that way from the outside, with the uneven nails and obvious plywood visible under the splodgy, uneven varnish. But the bear trap inside was absolutely perfect- Marinette had spent a lot of time testing it, poking the box with her scrap wood both when the trap was set and when it was disarmed to make sure that everything was working right- and unless someone knew what they were looking for, they weren't very likely to notice the signs that the box wasn't quite what it appeared to be. The lock to the box itself re-locked automatically when it was closed, and the lock for the trap had to be re-locked before the key would come out, which ensured that she would remember to re-set it before she took off again.

The Order was duly impressed when she showed the box off over video call. Master Norbu had been joined by several other Guardians and they had watched as Ladybug showed off the box and the damage that it caused when she didn't disarm the trap before opening it.

"That is quite well engineered," Master Lhami told Ladybug as she finished demonstrating and explaining how disarming the trap ensured that it wouldn't go off, even if the box got knocked around a bit. "I know Master Norbu mentioned that you are interested in clothing design, but clearly engineering would not be much of a stretch, either."

Ladybug ducked her head, hoping that she wasn't turning red. "Thank you. It- it was a challenging project, but I'm happy with the result."

"As you should be. I do not think that many people would have been able to come up with something like that, particularly if they had as many other things demanding their attention as you have had." Master Norbu smiled at her. "I cannot remember if I passed on the message, but our metalworkers were quite pleased with how exact and detailed your instructions for the pieces were. They appreciated not having to go back and forth to hammer out details."

Ladybug smiled wider. "I'm glad to hear that. They did a very good job. All of the pieces were perfect."

"It is a pity that the genius in the trap had to be hidden behind cheap wood and a poor-looking exterior, but I can understand the decision behind it," another one of the Guardians- not one that Ladybug was familiar with- chimed in. "Most people would not bother going after the locks on a box that looks like a beginner's project, and that is the important thing."

There were murmurs of agreement at that and nods all around.

"I know that a box like that would likely be the last place I would look if I were in a villain's shoes," Master Norbu added in. "Though I would still hide it well, which I know that you've already discussed doing." He smiled at her. "As far as first impressions go, Miss Ladybug, I think it's fair to say that you have exceeded our expectations."

"Thank you," Ladybug managed. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. "I couldn't have done it without your help."

The call finished with a few more exchanges of pleasantries and a few suggestions of what she might find most helpful to look at next in her assignments. Ladybug ended the call with a smile and a wave, then hung up and released her transformation. Tikki flitted free, zipping eagerly around Marinette.

"Did they like it?"

"They loved it," Marinette assured her kwami. "They really liked my demonstration with the last of the chair legs, too. I think it really helped assure them that the Miraculous are safe and that I'm taking my role as Guardian seriously."

Tikki sniffed. "If anyone thought that you weren't taking it seriously, I would question their judgement! You've been very focused." She zipped around to perch on Marinette's desk, still beaming. "And now you're all done with that project! What are you doing next? Maybe you can take a small break from Guardian stuff and sew that dress you were talking about! I know you have the fabric, I can find the design-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Marinette laughed. "I'm not quite done yet." She picked up the box from its spot on her desk, heading over to her storage bench and opening it. Pushing aside the pile of presents inside, she tucked the box at the very bottom and covered it back up before closing the bench. That got locked, too. "The box is done and hidden, but I still have to clean up. There's a reason why I didn't put the Horse miraculous away earlier. If mom and dad see all of the splintered table and chair legs, they're going to have questions."

"Ooh, and questions aren't a good thing!" Tikki agreed, zipping forward to help. She started gathering up splinters, tossing them into the trash. "I'll help clean up. Then we can have a fun break before diving into the Guardian stuff again!"

Marinette smiled. "Now that sounds like a plan."

[september000]

“hireath”

PART II

oikawa tooru x reader

“cause I remember the rush, when forever is us.”

Winter came quickly, her trees as barren and as cold as the sun. It was time to roll down our skirts and wear those thick cotton stockings. As the season progressed, I found brushing fingertips with Oikawa to have more of a considerable meaning. Ever since I had come to the realization that I had feelings for the boy, the weekly tutoring sessions became more painful. Every smile, grin and laugh we shared felt like cicadas chirping inside of me, violent and chattering. There were so many times I had wanted to vomit all the thoughts I had of him. I wanted to take his lips in my mouth and drink him up. For the first time in my life, I began to feel flustered by my thoughts.

“You know (Y/N)-chan, I can’t thank you enough for helping me.” He purred. He shuffled closer to me. It was not uncommon for him to make these advances, ever since he looked up at me on that gym floor. I was new to love, but not new to the intents of boys. Evelyn has told me stories of the guys she’s dated, the way they would stare at her creamy thighs and bubblegum lips. Still, I favorited Oikawa, he was different. He felt different. So I pretended to not acknowledge his approaches. Looking back on it, maybe that’s what drew him closer to me. I was nonchalant in my ways of love. “Let me take you out somewhere.” He breathes, fixing his glasses. Pen tapping methodically against the notebook. I stifled back a choked expression. I chuckle with nervousness and maybe flattery.

“You’re too sweet, I couldn’t do that to you.” I argue.

“I offered,” he said smoothly, “it would be my pleasure.” Coaxes Oikawa. He seems more bold now, he cups my hands and intertwined our fingers so lovingly. Yet he does it so effortlessly. Like he does this with all the girls that tutor him.

“Alright.” I concede. “I’ll go.” He yelps in happiness and I laugh a little in his childish nature. It felt really good to make someone happy like that. Oikawa wrinkles his nose and squints his eyes at me, inspecting something.

“You have a really gorgeous smile.” He tells me. I am taken aback yet again. His charisma was getting to be a little too much.

“No, you’re just trying to be a flirt.” I gave a quiet laugh as my lips turned upwards too readily.

“You know me so well, (Y/N).” He tilts his head to the side. “There’s a new bakery that opened up in Sendai. I heard it has the best custard buns. We should go together.”

“And probably the best milk bread, right?” I chuckle. The feeling of playful banter was foreign to me, as I’d never had anyone except Evelyn. Oikawa’s eyes crinkle and relish in my cheekiness.

“Well I should start heading out.” He looks over me one last time. The view of the cafe shows the horizon, a mess of oranges, pinks and blues.

“See ya.” I said.

“I’ll call you later tonight.” He whispers, it was a pretty thing. He then disappears onto the fading street, and I just stare into the notebook. A stupid grin plastered on my face.

I spent most of that night thinking about him, and all the little things he had done to warm my heart. I sat restless on the bed, tossing and tumbling. Waiting for his call. I had ended up falling asleep, phone in hand and ringer turned all the way up.

He never called. When I awoke to no text or missed call from him an ugly feeling took place in my stomach.

In class, I couldn’t hide my disappointment. When I told Evelyn she simply frowned and took my hand. I knew what her gaze said . ‘I told you so.’

But Oikawa profusely apologized when we passed each other in the halls. He said something came up, and the small anger I held diffused quickly. But I tried to move past him.

“What about Sunday?” He stopped me, hand grasping my arm. His touch alerted me. I looked around and saw girls staring. My face felt hot.

“Sure. Sounds nice.” I smile. It seemed Oikawa didn’t realize the prying eyes. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Probably the latter.

“Great, it’s a date!” He exclaims and walks away. Chest upturned and unwavering. I walk quickly to my class. Then there was Evelyn, sitting next to my bento box. My legs shook with excitement.

“He made it official, Evie.” I spoke in English, I didn’t want the prying eyes to become prying ears. “He said it was a date!” I laughed in disbelief. This time, Evelyn did not grimace. She just looks surprised. I knew what she was thinking yet again. ‘Oikawa Tooru is never known for taking girls on dates, he just amuses them.’ I just hugged her in a fit of joy, and she hugged me back, she knew how good it felt to be plagued with contentment.

Sunday came around quicker than expected-- I had thought that the days before would be thick and lingering. Like watching paint dry, but it was as cold as it was quick.

I remember it was Saturday night, I had tore open my closet, my room has never been this messy before. I was on a facetime call with Evelyn at the time trying to figure out what to wear.

“I don’t really go out a lot,” I sigh in annoyance. “I barely have anything to wear.”

“Yeah, I know right? You dress like a NEET outside of school, thank god we wear uniforms.” Joked Evelyn.

“Ha ha ha,” I snide, “you’re so funny, now shut up and help me out.” I laughed. I grab a navy blue sweatshirt. It was abundant in warmth and cozy. I slowly slip off my shorts and search for a bottom. In the corner of my eye, I see an unfamiliar skirt.

“Wait Evie, did you ever have a plaid skirt?” I ask, as I rarely wear skirts. I focus the camera on the skirt and Evie hollers at me.

“That’s where it’s been. Oh my god (Y/N) you have no idea how long I’ve been looking for that shit.”

“You always leave your crap at my house.” I deadpan. She just smirks.

“It’s just a parting gift.”

“Then you don’t mind if I try it on, right?” I stepped into the skirt, it fit a little snug, but it still felt perfect. I show her my outfit in the camera.

“Holy shit (Y/N),” she boomed. “You look hot! You need to wear skirts more often.” I meekly blush in her praise.

“You should definitely wear that.” She said.

“With some tights?”

“With some tights.” I signed off later that night.

I was uncharastically anxious again and rolled tirelessly in the bed. I laid awake, tangled in a mess of stuffed animals and plush blankets. It was 12 am when he had texted me.

Oikawa Tooru : I’m excited for today, I bet you’ll look really pretty. Let’s meet at 11.

At first I couldn’t believe it, the amount of power a person can have over someone. With a simple text, I felt my heart crawl up my throat as it lodged itself there. My fingers were so eager to answer back with so much love and zeal. But I contained the feeling. “Be careful.” Evelyn had said.

I think I should’ve been more wary, though.

Me: alright, goodnight.

Oikawa Tooru: Goodnight (Y/N), sweet dreams <3.

I stared up at my ceiling and gave a gentle kiss to my phone. I was not a very religious person, but I thanked God that night, for giving me such a wonderful boy. After I put the phone down, I slept like the dead.

When I awoke, frost decorated my windows, the sharp sun caressed my face. I groaned in displeasure and stretched, bones cracking and joints popping. It was around 9. I think waiting is the worst part. I paced back and forth, cleaning up my room, sweeping the floor that didn’t need to be swept, studying for things that didn’t need anymore attention. I sat upon my bed, dumbfounded in my boredom. But eventually the time came, though I did not rush as I thought I would. ‘Don’t rush it. Be patient.’ I had told myself. ‘No one likes a desperate girl.’ So I pulled up my tights. Black adorning (S/C) skin. I zipped up the plaid skirt methodically and carefully. Drawing out every movement. I wore my best bra and did my makeup. But I don’t even think you could call it anything substantial back then. Coral red lip tint with mascara. Simple.

Oikawa Tooru: Good morning :). I’m on my way.

When I had left for the door, I had seen a note over a mess of tinfoil. ‘I had to pick up some extra hours at the hospital. Sorry baby. Love you.’ She had written. I lift up the tinfoil and it’s a pitiful attempt at omurice. I bitterly smiled and threw it away, I was going to eat with him anyways, though I’ve never done such a thing like that before. That was the start of it.

As I took the train I felt hot and stuffy, the sweatshirt becoming unbearable yet my legs shivered. It felt unfamiliar to dress for someone else. To do things for someone for the sake of their pleasure— this was something I just couldn’t comprehend. On that train, I felt as big and as small as I could be. I was going on my first date. With the Oikawa Tooru.

It was not a long walk from the station, couples, families and their children alike seemed to litter the sidewalks in a content fashion. Bubble coats and wool scarves swaddled them. The bakery was very quaint, not quite the place I would’ve expected Oikawa to pick, though I saw him through the window, excitement awaited me.

end of second chapter!!! probably gonna be 3 more chapters as this is very short!!! thank u for 20 followers :)!! I appreciate u all

[monchikyun]

07. No turning back

“I have to be honest with you, Gavin. It’s only fair.”

When Connor dropped the dead weight of “we need to talk” at him, it was bad enough as it was. This frightening opener just managed to make it even worse, not that he thought it would be possible.

Gavin doesn’t see one valid reason to doubt the thing they built together. He has never worked so hard at anything, never sacrificed so much. And it was worth it, since every single piece of himself he had given away came back to him, fixed and improved. He can’t remember ever feeling so alive. This improbable happiness is so out of character his past self would probably denounce him. But it’s okay because he mostly feels it just so he can have something substantial on offer for the one and only android who managed to crack his rigid shell. There is a bit of selfishness in it too, naturally. It’s just that the more content Connor is, the brighter his world becomes. One and the same thing, really. 

He tries to dig up something he did that might break them, but nothing comes out, despite his imperfect personality and all their insignificant fights. Maybe it’s been long enough for Connor and he wants to get out, it wouldn’t be that unbelievable. At the end of the day, Gavin is not the ideal person to care about, he would probably never be. It just took the android a while to figure that terrible truth out.

He can still taste the oatmeal cookies Connor made for him this afternoon - his favourite kind and the dread overwhelms him through and through. Was it meant as a consolation? 

It surely doesn’t make the pain in his heart any less severe. Maybe he should have shown the silly bot how much he means to Gavin. More often. 

“I don’t think I’m happy here.” … as in their relationship, right? The only thing missing in this horror-scenario is a bullet in his head. He’d like to take it right about now.

Connor must have noticed the treacherous tears promising to spill over were he to utterly lose control, because he’s holding his face in his hands like he’s not about to aim the ultimate blow to his fragile heart.

“Gavin. Look at me.” Predictably, his control betrays him when their eyes meet, his weakness on display for everyone to feast on. But he doesn’t care, Connor has earned the privilege to witness him in all his forms.

“I don’t mean us. You’re one of the best things that have ever happened to me and I can’t… imagine my life without you anymore.”

If Connor wanted him to stop crying, he failed spectacularly. It has only been a year since they crossed the threshold od friendship and something more, but to him, it seems like an eternity ago. He blocks out the empty years he just barely survived before his life took a definite shape and it works, most of the times. He wouldn’t even think of going there when he’s enveloped by the person who made him into something much less ugly.

It took a couple of soft kisses before he was ready to listen again.

“I want to leave.” Connor grasps his hand to remind him that it isn’t his fault. Gavin is still scared, a little.  

“It’s just… lately I can’t stand my job, it’s driving me mad how much I hate looking at all the dead bodies and that other general… unpleasantness that’s all around us. I’m sick of the city itself. Can’t stay here anymore.”

His brain is trying to process this new information, showing no signs of a positive conclusion.

“So… that means you wanna move somewhere else?”

He gets a nod.

It should make him feel all complicated and hesitant, but the truth is he’s kind of relieved to hear this. This city bears too many bad memories, for both of them, and there is nothing really keeping him here. Sure, he does love his job, but he loves Connor even more. It’s not all that smart but he’d follow the stupid, brilliant lump anywhere. Even to his death.  

“Okay.”

It doesn’t need to be tricky. They had their fair share of difficulties already and this is one decision that has presented itself without effort.

“Okay?”

He plants a gentle kiss on the back of Connor’s fingers to let him know he means it.

“When and are we leaving?.... You do want me to go with you, right?”

“Yes, I don’t think I’d have the courage to do something this big otherwise.”

The android squeezes his eyes shut, his LED turning crimson. Gavin’s least favourite sight.

“But… are you really sure? You don’t have to decide right away, Gavin. It’s not a trivial thing like choosing where to spend the night.”

He presses his thumb on the flashing light and draws soothing circles over it, willing the red to go away.

“Well, maybe we won’t have to do that anymore when we move…” Suddenly, his cheeks mirror Connor’s LED. “I mean, it would probably be the smartest way to deal with the rent and…”

“I thought that was given?” What a fucking menace. He’d kiss him and there is absolutely nothing stopping him.

“What about Hank though?” If there ever was a father figure Connor could look up (or down) to, it is none other than the lieutenant who recently claimed the title of a recovered alcoholic.

“I’ve already talked to him about it. He understands, under the pressure of becoming unlikable, but still. …  and it’s not like we won’t ever be able to set a foot in Detroit after we say our goodbyes.”

Connor’s right, as always. They are long overdue for some fresh air, and why return to the poisonous fumes when they could breathe freely forever.

Gavin can’t help the ridiculous smile that’s spreading everywhere, infecting his loved one. 

“You plan on opening your own bakery or something like that?” 

“Something like that.

Sweets making is one of Connor’s many secret talents, the one he enjoys utilising the most. He spoils Gavin with his homemade treats any chance he gets and he can’t get enough of the sugary smile that comes with it.

If it’s Connor’s dream to leave his old life behind and create a new from scratch, the only thing he can do is to fully support him.

“You have to promise me something though.” Gavin’s voice gains a kind of urgency that clues in just how serious he’s right now.

“No turning back on this. Don’t make anything stop you from getting what you truly want. I mean it, Connor.”

“Alright. No turning back,” he whispers like he’s sharing his deepest secret, and Gavin finds it impossible not to believe him. 

@convinseptember finally something light :D

[moominquartz]

rating: T fandom: Steven Universe prompt: Secretly Drawing the Other warnings: None Apply word count: 3.4k requester: @kohakhearts​

[IMG attached]

Connie is in desperate need of a reference picture.

My first complete fic for Fluff Bingo, which is something solely in a writing discord I’m apart of! Yes, it was inspired by BTHB, but it’s fun to have something to go to when I’m all out of angst juice. :)

[Read on AO3!]

~*~

Connie has never been especially talented at anything outside of school. She wins only as many tennis matches as she loses, and she struggles with the advanced sheet music that most of her peers seem to pull off flawlessly. Her grades are always A’s, sure, but that hardly seems like talent or skill, only an ability to test well.

The one thing Connie has never allowed herself to itemize — never allowed herself to compare herself to others, no matter how tempting it is — is her ability to draw.

To be fair, she knows she isn’t very good. When she begins, she’s heavily influenced by the wide-eyed, shoujo anime she adores, and proportions are the furthest thing from her mind. She draws solely for the fun of it, for pure expression. She draws when she’s ecstatic, she draws when she’s angry, she draws when she’s so sad that her tears stain the pages.

It’s only pencil drawings, but they’re very personal to her, and it’s something she doesn’t want anyone knowing she’s doing. Her parents know, because they’re her parents and she needs them to buy her the sketchbooks and the pencils. None of her friends do.

No one except Steven.

“Whoa,” Steven whispers with wide, childlike awe as he holds her sketchbook between his hands. He cradles the book as if it were scripture bound in expensive, gilded leather. “Connie, you’re amazing.”

She blushes. “Oh, it’s not anything special.”

“Are you kidding?” He looks at her with such fervent belief that it throws her off-kilter. “Connie, I don’t know anything about drawing, but look at all the details you put in here!”

That isn’t quite true; Steven draws as well, though maybe not as frequently as she does. Still, she supposes she can see what he’s saying. Even though the proportions are way off and Archimicarus should not be double the size of Lisa’s head, Connie took the time to put in every accessory she loved into Lisa’s outfit. She was determined to make sure Lisa was recognizable, despite the fact that the movie hadn’t come out yet and nobody knew what Lisa was going to look like.

“Okay,” she murmurs, feeling high on the praise. “All right, I’ll take that. Thanks.”

He grins. “Will you show me more sometime?”

“Oh, uh… sure.” Flattered that he’d even ask, she agrees without thinking about it.

-

Connie starts to draw him. Not out of any intention, and certainly not because she wants to. It happens entirely by accident that she looks down at her sketchbook, struggling to find inspiration, and realizes she’s doodled his head in the corner.

It becomes commonplace that, when they’re spending time together — time not always spent doing something, but rather, sharing the same space and simply being — Connie will draw.

Sometimes Steven asks, but more often than not she says no. He takes absolutely no offense at all, and that’s part of why she likes him. He just lets her do her thing while he chugs through another playthrough of GolfQuest Mini or plans out his next TubeTube video. 

Connie’s never been good at drawing real people. They’re even harder to get right than her anime characters. But the doodle doesn’t look entirely bad. It doesn’t look like Steven, but it doesn’t look bad.

And this is how Connie learns to use references: she stares at him while he doesn’t look at her.

She’s nervous at first, watching him while she draws. She’s afraid he’ll realize what she’s doing and draw attention to it. He’ll strike a pose or blush and say something about how she should be drawing someone else, or worse, he’ll ask to see it when she’s done. But Steven doesn’t do any of that. He keeps right on going, completely oblivious.

Connie gets pretty good at drawing him.

-

Years pass and Connie gets pretty damn good at drawing him.

The way she draws him changes with time. Her skills transform and puberty hits Steven like a freight truck. Every time she sees him, he seems to have grown a few inches. She hardly gets the chance to draw him more than once or twice while he’s in front of her. Once she reaches high school, she has far less time to just “hang out” — or if she does, and they aren’t doing anything, she’s forced to spend her time doing homework.

And then she figures out the work-around.

“What’re you up to?” she asks aloud as she types it into text. “Send pics.”

It sounds as if she’s asking for something else, but she absolutely isn’t. She hopes her Mom doesn’t still go through her text messages, or else she’s going to have a very awkward conversation with her later.

Her phone dings in response before she even sets it down.

w/ lars at the bakery!! lookit this! [IMG attached]

Yes, score! She only hopes it’s got a good enough angle—

—aaaaand it’s a picture of a dessert. It’s a very delicious-looking chocolate orange mousse, but it’s not of Steven.

She tries again on a different day, when she’s so tired of studying her eyes will fall out if she has to read one more word. She pulls out her sketchbook, lays on her bed, and texts him again. I’m so boredddd. Doing anything fun?

To prompt a photo in return, she attaches a selfie while she’s lying on the bed. It isn’t the best selfie she’s ever taken, but this isn’t about that. It’s about getting one back.

Steven, as always, replies quickly. sry, @ LH, can’t talk now. No picture. Connie glances at the clock just to make sure it is, indeed, past 8 PM, and she frowns.

Fine. Maybe she can ask for some help.

I am so sorry, Connie. Pearl’s texts are always way longer than they should be. You should’ve asked me a few weeks ago! I had a ton of pictures saved, but I recently exported them to an external harddrive. And he’s been so unwilling to let me take pictures of him recently.

Connie bites her lip. Pearl isn’t exactly a ‘grandma’ with technology — most of the things she’s learned how to operate, she’s done herself or only after one demonstration — but Connie wonders if she pressed, if she asked Pearl to retrieve her most recent picture of him to send to her, that Pearl would be a little too curious in return.

With all other options exhausted, Connie turns to desperate measures.

“Why am I doing this, again?” Amethyst asks over the phone. “Can’t you just, like, ask him yourself?”

“Please,” Connie all but begs. “I can’t tell you what it’s for, I just need a picture of him from the front, and it need to be at least waist-up. Although if you could get a full picture of him standing up, that’d be even better. Oh, and please don’t let him know that it’s for me.”

“Hmm.” Amethyst’s little hum is plotting, and Connie absolutely hates it. “Well, what do I get in return?”

“Huh?”

“What, you’re not expecting me to do this for free, are you?”

Of course. This is Amethyst. Connie chews on her bottom lip, considering.

“Well, what do you want? I could order Fish Stew for you.” Connie’s mom gives her enough of an allowance for her grades that that wouldn’t be a problem. “Or some of Lars’s bakery’s treats, if you like.”

Amethyst’s laugh goes to her bones. “What? I’m gonna need more than that. Hmm… How about this: I’ll take the picture for you, but you gotta come here to get it yourself.”

“What?” Connie’s voice squeaks. “You can’t be serious, Amethyst! It’s a school night!”

Amethyst snickers. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it tonight. I’ll text you when I have it, and you’ll get it when you come over. Oh, but when you do, you’d better bring two full pizzas with you, okay?”

“O-kay,” Connie mumbles, defeated.

“Sweet. Catch you on the flip side.”

-

do u need his face showin?

Connie blinks at the text on her phone, three days later. She’s just gotten out of school and Amethyst sent it three hours ago. 

Yes.

dam. well heres the outtake [IMG attached]

When Connie clicks through, she gets the full shot of Steven all right. But he isn’t standing upright and still; instead, he’s rushing past the camera, blurring the shot, a hand in front of his face to block it from being seen.

This is a shitty picture.

i kno, that’s why i sent it to u w/o getting pizza, dam!!

-

In the interim, Connie tries once more to provoke a selfie from Steven. This one requires a little more effort and is incredibly flirtatious — borderline forward — but she has to try it. Her sketches of him seem more and more off by the day, and it’s driving her nuts. She needs that reference shot, at least one.

She has a violin concert one Friday night. She dresses up for it, wearing black slacks, a white button-up with a high collar, and a black blazer. A simple tie, black with blue stripes, adorns her neck, and she lets her hair down. Like this, it would just barely tickle her shoulders. She puts on a little more makeup than she normally would for a concert; she dabbles in foundation, in blush and lipstick, when normally she would settle for mascara and concealer, if she decided on makeup at all.

Eyeshadow is still too foreign for her, but she hopes this is enough.

Then the trick is taking the selfie itself. At first she takes a shot without her shoes on, then decides it would probably look better with them on, especially if she’s trying to get one back. So she puts on her nice pair of loafers and stands at the full-body mirror in her room, taking a deep breath as she tries to set her nerves to rest.

“It’s fine, Connie,” she murmurs. “It’s fine. It’s just Steven, and what’s the worst thing that could happen? That he just flat out doesn’t respond?”

That is, by far, the worst thing that could happen. She doesn’t know what he’d do if he did that, because Steven is always the type to reply within a few minutes. She doesn’t know if it’s just like that for her or for everyone, but she has to trust that he’ll reply to this.

She takes the picture. It’s a little lopsided because her hand is shaking, but it’s the full picture of her, head to toe. She sends it off with a caption that, she hopes, is not too flirtatious, not too forward, because she would hate to put him off:

Don’t I look nice? What are you wearing tonight?

She bites her lip. Mom calls for her to get going, that she’s taken too long, but Steven’s response is almost instantaneous: a long, long string of heart eyes emojis and hearts of different colors and patterns. Then another text, this one saying, you look amazing!! i wish i was there!!!

It isn’t a selfie, and it doesn’t answer her question, but it makes her heart soften nonetheless. He’s so good to her, and of course that makes him difficult to manipulate. Maybe she really should just ask.

Several hours later, on the drive back home from the concert, she turns her phone back on. And to her surprise, there is a message waiting.

sorry this took so long, i wanted to match!! [IMG attached]

She blinks.

Steven has gone all out for this. He’s wearing a formal dress she hasn’t seen before, the same blue of her tie; an A-line that allows her to see the broadness of his chest, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that proudly display the freckles of his shoulders, and a pleated skirt that begins at his waist. His shoes are the same color, heeled, open-toed, and he’s even done his nails.

His makeup is more intricate than hers. Blush, foundation, eyeliner, mascara, an iridescent violet eyeshadow and vibrant lipstick.

He’s sent multiple pictures. One is of him doing a kissy face, eyes lidded; the next is him laughing, blurred from moving the camera, what might have been a shot he hadn’t done on purpose; and the next is of him doing a peace sign.

Connie’s face burns. She’s glad her mom and dad take the front seats, so that she can have this little moment all to herself.

I love it! She hesitates over the send button. He sent her all those emojis, and she can’t even say more than three words?

You look great! Oh, but he looks more than great, doesn’t he? 

Can I come over? Now that was honest, but way too suggestive!

She deletes it again and then realizes they’re almost home. She has to send something, she’s been thinking way too hard about it!

You’re the most beautiful, most handsome man in the whole world, and I wish I was with you.

She sends it before she can think twice about it. Steven responds immediately with many more emojis.

-

Connie can’t get the way he looked out of her head. In school, she doodles the dress in the margins of her notes. At tennis practice, she imagines trying to wear those heels and run at the same time. In orchestra, she pretends Steven is watching, that he came to her concert in that outfit.

She draws him, of course. For hours in her room, she flips through the pictures and draws, and draws, and draws. She draws him in the dress in different poses, in different settings, with different people.

… Mostly with her.

Her outfit’s different, though. It’s not the same, boring orchestra one she had to wear for the concert. She Googles different outfits and finds some fantastic, colorful tuxes, and of course pretends she would ever be able to wear them.

She’s in the middle of coloring a self-indulgent piece in which the two of them are dancing in these outfits (and this is one she would never, ever show to anyone), when she gets a text from Amethyst.

i got the pic. but uh… kinda havin some issues [IMG attached]

Connie blinks.

It’s a picture of Steven, though not the one Connie asked for. He’s closer to the camera, a rage in his eyes as he moves toward the person taking it, mouth open as if speaking.

Oh, no. Is he mad at Amethyst for sneaking pictures of him? Quickly, Connie tries to call her, but it only rings twice before going to voicemail.

Oh, no.

She calls Steven instead. He hangs up on her, too, but shoots her a short text: can’t talk.

URGENT, she replies in all caps and without punctuation. He does not reply.

She grabs her sketchbook, rushes downstairs. It’s late but not so late that she’ll be in trouble. She runs past Dad at the kitchen island, sipping on coffee before he goes in. “Sorry, I’ll be back before Mom!” she promises, slipping her shoes on.

“Where you going, honey?”

“To Steven’s!”

And when she opens the door, there, waiting for her, is a pink-hued lion.

-

When she throws open the door to the beach house, Steven is still yelling: “—you know I don’t like it when you take my picture—”

“Why?!” Amethyst yells. “Just because it’s me?!”

“No, it’s because I don’t want y’all snapping pictures of me for a scrapbook like I’m a baby—”

“AHEM.”

Connie’s clearing of her throat cuts through it, startling them both. They spin back around to face her, and while Amethyst’s glance goes askew, almost ashamed, Steven sees in her an immediate ally.

“Ugh, Connie, this isn’t a great time!” His voice is high, angry, but not at her; clearly, he thinks she’ll be on his side. “You won’t believe this, but Amethyst’s been trying to snap photos of me all week when she thinks I haven’t been looking, without even asking me or anything, and I’m in the middle of confronting her about it because if she thinks this is funny—”

“She doesn’t!”

“—just because that concealer isn’t working on the dark circles under my eyes, then she’s got another thing—” He cuts himself off, and Connie feels her nerves spike as he turns to her again, looking almost like a startled animal. “—uh… what are you talking about, Connie?”

“I asked her to do it.” Connie’s voice is one of defeat. Shame makes the room feel so much hotter than it is, and she wishes she could hide. She makes do by pressing her face into both of her hands and speaking against her palms. “I’m sorry. I just… I needed to get a picture of you and I didn’t want you to know, and that was probably really weird and creepy of me, and I’m sorry.”

The silence is suffocating. Steven whispers something to Amethyst, and Connie can’t hear the response. He must think she’s so creepy, that she’s been manipulating him somehow, and that she’s a horrible, untrustworthy person—

A moment later, Steven is right by her side. “Hey.” His voice is soft, and he pries a hand from her face to enfold in both of his. It should be comforting, but for a moment, she feels even worse; like she’s tricked him into offering her this kindness. “Um… So, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I thought you’d say no.” That’s not quite it. “I… I thought you’d ask why.”

“Well, now I kinda really wanna know.”

“I…” And here it is, the big moment. The confession. She looks down, unable to meet his gaze as her free hand fists at her side. “I’ve been drawing you and I needed a reference.”

There’s another beat of silence. Then two. And then Steven bursts into laughter, loud and relieved and maybe even playful. It still is humiliating to hear, but at the same time, she’s so, so glad he isn’t angry.

“You totally could’ve asked! I would’ve sent one to you, because that’s like… really, really nice of you to draw me.”

“No, it’s not!” And as she looks back at him, she can see just how much he doesn’t see this. She doesn’t tug her hand free because, selfishly, she hopes he never lets go. “I haven’t been doing it because I’m planning to paint you a portrait or anything, I’ve been solely using you for practice and it’s probably a really selfish thing of me, I-I even used the selfies you sent me that one night, and I’ve kind of lost all control over that, because you were so gorgeous in that dress and I…”

“Wait.” He cuts her off, and she bites her tongue. “Can I, like… see the drawings you’ve done? Or a few of them? I know you don’t like it when I ask, but there’s got to be at least one or two you’re proud of, right?”

“You… want to see them?”

“I want to see everything you’ve ever drawn!” His voice is so sincere and enthusiastic that her heart soars, forgetting immediately every single thing she said that could have soured their relationship. “But only if you’re cool with it! You’re such an amazing artist, Connie.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Don’t start with me. I can go on and on.”

She smiles. She fidgets with a strand of her hair, and though it’s juvenile, she plays witness to the way such a small thing makes Steven’s face light up in adoration.

“Hey.” The word cuts through the moment, startling the both of them, and they look over at Amethyst leaning against the fridge with a raised eyebrow. “So now that like, the truth is out there and all that, I think I’m owed something.”

Connie opens her mouth at the same moment Steven groans, cutting her off. “I… yeah. I’m sorry, Amethyst. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I’m sorry for just… assuming stuff.”

Amethyst’s gaze then turns to Connie.

“Uh… Thank you, Amethyst.” Connie sighs. “For doing all of this for us.” 

Amethyst laughs. It startles Connie a little, but Amethyst just shakes her head, a knowing grin on her face. “I can think of, maybe, a way for you two to express just how sorry and grateful you are…”

Steven blurts out a “huh?” while Connie giggles, reaching for the phone in her pocket. 

“On it.”

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Come Into the Water (4/15)

In the morning, Sarah wakes up staring at the little analog clock sitting on the floor in the corner. She doesn’t remember putting it there, but it’s helpful as it tells her she needs to get going to her appointment soon. The appointment she definitely doesn’t want to go to. The appointment she has to go to if she doesn’t want anyone banging down her door to drag her, kicking and screaming, back to sterile walls where they call her a danger to herself even though it’s hardly true.

She forces herself to sit up and find a pair of pants, which turn out to be a loose pair of pink sweats lined in fleece, soft and comfortable and protective against the world. They’re a security blanket to hold onto as she rifles through drawers in the kitchen until she finds her house key. It takes a few minutes, but she gets it and leaves, locking the door on her way out. She doesn’t have a car, but the downtown area- which is really just four intersecting streets- is within walking distance and the movers pointed the address out to her on their way by a couple days ago. 

Each step is draining, but she takes them because she has to. Admittedly, the cool, fresh air feels nice in her throat and she hasn’t taken a good, long walk in a while. She used to jog around her neighborhood, and then her campus, just for the way it feels after. The sting in her muscles, the ache in her chest, the energy that slowly burns itself away as dopamine and adrenaline stop spreading themselves around her often overworked brain.This isn’t more than a couple miles, and she’s only walking, but it feels like a start. She’s out of practice anyways, and quickly gets out of breath. 

Thankfully, when she arrives at the office, there’s a water cooler in the corner that she helps herself to three full cups of before approaching the receptionist and nodding when she’s asked if she’s Sarah Reese. She’ll be talking for a while, and that’ll take a fair amount of energy for the day. 

“Have a seat for a minute, I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Sarah sits down on one of the hard chairs and crumples her paper cup in her hand because she can. Destroying things is cathartic, and she contemplates going home, ripping open her box of dishes, and breaking every single plate until her entire floor is nothing but shards of broken glass digging into her feet. Maybe it’s not a healthy coping mechanism, but she considers it until a kind woman with greying hair, cat eye glasses, and pink lipstick that has started to feather around her mouth. The color is a bti garish, but that makes it safe, in a way. Sarah comes forward, drops her cup in the little teal trash can, and follows into the office.

A comfortable armchair faces an overly soft couch, which Sarah sits on gingerly. She knows of Dr. Riley, knows she’s well liked and respected, but that doesn’t mean she knows her or is already comfortable talking about herself. That sort of thing takes time. She’s only been in town for three days, although it feels like much longer with the way her sense of time distorts nowadays.

“Good morning, Sarah,” Dr. Riley says warmly. 

Sarah nods.

“You know I looked through some of your old therapist’s notes, and I’ll be talking to them while we treat you, but I want to know you outside of that. Can you start by telling me about yourself? Maybe about your childhood, or how you’re settling in, or what you were studying at school?”

The last question slithers around each of Sarah’s ribs in a slow suffocation before she tries speaking. It’s alright. She wasn’t going to answer it anyways. “I’ve met my neighbors,” she answers. “Maggie and Olivia and their son, Noah. We had dinner last night, and Olivia and I had breakfast yesterday.”

Dr. Riley writes something in her notepad, which Sarah absolutely doesn’t internally panic about for a brief moment before she reigns herself back in. There’s nothing to be afraid of here. There’s someone right outside the door, and a window with easy access, and a heavy lamp to Sarah’s right for self defense, should she need it. She’s okay.

“Tell me about that.”

For a good half hour, Sarah finds herself talking about Maggie and Olivia’s kindness, about how well they mesh and how much their house feels like a home. From there, she starts talking about how much she wants a home like that, because she can’t help it. However, she pointedly doesn’t mention Ava, nor the thrill that ran her at the realization that women can marry other women and be happy. What a dream she had never considered before.

But then she’s thinking about those very things, and it draws Dr. Riley’s attention when she falls silent in an effort to avoid talking about them. 

“Sarah?”

“Do you believe in mermaids?” she blurts out.

It sounds stupid. A child’s fantasy, a crazy woman’s desperate attempt to cling to something good when the world is crumbling around her into little pieces that she cannot put back together. The way real glass shatters, not the fake attempt that is mostly large shards. The words are out there, though, and cannot be taken back no matter how much Sarah wishes on the contrary. 

However, instead of being concerned or asking Sarah if she sees things that aren’t there, Dr. Riley smiles at her and shifts in her chair. “Seen one already? We’ve got a pod around here, off the coast a ways. Everyone who lives here has seen them at some point, but usually not unless they’ve been here a while. The mermaids can be shy- or mean.”

That’s not the response she had been expecting, but Sarah relaxes immediately. She’s not crazy. Neither is Olivia, nor Maggie. This is normal here. Her relief must show on her face because Dr. Riley laughs a little and goes over to her desk and returns with a framed photograph of a dark haired woman, gleaming grey tail splashing in the waves as she sits on the rocks, her hair covering her chest modestly, unlike Ava in real life or any of the photos. 

“This is Brianne. We have dinner together from time to time.”

A question strikes Sarah as she studies Brianne’s hands splayed in her lap. 

“You said they have a pod? Like dolphins?”

“You could put it that way.”

She nods thoughtfully. “So if one were trapped, like, tangled in a net, wouldn’t the others help her?”

“Of course.”

Then why was Ava alone? Sarah doesn’t voice the question, but it clings to her as Dr. Riley puts the picture back where it was. It might have something to do with the way Ava stopped appearing in photographs, and something is familiar about being cut off from everyone. The way her only friends abandoned her when she told them what he did to her. Packing her things all on her own without anyone there to save her. 

Next thing she knows, Dr. Riley is telling her what she’d like her to do before their next session in a few days; she should keep trying to socialize with the neighbors, and she should reach out about how she feels. If she knew Sarah needed to get necessities for the house, she’d probably tell her to buy those, too. 

After she leaves, reemerging into late morning air, Sarah looks around the block. There’s a general store, a bakery, a boutique, a gift shop- just a few little staples, one of which she stops at to finally pick up basics for around the house. But at the end of the “downtown” area, there’s a large building- or rather, one medium building with two smaller ones near it, with a sign outside she can’t read from this distance. Something draws her to it, and she doesn’t read the sign before approaching, looking at the well kept local grass growing, but not too tall, around the area. She hears voices and follows them, all the way to the back of the building, where a handful of men and women are tending to a lush garden of flowers and such, pulling up weeds. When she gets closer, she recognizes one of the women.

“Olivia?”

Olivia stands up and smiles, wiping her work gloves on loose, stained denim pants. “Hey, what’s up?”

She shrugs in answer. “I was just wandering around, is all. Looking for something to do with my day.”

“Well, if you want-” Olivia kneels in the dirt again and grabs a spare pair of dirty work gloves, “-you can join us. It’ll only take an hour or so, but it’s rewarding.”

An hour sounds like a long time, and Sarah wants to go home. But something calls her to stay, and she takes the gloves, slides them onto her too-small hands, and looks for plants that don’t belong. Everyone is chattering happily, and make an effort to pull her into the conversation without forcing her to take part. It feels nice to be a part of something, if she’s honest.

The work isn’t hard, and it goes by quickly before Olivia stands up and bids everyone goodbye, says she’ll see them later. Only then does Sarah dare to ask where she is, and Olivia gives her this proud, eager smile that fits on her face as naturally as the wedding band on her finger.

“This is the temple. It’s not much, but it’s ours, and I’m proud of it.”

“Oh.”

Sarah doesn’t entirely understand, but she doesn’t have to in order to like it. It’s something that makes people happy and brings them together, and on a day when she has more energy, perhaps she’ll ask more questions or give it all a more thorough look. For now, though, she walks off with Olivia and they head home in companionable silence, another invitation extended for dinner that Sarah accepts because she has yet to go grocery shopping.

They part at the front step and Sarah, because she can’t help it, goes back down to the shore after setting down her groceries, rolling up her pants and crossing her arms over her chest in the cold wind. She wants to see Ava again, but doubts she will. She ran off last time, after all, and that’s not usually grounds for a warm welcome.

However, as she approaches the tidepools, she hears a familiar splash, and looks out at the water to see eyes peering at her over the slow waves. Blue. Familiar. Ava. Sarah wants to say something, but all the words die in her throat instead of making it to her lips and tongue.

Slowly, Ava comes closer, until she’s shallow enough that her whole upper body is out of water and she folds her arms on the rocks, resting her chin on them, and lazily swishes her tail in the water.

“You left,” she says in a stiff voice like windless summer days. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Ava makes the same trilling sound from the day before and smiles, revealing an unnatural edge to her teeth. They’re beautiful, though. Less threatening than a human mouth would be for Sarah, strangely enough. She smiles back and slides down the rock to sit on it, her calves in the water, almost to the rolled-up hem of her sweats.

“I want to show you something, but you have to trust me.”

Sarah shouldn’t trust her. But Ava is so kind, has such an open and real look on her face, the kind it’s easy to sink into like a warm bed on a cold wintry day. She nods, and Ava tugs at her ankle, about to pull her in. Instead of panicking, Sarah pulls away and sheds her sweatpants, too fond of them to ruin them in the sea, and throws them back to safety in one of the last tidepools before the cliffside, hoping they won’t go too far.

When Ava pulls at her again, Sarah allows her without another thought.

[whentommymetalfie]

Doing the thing! Do you have any headcanons about what Alfie was like before the war? Or about how Alfie handled all the shit he'd seen and done while over there and how, compared to Tommy, he got to be in a mentally decent place with himself?

Okay this is a bit (or a lot) all over the place, but I’ve tried to include a little bit of everything on the quite extensive subject of Alfie before and after the war. I hope you’ll like it (despite the arguable... messiness) and thank you for sending a request!:) 

--

-Alfie after the war has quite a few similarities with Alfie before the war. Losing his mother at a young age and fleeing Russia taught him pretty early that life can and will be grim. So even though the horrors of war were definitely worse than anything else he’s experienced, it’s not entirely... unexpected may be the wrong word, but it’s entirely new.  

-If Tommy spends every waking moment working with frenetic energy in an attempt to drown out all his feelings after the war, it’s had the opposite effect on Alfie. There’s this weariness in him now that wasn’t there before -and sure, he still takes every opportunity to screw someone over if it means expanding the business, but it’s more of a routine he just has to follow, because what else is he supposed to do?

-Although Alfie has always been what people like to call ‘hotheaded’ -he wasn’t quite as quick on the draw before the war. He had a bit more patience with people. A bit longer fuse. And sure, these days it’s often a calculated move, using violent outbursts to keep people on their toes, but sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it feels like there’s something inside his head that broke during the war: some nerve or wire in his brain that never quite stitched itself back together.

-Though it was worse right when he came home, when every little thing would set him off, simply because he had this constant simmering rage underneath his skin. He’s had to learn how to deal with that, and it took a long time to find ways around it. Simple tricks like counting, or distracting himself by listing all the ingredients to his mum’s challah in his head works. As cliché as it may sound, just getting that moment of distraction gives him enough time to take a step back and make an actual conscious choice, rather than to slam his fist into whoever just pissed him off.

-Alfie’s backpain is also a remnant from the war -nerve damage the field doctor said, but it’s pretty vague and he never really got a proper answer to what causes it. Some days it’s hard to have a physical reminder of the war, even though he’s tried to separate it from that, and just view it as one in the line of aches and pain that one can get from working in his profession. But Tommy is very perceptive when it comes to this, and always pays Alfie a bit of extra attention during these days: Makes sure they don’t stay too long at the office, that he’s up and moving every once in a while (because he’s read that it’s supposed to help). And then gives him a very painful but effective backrub when they get home. Maybe runs him a bath.

-Religion has always played an important role in Alfie’s life: the Jewish community he grew up in gave him a sense of belonging, so it’s only natural that it’s become an intricate part of who he is. And in the midst of all the chaos of… life, there’s something comforting about being part of something bigger.

-Though smuggling rum and bookmaking are not exactly things that are encouraged in the Torah, so there are some complicated feelings on the matter -at least on those occasional sleepless night. And the war further complicated things: somehow it feels like he should denounce God after the things he saw during it. But it clings to him, his faith, because it’s just always been there, always been part of him and his life. It’s not something he can choose to take off like a sweater that doesn’t fit anymore. And for the most part, he’s pretty happy to still have it.

-War can make anyone doubt the existence of a higher power, especially one with mankind’s greater good in mind. They talk about it once, he and Tommy. And Tommy asks how he can still believe in God after the war.

“Well, I reckon that he makes us walk through a desert every once in a while, right, but there might be something good at the end of that desert-“ Alfie says, surprisingly brief in his answer, and gives Tommy this look, all soft eyes and sincerity. And then Tommy can’t come up with something cynical to say.

-Over all, Alfie has just accepted the war and the damage it did in a different way than Tommy, and he’s dealt with his emotions rather than keeping them all buried. And sure the way he’s dealt with them -by raging, getting in various fights, fucking people he probably shouldn’t have fucked- hasn’t always been the most healthy, but it’s still better than just burying it all.

-And as full of shit as life can be, you have to appreciate when something good comes along. Small, good things. Like… seeing a happy dog.

-And that’s why Alfie bakes bread at home (not very often before he meets Tommy. And very often after he does). And thinks it makes sense to sleep in every once in a while. And read his favourite books over and over again.

-And if you have to live for something, Alfie decides, living for those small good things is a reason as good as any. And there’s peace in accepting that things will be shit for the most part, but that if you’re lucky, you’ll find a few little good things every now and then.

-Though this view changes a bit when Tommy shows up at his bakery and bleeds all over his desk, because suddenly Alfie’s got this… incredibly good thing in his life, and he doesn’t know how to handle it at first. Whenever he comes across too good of a thing, he’s got this feeling that it might be ripped from him at any moment. (That’s partially why he quickly becomes what Tommy would call ‘insanely over protective’.)

-So Alfie takes care to remind himself every now and then how lucky he is to have Tommy in his life. And he of course reminds Tommy of it just as often, often through long speeches containing a lot of arguably convoluted metaphors about... the color of his eyes, or his freckles. 

-Or sometimes just through something simple, like bringing him breakfast in bed, or buying him cigarettes before he even runs out of them. 

-Tommy is secretly equally appreciative of all of them. 

[paulineguillouzichnd1]

Artisan

Overview of the project:

I have chose to do a video on Freedom Bakery, that is a “Social Enterprise” based in Glasgow. They are making bread and pastries and are working with a lot of restaurants in Glasgow but also some shops (Locavore in the Southside for instance).

Freedom Bakery is also linked to the Progressive prisoner rehabilitation schemes and is working with several people who haven’t been released yet.

“By teaching new skills, from baking to logistics, Freedom Bakery rebuilds confidence and hopefulness before prisoners are released. “

As a teacher, and a French person, I was also curious and interested myself in seeing how bread is made, and also share this experience with people.

I wanted to show both the working conditions (physical work, working time that are different from usual jobs, fast pace) but also the conviviality of the place and people working there.

I got in touch with them by email and phoning them. I had to explain what I was doing, what for and who for.

I then went for a Recee, and asked permission to employers and employees to video/take pictures of them. It’s illegal to take pictures of people who haven’t been released from prison, so I made sure I had a conversion with these people in particular and was careful of not having any shot/clip of them.

Website: https://www.freedombakery.org/

Address: Unit E5 Rosemount Business Park 145 Charles Street Glasgow G21 2QA

Phone number:  +44 (0)141 328 7886

Contact: Scott, scott@freedombakery.org 

Cinematographic techniques:

Extreme long shot (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRD7f2Wo0CM)

The extreme long shot captures a very wide area to show the scale of subjects in relation to their environment, like tiny birds in a forest. Whether it is the desert or outer space, the audience should get a feel for the time and the place they are about to spend the next few minutes. It is typically used as an establishing shot when changing from one big area or city to another

Bird’s eye shot (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWMueRbVLvk)

Like the extreme long shot, the bird’s eye shot shows massive scale but from a much higher angle, to the point where land starts to show abstract shapes and lines out of roads, buildings, and trees. It is also typically used as an establishing shot for introductions and scene transitions.

Long shot

A wide shot, often referred to as a long shot, puts characters in context to the backdrop you establish in an extreme wide shot. The characters can be seen from head to toe and you see them in relation to the location or each other. You can use a wide shot to show how your character is small in relation to the vast surroundings. When the term long shot is emphasized, it can mean that the camera is farther away from the subject, making them even smaller. It gives the audience a sense of geography so when the camera goes in tighter, they can understand who is where.

Full shot

A full shot is different from the wide because it focuses more on the character in the frame. The character is full body from head to toe again, but the location is no longer the focus. In this shot you might want to show how a character dresses or how a character moves: awkwardly, confidently, etc. You can also reveal what they are doing, like packing a suitcase or ordering a train ticket. You can give the viewer information but not all of it, yet.

Medium Shot

The medium shot shows your character from the waist up. In the old westerns, the character was often shown from the hip up which is now known as a cowboy shot. Again, this shot is about revealing information. You can see more detail than you can in a wide shot. The reason the westerns had to reveal the hips is because of the gun holsters. If you didn’t show the hips, when a cowboy was ready to draw you would lose a lot of important action.

Medium shots are often used in dialog scenes. As we get closer to our subjects we can see things that we wouldn’t catch in a wide, like body language. We can see crossed arms or someone who talks with their hands.

Close-up shot

A close-up frames the character’s face. In a close-up shot one can see even more detail that tells us how a character feels. A close-up highlights emotional clues in the eyes and you can see a twitch or a tear that you might miss in a medium shot. It is by its nature more intimate so the effect is often that the audience can feel what the character is feeling.

A close-up can also be used to show things such as a tapping foot or the sliding of a ring on a finger.

Extreme close-up shot

An extreme close-up frames even tighter on a face (or subject), highlighting facial features more. It usually frames a particular part of the face like the eyes or the mouth. It is even more intimate than the close-up and is almost uncomfortably close, so the viewer is more apt to feel whatever the Actor is conveying, which is why it is used to show more intense emotion and is often used as drama increases.

1st example:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwA3XyNeD3I

Long shot -> to locate the place where the bakery is

Long shot -> to refine and give this idea of entering the bakery as a normal client.

Close-up on the food ->  that’s been sold by the bakery (foreground) and the lady selling the pastries + client (background)

Complementary research:

Video explaining camera movement based on examples: Here Very easy and straighforward and also entertaining! Helped a lot to understand what to put in my storyboard

1° STORYBOARD: Link

When doing my research, I was mostly working from films and examples of films whilst I was aware that we were more meant to be doing a ‘documentary’ of an artisan. 

 At first, I didn’t really know what a storyboard was and I did some research mostly to understand how to make an effective storyboard, but also because I saw a few of my classmates struggling understanding the point of making a storyboard. What type of information is it meant to contain? What is the purpose of it? How precise does it need to be? How do you effectively give a sum-up of movement with a static format (storyboard is not the film itself but are meant to explain what movement is going to happen). 

 I felt that it was quite easy to make for an advert as we were just copying another add, but we didn’t have to actually think it through: what shot size, shot type, camera movement did we need? 

  Also, as photographers, we’d focus on the composition that would involve a 3D aspect but no consideration for the movement/sequence of a shot. The storytelling was also limited, whereas here, with a rack focus for instance, I get to give a lot more of information about the subject’s thougths for instance.

Storyboard vidéo: Link

Ratio video: Link

Rack Focus: Link

2° Deciding on a template for my storyboard

Based on different storyboard I looked at on the Internet, and the help provided both by tutors and my own research, I decided on a template for my storyboard that I then created on PowerPoint, and printed on a A3 format:

This included the drawing/picture on the left, shot size, shot type, camera movement, lighting, equipment and subject movement. The template is made of boxes to tick in order to make it more straightforward to read and use.

3° Studying 5 examples of videos and taking notes of movement I wanted to include in my own video.

I watched a few videos that were on the same subject as my own video and made up for each of them storyboards to then decide on aspects of the video I liked and incorporate them in my own videos

VIDEO 1 : Link

VIDEO 2 : Link

VIDEO 3: Link

VIDEO 4: Link

VIDEO 5: Link

4° My final storyboard

Slide 1

Slide 2

Slide 3

Slide 4

Slide 5

Slide 6

Slide 7

                                                 Conclusion

STORYBOARD

Effective tool: I think that it wasn’t really clear for me what the point of a storyboard was, and how to use it as an effective tool. But also for instance, who might need it: just me as a ‘director’ or the actors/people in the documentary? After shooting, I added some more clips to my final video that I didn’t think of when preparing my storyboard.  I was also glad I got to practise making storyboards with people’s videos when preparing my own video project.

RECEE

Effective tool:  If I was to do another video, I’d probably get more information about what a Recee is and what information you need to get from there, what you need to bring with you. I think this is a crucial part of making a video and I didn’t realise how important this was: get some pictures not just of the tools they’re using but people’s clothes, what they are doing, general movement within the kitchen. I had a list of things to pay attention to when going there but I felt that I could have gotten more details in order to make the storyboard more effective and accurate. 

SHOOTING THE VIDEO

Video teachnique: I realised I had a limited knowledge of the video vocabulary (shot size, shot type, camera movement) and I wish I had spent more time practising them individually in order to feel more confident when going to the bakery.

Material: I felt that although in class, we had a go at using the material, it would have been useful for me to spend time at home using the material, maybe before the video recording and be more familiar. As I was the one acting when donig the advert, I couldn’t really try out the tripod or lights.

PREMIER PRO

Montage: I had zero knowledge of Premier Pro and I think that in the end, it was a pretty straightforward  tool to use, somehow similar to Photoshop (to an extent). I really struggled with transition, because I didn’t think of them as something as important as it is. Also the pace of the video. I realised that some clips couldn’t be used as they wouldn’t be coherent (people had different clothes, white balance or dought was at different levels in the kneading machine)

Getting more information: I wouldhave benefitted from watching more videos to add more stuff to my video: transition, music, how to slow down/speed up the pace of my video, what and how to film scene

OVERALL: It was an extremely challenging project on every aspects but I overall enjoyed it, mostly because I found out about other dimensions and ways of telling stories, while using a visual media. I found the fact of using movement and directing the viewer’s eye extremely fascinating. I decided to enroll in a video evening class to learn more about techniques.

[buttsonthebeach]

prompt: lucius and ashara form a loving healthy polyamorous relationship w/ laurence breadman. ellana and solas find out. GO

SO WHO IS READY FOR THIS

It’s only been 84 years since you sent this prompt but I wanted to finish Reckoning first! (Speaking of which, this has spoilers for Reckoning.)

Tagging @empresstress13 per your interest in Breadman!

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Pairing: Ashara Lavellan x Lucius Talvas x Laurence Marchand (OC x OC x OC)

Rating: EXPLICIT! The smut is short but it’s there, and it is a m x m x f threesome. You are warned.

*********

They met Laurence at the party where they themselves reconnected. His cakes were the dessert, and he had run late perfecting them all, so he was still there when they arrived. He was carefully arranging each one on a tiered display, his eyes narrow with focus. He was a big man - broad through the shoulders and soft in the belly - and he very nearly intimidated both of them when they first saw him. Then he saw them sidling up to the table, and his face broadened into a wide grin.

“Ah, pardon my intrusion. I am Laurence Marchand, the baker of these fine goods. I am simply making sure that everything is exactly as it should be. May I tempt you with something, monsieur…?”

“Talvas,” Lucius said.

“Well met, Monsieur Talvas. And this beautiful lady is…?”

“Ashara Lavellan,” she said. She flushed to hear herself called beautiful. Months of war had not left her much time to think of such things.

“Lavellan - I believe your esteemed mother is the reason I am here, mademoiselle. Unless of course it is madame?” From another man the comment might have been leering, but from Laurence it just seemed curious. Warm.

“It’s mademoiselle,” Ashara said, even as her hand drifted to Lucius’s. They’d kissed on the balcony and it had been a kiss full of meaning after two years apart, but they hadn’t tested the depth of that meaning yet. She wanted to leave the party and twine herself around him and never let go.

“Well, you must thank your mother for me again. And if you like the cakes and you want some more, you must stop by my new bakery. We open next week. I think if I have such a handsome man and such a lovely woman present, I’ll be sure to draw customers.”

Again, it was a comment that might have put Ashara back on her heels if it had come from someone else. But from Laurence it just seemed - sweet. She glanced at Lucius and saw that he had that pleased, embarrassed look he always got when someone praised him, and she wanted to kiss him at once, right there, her Lucius and his sweetness. She was pleased that someone else saw what she saw, even if it was a stranger.

“We’ll stop by,” she said, because the night was full of promise, and she was alive, and she was happy, and so was Lucius, and so was Laurence.

*

Laurence’s new bakery was quite close to the central market square, a prime location that Ashara did not doubt Mamae had helped him secure. Despite his claim that he would need a handsome man and a lovely lady to help draw in business, there was already a modest crowd. There was a selection of fresh rolls and baguettes, and some sweeter additions more similar to what he’d served at the party. He recognized them at once as they walked in, hand in hand.

“Monsieur Talvas! Mademoiselle Lavellan! I am pleased to see you. Come, sit. You must try this coffee I have just brewed and give me your honest opinion. I ground the beans myself this morning. I fear that I ground them too fine and that some made it through the press and into the coffee itself.”

Ashara and Lucius sat, held hands on top of the table, because they did that now, three weeks into this new beginning. This new version of themselves that was an us. Lucius rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand and smiled whenever she glanced his way. The coffee was good, but Laurence was right - he’d ground it too fine, and there was a siltiness to the brew, like river water. He tsked and took the small porcelain cups back.

“I shall try again, if you have the time. And you must try this chocolate croissant with the next batch.”

“We have time,” Lucius said. It was true. They had nowhere else they needed to be. There was a looseness in Ashara’s spine she had not felt in months, and it was the looseness of time.

The crowd had thinned by the time the next batch was ready, and Laurence sat with them as they enjoyed it. This one was perfect. Rich and hot and chocolatey, just like the croissant.

“You will have to tell your mother to come here,” Lucius said. “She would love this.”

“It was her suggestion, in fact,” Laurence said. “She is a very good woman, your mother.”

“She is,” Ashara said, full of pride.

“And she raised a good woman,” Lucius said. He was more bold now than before, at least with such expressions of affection. He seemed to sense how much she needed them after everything that happened.

Laurence looked between them, warmth in his hazel eyes. “We should go out, the three of us. One cannot help but to want to bask in such happiness. And I am still new in this city. What do you say?”

“Of course,” Ashara said, because she was happy, and life was full of promise and sweetness (and she wanted more chocolate croissants).

*

It was after the third time they went out with Laurence - not counting the times they stopped by his bakery, which was fast becoming a favorite among many residents of Enasan - that they first began to realize that he was interested in them. In both of them.

They’d gone out to a pub this time, and they’d drunk expensive Fereldan whiskey, which Laurence promptly declared inferior to Orlesian brandy, but it still made him giddy enough to drape one arm around each of them at different points in the night. To get a high red color on his ruddy face when Ashara leaned in and planted a kiss firmly on Lucius’s neck. They were all a little drunk.

“You are both so lovely,” Laurence had murmured then. Their legs were close to his under the table. “I cannot help but wonder if -”

“If?” Lucius asked.

Laurence looked away suddenly, waved his hand. “It is nothing.”

But Ashara knew it was something. She knew it because she’d started to feel it too, when they were with Laurence. They fit with him in a way they did not fit with other friends, like Haleir. So she decided to be bold when she and Lucius went home, still tipsy. It was a new life. A time to take chances.

“Do you think Laurence intended to ask us to bed tonight?” she asked when they were home. Lucius was already down to his smalls, getting ready to collapse into bed. He paused.

“You caught that as well?” he asked, turning to her. “I thought - well, I assumed it was just the whiskey addling my brain. But it did cross my mind that he might mean that.”

Ashara pictured it in flashes. Her own brain was still addled with whiskey but they were there. They had not known Laurence for long but he was so warm, so confident, so at ease - so different from herself and from Lucius, with their fears and anxieties and constantly moving minds. And he was handsome, and wouldn’t it be an indulgence to have both of them on her, their lips, their hands, their legs -

“And what did you think?” Ashara asked, mouth dry. “Or - what would you think, if he asked some other time, and I said yes?”

Lucius rubbed the back of his neck, cast his eyes down. There was a tenting beginning in his smalls, a rising, a filling.

“Well - I did notice other boys sometimes. In the Circle. But you know me. I was never crazy after sex. I noticed the girls too. But after those first couple of times, realizing I didn’t enjoy it if it didn’t mean anything - and with Tevinter being less open about men loving other men - I  never pursued it. But he is very handsome, and I do -”

Ashara was already in front of him, pushing back on his shoulders so he sat on the bed, kneeling between his legs, taking him in her hand. He gasped, grew to full hardness in her grasp.

“But you might like it?” she asked. “You might like him? If he did this to you instead of me?”

Lucius swore in Tevene. She pumped him, probably a little too quick, a little too rough, but she could feel him pulsing.

“Or would you want to touch him?” she asked. “Do you think he would feel good in your hand?”

Lucius only groaned, gripped the sheets tighter, flexed his hips up and into her touch. She tugged, tugged, kept everything quick and tight, and he came, loud and moaning with every burst of it, his spend hot on her hand. She licked him clean at the very end and he pulled her up, held her close.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so. I would never want anything to change that.”

“I agree,” she said.

He paused. Then: “But - I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes. With Laurence. I’m not ready for anything drastic yet. I want to know him better, first.”

“Of course. And I love you, vhenan. So very much.”

Lucius smiled, and he kissed her, and they went to bed.

*

Laurence had been serious, it turned out. He made the delicate overture again, a couple of weeks later, sober this time, while they were all relaxing in one of the parks after taking in a show at the theatre.

“I truly enjoy the time I spend with both of you. I do wonder if - you consider our time together as special as I do,” he said.

For all his bravado and confidence, there was some nervous in him in that moment. Ashara reached out and touched his knee.

“I - I think we do.” She glanced to Lucius, caught his quick nod. “Both of us. I think - I think we’d like to continue seeing each other. To get to know each other even better, maybe. If you would like that.”

Laurence beamed, bright as the coffee press he polished every morning in his bakery.

“Good,” he said.

Something in the air shifted for the rest of the afternoon. The teasing was more romantic. Hands brushed more often than they should have. Ashara kept studying Lucius, anxious for his reactions, and saw that he felt the same giddiness they did. As they prepared to part ways that evening, Laurence took both of their hands and kissed the back of them. He did not do it with a flourish or a simpering air like the Orlesian courtiers Ashara had known. Instead he did it with genuine tenderness. Genuine eagerness.

“I must admit, coming to a new city and managing to find myself falling in love with a couple instead of one person may be the most Orlesian thing I have ever done,” he said. “But for once, I think I am happy to live up to the image everyone has of my country.”

Falling in love.

Ashara and Lucius turned those words over that night, in bed. Falling in love. They made love, and they both imagined him there with them, both came panting and shivering with the force of their pleasure.

This was not what Ashara had imagined at all a year ago, fresh from the horror of Clermont. It was not something she had ever really imagined. It was a little overwhelming at times. She had a million questions about how it would work, what it would mean, what people would think (though she cared about that least of all). But if she had learned one thing in her experiences, it was that she had to take happiness wherever she could find it. And she was happy when Laurence and Lucius were smiling, holding hands with one another. She was happy when she and Lucius woke warm and sleepy and burrowed into their covers to keep sleeping just a little longer. She was happy working at the university.

She was happy, and she wasn’t going to let that feeling go for anything.

**

They waited until Lucius felt comfortable before they went any further than kissing, cuddling, wandering hands. It was worth the waiting. Ashara would never forget the sight of the two of them, naked, marveling at each other’s bodies, so similar and so different. She would never forget the way Lucius asked if Laurence would show him what pleased him, the way Laurence guided Lucius’s hand to his cock (shorter, thicker than Lucius’s own, Ashara wanted to touch it too) and showed him the rhythm he liked best. She would never forget curling up behind Lucius, pressing him between Laurence’s body and her own. She would never forget when Laurence oiled his hand and wrapped it around his cock and around Lucius’s and stroked them both together, how both of them gasped and groaned, how their kisses got more and more sloppy. She would not forget the sound of Laurence’s hand working them both faster and faster, the slick tap tap of it, the way they writhed against each other. She kissed and kissed Lucius’s shoulder, ran her hand along Laurence’s face, told Laurence to keep going, said she wanted to see them come like this.

She would never forget the way they both shuddered and groaned and rutted into each other as they came, the glorious mess they made of each other. The way they rested their foreheads against each other and just studied one another afterwards.

“Je t’aime,” Laurence said, soft, the words only for Lucius this time. They did not spark any jealousy in Ashara, though. Only joy.

“I love you,” Lucius said.

Ashara grinned. She cuddled them close. Her two men.

“I do think, though,” Laurence said. “That we are being very rude right now. Our poor beautiful Ashara has been so patient while we learn each other’s bodies. Won’t you show me what she likes best, amour?”

Lucius smiled, rolled over, kissed Ashara hard on the mouth. He sat back against the headboard and held Ashara between her legs and he told Laurence how to use his mouth to drive her wild, how to lick slow and careful all around her aching clit until she couldn’t take it any longer, until she begged him to suck on it. How to fuck her roughly with his fingers while he sucked her there, until she came, and she did come, she came so hard she keened and left marks all over Laurence’s shoulders, so that his square jaw was covered in her slick when he sat up.

“Perfect,” Laurence said, grinning. “You are both perfect.”

“So are you,” Lucius said. They were both right.

***

It was not always easy, for all that it was perfect. There were language barriers - Laurence struggling to communicate in Trade all the time, wishing bitterly that one of them spoke Orlesian, finding Lucius’s Tevene accent confusing. Laurence’s (admittedly casual) Andrastianism occasionally giving him pause, too. Lucius sometimes wanted time just to himself, and that could be difficult for Ashara and Laurence alike. There was the matter of where to spend each night, how to balance the needs of their various jobs.

And, finally, there was the matter of what to tell family.

Ashara’s parents had gone to live with Clan Lavellan, and they had not been back since. They knew she and Lucius were together, of course, and she had mentioned Laurence several times. Mamae was the one who brought him to Enasan, after all. She was pleased to hear updates on his business, and to hear that he had become part of Ashara’s life. But she hesitated to tell them the true extent of things. Neither of them were terribly judgmental people, of course - but still. Ashara did not know any other lovers quite like her and her men.

But they were going to visit them for a midsummer festival, and so soon there would be nothing to do but to tell them.

Ashara stalled and stalled - what if Papae was just as displeased with Laurence as he had been with Lucius at first? What if the more traditional elders of Clan Lavellan disapproved? - but finally her mother asked if Lucius was coming with her one night while they visited in the Fade.

“Lucius is coming. And Laurence too.”

“Oh? I am surprised he can take time away from the bakery.”

“Well, it’s important for him to come.”

Mamae arched one eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because we’re lovers,” she said. “The three of us. We’re in love.”

Mamae’s other eyebrow went up to join the first. She studied Ashara for a moment. Then she burst into laughter.

“Oh, da’vhenan. You went out and got yourself a Tevene first, and then you got yourself an Orlesian, too? What’s next? A qunari?”

Ashara’s anger was flame-hot.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. Who cares if they’re both human, or where they’re from - they’re good men and I love them! Laurence is so good at living in the moment, at reassuring Lucius and I, and - Lucius has always been there for me - and we’re very happy, and if you can’t accept that, then -”

“Ashara, Ashara. Atisha. Listen to me. I don’t care at all that they are human. Your father and I both remarked recently that you seem so happy now. I’m just laughing because I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him.”

“He’d better not be mad. Or treat Laurence the way he treated Lucius.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t promise he won’t grill Laurence at least a little. But he’s taken up smoking elfroot now when he gets stressed, you know. I’ll just make sure he has plenty.” Mamae cupped Ashara’s cheek with her right hand. “And I will make sure there is enough room in your aravel for all three of you. I am so happy, da’vhenan. All I want is for you to be happy, too.”

And they were happy.

No one in Clan Lavellan raised an eyebrow at the three of them. Papae narrowed his eyes at Laurence now and then, asked probing questions about his family and his beliefs about alienages and his feelings about the Chantry and about mages. He smoked some elfroot. And then one evening when he was alone with Ashara by a dying campfire he smiled his gentle, quiet smile and said.

“I am happy for you, da’vhenan. And I think you make both of them very happy, too. Hold on to that as long as you can.”

Ashara smiled the same smile back.

“I will.”

And she did.

[greenpapayaartprojects]

Imagining Something Different

An excerpt from “The Ugly Truth: What do our cities really need?” by Rafael Schacter at Green Papaya Extension, 05 January 2016.

“Street art – as well as its artistic forebear graffiti – are often thought of as radical, rebellious aesthetic practices. Both the artists and their works are portrayed as the very definition of “edgy”; dangerous and dissident, but also creative and avant-garde. Yet within the last five years or so, street art has been commandeered by the corporate interests of the “creative city”. Do our cities need revitalisation through gentrification or reinvigoration through communication? Do we need a single comfortable community or diverse, contradictory publics? Drawing from a decade of research into graffiti and street art, anthropologist and curator Rafael Schacter stakes a claim for the ugly yet important, the disagreeable but necessary.”

Rafael is a British Academy Postdoctoral Fellow 2014-2017, honorary research fellow at the Department of Anthropology at University College, London. His first book The World Atlas of Street Art and Graffiti, won the 2014 Los Angeles Book Festival in the Photography/Art Category. His second book, Ornament and Order, a monograph based on his PhD research, was published in September 2014. As Creative Director of arts production company Approved by Pablo, he is curating and producing a two-year series of events at Somerset House, London. He has worked on numerous other exhibitions, including co-curating the iconic “Street Art” show at the Tate Modern in 2008.

*****

Norberto Roldan: Let’s hear out two more questions before you reply and consolidate your reactions and comments as your closing statement before we go back to the bar. We have Adrian and Alice for the last two questions.

Adrian Alfonso: I have a question. I think there's some confusion as to what's being talked about here, so maybe you could clarify the difference between street art with permission and street art without permission.

Alice Sarmiento: Mine is pretty simple. You mentioned visibility earlier and one of the things that I thought about that was that, in order for art to have any kind of political potential, it does have a specific kind of visibility. And that's where I guess the conventions about graffiti come in, especially in the case of your paper, because you have an idiom of dissent being used essentially for dispossession.

So in the case of street art, there is, in a way, something futile about discussing the politics of it, because each one has its own specific kind of politics. In that sense, I guess it would be more productive to talk about the usefulness of art because you did mention usefulness earlier — we talked about artists working in bakeries and social practice and relational aesthetics where it's more or less the same thing. So rather than go anecdotal, could we at least go into the usefulness of the practice in the context of the Philippines?

Rafael Schacter: Those four words are gonna stop me in the context of the Philippines but I'll try. So I probably should have started with a kind of footnote like what graffiti and street art are to make things clearer, but better late than never. So thank you. It's obviously really complex. But I've got kind of two basic understandings of what they are, and which will always be critiqued. But nevertheless, I can give it a go.

There's a lot of broad descriptions of it but one could argue that graffiti is generally letter based and street art is often image based. That's one kind of broad distinction. And you could argue that graffiti in general kind of works against architecture. Graffiti would traditionally go over borders — if you have a window and a corner, graffiti will go over that window in the corner, that's going against the architecture. Wherein street art will generally work with it. It’ll generally try to improve it or change and try, like to try and detourne it in a way which kind of emphasizes it. You could argue that graffiti is generally illegal. And street art is often more enabled. But for me, graffiti is not about illegality, it's about lack of permission, Iike street art for me, is as well. So that's why street art with permission with me is potentially no longer street art.

But I think the terms are really confused. And there are as many graffitis as there are graffiti artists and as many street arts as  there are street artists. For me, what's more interesting is looking at is agonistic versus consensual — acts which are working against compared to acts which are working for. A lot of street art, inverted commas, although traditionally seemed to work consensually to work with, actually works agonistically. Whereas a lot of like graffiti, which is supposed to always be against, actually always isn't. So I think the terms are very diffuse, and complex and change the whole time.

Whereas “independent public art” is a good kind of catch all term, to describe practices, which happen in the public sphere, which are independent. The independence for me is really something which is so key, even if it is the ethic of independence, which is gained through like 5, 10, or 15 years of practice, which is what a lot of these artists have. By working without permission, it changes the way you look, and you see your environment because there is a need to produce.

I think that's what many graffiti and street artists have imparted to me is that it's a need. It's not something you do because you can — it's a need to do. And exactly as you were saying before about an environment being dehumanizing, I think that need to become part of one's environment is key within everyone. And the correlation of the increase of independent public art, graffiti and street art, with the increasing privatization of our cities, I don't think is an accident. I think this leads to usefulness. I think both those questions are kind of similar.

I think graffiti, by its nature, shows that something else is happening. It shows an outside exists in the center. In that way, it has amazing importance in showing an outside. The politics where I'm from is centered — everything has gone to the center. There is consensus politics and it is all that matters. The problem with center consensus is that it creates radicality because people feel that their needs are not being met.

One of the great things about graffiti in its essence is its consonant showing of something else. Also, its ugliness is amazingly beautiful, because its ugliness is about efficacy. A tag, which might look really ugly to someone, is about speed and being able to do something to mark and delineate a complex surface within one beautiful form. So I think that in itself is aesthetically beautiful.

In terms of visibility and having political potentiality, one of the most politically subversive and fantastic works and artists of the moment are these guys from Stockholm, and Copenhagen, Adams and E.B.Itso who are producing work, which is totally invisible. They're producing graffiti, producing spaces, which is never seen. They produce narratives, like secrets, which then people tell, and to me that is amazingly powerful. It's about imagination.

So for me the usefulness of street art, graffiti is about imagination — imagining something different to what exists; whether that's by something you can see, or you don't see. It's also about revealing what is underneath the surface not by being surface. Graffiti and street art lie on the surface. It's literally superficial. But to me, its site specificity is about showing what hides behind it. It's about showing the regulations and the norms, which are so ingrained within our cities, that we don't see them. And I think that's one of the beautiful things about street art and  graffiti is revealing the things which are so obvious that we can't see.

*****

Images courtesy of Neo Maestro and Green Papaya Archives: 1. The talk at Green Papaya Extension in medias res. Nice Buenaventura, Alfred Marasigan, Paulo Alcazaren, Alden Santiago, Cheese Cori Co, Brisa Amir. 2. On the opposite side of the room. Neo Maestro, Marika Constantino, Issay Rodriguez, Renan Laru-an, Jose Gabriel. 3. The usual hangout after talks. Alice Sarmiento, Merv Espina, Erick Calilan, Raf Schacter, Joee Mejias, Tengal Drilon, Veronica Lazo, Cian Dayrit. 4. Green Papaya Extension’s garage scene.

If you can: https://greenpapaya.art/donation

[starlightsmusings]

AO3 Link

Promnis Week Day 1:  First meeting /  “Can I take a picture of you like this?”

Prompto struggled with the drawstring on his now too-loose sweatpants. Every time he managed to tie a knot, it always seemed to loosen just enough for the pants to feel like they were falling off, or occasionally the knot would be so tight he could feel every inch of the rope dig into his skin. Part of him knew he should just get new pants, and part of him knew school was still a month away and he was planning on exercising every day between now and then.

He sighed before tugging the knot one last time, hoping that it would stay for at least half his run. He slipped his shoes on, put his music on, and locked his door behind him before starting his morning run.

When he first started running, he ran in the afternoon.To him, it made sense. A lot of people ran in the morning, and he could avoid running into (more fit) runners by going in the afternoon, plus it gave him the morning to do chores or, if he was truthful with himself, to sleep in on days he wasn’t in school.

After a few afternoon runs, he realized that the morning joggers had the right idea.There were too many people in the afternoon and it was too hot to run even a short distance most of the time. He tried going whenever he woke up for the day, but found he was still having to awkwardly jog around people, which meant he still had to deal with staring from everyone. Even the quieter pathways were still pretty busy so he knew he had change when he ran.

Mornings were, generally, a lot better. Sure, getting up early still sucked, but having to only deal with other joggers, who were often too focused on their self to pay him much attention, and the occasional shop owner who was fine having him help out in exchange for food was totally worth it.

“Mornin’, Prompto!”

“G’morning Miss Rosa!” He slowed his jog down as he approached her as she finished unlocking the door to her bakery. “Need any help this morning?”

The brunette chuckled. “I was hoping you’d ask. I have a couple of things that I can’t move on my own, and Emily won’t be up for at least an hour...”

“Just point the way!” He ducked into her store and immediately saw the bags of flour and other ingredients next to the counter.

“The delivery man came right as we were closing so we didn’t get a chance to move them.”

Prompto picked up the first bag, shifting it so he could at least see around it. “Put it in the kitchen?”

“Oh, Prompto. Let me help--”

“Nope!” He quickly turned so the bag was out of her reach and started moving towards the back of the shop. “I got it. And b’sides, you shouldn’t be lifting anything.”

“You’re just as bad as Emily.” Rosa put her hands on her hips, which only accentuated her ever-growing stomach. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

Prompto didn’t bother responding when he came to pick up the next bag.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’m going to check what’s in the oven. If a customer comes in while I’m finishing up, can you at least greet them?”

He shrugged as best as he could while holding the bag. He didn’t expect anyone to come in this early, so he didn’t see it being an issue.

The bell on the door dinged just as he placed the third bag in the supply room. He looked over to Rosa only to have his hopes squashed as she was still very obviously getting a few more things ready to sell.

I can totally do this. It’s only one person….I hope.

“Good morning!” Prompto started as he walked into the room. “Is there anything I can...help you with?” He barely managed to get the words out once he took a look at who was in the store. The man who had entered the store was definitely not from this part of town--His glasses alone probably cost more than Prompto’s entire wardrobe, and his entire outfit seemed to be coordinated down to the last detail. Prompto awkwardly reached up to adjust his own tape-covered glasses, and then his shirt in a futile attempt to look slightly more put together.

“Yes. I was hoping to procure a few loaves of bread.” Plus apparently an accent that he hadn’t heard before.

Prompto nodded before realising that the man wasn’t looking in his direction. “You, uh, came to the right place then.”

“Do you happen to have any whole grain or sourdough?” he asked, turning to face Prompto.

He has really nice eyes. Prompto shook himself to stop his thoughts, though that didn’t stop his face from heating up. “The sourdough is over there on the wall, and if you want to wait a bit the whole grain will be ready.”

The other man thought for a moment. “Unfortunately, I’m on a bit of a schedule. They’ll just have to live with sour dough I suppose.”

“Oh.” Prompto paused for a moment. “I don’t know what exactly your tastes are, but I’ve always liked the rye. I mean, I all the options are good and I only get it occasionally and its normally a day or two after.” He quickly shut his mouth once he realized he was rambling.

The man gracefully adjusted his glasses before speaking again. “It’s not typically what we get, but it wouldn’t hurt to broaden our horizons.”

Prompto nodded and put the loaves in a bag as quickly as he could so he wouldn’t make a bigger fool out of himself. He almost managed the full transaction without too much more of a hiccup, but then they happened to touch as he was handed the money, which caused almost all of it to fall on the counter. The other man started to apologize and help Prompto pick up the money, but he had somehow managed to gather all of it to his own side.

“I, uh, got it. Thanks though.”

He let out a shaky exhale when the man finally left the store. Dealing with people, he decided, was definitely not his strong suit. Especially well-dressed men with accents and very nice eyes.

“So, who was the guy I just missed you fawning over?”

“Rosa!” Prompto whined. “Why didn’t you help me?”

“I’ll need a story to tell at your wedding one day,” she teased before handing him a bag with a few loaves of bread.

“I’m not helping you anymore,” Prompto grumbled.

“Sure, Prompto. I’ll see you in the morning.” She started guiding him out of the shop. “And who knows, maybe he’ll be back tomorrow!”

Prompto could only groan since he knew she wasn’t going to drop it any time soon.

Over the next few weeks, he still occasionally helped out at Rosa’s bakery in the morning, but as he geared up for school starting, he started his morning runs a little earlier and had to actually stick to a schedule. She still teased him about the man who had stopped in, especially since he was now somewhat of a regular at her store. According to Rosa, he actually wasn’t that much older than him and was finishing up school fairly close to where Prompto was going to school.

Prompto knew she meant well, and that she really just wanted to make more friends closer to his age, but well, after miraculously befriending the Prince, the guy he had only met once wasn’t as much of a priority in his mind.

“Hey, want to hang out tonight?”

“Uh, sure. If you don’t mind.”

“Sweet. I’ll text Specs to pick us up.”

Within minutes a car had pulled up in front of their school and Noctis got in, motioning Prompto to follow him.

“Did you two have a good day at school?”

Prompto froze as he was putting on his seatbelt. It couldn’t be.

“It was boring.”

“Then I’m assuming that your homework won’t take you that long to finish tonight then.”

Prompto quickly finished putting his seatbelt and turned his attention to anywhere he didn’t have to make eye contact with the man who was driving. He knew he was probably bright red and drawing the attention of him anyways, though I doubt he even remembers me. He was thankful that Noctis and the other man were talking because he knew would turn into a bumbling mess if he were to try right now.

The drive itself was luckily very short, though it did not stop his brain from running a million different scenarios in his brain.It took him a few moments to realize that they even stopped and that Noctis was already getting out of the car.

“Prompto.”

He managed to look up and meet the other man’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“The rye was an excellent choice. Thank you for the recommendation.”

“I, uh. You’re welcome?” He managed to stammer out. Without another thought, he started getting out of the car. “See you inside?”

Prompto thought he heard a soft laugh, but he was pretty sure his ears were playing tricks on him.

“You most certainly will.”

Prompto gave him a quick nod before following Noctis inside one of the many doors.

Well, maybe they would be seeing more of each other than he ever thought they would.

[okashi-candyman]

Scarves and Rain | Drabble

//It’s definitely canon that Okashi and Kaz (@kaz-sunspot) run into each other like all the time, but have never actually had a conversation. Like, the Panya bakery is Kaz’s favorite, and occasionally Okashi is behind the register. And they both go to UA for hero studies, but they’re in different classes. But they never talk, and don’t really even know each other’s names. But they still know some things about each other just because they see each other so often, if that makes sense?

Anyway, I wanted to write about the two of them, so here:

🍭  It was a slow day at the bakery. Okashi idled lazily behind the counter, watching heavy rain spatter relentlessly against the storefront windows. He hadn’t really expected many people to come in, they usually didn’t on rainy days like this, but he’d been here for several hours now and hadn’t had a single person walk in.

He sighed, leaning against the counter with his head propped up on his arms. If only someone else could have worked while his folks were away, but Amai and Komu, his twin sisters, were busy, and his other siblings were too young to watch the store on their own. So that just left him, tracing circles around donuts in the display case and waiting for no one to walk through the door.

The bell above the door chimed, and Okashi straightened up immediately, throwing on his customer service smile as he turned to the door. “Welcome to the Panya bakery!” He said automatically, but when he actually got a look at who was in the doorway, he was so confused that he forgot to say what pastries were on sale today.

The girl in the doorway looked over at him and nodded silently. That in itself didn’t surprise him, in all the times she’d come in, this particular customer only ever spoke when she was asking for what she wanted or to say ‘thank you.’ No, the thing that had caught his attention was the thick scarf around her neck that was pulled up to cover half her face, soaked in rainwater. Okashi knew it was a little chilly out because of the rain, but certainly it wasn’t that cold.

He watched her browse the store, trying to be as discreet as possible. Maybe if this was just some random person, he wouldn’t be so curious, but she was a regular. And not just that, he knew her from school too. She wasn’t in his class, but she was a hero course student too, so he saw her pretty regularly. But he’d never seen her wear a scarf like that, even on days colder than this one.

As she browsed, Okashi briefly wondered if maybe he should start up a conversation. This was the first person he’d seen all day. Surely, they could find something to talk about. He got the impression that she was kind of shy, but if he just started talking to...

Okashi paused in his train of thought, eyebrows knitting together thoughtfully as he stared down at the counter. Wait, did he even know this girl’s name? He was trying to come up with it, but was drawing a blank. How could he not know her name? She came here all the time! 

“Ngxxt!”

The noise, though admittedly very quiet, was loud enough in the silent room to startle him. He looked up, but the girl was still looking through their selection of cookies. Okashi raised an eyebrow at her. He didn’t know why she bothered to browse. She always ended up getting cake. He’d never seen her buy anything else.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a couple minutes, the girl finally wandered over to the selection of cakes near the register. Okashi smiled faintly as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was looking between the two types of cake they had on display (there would normally be more, but they’d been expecting a slow day), apparently unable to decide.

He saw her hand move and thought perhaps she’d made a decision, but when he glanced over, she seemed to be looking off into the distance, one hand hovering in front of her scarf. And then her head bobbed forward and she pressed her hand against the thick wool over her mouth. “...Ngxxt!!”

Okashi blinked, suddenly realizing what was going on, and then quickly looked away before she could notice him staring. He was suddenly very glad that she was so indecisive about what to get, because it allowed him to sneak little glances at her while she was so close to the counter, noticing things he hadn’t seen before. The paleness of her face. The dark circles under fever-bright eyes. The flush in her cheeks, mostly hidden beneath the scarf, but peeking out just enough to see.

He frowned, his fingers fiddling with a small box nestled in his pocket. So she was sick, and relatively seriously by the looks of it. But then what was she doing here? Surely, if someone knew, they wouldn’t have let her go walking out there in the rain...

Which of course meant that no one knew. She must have been trying to keep it hidden. That was probably what the scarf was for.

“Um...” Okashi looked over at the quiet voice, even quieter than normal. She was looking at him, one hand pointing towards the chocolate cake on display. “Could I get one piece of the—” She turned away slightly, coughing harshly into her scarf. “S-sorry. The...”

“The chocolate?” Okashi offered, wincing at the hoarseness to her voice. She nodded gratefully. “Sure thing! Coming right up.” He turned, deftly packaging her order into a glossy, white box with a blue and pink label printed on the top. She had the money, in exact change, sitting on the counter by the time he was done. “Here you go,” he slide the money to his side of the counter and pushed the little box towards her.

She picked it up. “Thank you.” As she was turning to go, Okashi put a hand up towards her and pulled the little box out of his pocket.

“Hold on! Here.” He pulled a stick of matcha pocky out of the box and held it out to her. The girl tipped her head at him, her expression dazed and confused. “Sorry, I know this is weird, but it’ll help. I promise.” He couldn’t just let her walk back out into the rain in her condition, not if there was something he could do to help.

She raised an eyebrow at him like she didn’t know what he was talking about, but she did reach out her free hand and let him place the pocky stick in it before turning to leave again.

“W-wait!” Okashi said, reaching over the counter to stop her again. “If you walk outside with that, it’ll get soaked and it won’t taste good. You should just eat it here.” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, then glanced down at the pocky stick. “It’s not going to hurt you, I promise,” he added, quickly pulling another stick from the box and sticking it in his mouth to prove it. 

Okashi wasn’t sure he was being very convincing. It was probably only the fact that she knew he was a hero course student that led her to pull down her scarf and stick the candy he’d given her into her mouth. By the time she’d finished eating it, Okashi could already see some improvement. She’d gained a little color back into her face and the glassy shine in her eyes had cleared. She wasn’t back to 100%, not even close, which only confirmed Okashi’s suspicions that she’d been seriously ill.

“What’s all this about?” she asked, blinking in surprise and bringing a hand up to touch the scarf. Her voice sounded significantly less like it had been raked with a cheese grater now. “What did you do?”

Okashi smiled innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He glanced down at the mostly empty box of pocky in his hand and held it out to her. “Here, why don’t you take the rest of this? I think you need it more than I do.” She stared at him for a long moment, so long that Okashi gave up on her taking the box from him and just placed it on top of her cake box instead. “Seriously, just trust me on this.”

She hesitated, as if she might try to give it back, but then nodded once. “Sure...okay,” she answered slowly, picking up the pocky box and slipping it into her pocket, “...thanks?”

Okashi just smiled and watched her head towards the door. She reached out to push it open, but then paused for a moment to pull her scarf back up over her face. Usually, when the customers leave, whoever’s working the counter is supposed to tell them to ‘Come again soon!’ or ‘Have a nice day!’ but with a small wave and the best cheery voice he could muster, Okashi called out, “Get well soon!”

She spun to face him, her eyes wide with alarm and maybe panic. “How did—?” Her question was quickly cut short as a sneeze caught her off guard, almost making her drop her cake box. “Ktxshhuh!!”

“Gesundheit.” Okashi propped his head up with his elbows, giving her a concerned little smile. “You know we can do deliveries, right? You shouldn’t walk all the way here if you’re sick.” He pointed to the package in her hands. “The number’s on the box. I hope you use it next time.”

Her face had gone beet red, which Okashi assumed was from embarrassment, not fever, and her gaze was glued to the floor. “I...I will. Thank you,” she muttered, nodding once and slipping out the door.

And then the bakery was quiet again. Okashi sighed, stepping out from behind the counter to check if anything needed to be done. He knew the answer was no, since no one else had been in and the display cases had been filled that morning, but it was nice to stretch his legs and walk around for a minute.

He stopped by the window and look out, watching the rain start to lighten up, droplets pattering much more gently against the window. “I hope she’s okay,” he muttered to himself, “I’ll have to check up on her at school tomorrow. Maybe I can ask one of her classmates how she’s doing.”

Okashi stopped, his shoulders dropping suddenly.

“Shoot! I forgot to ask what her name was!”

[clairelutra]

check yes juliet (4/?)

the people have spoken

now

don’ t ask me for an update until, like, another year has passed

please

Part one, part two, part four (part 1, part 2, part 3) (tag)

How much sleep he got turned out to be negligible in the long run: he really couldn't be expected to focus anyway, because Marinette wore the Chat Noir hoodie to school the next day too.

And the next.

And the next.

In fact, she wore it every day throughout the next week.

Adrien got a crash course in 'how to pretend you were paying attention when your crush is wearing a sweater with your signature all over it.’

He failed it miserably.

He was in danger of failing his next history test, too, but that was (allegedly) what the study sessions were for.

(Study sessions were getting steadily less productive as the weeks went on while he, the resident physics expert, got more and more distracted by Marinette and her... Marinette-ness, and Alya, the resident historian, could talk of nothing but the upcoming ball.

Nino and Marinette weren't particularly studious in the first place, and more often than not spent their time together shooting jokes and light jibes at one another.

It made for a wonderful atmosphere, and the sessions were the highlight of Adrien's week, but helping him with his grades they were not.)

Class was better, though only slightly - instead of thinking of followups to Nino's jokes and getting sidetracked by the light in Marinette's eyes, he spent the duration of it wishing he could trade seats with her so he could stare at the back of that hood all day.

He ended up eavesdropping a lot.

He might not have learned a whole lot about calculus, but he did learn about the bakery's customers, what designers Marinette was interested in at the moment, what plans she and Alya had for hanging out over the weekend, a myriad of little things he carefully filed away in his ever-growing mental 'Ladybug' folder.

That folder had rested stagnant for far too long. For all that he could recall any number of her bright grins and off-handed jokes, actual information about her life had been scarce up until very recently. For how often they worked together, his information on her had been painstakingly pieced together from from her reactions to things, her lines, and her jokes.

Until now.

Now his folder wasn't limited to things like 'likes video games' and 'dislikes gifts of live rats' (...certain impulses and cat instincts had been far harder to control before he'd been used to them); now he knew things like what she liked in her tea (one sugar, and one sugar only) and that you should never leave her alone with a cell phone. Ever. (He wondered if that was an instinct she struggled with, at times.)

It had things like how much sun it took to make her freckle (a few hours and her forearms would start to show a smattering of golden spots), where she liked to go to lunch when she had the funds (she was fond of Japanese food, surprisingly; she told him it was because it tended to not be overly sweet), and her reaction to horror movies (she could take the gore but had crawled into his lap and hid in response to the jump-scares and the tension).

(She'd done that last one in the hoodie, too. Adrien wasn't all that fond of horror movies himself but hell if he could be bothered with Marinette's chilly nose nudging the hollow of his throat and two adorable cat ears concealing the killer.)

He knew now that if you startled her out of costume, she would, quite literally, jump a foot into the air (and probably a few to the side, too), arms pinwheeling frantically as she over-balanced, smashed into the nearest immovable object, danced in place, performed acrobatic feats that were out of her reach otherwise, and/or played hot potato with whatever she was holding.

Ladybug was the picture of grace, competence, and self-assured potency.

Marinette had been found stuck in Hotel Bourgeois's dumb waiter, on occasion.

Marinette — no, Ladybug — stumbled and flailed and tripped her way through life, and Adrien couldn't have been more charmed. To think his Lady was this clumsy out of the suit was about as adorable as it was hilarious, and Adrien was starting to think he was in major trouble.

Because as much as he'd adored Ladybug before, there'd always been a certain amount of aloofness, of confident independence — to have that distance stripped away, to have it revealed that she wasn't really some other-worldly being, made her so close, so touchable it took his breath away.

He could touch her now. Text her. Ask her if she wanted to see a movie over the weekend and have her agree.

It was humbling and wonderful and terrifying, all the things he could envision doing with Ladybug now.

Pacing outside his father's study waiting for Marinette and said father to finish whatever they were talking about wasn't one of those things he'd envisioned, but it was still another little proof that she was a part of his life now, not a transient, ephemeral fever dream.

Soundly re-proving that she wasn't some figment of his imagination, the Lady burst out of his father's study, wild-eyed behind a forced, polite smile, letting the door shut itself with a solid-sounding thunk behind her.

"A week," she gasped, staggering up to Adrien and clutching his forearms, grip harsh with a terrifying kind of frenzied energy.

Just what had happened in there?

"A what?" said Adrien intelligently, steadying her as best he could and trying not to get sucked into her gaze, because now was so not the time.

He knew his father could be a bit much, at times, but not outright traumatizing.

Usually.

As far as he knew.

"A week," Marinette repeated, sounding like she was trying to believe it herself. "A week, a week, a week... I have a week to design a lineup."

"...A what?"

"A lineup," she said, letting him go and straightening out her clothing with shaking hands. "For the Christmas showing. One week."

Her hands froze.

"One week," she breathed, corner of her mouth hooked up awkwardly in the most joyous form of panic Adrien had ever seen. "I only have a week."

And with that, she broke every Agreste household rule and charged down the hall at top speed, formal jacket flapping in the breeze and flats squeaking on the tile.

Adrien watched her go, then slowly turned on his heel and opened his mouth to ask the door what the ever-loving fuck? before thinking better of it and going to find Natalie.

Maybe she'd have a clue what that was all about.

She did.

According to Natalie, his father had experienced a work emergency and had decided to dump the least-important lineup of the Christmas showing, a task which would have been a lot for a single, more experienced designer with more time, on one single busy teenage girl, instead of cancelling that particular section like any normal, sensible fashion icon.

Which... well.

His father had a propensity for disappearing for long hours and mumbling to himself while standing in dark rooms alone, so perhaps 'sensible' was not the best descriptor here.

(Adrien had learned to tolerate his father's growing oddities in the years since his mother had vanished, but even for his slacking grip on his sanity, this seemed a bit out there.)

In short, Adrien could entirely understand why he hadn't seen or heard from Marinette in two days.

Understanding, however, did not equate to not worrying.

Especially since Alya hadn't heard from her either.

(Alya, upon hearing the news, had winced and laughed and told him not to worry — Marinette had probably just buried herself under her rejected designs.

Alya didn't seem to understand that this was precisely what Adrien was worried about.)

Walking into the bakery at around lunchtime, her mother confirmed his suspicions when she greeted him with a wry smile and a, "See if you can't get her out of the house, Adrien. Goodness knows she needs it," as she assisted a customer with their order.

"My father-" Adrien started, pausing in the doorway, unsure if that sentence was going to end in an apology or a defense.

"I know," Sabine said with a peaceable, understanding smile, not looking at him as she deftly arranged a customer's croissants in a take-home box.

Adrien had the mad urge to ask her what he had been going to say, because she seemed to know far better than he did.

He didn't, but instead worked his way over to the working side of the counter and asked, "Is she in her room?"

"Hasn't come out since she got home on Monday," Sabine said, snapping the box shut and wrapping it in black ribbon in neat, economical movements. She slid the package to the end of the counter with a flick of the wrist and twisted sideways to pick up a pair of tongs. "Speaking of, would you take these up to her? I don't think she's eaten today."

Adrien blinked as the treats piled themselves up like magic, and then Sabine handed him the whole platter and shooed him into their living area with the same unfalteringly mild smile.

Adrien shooed.

At Marinette's door, he held the platter in one hand and rapped softly in the wood with the other.

No answer.

He waited a few seconds before rapping again and calling under his breath, "Marinette?"

Still no answer.

Had she left?

He pushed open the door, half-expecting a shriek or a shoe thrown at his head, and got nothing.

Warily, he poked his head through the opening, and the reason became apparent.

Marinette was asleep.

Adrien's mouth twitched into a smile as he pushed the door open and climbed into the room. He picked his way through the dense litter of crumpled drawings (Alya had been on the money, it seemed) over to where Marinette was dozing, cheek resting on yet another design.

She looked peaceful, despite the dark smudges below her eyes. Her mouth hung open, tiny line of dried saliva trailing from the corner of her lips to the desk. Her hair was tangled into stringy locks, wild bedhead doubtlessly exacerbated by her frantic scalp-scrubbing as she tried to brainstorm far too many ideas in far too little time. Her hand rested palm up by her cheek, long, tapered fingers curled in a way that struck him, abruptly, as vulnerable, open.

Adrien's chest contracted viciously, throat gone very, very tight.

He had to look away then, had to skitter away from the sheer force of that emotion, unsettled on a level just a little too deep, a little too personal.

His eyes fell on the neat pyramid of his gift, multicolored spools of professional-grade thread lifted sneakily off (that is, asked politely of) the designers in his father's main workshop. They occupied the only clear space on the desk, the crumpled wads of designs forming an odd semicircle around the thread structure.

Adrien widened the semicircle to make room for the platter Sabine had sent him up with, carefully shuffling rejected designs to the side with a good deal more thought than their creator seemed to have graced them with.

The clink of the ceramic must have disturbed Marinette, because she stirred not a few seconds later.

"Mmn," mumbled the sleeping Marinette, and Adrien looked over just in time to see her blink open sleep-fogged blue eyes.

Adrien's throat snapped shut, heart swelling too big and warm and tight for his chest, slamming against his ribcage like a sledgehammer.

He couldn't define precisely why watching her wake was so huge, except that it just was. She was open and soft and defenseless like this, with mussed hair and dazed eyes and—

It was a state of vulnerability she experienced every day, one that he had never witnessed before, one that he thought... maybe...

"Adri-ien?" she whispered foggily, and the little crack in her missing voice threatened to be his undoing.

"G'morning, Princess," he whispered back, face aching in a way that told him he was smiling helplessly, hopelessly.

She blinked up at him for a few moments, confused wrinkle on her brow and the remnants of her in-progress design marking her cheek.

His fingertips tingled with the urge to rub the design away, but found he didn't quite dare, and stilled his hand before he could.

Marinette's eyes went wide as soon as they focused on him.

"A-A-A-Adrien?!"

She promptly shot up off her seat and tumbled backwards, arms flailing wildly, and hit the ground with a painful-sounding thump.

He moved without thinking, making an awkward attempt to both catch her and help her and ending up simply staring at the distance between his outstretched hand and the girl on the floor.

Marinette also stared at the outstretched hand, turning an absolutely adorable shade of pink in the process. Her hands flew up to her hair, running her fingers through it and patting it down in what he abruptly realized was an attempt to calm the bedhead.

"A-Adrien," she squeaked. "Wh-wh-what are you doing here?"

Cute.

"I came to see how you were doing," he admitted.

He technically had an excuse about making sure she didn't miss the press conference for Ladybug and Chat Noir that took place this afternoon, but it had long gone flying out the window, entirely forgotten.

"O-oh," she said, voice coming down from it's double-octave jump. She accepted his hand. "I'm okay."

He gave her a dubious look, then pointedly glanced at the whirlwind of crumpled, rejected designs littering her floor.

She puffed her cheeks and glared as she slid back into her seat. "Really."

He didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead he said, "I'm... really sorry for my father."

Because he could try to defend his father's... eccentricities to her mother, but Marinette was the one getting the brunt of the responsibility here, and she deserved an apology for the sheer amount of stress that knowing his father could induce.

"It's... a great honor," she said, a little wry.

"It's a challenge," he corrected her dryly, looking away at the half-expected pang of jealousy. "One of those one of those old kings would give. 'Complete this impossible task and I'll let you marry my daughter.'"

That got a giggle out of her, even as his heart stuttered at the unintentional implication that she'd been asking for his hand in marriage.

If she had asked that, he had no doubt his father would immediately lock him up in some tall tower or faraway dungeon, never to see the light of day again. His father, though odd, was overprotective at the best of times, and at the worst... well.

(There was a whisper of resentment in his heart — if you just gave me a chance, maybe I could give you something to be proud of — that grew with every new restriction, bitter like bile on the back of his tongue and dark in the pit of his heart.)

(But no, delicate Adrien, helpless Adrien needed to be protected far more than he needed to be relied on.)

"It's kind of funny you're more of a knight than a princess, then, isn't it?"

Adrien jolted out of his reverie to the sound of Marinette's gentle murmur. "What?"

"A brave hero in kitty ears," she mumbled sleepily, affectionately. She smiled faintly, almost knowingly up at him from where she'd pillowed her head on her desk again. "My—" She swallowed a yawn. "—My knight in shining armor."

He stared at her, reeling and flushing and flustered and absurdly, absurdly pleased.

She let the moment linger, same soft, devastating smile playing around her lips while he stood and stared, before looking up at her clock with a frown. "What's today?"

"The 13th, why?" he answered, shaking off his daze with difficulty.

Marinette blanched. "The press conference!"

"Oh, right," he said, original reasons for his visit coming back to him as Marinette stumbled out of her seat in a hurry. "The press conference."

He watched in amusement (and affection) as Marinette flailed wildly in the direction of her dresser, stumbling so hard she nearly cartwheeled before she caught herself, and started digging through her wardrobe like a madwoman.

She found what she was looking for, to judge by the grateful, too-wide smile she gave the garments she resurfaced with, and made a mad dash for her hatch door.

"Ah," he called out. "You've got something..."

He tapped his cheek with two fingers when she turned to look at him, because he was pretty sure she would either not notice or fail to remember to clean it off if he didn't say anything.

She raised her hand to the spot he'd indicated and scrubbed her cheek intensely for a moment, leaving it bright red and smudged even worse. She then looked at her fingers and scowled, before giving him a brief thank-you wave and disappearing down the hatch.

He watched the door swing shut, then heard a cacophonous crash. He winced, calling out, "Are you-"

"I'm okay!" Marinette muffled voice cut him off. It was followed by a smaller series of crashes and a few squeaks and, finally, by the snap of what he could only assume was her bathroom door.

He snorted, feeling unaccountably full for how untouched the plate of pastries next to him was.

That's my Lady Luck, all right.

Pastries were eaten, cheeks were cleaned, heroes were transformed, and they were all set for the conference... except for one small problem.

"I think we're in the wrong place."

Chat took stock of the empty schoolyard playground, which didn't look like much of a place for a press conference to him. "Astute as always, my lady."

"Did we get the street name wrong?" Ladybug wondered, frowning at the locator displayed on her yo-yo's screen.

Chat leaned over her shoulder to see where the locator placed them, and inhaled a lungful of her scent. Intoxicating. He swallowed discreetly and tried to ignore the rampant butterflies in his stomach as he looked at the map.

Frowning, he studied the way the streets connected. There was a likely looking place for a convention center that might have been where they had been directed by the head of the press conference near the edge of the screen. He was pretty sure he'd seen that area on his car's GPS when going to one of his father's press releases.

"Hey," he murmured, pointing it out.

Ladybug jumped, snapping to face him.

"Do you think we were supposed to be... here...?" he trailed off, noticing just how close her flinch had put their faces. Her nose brushed his cheek at the slightest movement of his head.

Oh.

She was so close.

Blue, blue, blue... She was so close Chat could only drown in blue. She was so close he could feel her body heat like a hearth fire, could hear the way her breath caught, could smell the sleep and soap that lingered on her skin.

She was so close he could kiss her with just a little tilt of his chin, could press his lips against her cheek, against her nose, against her lips, and with the way she was looking at him, he thought she just might let him.

It was all just too much, after this morning.

He unconsciously licked his lips, heart thumping louder with every pulse, drawing into her like he was magnetized, because he couldn't not kiss her, not after this morning, not with that look she was giving him.

Brrrrring! Brrrrring!

He squawked, jumping back, arms pinwheeling frantically for balance as he skittered over the lawn in his surprise.

She screeched and also jumped back, though she fell into a martial arts pose he was pretty sure he'd seen in a movie instead of floundering gracelessly like he had.

They stared at each other, gaping, a mutual what the hell was that!? passing soundlessly between them for a fair few seconds before the chatter of excited children filtered out from the school building.

He and Ladybug turned to the source of the noise as one.

A crush of happy children poured out of the double doors, babble staggering to a halt as the class realized, one by one, that, yes, those were the heroes of Paris standing on the edge of their playground.

Then, as one entity, they surged forward in a rush, incomprehensible babble coming back with a vengeance and becoming more comprehensible with every foot they approached.

"Ladybug!" and "Chat Noir!" were the easiest and most common out of the auditory slush, followed by "What are you doing here?" and "Is there an akuma?"

"Ah," said Chat, shooting his partner a grin, unable to resist. "It seems we've been... spotted."

"Was that a pun."

Chat only had time to choke back a self-satisfied snicker before the fastest of the children, a tall, sprightly young girl, hit him at waist height, babbling, "You saved my sister! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Chat crouched, self-satisfaction shifting out for something softer, kinder. "All in a day's work, young lady."

The girl giggled, and Chat tapped her button nose, smiling involuntarily for what felt like the umpteenth time today.

It was a good day.

The other children had other questions, "Can you play with us?" and "What's your favorite color?" and, oddly, "Do you like garbanzo beans?" all hitting the two heroes at machine-gun pace, but all Ladybug had to do was hold her hands up in a gesture for silence and the whole crowd went silent.

"Don't worry," she said into the silence, commanding. She held up a finger with every question she answered, and Chat mused that they may just as well be at that press conference. "There is no akuma. We're here because we took a wrong turn. My favorite color is pink, and I do like garbanzo beans, but I'm not too sure about Chat." She tilted a little grin at him before her face fell back into military seriousness. "And I'm sorry, but we can't stay to play. We have somewhere important to be."

The chatter turned into a wave of disappointed protests and pleading eyes, and Chat could see Ladybug's resolve waver just a fraction.

"It's just a press conference," he found himself pointing out. He wasn't sure if it was the dark smudges under her eyes or the exhausted kind of longing he caught in that waver that made him say it, but he warmed to the idea quickly.

She needed a break.

"It's just publicity. No one's gonna get hurt if we don't show up."

"We have responsibilities, Chat."

The flat, defeated tone she said it in just sealed the deal for him.

"Not big ones," he added, tilting his head just a little with his most winsome smile. "What's the worst that could happen?"

The girl whose sister they'd saved joined him in his pleading, followed quickly by several other children.

"Please, Ladybug?"

Ladybug's eyes flicked from one pleading face to the next, resolve crumbling like dust. She cast Chat a dark look for his betrayal.

He touched her elbow, holding it loosely as he said to her in an undertone, "Forget about the press conference and about my dad. One day off won't hurt."

Exhausted eyes fell to his hand, and something strange flashed through Ladybug's eyes. She pulled her arm away and mumbled, "Chat. We have responsibilities."

"Ladybug." He hadn't meant to sound so urgent, but that exhaustion was wrapping anxious little thorns around his heart. "You need a break. Please."

She was going to argue, he could see it, and he didn't think he had any counter arguments this time. She opened her mouth, took a breath, and—

Stopped.

She looked at him, really looked at him, and stopped. Something flashed in her eyes, a mix of shock and aching uncertainty and something unidentifiable, infinitesimal, huge, and she finished off with, "Okay."

Chat let go, feeling like his world was rocking to bits and unable to pinpoint precisely why.

Chat loved kids.

They were bright, innocent, clean in a way that had nothing to do with germs or runny noses.

They had no rigid preconceptions, no complex social rules, no hate burned into their mindsets; just a motherlode of energy and imagination that was a joy to witness.

You could make a child's day with a gift and a few well-chosen words, watch them light up even after the most traumatizing of akuma attacks with only attention and a small gesture. They were credulous, starry-eyed, enthusiastic - every day was an adventure or a thrill, something worth feeling something about. They were simultaneously selfish and giving, oblivious and empathetic in the way only the truly innocent could be.

There was a reason Ladybug left him to the clean up when children were involved, even if it meant facing down the media alone.

In the space of that afternoon, Chat was a king, a lord, a hero, a monster, a robot, and a horse. He was killed in action five times and only resurrected twice. He instated 'victory knights,' who were honor-bound to protect his kingdom together (a feat for the shy girl and the schoolyard bully, but he kept a close eye on them and made sure they worked it out) and was dared into seeing how many children he could carry at once (five, as it turned out — a number seriously hampered by how delicate and wriggly his burdens were).

The third time he was 'killed,' Ladybug was summoned from the tea party the girls had trapped her into.

"Only true love's kiss will break the spell!" insisted his first victory knight, the shy wall-flower who'd run for backup at his 'death.'

Ladybug, previously giggling at being dragged from the climbing structure into the middle of an all-out war, fell abruptly silent.

Chat felt his breath hitch.

One month ago, he would have jumped at the chance to tease, to flirt — hell, even yesterday he might've let the setup be, let Ladybug talk her way out of it - but now, so soon after that almost kiss, so soon after watching her wake, in the midst of whatever the hell their relationship was right now, the possibility that she might not talk her way out of it inexplicably terrified him.

He staggeringly raised a fist a few inches off the ground and groaned out, "Fist... bump..."

"Fist bump?" echoed Ladybug, odd note coloring her voice thick.

He made a show of cracking open an eye. "True... love's... fist bump issss... even stronger..."

His first victory knight shushed him without remorse. "You can't talk if you're dead, your majesty."

He blinked both eyes open and grinned sheepishly at his loyal servant. "Sorry, Sir Bella."

"Shh!"

He cleared his throat and shut his eyes again, trying not to grin.

Ladybug didn't say the word, but he could practically hear the affectionate 'dork' in her long-suffering (yet slightly relieved — and just what was he supposed to think about that?) sigh as she padded her way over through the grass.

There was a moment of hesitation in which he worried (hoped?) she might ignore the out and actually stoop to kiss him, but then he felt the familiar press of her knuckles against his, gentler than he was used to feeling them but unmistakable all the same. His chest caved in a confused jumble of relief and disappointment.

He covered the emotion by slowly raising his arms and sitting up zombie-style. He slowly opened his eyes and prepared his 'uuuugh... braaaaainssss...' speech, only to lock gazes with a chubby young sprout who, Chat remembered suddenly, had adamantly refused any mention of zombies. Chat switched out his speech on the fly.

"I am the Great Crusher Robot 5000," he said in his most robotic voice to a chorus of delighted squeals. "I have arisen from mere mortal flesh by the power of True Love's Fist Bump to protect the earth from the deadly Smorgs from outerspaaaaace."

And then the game was off again.

Ladybug was dragged off again by the limpet clinging to her leg and it was discovered that Chat could toss any seven year old clear into the air, and robots and 'true love' were summarily forgotten.

(The tossing was a nerve-wracking experience for heroes whose catching appendages ended in claws, but Chat was very careful and somehow it all worked out bloodlessly.)

The leader of the opposition's sudden remembrance of The Great Crusher Robot 5000's evil qualities worked out slightly less so, but scraped knees weren't something Chat had the power to prevent one-hundred percent of the time, so he let it go.

It was at about that point that he felt eyes on him, and he turned to find Ladybug watching him from atop the jungle gym, chin in palm, expression distant.

He caught her eye, and tilted his head in silent question.

She smiled, soft and wistful, and his breath caught.

“You…” She trailed off, glancing away and back, the flutter of eyelashes and clear blueblueblue eyes catching him on the upswing. “You’d make a good father.”

His heart stopped.

He—

He’d misheard that, hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

(That little bit of his brain that was mostly Chat and that did not. Shut. Up. Ever. said, Great! I’m ready. Let’s get started. Right now. Immediately.

The rest of him just reeled wildly for the umpteenth time today.)

She turned away, back to her tea party, still smiling that smile that left him unsteady on his feet.

The children swarmed around his legs, pressing into the backs of his knees in an attempt to bring The Great Crusher Robot 5000 down, but he could barely feel them.

“But Ladybug, Chat Noir isn't old enough to be a daddy. He’s a boy,” protested the little girl who’d been hanging onto her, in the well-informed tone of a child who had heard that exact phrase many, many times before.

Her sibling must have been a fan, or something, Chat thought distantly.

(—chips of ice, blue like antifreeze—

The corners of his heart whispered was it even possible for him to be a good father?)

“Boys grow up, you know,” she said, meltingly soft in a way that kick-started his heart back into gear and straight into overdrive. “He won’t be too young to be a daddy forever.”

Chat Noir, protector of Paris against the forces of superpowered evil for three years running, fell in battle to a pile of seven year olds very quickly after that.

A few weeks later, Chat wondered, not for the first time, why on earth the Protectors of Paris Ball was held outdoors.

It was held in late fall every year. Surely someone, someone would have though to move the party indoors out of the freezing cold.

It was a bit strange that Chat seemed to be the only one who noticed this, being that he was the only one here wearing a cold-resistant suit, but notice he did, if only by the goosebumps on his lady's arms.

He blamed (thanked) the cold for the way she leaned into him, sweet-smelling and looking like... like that.

Like heaven and hell in high heels, except that she wore flats, not heels. Mobility was a higher priority than glamour, she'd told him multiple times over the years, even when surrounded by the rich and famous.

Like a princess, like a queen, like something ethereal alighted on the surface of his world, as present and enticing and real as she was untouchably out of his league.

And the more she tipped that affectionate little smile up at him, the harder it was to keep his hands off.

She made it a lot harder by choosing that moment to break through his revere, stepping dangerously close.

"Hey," she murmured.

Chat's hand came to rest on the small of her back before he could think about it.

He shot a small glare at the offending appendage. Just where did it get off trying to bring her even closer?

Before he could remove the hand, Ladybug slipped her palm up to rest on his hip, burning warm through the suit. "Let's dance."

Chat blinked. That was odd; normally she waited until most of the guests had greeted them before trusting him with her dignity on the dance floor. He followed the line of sight she was pointedly turned away from, and understood — the young man walking their way was a rather... ardent admirer of Ladybug's. One who had a bit of trouble with the word 'no,' as he'd proved multiple times over the years.

Chat grit his teeth, sudden rush of ill will towards the 'gentleman' souring in his mouth, fingers twitching in his annoyance.

The last bit brought his attention to the exact placement of his fingers — tangled with the laces at the bottom of Ladybug's bodice.

Oh.

The darker voices in his head happily pointed out how easy it would be to sharped his claws and slice through those bindings. He didn't get farther than imagining the dress sliding down her shoulders before he forcibly defenestrated the thought and guiltily untangled his fingers. He slid his hand over to a much more appropriately platonic space high on her hip, incidentally drawing her that much closer.

Oops.

Ladybug didn't help him keep his distance at all, instead tucking the long, hot line of her body into his, close enough that her rosy cheek brushed his suit, close enough to rest her chin against his shoulder and grin winsomely.

Chat's heart was trying to punch a hole in his ribcage even before she opened her mouth.

"Isn't that what dates do at dances? Dance?"

Dates.

Was this a date?

They arrived together — they always did. It had never been a date before, but things had changed between them, leaving Chat thoroughly lost on what they were now.

But here they were, together, and she called them dates.

"I... wasn't aware we were dates."

"Ah, sorry," she said, pulling back while still smiling. "I forgot that I sent that memo by snail-mail."

She stepped even closer, breath ghosting against the space below his ear and sending a hot shudder down his spine, pooling, quivering in his belly. "Consider this your update?"

"Considerate it considered," he whispered back, wondering if she could feel his palm shaking, wondering if she could feel his heart shaking from this close.

She poked his side, grinning bright and impudent and oh so warm. "Then consider you and me dancing. Sometime in the next week would be nice."

"I'll pencil you in for next Saturday," he promised, brushing his nose against hers and feeling it in the hairs on the back of his neck, in his ribcage.

She was beautiful and dangerous and Ladybug and Marinette and she was his date.

This might well be the best night of his life.

Electric eyes and a childish (adorable) pout at the ready, she twisted away and said, "Well, I guess I'll just go and take my empty dance card over..."

"Oh, would you look at that," said Chat over her smug grin, reeling her back in. "My schedule has miraculously cleared. Free evenings as far as the eye can see."

"You dork."

The reproof was lost in the joy of the endearment, and he was laughing in spite of himself as he lead her out onto the floor.

She chased him, fingers tangled with his, lilting giggles cascading around his ears from distracting, cherry-red lips, and he didn't even try to tell himself he hasn't been dreaming of this for weeks.

He whirled around as soon as his foot hit the designated dancing square, lightly populated with polite, social dancers, and grinned at his date.

His date.

He could walk on air right now.

Ladybug shot him a look, one that was probably meant to be condemning or quelling or something, but she was flushed and smiling and sweet and so gorgeous he was absolutely sure he was about to make an utter fool of himself on the dancefloor, and the effect was lost on him.

His date.

"I still can't dance," Ladybug admitted on a sigh, apparently having accepted his smug good cheer as something she couldn't change.

"You really do need to learn how one of these days," he reminded her wryly as she stepped into his arms, so close she could probably hear his heart pounding. "What will Paris think if they find out their darling Lady Luck doesn't know so much as a waltz?"

She poked his chest. "C'mon kitty, why would I need to learn when I have you?"

"My lady, one would almost think you enjoy needing to rely on me and my sweet dance moves at these events," he teased, breathless.

He knew that wasn't the reason she never got dance lessons — their lives were both busy enough between their civilian responsibilities and vigilante activities — but the night was intoxicating (she was intoxicating) and a boy could dream, couldn't he?

She didn't deny it.

Ladybug bit her scarlet lip and flashed him a coy, guilty little smile, and Chat tripped over his own two feet.

Oh god, she didn't deny it.

She did, however, stumble into him, nose nudging into the crook of his neck and light perfume hitting him like a pillow to the face.

"Sorry," he croaked out of a very dry mouth, steadying her automatically.

She didn't take her face out of his neck, and when she did, it was with a flush a few shades darker than her previous and a case of shyly fluttering eyelashes.

She ran a gloved fingernail over the groove where his shoulder-pad attached to the rest of his suit, sliding over the stud at the point, studying it as though it was the most fascinating thing in the room.

"Is that really so surprising?" she mumbled quietly, as though she wasn't sure whether she wanted to be heard or not.

She was trying to kill him.

"I-I mean, you are my partner." she tacked on slightly louder, hurried and defensive. "It's not weird to ask you to help me with this... is it?"

She ended on a much weaker note than she started, giving him an insecure little glance that faltered away as soon as he met it, cheeks tinting even darker.

She was trying to kill him, and she was succeeding.

"I-I can take lessons!" she babbled on, taking his silence as an affirmative, rather than a sign of his impending death. "If you mind! I mean, I thought you didn't mind, but if you do I really don't—"

"I don't mind," Chat finally managed to get out, rediscovering the air he'd left behind in his lungs when she gave him that little glance.

She gnawed her lip, disturbing the cosmetics. "You sure?"

"Really sure," he said, possibly a bit too fervently. He was really very, very sure. "You can ask me for anything."

The smile he got for that made his ears burn.

"Then can I ask you for this dance?" she said, soft and low and really very close to his heated ear and...

Oh.

They were half-way into the song already.

Blushing out of embarrassment this time, he tugged her into the steps, counting the rhythms in his head.

But hearing her ask if she could rely on him and actually having her rely on him were two very different beasts indeed.

She followed him as easily, as smoothly as he followed her in battle. They were normally in-sync to an insane degree, honed by years of saving each other's lives, by years of teamwork and implicit, absolute trust, by years of a life where non-verbal communication and attention to minuscule cues and shared glances were the keys to survival and victory both, but this...

This was something else entirely.

They weren't fighting for their lives.

They were dancing.

They were moving together in an activity that existed purely for recreation, for pleasure and exercise, twisting together in low light, in fairy lights, physically intimate in full view of all of Paris.

She was trusting him to keep her from screwing up in front of all of Paris, and she was trusting him to do that with her eyes closed. Literally.

He swallowed hard and carefully twirled her into a spin, watching her as her skirts swirled around her thighs, the graceful follow-through of her off-hand, the peaceful smile that never left her face.

Her eyes didn't open once.

He took a deep, steadying breath and pulled her back against him, hand holding one wrist aloft as the other spread over her stomach almost of its own accord.

She leaned back and arched into him, letting his clawed fingers slide up the bodice of her dress until they rested just under the butterfly of her ribs, and turned her face into him, eyelashes fluttering against the corner of his jaw.

"Doing okay?" he checked. His voice came out rougher than he expected, but just about as affected as he thought it might.

"Mmmn," she hummed, seemingly only half awake.

Chat's mind took that noise and ran headlong into the gutter with it.

She leaned into him even further, so close her could feel her lips curl against his skin.

"I'm good," she whispered, throaty and relaxed and mind-liquifying. "You, kitty?"

Well, his knees were a lot weaker than they had been five seconds ago, but he was good.

He wouldn't make it through this dance if she kept that up.

Impulsively, he pinched her side, and with his most annoying smirk, he said, "Claw-some, my lady."

If they'd been alone, she would have squawked. As it was, she made a muffled noise of outrage and yanked back a few inches to give him a look of utter betrayal.

He took those few inches of grace gratefully, and shot her a not-quite-sheepish grin as apology.

She narrowed her eyes and stepped lively, skipping out of his arms with a dangerous look in her eye.

He wondered briefly if he'd made a terrible mistake, and then she was pulling him into a twist identical to the one he'd just pulled her through, except instead of ending with him in her arms, she dipped him low, sly smirk on her face and nose mere centimeters from his own.

"Getting frisky there, eh, kitty?" she purred, cerulean eyes gone velveteen-dark and ocean-bottomless.

Oh fuck.

He strangled himself on a yip, a noise that might have been an agreement or could have just been a squeak, forced out through the static silence in his head, and she let him up.

Ladybug took the lead this time, although less in a dancing capacity and more in a safeguard capacity, making sure they didn't run into anyone while Chat recovered his bearings.

She was trying to kill him, but at least she was being polite about it.

He trembled his way through a turn or three, moving more off sheer muscle memory than any sort of design, mind tumbling over the exact cadences, the dimensions of that tiny little crack in her voice, the wavelength of that purr, and Ladybug guided him through it, keeping him safe while he recovered from her.

"That was unfair," he hissed at her under his breath as she pulled him close in a move that would have his late instructor rolling in his grave.

"That was revenge," she hissed back at him, flashing white teeth against red lips in a little smirk that set him back several steps on the road to recovery.

He huffed at her, trying to hold on to his annoyance in the face of that look.

He failed. His blood had scorched his veins at the very sight of it.

They fell back into the rhythm of the dance, staying on for the next set and the one after that and the one after that, slipping into improv when the dances he'd been taught just wouldn't cut it (or just weren't enjoyable enough — he'd been taught nearly every formal dance in the book, but Chat was not a rule-follower, or a square). Ladybug followed him through them all, not distinguishing between the well-known, the lesser-known, and the entirely made-up, warm and soft and solid and in his orbit.

It wasn't until the band announced they were packing up that he realized they had honest-to-god danced the night away.

The crowd had thinned greatly, the hosts showing people out in droves, only the most tenacious of the journalists left to document the going ons, Alya among them. Chat was pretty sure she'd stick around until she was kicked out.

"Looks like the party's over," Ladybug noted, surprised enough that he suspected he'd lost track of time as badly as he had.

She stroked his bicep quietly, and he took it as a signal to let her go. He hesitated, holding on for as long as he felt he could get away with, before reluctantly convincing his fingers, his hands, his arms to release her.

The late-night air hit him hard through his suit, swirling in the spaces she left behind when she stepped back. She flashed him a little smile as she moved, and he returned it, pretending his body wasn't aching in protest of letting her go.

He watched her survey the party, looking for the host so they could say their goodbyes, admired the slope of her nape and the stray locks that had escaped her elaborate up-do as she chased the man down and made their excuses.

This dance had shown him something he hadn't fully grasped before.

Ladybug trusted him.

Finishing up, she tittered politely at something the host had said and walking backwards towards Chat. She waved one final time at the host and turned on her heel. By the time she faced Chat, the forced smile had melted into a look of exasperated exhaustion, shoulders slumped and skin right around her eyes.

"Done?" she asked, all too obviously ready to leave.

She trusted him.

"Yeah," he said. "Just a second."

She tilted her head curiously.

He took her hand and carefully slipped off the glove, catching the tips and sliding the material away, and then he met her eye and held it.

Slowly, he raised her bare hand to his lips, heart thumping erratically in his throat as her eyes went wide.

She trusted him.

He kissed the tips of her fingers, smiling at her without really meaning to, ignoring the storm of gaps and suddenly flickering camera flashes from the remaining media people.

She let him.

She trusted him.

"Ch-Chat- what?" Her voice fluttered, exertion-flushed cheeks flushing even darker.

"Thank you," he said, a note of something in his voice he didn't want to name, something that gave those two words far too many meanings. He hurriedly tacked on, "—for the lovely evening, my lady. It was an honor to escort you."

Her shock-slack red lips twitched up into a wobbly smile, an odd look in her eye as her trembling fingers curled into his.

She trusted him.

She really, really trusted him. She trusted him to catch her, she trusted him with her back, she trusted him with their friendship, with her laughter and her joy and her dreams.

She trusted him with her dignity. With her insecurities.

She'd always trusted him with her life. Now, she trusted him with her identity, too.

They were getting closer all the time, and it had a way of making him hope. A way of making him wonder.

A way of making him think maybe, maybe, maybe one day...

Maybe one day, she'd trust him with her heart too.

Adrien pushed open the gate of the cat shelter, leading Marinette in behind him.

He hadn't had to beg for this, surprisingly. The lion's share of her work for the fashion show was over and done with, and when he'd suggested that she join him on one of his volunteer visits, she'd agreed almost immediately.

The look on her face when he introduced her to one of the older litters was well worth the entirely too knowing grin Sonia, the head volunteer, had given him when he'd walked in shoulder-to-shoulder with the girl he'd been talking about for weeks. Like she knew exactly how big it was to bring Marinette here, to a place this important to him.

(Like she knew he was practically under a compulsion, slowly introducing Marinette to every little nook and cranny of his life and praying to God she liked what she saw while wondering just what the hell he was doing.)

Marinette, for her part, seemed to be experiencing revelation.

Adrien had introduced her to The Hoard.

(Or so the batch of older, weaned kittens were affectionately termed by their caretakers.)

"Why hello," she cooed at the gaggle of kittens, hands clasped on her knees as she stooped close to them. She followed it up with a delighted squeak as one of the kittens batted her necklace.

Nursing the infant kittens was a time-consuming job, but it was methodical: suckle and toilet them, stroke as necessary. It was one of Adrien's favorite jobs.

It was also somewhat mindless, and left him with enough attention to watch Marinette out of the corner of his eye.

She took to the kittens almost immediately, which was completely unsurprising — the only person Adrien had met who didn't like kittens was Chloe — but somewhat more surprising was how quickly the kittens took to Marinette.

Forget eating out of her palms — all she had to do was hold her hands out and she had them attempting to climb into them, the more adventurous clawing their way up her chest in their quest for more pets.

He muffled a laugh in his shoulder when a little black tom made it high enough to sniff her chin, the infant on his knee complaining softly at the jostling. Petting its tiny head with a whispered apology, Adrien turned away to focus more fully on his task.

His focus lasted all of ten seconds before his mind started to wander.

He watched Marinette play with the kittens out of the corner of his eye, watched her nearly leap out of her apron (now wasn't that a thought) at a kitten's surprise attack from behind, and found himself snickering all over again.

"Careful," he couldn't help but call over. "Don't you know that seven out of ten attacks are from the rear?"

"I'll attack you from behind," she sniped back without heat, distracted almost immediately by her charges of the afternoon.

"Please do," he quipped, returning his eyes to the fed kitten, putting away the bottle and picking up the paper towel.

Marinette whipped around to stare at him, and, belatedly, he realized what he'd just said.

Shit.

"Please forget I said that," he begged, flushing and paling at once.

"...I think that might be worse than the time you said, 'or what, you'll spank me?'"

"You started it," he grumbled, ears and neck heating up. Oh god why.

Marinette scooted up to him sideways, leaning into his space with a shit-eating grin, kitten in her lap and elbow on his shoulder. "So..."

"Don't start."

"What kind of 'attacking' were you thinking about, kitty?"

"Stop."

"Because it looked to me like—..."

"I will pay you to stop."

"Thinking such things in front of the children." She tsk_ed, slowly shaking her head, still grinning. "For _shame."

"Do you want your money in fabric, cash, or cheese?"

"Video game time." She spread the fingers of the hand attached to the elbow that rested on his shoulder, grin going downright sleazy. "For five rounds of Ultimate Mecha Strike 2, I will stop."

"That game ruined the series," Adrien groused, almost en route at this point.

Marinette made a disparaging noise in the back of her throat and pushed off of him to cradle the kitten to her chest.

"Don't listen to your father," she cooed to the little black tom, effectively stopping the heart of the other 'black tom' in the room. "He speaks lies."

He took a second to catch his breath again before shooting back, "I speak only the truth. UMS2 is an abomination. Your mother is consorting with—"

Oh hell did he just call Marinette his wife?

His 'wife' stared at him with big, shocked blue eyes, going pinker and pinker as the words sunk in, then coughed and looked away.

Adrien returned to the kitten in his lap, holding the paper towel in one numb hand and wondering what it was for, drowning in embarrassment and trying not to think too hard about just how it felt to say those words.

(It felt like belonging.)

"So," said Sonia, looking in on them with a leer. "When's the wedding?"

Marinette screamed, launching both herself and the kitten up and backwards, flailing limbs narrowly missing the horde at her feet.

Sonia burst out laughing.

"Sorry, sorry," she gasped, catching a tear at the corner of her eye with a gloveless finger. "You two are just too cute, y'know?"

"No," Marinette grumbled, pink and baleful and plucking furry denizens off of her apron, making sure they were unhurt as she did so. "I really don't."

Adrien expelled a relieved breath.

She was okay.

"Mhmm..." Sonia hummed, setting her chin on the heel of her palm with a grin that was equal parts smug, knowing, and amused. "Well—" and here she straightened back up, "—try to finish up in the next fifteen minutes or so, okay? We have a schedule to keep."

Adrien and Marinette nodded obediently in sync, and Marinette picked herself up, careful of the kittens.

"Oh," Sonia added as she left. "Not that I wouldn't understand, but please try to keep the hanky-panky to the minimum. Think of the children!"

Marinette spluttered, and Adrien spluttered with her, despite knowing Sonia full well and knowing he should have expected that parting remark.

"'Hanky-panky,'" Marinette muttered, echoing his thoughts rather succinctly, though with considerably more aspiration, picking up the black tom again and brushing his fur with her fingertips. She softened immediately.

Adrien could only describe what happened next as a revelation.

She tipped back, nose-to-nose with the tiny black kitten in her palms, giddy, giggly grin on her mouth, eyes scrunched at the corners with her joy, the stress of her week fading, slipping of her shoulders in the face of that young whiskery critter.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, a different kind of affection softening her countenance, and stuck her tongue out. Jealous, kitty?

The smile was nothing he hadn't seen a hundred, a thousand times before, warm and happy and trusting and teasing and here with him, present and solid and real, but that was what did it. It was no big thing — a little thing, a minuscule thing, really — but that was what made it click.

Oh, he thought.

It's you.