#I’ve never drawn gold before hope this looks fine

[dailyjevil]

pure gold

Day 114 of posting Jevil every day

[flowercrowngods]

✨🤍 some steddie softness for @thefreakandthehair's birthday, i hope it's the very best so far! 🤍✨(please please your day comes first, read this whenever you have time and space to breathe 🤍)

Eddie is not a religious man — far from it, actually. But there are a few things that make him believe in higher powers. In angels. In destiny and luck and a love so strong it could conquer everything. 

This very moment is one of them. 

Stevie, soft and sleepy beside him in the back of the car as Nancy is driving, the dim light of the passing street lamps painting his face in hues of gold like the light itself favours Steve Harrington, caressing his features with the softest of shadows. 

He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Perfectly angelic with his eyes closed, his whole body turned towards Eddie in the warmth of the car.

It takes Eddie’s breath away, his heart taking up space where before there were his lungs and ribcage, growing in size until he feels like he is about to burst. And even then he keeps looking, staring at that pretty face that looks so at peace with the whole world right now. Eddie has never seen Steve like this, but now he understands why people start wars. Why people defy gods and death itself to be with their one true love. Why Orpheus looked back. 

He understands. Because Steve, his Stevie, warm and safe and perfectly fine in the backseat of a car? That is everything. He doesn’t even need to kiss or touch so long as he just gets to look. And be. Oh, to be at the same time that Steve is. 

That might just be life’s greatest gift to him. 

A tiny sigh falls from Steve’s lips and Eddie really, really might be about to burst. 

“Hey, angel,” he whispers, because moments like this aren’t made for anything but hushed words, their truths too heavy, too sincere for the world to hear and keep on spinning. He doesn’t need the world to spin as long as there is Steve. 

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, his eyes still closed but the smile lighting up, luring Eddie in like he is but a moth drawn to the flame. 

Eddie leans in and rests his forehead against Steve’s, his hand coming up to cradle a light-kissed cheek. Steve leans into it, following Eddie’s hand like maybe they are twin stars pulling each other closer until there will be an explosion of light and creation. Steve nuzzles against his palm and leans further into Eddie’s body until they share the same breath — but still it’s not enough. 

Eddie wants to say so many things now that their hands are entangled, their soft exhales mixing. But after a while he notices that Steve is humming before gently singing along to the song coming quietly from the speakers. 

“Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow. Andante, Andante. Just let the feeling grow.”

Eddie knows the song, recognises it instantly, and his breath gets stuck in his throat once more. Because he has a secret. He loves it. He has imagined for the longest time that one day, someone would make it his song. Sing it for him, to him. 

He’s never told anyone because he has a reputation to uphold and more than enough metal music to listen to, but of course Steve wouldn’t care about his secrets being secret, and just oh so casually make his deepest, most private of dreams come true. 

He’s an angel, that one. A hero. Myths and fairy tales should be woven around that heart of his, folklore speaking of his name until history itself wouldn’t dare to forget. No one can convince Eddie otherwise. Not in that moment, not with Steve singing so quietly, so gently, so adoringly. 

I think I love you. I think I can’t ever stop, not when I’ve seen you like this. Not when you’ve just shown me what life can be about, what it should be about. Gods, I love you and love you and love you. 

That’s what he wants to say. 

But all that comes out is a marvelled, “Shit, Stevie.”

It has the desired effect of a huffed breath, an even wider smile, and Steve cuddling further into Eddie’s side, eyes still closed. Eddie brushes a kiss to Steve’s forehead and feels like maybe his love can make it into the fairy tale, too. 

It will. Oh, it will, when Steve finally lifts his head from Eddie’s shoulder and looks at him through hooded eyes, all soft and sleepy and safe. A moment passes like this and Eddie can’t breathe, maybe he can never breathe again — but it only lasts until Steve slowly, so very slowly begins to lean in to claim Eddie’s lips with a kiss so gentle it could bring him back from the dead. 

Eddie kisses Steve back just as slowly, because in moments like this there is no rush, no hurry. There’s only them, there’s only this. Only a kiss until there is another. 

And with Steve, there is always another. 

Nancy smiles as she is taking the long way to Steve’s house, rounding Loch Nora twice because she knows how comfy Steve gets in cars at night when he doesn’t have to drive and there is soft music playing. 

Eddie kisses her goodbye on the forehead, fully aware of what she’s done. He doesn't tell her about the sun and the myths and all the wars he would start for Steve.

Nights like this are not meant for telling anyone about them. They can hardly be believed as it is. They can only be lived, hand in loving hand.

[niallsgoldhoop]

Chapter Seven

Wren

“I saw the changes you made to the list.”

Using the spoon in my hand, I scoop up a piece of chocolate cake from the plate that sits between us before eating the bite of decadent dessert.

Niall watches me, his deep blue eyes dropping down to my lips for just a moment. “You’ve got— Right there.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I wipe at the corner of my mouth hoping to get the remnant of chocolate off my face. Only when I look back across the table, he only shakes his head with his perfect lips drawn in a soft smile.

“Here.” Leaning over, my breath catches in my throat when Niall drags his thumb just under my bottom lip, the moment so small yet leaving a trail of fire across my skin. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

As he sits back in his chair, my eyes follow his movement as he lifts his finger to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the sweet treat. A low, satisfied hum falls from the back of his throat for only a moment before reaching for his own spoon from our shared dessert.

“Tastes divine, don’t you think?” Those eyes sparkle under the lights.

Clearing my throat and shaking my head, anything to get myself out of the spell I’ve been put under, I nod. “Yeah, it’s great.”

Niall’s focus goes to the plate in front of us which gives me the chance to take him in. Wearing the short sleeve pink shirt, the gold of the thin chain around his neck glitters against the low lights— just like the two gold hoops through his ears.

When he cuts a piece of the cake off, even the simple movement showcases the ripple of the vein in his forearm under his skin.

Niall Horan really is… Yeah.

I almost didn’t even show up tonight.

The note left in my desk had his messy scrawl on it telling me when and where to meet him. It was right on top of my desk along with the list of rules that I’d printed off for him.

Only now there were doodles and that same messy scrawl scratched along the edges along with a handwritten list of his own rules along the bottom.

As ridiculous as they seemed, not to mention his changes, there was no way I was going to argue with them.

Niall didn’t have to be tied to me for the next few months to trick my family into thinking I was in a happy relationship. We barely even knew each other other than what google told me about him and what he could probably find out from my social media if he even cared to look at it.

My sister had already planned for me to have a plus one in a million different circumstances so the thought of having to tell her that my plans changed made me nauseous.

If anything it would send Jenna into a tailspin.

Then everything would be my fault, just like it always is.

“I figured those changes wouldn’t be so bad.” Raising his eyebrow at me, Niall drags his spoon through the chocolate on the plate. “Besides if we are going to make this believable— we’re going to have to put in actual effort.”

My entire life I’ve hated being wrong and right now is no exception.

“Fine.” Crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair, I level my gaze with his. “We can abide by the amended rules but no other changes.”

“So, girlfriend—“ His smile makes me want to punch him. “Tell me every detail I need to know about you.”

Blue eyes pour into mine as I squirm in my seat, hating the attention. “There’s nothing to know really.”

“I think you’re wrong.” He smiles. “I think there are endless things you could tell me about yourself and I wouldn’t get tired of learning.”

Rolling my eyes, I look down at my glass of water. “You’re just saying that because you have to say that.”

“Wren, look at me.”

The low timbre of his voice draws my eyes back to his, a softness I’ve never seen there, just for me.

“I promise you when I say that just because we decided to do this as a team— It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to know you.” Niall runs his hand through his dark hair. “You haven’t told me the whole story of your life and your family, and that’s okay. But I want to be here for you, I want to know you.”

Sincerity drips off his words like a sweet honey in the summer, something that feels so foreign to me.

It feels like a lifetime I’ve spent as the black sheep and the loner, the person who doesn’t mind being on the sidelines.

Watching people step around me like I was invisible felt fine until it had me crying in the closet at work.

I was still fine.

I was still strong.

But as I open up a little bit and start talking to Niall, the way he looks at me like his favorite book of poetry stirs up an emotion I can’t nail down, one I’ve never felt before.

So for what feels like the first time in a long time, I decided that letting someone in might not be all bad.

It might just be my favorite thing yet.

_________

“You did so good!”

Wiping the sweat from across my forehead, I look at Marcy like she has two extra heads and at least twelve arms.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” My breath is still ragged from the kickboxing class she managed to talk me into. “I need a breathing treatment and a dozen margaritas.”

Stretching her arms above her head, she looks perfectly poised. “I can get down with the margaritas for sure.”

Marcy was my best friend.

Really, my only friend.

My circle was small and I was okay with that.

We met in college and have been nearly inseparable ever since.

While I got my degree in marketing, she got hers in teaching. The two of us couldn’t be any more different but at the same time that’s why our friendship works the way it does.

We just click.

“Or ice cream. I could go for some ice cream.” With my hands on my hips, I take a deep breath.

Macy points at me. “Sold to the brunette.”

Reaching out, I laugh as I push her hand away before we make our way to the locker room of the gym to grab my stuff.

Bernie’s is only a block away and with the warmer weather hanging one for just a little while longer, we decide to walk and enjoy the breeze over our skin. Once I’ve got my waffle cone stuffed with ice cream and we sit at a bistro table outside, only then does everything seem right in the world.

With everything going on with Jenna and the wedding we haven’t been able to see each other very much.

If at all.

“So how is everything going with the evil sister?” Taking a bite out of her chocolate ice cream, her eyes meet mine. “Have you told her to go tuck herself yet?”

I can’t help the laugh that falls from my lips as I shake my head. “No, but I wish.”

“Seriously like, not only are you dealing with her but Lucas too? He’s even worse if that was possible.” She mutters.

“I don’t know.” Pushing a chunk of cookie dough around on the end of my spoon, I blow out a breath. “Now that I see him for what he’s worth, it feels like him and Jenna make the perfect couple.”

“You should take me as a date to the wedding.” Pointing her spoon towards herself, Macy smiles. “I’ll get wasted and throw up in her dress for you.”

Looking down into my bowl, I can’t help but bite in the inside of my lip. “Actually, I kind of have a date.”

“What?” Sitting up and putting her ice cream down, Macy stares at me. “Wren… What are you not telling me?”

“So maybe my boss found me crying in a closet and somehow saved me from utter humiliation and we are sort of fake dating until everything is over.” Putting my cup next to hers, I bury my face in my hands. “It’s literally a whole fucking thing. With rules, Mace! Rules!”

“Oh my god.” Peeking through my fingers, her face is one of total shock. “Are you talking about like, Rory? The guy who runs everything?”

“No.” I groan. “It’s not.”

“If it’s not him then— Holy fucking shit, Wren.” Realization dawns on her. “Niall Horan? The Niall Horan?! You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“That’s the one.” I squeak.

She squeals as she reaches across the table and playfully shoves my shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on me with this?! Wren, he’s like— Have you seen him?”

“I have, a few times.” Laughing, I finish off my ice cream. “It’s not a big deal. Everything is strictly for the wedding stuff and I have to go to a few work events with him. No feelings, no attachments.”

“Oh this is going to be so good.” Crossing her arms a sly smile pulls at the corner of her lips.

A crease cuts between my brows as I stack our trash together. “What?”

“Nothing.” Macy stands up with me as we walk to the trash and then start our trek back to our cars. “I’m just writing my speech in my head for when I have to speak at your wedding.”

“Stop!” I laugh. “It’s not like that. Yeah, Niall is— He’s— Okay, he’s attractive and incredibly nice… But it’s not going to go anywhere. It can’t.”

Rolling her eyes, she bumps my shoulder. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t know— It just can’t. He’s just helping me out and trust me, he wouldn’t ever actually be into me.” I kick a pebble along the sidewalk. “Niall is a whole famous golfer who owns the place where I work— Not just like he’s another coworker. Besides, who would actually want to try and date the same girl who spilled an entire jar of pickles on them?”

Reaching into her bag and unlocking her car, Macy stands behind the open driver's side as she looks at me. “Wren, literally anyone would be crazy to not fall for you. I know that you feel like it’s not possible that someone would find you perfect— But you are wrong and I’ll be here to tell you ‘I told you so’ as many times as you want when you realize that.”

“Stop being nice.” I say, opening my own door. “I’m leaving before you get too nice. Text me when you get home?”

Climbing into her car, she calls out an ‘I love you’. “Yes, mother.”

Driving home, her words bounce around in my head and even after I’ve taken a shower and packed my lunch for work, they are still playing on repeat.

So much so that I pull out my phone and open the text thread with Niall’s name at the top, his last text sitting at the bottom without an answer from me.

Away on a business trip, it took me by surprise when the picture came in yesterday, the pinks and oranges of a sunset along with a sandwich sat on the table in front of him.

A reminder of how he found me not that long ago when I needed an escape.

I focus on the words under the picture, the ones that I’ve tried to figure out a response to at least a million times.

Niall

The sandwich just doesn’t taste the same without someone else here.

Just like every other time I’ve tried, I type out a response only to delete it and back out of the messages.

I couldn’t let myself get invested.

I wouldn’t let myself get invested.

—————

eeeeeep !!!!!

-a 🍀

[phyran]

This was a mistake. Everyone here smells like powder and perfume. It’s stuffy and warm.

It isn’t the mask, they’re already very used to the warmth of metal constantly pressed to their face. It’s the presence, the oppressive weight of every one of those haughty aristocrats packed into that all-too-large ballroom. Not that there isn’t room to move; it really is a massive and lavish room. No, the presence comes simply in the atmosphere of it.

They’ve taken up stance at one end of a table, sipping punch from what feels to be the world’s tiniest glass and refusing the odd dance every too often. Considering leaving, considering making a scene first, considering waiting it out.

They don’t notice the shape approaching, the large figure that’s picked them from the crowd. If they did, they might’ve hid, disappearing under the table and across the room before they could be seen again.

A single sharp talon taps on their shoulder, startling them, the glass stem between their fingers suddenly wafer-thin. Miraculously, it doesn’t shatter instantly.

“Apologies, my dear. I didn’t intend to startle you.”

The voice feels… smooth. Not in the way most of the partygoers’ voices would, a sickly oil meant to ease the transition into obedience, to get their way. This was more like a trickle of warm water, gracing your neck, down to your chest…

“Apologies myself, sir.” They say, clearing their throat. “I’ve been a bit… absent-minded, today.”

The figure laughs. “Oh, I do understand. This party is such a chore, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t going to say that, but I certainly thought it.” They say, returning a quiet chuckle. Hoping to suppress a soft shudder at the sound of his laughter. Somehow managing. They set the tiny glass on the table, a thin residue of wine staining the crystal.

The figure is a tall man, in a fine scarlet suit. They can only imagine the back is open, as the man’s black wings are able to spread wide behind his back, though he’s kept them folded. For the best, that wingspan easily reaches ten, maybe twelve feet. His mask is simple, a soft cream color laced with gold, in the shape of an owl’s face.

The feline, awkward they may be, is in a much similar outfit, a simple black suit accented by thin gold around the edges. Their mask is far simpler, simply bone-white with black eyes, drawn upwards at the corners. They’ve never lowered this mask in public, and brush off questions of it when someone gets curious enough to ask.

“If you really think such a formal occasion is a bore, what brings you?” The figure continues, taking a seat nearby. “If you don’t mind my questions, that is.”

The feline takes the other seat. “I don’t mind at all. And to answer, I suppose I’m not used to such a formal setting. I was hoping to maybe be a little more social, and this ended up reminding me why I stopped trying. My status brings me among the most dull people I could’ve imagined.”

“Yes, money does tend to smooth the interesting edges of a person. Or make them eccentric, to whatever end that may be.” The figure nods.

“What brings you, then?”

He doesn’t answer. For a moment, he says nothing at all.

“Perhaps we should know each other, before we delve too much into personal matters. I’m known as Archimedes.”

The feline looks between his mask, and his wings. “Inventive.”

“Quite. My parents thought it sounded educated, and hoped I’d turn into some stuffy bookworm from it. Delighted to say I’ve disappointed.”

“Well, Archimedes, it’s only right we both abandon the masquerade. I’m Alexa. My surname means little to me, so I don’t tend to give it.”

Archimedes nods knowingly. “Only fair. I suppose… as to why I’m here, I suppose I’m simply… looking for a distraction. My status has put me in… quite a personal situation, and I’d rather not think of it. Not to put too fine a point on it, but… Alexa, would you mind being that distraction for a night?”

The feline tenses. Not in defiance of the question, but in surprise.

“Mind you, this isn’t… a proposition. I’ll not ask anything of you but your company. I saw how uncomfortable you seem to be here, and… as I said, I’m looking for an out. Would you like to come home with me for a night?”

Common sense screamed no. Alexa didn't know anything about this man, save his name. Every instinct said no, save one.

They may have a mansion, luxuries beyond what most could ever want, money and status to get more, but all of that avarice is cold and lonely. There isn't a soul behind mindless belongings, and there's certainly no warmth.

"...Perhaps I would. Maybe I will. This party's brought me no more than a migraine from the powder smell, I suppose it would be good to get away."

Something lights up in the man's posture, his face still obscured by the gaudy mask. A strange tension in the air snaps, and fades. "Oh, stellar. Thank you, my dear. If you are ready to go, would you meet me out front? I do have a bit of a personal affair to settle, first."

Alexa nods, getting to their feet. "Fair enough. I'll send my chauffeur home, then we'll see what moonlight brings, hm?"

Another soft chuckle from the man, accompanied by the tiniest flutter of his wings. A feather falls, pulled from place by that nervous tension and set loose in its relief. Archimedes doesn't notice.

The two separate, the feline towards their car and the avian off towards his business. Alexa's mind races as they wait. What have they committed to?

[darkened-writer]

02| Generous Heart

summary || ❝She would not need a knight to protect her, or a handmaiden to serve her, but a friend to trust. ❞

pairing || Rhaenyra Targaryen x Female! Reader

word count || 4,460

warnings || Minor violence and Tension

notes || High Valyrian is in italics. Enjoy!

“Ser Ryam was a strong Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. But he was ill for some time. He passed in peace, I hope.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra was dressed clad in a beautiful white outfit, necklace adorned on her neck and jankily ring hung off of her left hand, middle finger. She poured wine with a vigor of someone who would rather be sat at the table, discussing matters as a political figure instead of serving them. You however, just stood at your post along the far side of the table, waiting for an order from the Princess or an order from the King. Though, you were more inclined to do anything Rhaenyra asked of you, regardless of the moral ambiguity of it. 

“He was found to have passed gently in his sleep. His remains are being prepared by the Silent Sisters. The succeeding Lord Commander, Ser Harrold, would like to make haste in finding Ser Ryam’s replacement on the Kingsguard.”

“Your Grace. My Lords. The Kingsguard must soon be restored to its full complement of seven. With the help of the Hand, I’ve invited a number of fine candidates to court. All have passed fair trials.”

The door to the council room suddenly opened, everyone's attention being drawn to Lord Corlys who marched into the room and up the few stairs with a mission.

“Four ships have now been lost. The last one was flying my banner. The Stepstones have now grown into a conflagration, yet you sit here and dither about court business.”

“If you’ve something to discuss, Lord Corlys–”

“I want to know what is to be done about my ships and my men.”

“The Crown will compensate you for your ship and crew and make an offering to the men’s families.”

“I don’t want compensation.” He growled, “I want to seize the Stepstones by force and burn out this Crabfeeder.”

“I am not prepared to start a war with the Free Cities.”

“These pirates are not the Free Cities.”

“Who do you think provides them with their ships and tender?”

“In all of its history, my lord, the Seven Kingdoms have never entered open war with the Free Cities. Were that to happen, the losses would be incalculable.”

Corlys took a few steps towards the lord defending the King, “What reason does the Crabfeeder have to fear us? The King’s own brother has been allowed to seize Dragonstone and fortify it with an army of his gold cloaks. Daemon has squatted there for over half a year without even a protest from the Crown.”

“I’ll caution you, Lord Corlys, a seat at the King’s table does not make you his equal.”

His expression changed, before he moved from his looming spot towards Otto Hightower, before being stopped by Viserys’ words. 

“I have acted, Corlys. I’ve sent envoys to Pentos and Volantis to see if we might find common cause.”

Rhaenyra was strangely still, looking as if she was pondering a deep thought. 

“Ships and men are at the ready. The Stepstones will be settled in time.”

“You have dragonriders, father.”

The whole room perked up including yourself, feeling a sense of pride watching Rhaenyra speak her mind. 

“Send us.”

“It isn’t that simple, Rhaenyra.”

“It would be a show of force.”

“At least the Princess has a plan.” Viserys scowled.

“I only meant that we could at least–”

“Perhaps, there’s some better use for the Princess’s talents, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra’s expression shifted immediately at Otto’s comment, “Why don’t you take the Princess to see about the new Kingsguard posting, Lord Commander?”

He nods, “A fine idea, Your Grace.”

“This knight will protect you as well. You should choose.”

“But Y/N is more than enough. Why would I need a Knight?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were on you now and you straightened your back, peering at Viserys’. He looked to be in thought just as Rhaenyra was previously, but The Lord Commander spoke up.

“Perhaps I could teach your Handmaiden some sword skills to ease any worry?”

The thought was interesting to you, being able to protect the Princess was just one of the many duties you promised Aemma, so you’d hope the King would be enthusiastic. 

Rhaenyra nodded, looking almost pleadingly at her father, he nodded, “Y/N will learn some combat skills, but until she reaches some mastery in those skills. You will have a Knight to protect you.”

The girl looked satisfied with herself, beaconing you to her side before the Knights opened the doors to the Council Room to see the Princess out. Rhaenyra leaned heavily into your side, keeping closely with you as you walked, the Lord Commander behind the two of you. 

Boy would this be a fun evening. 

-

The courtyard was filled with various knights of differing houses and livelihoods. Seven in total, the mystery knight being stood without a flag to represent a house. Ser Criston Cole, if you remembered correctly, the Knight to best the “Rogue Prince ''. 

Rhaenyra stepped onto a small step stool to look up over the seven men, hands folded behind her back as a sign of power. The Lord Commander brought a figure of a creature and placed it upon a small looking stage.

“Ser Desmond Caron, a fine Knight, Princess. Step forward, Ser Desmond.”

The man looked terribly proud of himself, yourself knowing immediately that Rhaenyra would not choose him. She had standards and he would be no exception.

“Son of Ser Royce Caron, Ser Desmond has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and without. While traveling through the Kingswood on his way to King's Landing, Ser Desmond recently brought a would-be poacher to justice.”

Everyone was looking at Rhaenyra and yet she remained quiet, staring at Ser Desmond with a curious gaze, Otto leaned to her ear to speak.

“You might thank him for his leal service, Princess.”

“We thank you for your loyal service to The Crown, ser.”

He bowed his head, and she moved her gaze up to Rhaenys who was overseeing the whole exchange, before the bird statuette was moved to the little stage.

“Ser Rymun Mallister.”

He moved up to present himself, “Son of Lord Lymond Mallister of Seagard. Winner of the melee at Cinder Hall. He was the last mounted of three-and-twenty knights. Ser Rymun was knighted at eight-and-ten.”

“Do any of these knights have combat experience? Beyond capturing poachers.”

Her tone was mildly sarcastic, but the Lord Commander nodded and moved the plain, brown, statuette to the stage. Otto Hightower sighed, “Ser Criston Cole.”

The dark-haired knight walked up just like the two previous knights, dark eyes immediately finding Rhaenyra’s then mine. He was what the common girls would call a “Heart Throb'', and you yourself were a tad shy under his gaze.

“Son of the steward of the Lord of Blackhaven.”

“Be welcome, Ser Criston.” She was smiling, and suddenly the shy feeling you had was replaced by jealousy. There was a twinge of electricity between the two, and it was ever apparent that she was looking to have him as her knight, regardless of the other six there.

Ser Criston nods at Rhaenyra, “You saw combat in the Stormlands.”

“Dornish marches, Princess. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. Ser Arlan Dondarrion knighted me after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”

Impressive Bastard, you thought, watching Rhaenyra turn to the Lord Commander.

“I choose Ser Criston Cole.”

She stepped from the stepping stool with grace, “Let’s not be too hasty, Princess. There’s no doubt Ser Criston is a fine warrior, but houses such as Crakehall and Mallister are important allies of the Crown. Seagard, for instance, in the realm’s prime defense against reavers from the Iron Islands.”

“Those men are tourney knights.”

Your gaze found Rhaenys’, and she nodded at you with a respectable gaze, “My father should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should he not?”

The man was dejected, “Of course, Princess.”

“Well, let us plan Ser Criston’s investiture then. And get Y/N in with the knight’s training, she has a lot of work to do…” 

-

Just as Rhaenyra had said, you were now placed within knights training. Various men were around you, clad in chainmail and leather clutching swords as they slashed at dummies made to look like the enemy. The Lord Commander however wanted to do basic sparring with you, handing you a wooden sword for training, but the idea of actually handling a sword was daunting. 

The air was crisp and cold, sending odd tremors up your arms. The ground shifted as you dodged the wooden jabs from your superior, making him miss every hit but even you were scared to try and land an attack. 

“Shoulders back… left foot in front of the right, and always keep your sword in a ready position.”

You adjusted your form and let out a huff of air in frustration, the Targaryen ring from Aemma glimmering on your middle finger.

Keep going, you heard in your head, and you took a step forward to urge the Lord Commander to attack. When he went for a slash to your lower body, you leaned back and thrusted the wooden sword up into his abdomen, the man groaning in pain at the sudden move.

“I’m so sorry!” Your concerned tone made the man chuckle, his free hand now gripping his stomach, his face bright with a weird delight. Your face contorted in confusion, “Why are you laughing, Lord Commander?!”

“I’ll make a fine knight of you yet, Handmaiden Y/N. Just you wait…”

-

“How’d you find training, my Handmaiden?”

Your expression of pure exhaust had roused a laugh from the Princess, yet she asked you a question that could easily be answered by a look at your body. Bruises were flowering up along your arms, neck, torso, and legs. There was a dull ache up your whole back, and you could barely grasp the wine chalice you were handing Rhaenyra.

“Very well, Princess. Each bruise is a sign to my commitment I suppose.”

“It brings me great joy seeing you train…”

You perk up, “Were you watching me and the Lord Commander?”

She takes a graceful sip of her chalice before setting it down, “Of course. Don’t think too much of it…”

Before you could continue to make conversation, Viserys made his way into the room, hastily taking a seat at the dinner table and holding his chalice up to be filled. You ever so slowly filled his cup, holding in a yelp at the pain at even lifting your arm. The King however, brushed off your pained look and dug into his food, shooting Rhaenyra a curious gaze. 

It was very clear that the tensions between the two were high, ever since Aemma’s death, they really hadn’t spoken much. The moon shone subtly through the window, but the room was mostly lit by the many candles in the room. The flame moved every which way, almost as if dancing to a quiet hum of music. It was alluring to the eyes, and fascinating to look at. And the heat it emitted was making the room oddly stuffy; Was fire always this beautiful?

“We haven’t spoken much… since.”

“A regret of mine. We should be free to speak our minds to one another.”

“You can say whatever you’d like. You are the King.” The man snickered, before his face showed soleum.

“I loved your mother very much.”

The ring on your middle finger began to feel heavy again, the black stone shining as you looked down to peer at it. Not even aware of the tears welling up in your eyes. Rhaenyra was also emotional, nodding at her father’s statement, “As did I.”

The understanding between the two was apparent, their shared love for Aemma leaving them both vulnerable. After a brief moment of silence, they both resumed eating, and you leaned over the table to fill Viserys’s cup with wine once again. 

“Ser Harold provided a fine field of tourney knights.”

“Oh?”

“But in questioning them, I discovered that Ser Criston was the only man among them with true battle experience.”

The King stifled a laugh, “He’ll make a fine Knight of the Kingsguard.”

Silence ensued once again, “Today at Small Council–”

“Pay it no mind.”

“I thought I might have had some insight.”

“You’re young. You will learn.”

Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair and suddenly the situation was more awkward than bittersweet, the King’s plate was now empty, so you grabbed it and placed it on a wooden board you’d use to carry the dirty kitchenware to the kitchen. 

“If you excuse me, I have business to attend to, my daughter…” He rises from the table, and she looks up at him, “Please, enjoy more food, don’t stop on my account–”

“Good night, Father.”

“Good night.”

Viserys’ exits and Rhaenyra motions to the seat next to her, “Please sit… I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’d never let you feel alone, Princess.”

The plush seat was oddly comfortable, and you eased into it as Rhaenyra grabbed a plate and began to pile food onto it. Various Targaryen-based dishes, fruits, meats, and even vegetables. She made sure to include every bit of food she could onto the plate before setting it in front of you, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Eat! When could anyone say they’ve shared a meal with Targaryen royal blood, Hm?”

She was playful, and you couldn’t hold in the smile painted on your face.

“What an honor…”

-

The very next day, you woke up to train with the Lord Commander once again. He was kind and forgiving as you messed up and gave you proper advice on how to get better. Even giving you your first sword to carry around with you. The steel was as shiny as the rubies encrusted into the pommel of the blade; leather wrapped along the handle. It was a bit heavy, but the Commander assured you that you would grow strong over time and the blade would begin to feel weight-less in your palm. You could only hope that strength would come easy.

What surprised you however was the random small council meeting that was called, ending your training early as you had to find Rhaenyra and take your place within the room to wait for her orders. You arrived in the room before her, Viserys’ nodding at you with a smile, obviously seeing the sword hung from your hip.

“It occurred in the blackness of night, my lords, during the hour of the Bat.”

Rhaenyra entered the room promptly as the Dragon Keeper began to speak, folding her hands behind her back and giving you a small smile, which you promptly returned.

“The thief eluded our pursuit.”

“How is it possible that a dragon’s egg was stolen out from beneath more than fifty Dragonkeepers?”

“It was Prince Daemon who was the culprit, Your Grace…”

“Daemon.”

“The Prince left a missive, which I believe might explain.”

The unraveling of paper, “It is the pleasure of Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the Iron Throne, to announce that he is to take a second wife in the tradition of Old Valyria. She is to assume the title Lady Mysaria of Dragonstone. Her Grace is with child and is to have a dragon’s egg placed in the babe’s cradle in the custom of House Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra and Viserys’ share a gaze, “The Prince has invited you to his wedding, Your Grace. It is in two days’ time.”

“Gods be good.”

“Who is Lady Mysaria?”

“We believe–”

“Daemon’s whore.” Otto Hightower exclaims the title with disgust, “This is nothing less than sedition.”

“I strongly agree, sire.”

“My brother wishes to provoke me. To answer is to give him what he wants.”

“The realm is watching, Your Grace.”

“What would you have me do? Send him to the wall? Perhaps I could put his head on a spike.”

“Daemon has seized Dragonstone, has surrounded himself with an army of gold cloaks, and has now stolen a dangerous weapon.”

Rhaenyra utters a Valyrian phrase, making the whole room turn to her, eyes watching like hungry vultures circling a corpse. But Rhaenyra was far from dead.

“Which egg did Daemon take?”

The Dragonkeeper thinks for a moment, “The egg was Dreamfyre’s, Princess. The same that you chose for Prince Baelon’s cradle.”

You visibly tensed, watching Rhaenyra clench her jaw and Viserys’ look distressed somewhat internally. The egg was to be for Aemma’s son, who was in the afterlife with her. The absolute nerve of the rogue prince, it set your blood aflame. 

“Assemble a detachment, Otto.” Viserys’ arose from his seat, “I will go to Dragonstone and drag Daemon back to face justice myself.”

“Your Grace.” Otto stopped Viserys in his tracks.

“My apologies, Your Grace, but I cannot allow it. It’s too dangerous. Daemon is without limit. Let me go to Dragonstone.”

Though Viserys’ had desired to go himself, he reluctantly agreed to let his hand deal with Daemon and Dragonstone. You, however, knew that Rhaenyra would not allow that to happen so finding her setting up Syrax for a ride the next day was not a surprise. She was wearing her usual outfit for dragon riding, except her face wasn’t painted with an enthusiastic smile, it was determined.

“Princess?”

The girl turned to her handmaiden, gently clutching Syrax’s wing.

“Y/N.. You mustn’t tell anyone about me leaving for Dragonstone–”

“I want to come with you.”

Once determined, now confused, “Come…with… me…?”

“Yes, I may not have experience with fighting yet, but I can be of help to you! If you’ll… let me.” The Princess gazed at the handmaiden she had grown a fond liking to and moved a bit to the side. She motioned for the saddle atop Syrax, and taking it as an order, you climbed up the dragon and settled on the saddle, awaiting Rhaenyra.

“Have you ever been dragon riding, my Handmaiden?”

“There is a first time for everything…?” Rhaenyra laughed, taking a firm seat finally on the saddle, in front of you.

“Hold onto my waist and do NOT let go. It’s a quick ride…”

“Okay but what do we do when we get ther–” Syrax shot up into the air suddenly with a roar of glory and the pair of you were now up in the air, getting closer and closer to the clouds.

-

It took a bit, but you finally settled from the fear of being so high up in the air. The winds were whisking yours and Rhaenyra’s hair every-which-way, but your hands stayed planted on her waist, feeling every single breath in and out from her diaphragm. It became peaceful, being an arm’s length from heaven, just above the clouds, and you knew the rumor of Targaryen’s being close to heaven may have not just been a rumor.

Rhaenyra seemed pleased also that Syrax took a liking to you, noting that Syrax didn’t even like the Dragonkeepers, so thank the lucky stars the dragon could bear your company. 

“We’re almost there…! Hold on tight!”

Your grip got tighter as the view of Dragonstone finally came, and with it, the current situation. Daemon was on one side while Otto Hightower was on the other, the divide being very obvious. But your eyes landed on the dragon just on the ridge overlooking the whole thing, Caraxes, Daemon’s beautiful beast. A creature fit for a man so misunderstood.

Syrax circled the bridge where the commotion was happening and flapped its wings as it was set to land behind the two opposing sides. Rhaenyra and yourself reared a bit at the landing, but your eyes locked with the Rogue Prince, Rhaenyra’s eyes on the Dragon egg in his clutches.

“Let me go down first, I’ll help you down..”

The Princess climbed down with exceeding skill and held her arms open for you to climb down, catching you as you lost your footing, and setting you right on your balance. You obediently followed her as she made her way to get to Daemon, the knights parting for her like the clouds for Dragon’s wings. Heads bowed and smiles were passed her way, but she continued her walking with haste. 

“Ser Criston, please escort the Princess to safety.”

“What are you doing here, Princess?”

“Preventing bloodshed.”

“Take care not to startle Syrax, my lords. She’s rather protective of me. My handmaiden, stay here and wait for me to finish my business with my Uncle.”

“Of course, Princess.”

She continued to walk, leaving you in the company of Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole. She eventually made her way into full conversation with her deranged uncle, and you kept your hand on the pommel of your sword.

“A protector is always ready to go into battle for the one they oversee.”

“Why did you accompany the Princess, Handmaiden? Wouldn’t you be far more useful tending to her quarters?”

Your sharp gaze turned to the knights behind you, smiles on their faces and yet yours didn’t look so amused. “Wouldn’t you be far more useful shoveling manure?”

Various snickers of knights reacting to your comeback, even Ser Criston cracking a smile at your attitude. However, you were just trying to listen in on what the two Targaryen’s were speaking about, knowing that you should possibly brush up on your knowledge of the High Valyrian language.

“I’m right here, Uncle, the object or your ire, the reason that you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir, you’ll need to kill me. So, do it. And be done with all this bother.”

She was surely cocky, but his gaze on her was so very intense, sharp as Valyrian steel, that when his eyes shifted to look at you lingering in the background; you let out a shaky exhale. The edge of his lips folded up a bit in a cheeky smirk, before he turned and began to walk away. Not before chucking the precious dragon egg in Rhaenyra’s direction. 

He returned towards the castle, without the egg, while Rhaenyra made her way back towards yourself and Otto Hightower. The heating chamber was opened to receive the egg, and she placed it within, seemingly satisfied with succeeding. Otto and Rhaenyra shared a look before she grabbed your free hand and began to pull you towards Syrax, gently. The leather of her glove feeling odd against the obvious sweat that coated your hand, the eyes of the Rogue Prince still swimming within your mind's eye. 

There wasn’t much time between the thought of the man and taking off on Syrax to go back to the kingdom, Rhaenyra even taking the liberty of situating you firmly against her, wrapping your arms around her stomach. Her eyes gazed quickly over your hands which were now near her chest as you held on, and the thought struck her mind of what your hands may feel like against her bare skin, but just like any thought; it left as quickly as it came.

-

“Stay out here while I talk to my father, alright? I’m sure the knights can make great conversation.” 

Rhaenyra was immediately summoned to her father, and the prospect that she may be punished for succeeding in retrieving the egg was ridiculous to you.

“What if he has disdain toward you going by yourself to get the egg?”

“I wasn’t by myself. I had you– and you were technically protecting me–”

Her shoulder bumped yours playfully, and your eyes rolled as the knights began to open the doors to Viserys’ chambers. You gave her a nod of good luck, and she headed in, the doors closing behind her.

It was safe to say however, that the knights were terrible conversationalists, having to inevitably sit in silence waiting for the Princess to finish her conversation with her father. After a little while, she came walking out of the room with eyes still wet from tears. 

You didn’t want to question what the tears were about, so you opted for a better method of just pulling the girl into a hug; which she accepted immediately. She escorted her to her chambers and even had one of the kitchen maids send her tea for later in the day. When in emotional distress, it is best to leave that person alone to stir with their own feelings before trying to talk, so you left her alone til the very next day. Informing her of the council meeting and helping her into her dress, you both eventually found yourselves in the council room, however, you were curious as to why Alicent was attending.

Viserys walked slowly to the front of the table, “I have decided to take a new wife.” Corly’s shifted in his seat, a satisfied grin arising on his face, was it perhaps about Laena? His only daughter. Rhaenyra nodded at the King to continue, “I intend to marry–” His eyes were shifty, but you were smarter than most observing his Royal Highness speak.

It was Alicent, it was so clear by her anxious shoulders and incessant picking of her nails. And to make matters worse, she glanced at Rhaenyra, catching her attention immediately. “The Lady Alicent Hightower before spring’s end.” 

Otto Hightower had an evident smile on his disgustingly proud face, but Lord Corlys was most infinitely angry, slamming his hands onto the table and getting up at his full height.

“This is an absurdity. My house is Valyrian, the greatest power in the realm.”

“And I am your king.”

To use his title, his power was absurd in of itself, but Lord Corlys backed away from the fight he couldn’t win and stormed out of the room. 

Rhaenyra’s face spoke of limitless, vast, fathomless betrayal. Her own best friend had gone behind her back and got the favor of her own father in marriage. Had Alicent loved Viserys this whole time, using her to get to him? Was she in it for the power, or was Otto manipulating her? All of those thoughts crossed Rhaenyra’s mind in an instant, while on the outside, tears welled up in her forget-me-not blue eyes; her bottom lip quivering.

“Rhaenyra.” Viserys called out to his precious daughter, but instead of answering, the girl did as Corlys had done and stormed out of the room. You and Ser Criston Cole trailing after her, but Ser Criston did it as his duty, you did it due to your genuine concern for her.

She would not need a knight to protect her, or a handmaiden to serve her, but a friend to trust. And in the very castle she stood in, she had just lost the one friend she’d thought she had.

-

[nxrthmizu]

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug 

genre | lila salt, so much salt 

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life. 

w.c | 8.1k 

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass. 

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it. 

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?” 

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess... 

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared. 

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.” 

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child. 

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.” 

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate? 

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain. 

Was it...? 

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps. 

Perhaps it was possible. 

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise. 

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?” 

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?” 

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?” 

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.” 

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily. 

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks. 

No. 

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again. 

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again. 

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead. 

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them. 

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!” 

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines. 

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?” 

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.” 

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for. 

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl. 

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,). 

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything. 

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed. 

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one. 

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on. 

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.” 

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one. 

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart. 

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” 

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done. 

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks. 

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation. 

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself. 

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill. 

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers? 

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!” 

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.” 

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter. 

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?” 

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen. 

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face. 

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was. 

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.” 

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.” 

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery. 

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being. 

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had. 

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist. 

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white. 

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...? 

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.” 

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom. 

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?” 

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string. 

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done. 

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.” 

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone. 

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!” 

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her... 

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on. 

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...” 

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?” 

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.” 

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...” 

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?” 

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word. 

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.” 

A collective choir of groans rounded the class. 

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?” 

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely? 

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?” 

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed. 

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?” 

“... No.” 

“...” 

“... Maybe.” 

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.” 

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.” 

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?” 

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.” 

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression. 

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?” 

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?” 

This elicited another round of groans. 

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally. 

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery. 

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam! 

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled. 

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette? 

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right? 

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point. 

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft. 

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? 

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.” 

Alya was silent. 

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes. 

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?” 

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally. 

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates. 

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job. 

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.” 

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom. 

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?” 

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.” 

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know... 

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.” 

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.” 

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row. 

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.” 

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him. 

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?” 

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered. 

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.” 

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in. 

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled. 

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea. 

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?” 

The class agreed, nodding along. 

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president. 

This is your problem now. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?” 

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?” 

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly. 

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.” 

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?” 

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile. 

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—” 

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.” 

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’. 

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?” 

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice. 

“Determination was always one of your good traits.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there. 

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations. 

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond. 

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come. 

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet. 

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars. 

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”  

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write... 

[lady-literature]

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do—or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them. 

And they all live happily ever after the end.

[professorrw]

Last Chance, a Remus Lupin One-Shot

Pairing: female reader x young Remus

Warnings: protected sex, loss of innocence, swearing, alcohol, partying

A/N: BOTH PARTIES ARE 18! This takes place during their graduation from Hogwarts, so May of 1978, which means Remus was 18. (This is a repost because the tags weren’t working)

It’s graduation. Seven years at Hogwarts over in the blink of an eye. It felt like just yesterday when you met Sirius, Peter, James, Lily, and Remus. Oh Remus. You’ve liked him since third year. You’re about to graduate and he still doesn’t know. Merlin, what was keeping you from telling him? Pure fear, that’s what. Because what if he doesn’t like you? What if you ruin your friendship?

Maybe, just maybe, you could work up the courage to tell him today before it’s too late. 

You looked around at your friends at the Gryffindor table, waiting for Professor Dumbledore to begin the graduation ceremony. Lily could tell how nervous you were, seeing that your hands were shaking a lot. She was the only person that knew you liked Remus. She was also the person that encouraged you to tell him today. 

Remus noticed that you were shaking too, but assumed it was from having to walk in front of all those people. That wasn’t the reason though, you weren’t afraid of large crowds. You were, however, afraid of messing up a perfectly fine friendship. But were you content with just being friends?

The boys were chatting about their plans for the night. Sirius and James want to have a huge afterparty in the dorm as their last hurrah. Tonight would be your last night at Hogwarts, the last night in your second home. So many memories filled the halls you could write a book about all the mischief you six got up to.

The attention was drawn to the head of the room as Dumbledore began to speak. “My dear students, you have accomplished a great feat, school!” There were a few laughs from the crowd of seventh years. “I commend you for getting thus far. You have a journey ahead of you, and I would hope Hogwarts has prepared you to take on each and every one of them.”

Dumbledore got through the rest of his speech then called up each of the graduating students to give them a certificate and handshake. Lily was the image of grace as she walked through the tables and up to the front of the room. The claps from you and your friends were louder than the rest of the Halls.

Remus’ name was called a while later and when he was in front of everyone James and Sirius wolf whistled at him, causing a light blush to spread across his cheeks. You giggled at the sight. Godric, he was adorable.

The rest of the names were called and the rest of the professors spoke before everyone was dismissed. This last night was supposed to be for packing but that wasn’t what the Marauders had in mind. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the Gryffindor common room they bolted to their room, gathering up everything they would need for the party. It was yours and Remus’ job to get the word out.

While Lily, James, Sirius and Peter set up, you went down to the dungeons to tell the Slytherins. Most were hesitant when you invited them, but you left it to the more rambunctious of the group to convince the others. You arrived back at your common room door soon after. 

When you entered the common room was transformed. Red and gold streamers were everywhere, the couches and chairs were pushed to the side to make a sitting area sort of thing, and there was a disco ball floating around the ceiling. That had to be Lily’s idea. 

Peter was putting out drinks on the desks meant for studying. He had a small variety of alcohol already set out with plastic cups stacked next to them. Leftovers from the feast earlier were also splayed across the tables. Never underestimate the gathering abilities of Peter.

You went up to the girls’ dormitory to change clothes. Lily was already there, shuffling through her trunk. She was only half dressed, so she must have been looking for some bottoms.

You ruffled through the different outfits you had and decided on your favorite one. The party wasn’t going to be formal, that was for sure. You still looked good though, tonight you would confess your feelings toward Remus. He was your closest friend other than Lily. If he didn’t take your feelings well you didn’t know what you would do. You pushed that thought aside and decided to think positively.

You went back downstairs and helped decorate for a while before people slowly started to trickle in. First to arrive were the Hufflepuffs. Dispute their innocent image, they could really party. The Ravenclaws followed after, leaving the Slytherins for last, which was typical. No matter how many parties were held, they would always be reluctant to show.

The common room was soon packed and music swelled from the walls. The party was in full swing within minutes. Sirius was already on top of a table, swinging around his discarded shirt. James hollered at him from below, “Dance Black!”

Following orders, Sirius started to dance on top of the table. He pulled out all the moves, rotating in a circle for all to see. You and Lily laughed from the couch, sipping on some random beverage. It was only seven, and you didn’t want to drink so early. That wasn’t the case for Sirius, who already had a cup of beer before anyone arrived.

Two or three hours in, you had danced with everyone in the group, including Remus. It was amazing to feel so carefree. You didn’t know when you would feel like this again, so you relished the feeling. You didn’t have a set time to tell Remus, you were waiting for the right moment. 

After being on your feet for so long, you sat back down. Lily walked over with you and sidled up in the seat next to yours. She looked at you expectantly, “So how’s it going? How’re you feeling? Are you ready?” 

“I’m feeling great. I’ve danced, I’m loosened up, I think I’m ready.” You nodded your head to solidify your answer. Thinking too hard about what you were about to do would only make you nervous.

“Well go! There he is!” She pointed to the drink table where Remus was.

“I’m gonna do it,” you said. You got up and confidently walked over to where he stood. When you got next to him he looked over and smiled.

“Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah it’s super fun,” you paused before continuing, “Actually I have something to tell you.”

He raised his eyebrows to acknowledge he was listening. You weren’t going to tell him in the middle of all that chaos.

“Not here. Could we go to your room?” You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to look as nervous as you were beginning to feel. 

Remus was visibly confused for a second, brows furrowing to give you a questioning look before he agreed. You followed him through the crowd and up the stairs to the dorms.

You closed the door behind you before sitting next to Remus on his bed.

“What do you need to tell me? Is it bad? Are you okay? If you don’t want to be down there you can stay up here, I’ll keep you company.” He was genuinely concerned at this point.

You let out air through your nose and shook your head. “No, nothing like that. It’s actually about you. Remus I- I have liked you for so long. I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you because now we’ve graduated and we’re about to leave and-” You rush through it a bit too fast, but Remus heard every word you said.

“Really? James didn’t put you up to this? Because if he didn’t, Y/N I feel the same way.” He basically whispers as his face moves towards yours. His lips are centimeters away from your when you answer him.

“James didn’t put me up to anything, he doesn’t even know I like you.” You speak in the same hushed voice as Remus did. Your gaze drifts from his eyes to his lips, anticipating what's about to happen.

He doesn’t even respond, instead closes the distance between you. His lips meet with yours in a kiss that makes you melt. You waited so long for this moment. All your worries slipped away, your mind focusing on Remus and the way you're connected. 

His hands go to your waist, pulling you into him. Your mouths mold and work together, tongues sliding against one another’s. When you finally pull away you're completely in awe. You had no idea how this night was going to play out, but it was fantastic so far. You decided to take a chance, “Remus I want you.”

“Are you sure?” Remus was ever the gentleman, he didn’t want to push you into anything too quickly. He looked at you with the same gentle concern that made your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m positive.” That much you were sure. You didn’t plan on taking things that far, but it felt right. Besides, it was your last night in Hogwarts. There was no telling where you guys were going to be next. You hoped you would all still be close. James and Lily were in a serious relationship so they would be together of course.

Remus nodded and unbuttoned his shirt. You took that as a sign to also start undressing. You stood next to each other, stripping until you were both naked. You admired Remus’ body, every single inch of it. Your eyes danced over the scars that littered his body. You stepped closer to him, hands around his shoulders while his hands rested on your hips.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before sliding onto the bed. Remus’ eyes trailed after you before the rest of his body followed. Before getting in he stopped at his bedside table. He opened the drawer and pulled out two things. One was a little square packet, a condom, and the other was a bottle, lube.

“Has he done this before?” you wondered. He saw your questioning eyes and decided to ask the question that hadn’t yet slipped from your mouth. “I don’t- I- It’s from Sirius. I haven’t done this before.” 

That made you feel slightly relieved. He was a virgin. That meant you weren’t the only one that was inexperienced.

“Me either. I don’t think I would have if given the chance though. Not when I liked you so much. It wouldn’t have felt right.” While you talked he opened up the tiny packet and pulled out the rolled up condom. He sat on the bed in between your open legs. He put it on his nice sized cock. You watched his every movement with anticipation. You had no idea Remus could make you feel so riled up when he hadn’t even touched you.

He squeezed the lube onto his hand before smearing it on his covered dick. Your breath hitched as he slowly inserted himself into your pussy. Remus’ head lolled back as he began to move in and out slowly. Your eyes shuttered shut as he picked up the pace. For your first time, it didn’t hurt as much as you were told it would.

“Remus, you feel so good,” you breathed out. He groaned as his fingers dug into your thighs. You moaned as he hit a spot in you that sent ripples of pleasure throughout your body. His pace wasn’t perfect but it was enough to get you both close to your orgasms. Remus heard the difference in sounds when he hit your g-spot and tried to do it again. After multiple more thrusts you could feel your body reaching its climax.

Remus gave a particularly throaty groan as his dick twitched inside you. You couldn’t feel his cum but you knew what happened. Even after his orgasm he didn’t stop, wanting you to reach ecstasy as well. 

His next thrusts were sloppy but they still pushed you further nonetheless. It didn’t take much more. You gripped his forearm as your walls clenched and milked his condom-covered dick. You moaned one last time as Remus rode out your high. He pulled out after a few slow thrusts, collapsing by your side.

You were both breathing  heavily against one another. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him. Your cheek rested against his bare chest. The quick thud of his heartbeat was mesmerizing.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to; I’m not going anywhere.”

Permanent Taglist: @bellamy1998​ 

[startanewdream]

Captain Potter

Summary: Lily Evans has a secret that the army cannot know and it doesn't help that her captain is trying to be her friend.

Note: So I was watching Mulan and it's Shirtless JP May and this got me into googling shirtless army man, so please enjoy this piece of very much self-indulgence set in another AU. Also, I have no knowledge of military ranks, so bear with me.

Read on AO3 or below:

‘Evans’, the captain calls, and Lily turns to him, slightly afraid as she always feels when she hears her name. Maybe this is the day her secret will be found, this is the day she will be expelled and will fall in disgrace —

But Captain Potter has one of his carefree trademark grins, none at all looking as if he is about to arrest her. He looks at ease, leaning against one of the training posts, arms crossed lazily, watching her with interest shining in his hazel eyes as if she is a puzzle he will understand someday.

Lily truly wishes he won't, so she avoids looking at him directly in the eyes.

‘Captain’, she answers at least, saluting. That seems to amuse him.

‘I have a name, you know’.

‘Hum’, she stops, unsure. Her interactions with the captain have been restricted — well, her interactions with everyone have been limited —, but she has watched him from afar.

He is young and yet he never tries to act bossy with all the other soldiers, never tries to impose himself. He may have a more affinity with three of the soldiers (his friends for a long time, as she gathered), but he tries to treat everyone fairly, encouraging and teaching all soldiers equally, from the weakest of them to the strongest, and it’s not hard for her to see why everyone is willing to follow him into battle. The only one that he hadn’t been able to reach some sort of relationship was with her.

Something that had fit Lily’s plans and worries very well.

‘Captain Potter?’, she tries.

‘I am someone besides a rank’, he suggests.

‘Mr. Potter’.

‘That would be my father. I am James ’, he says at least, as if she is unfamiliar with the name of the youngest captain of the army.

‘I know , but — it would not be proper —’

‘Liam’, he stops her and, just as anytime someone uses that name, Lily wants to look around searching for that person until she remembers her situation. ‘Can I call you Liam?’

‘I’d rather Evans’, she answers, grimacing, and when he looks dismayed, she adds quickly: ‘It’s how everyone calls me. Not… it’s more personal, really’.

‘Fine, Evans’. He grins again. It’s a beautiful smile, so open and inviting, that again Lily has no difficulty understanding the success he makes with all the other soldiers, why their unity is unanimous in praising him. There is something on him that draws people to him — her included. ‘Well, call me James. I can order you to if it will make it more proper’.

Lily lets out a laugh before she stops herself, biting her lips, worried. She shouldn’t laugh; though she can disguise her voice mildly well, her laugh is too thin, too sparkling. It’s not a man’s grave laugh.

Fortunately, the captain doesn’t seem to find anything amiss. He looks just… glad with her reaction.

‘So you are capable of laughing’, he notes teasingly. ‘I had my doubts, you know’.

‘There has never been an occasion, Cap — James ’.

He opens his mouth in an offended expression; it’s so dramatic that, again, she wants to laugh. ‘I beg your pardon? Yesterday, when someone — a very clever someone, I might add — pretended to be shot by an arrow? That was an occasion!’

‘Wasn’t that you?’, she asks, raising her eyebrows. It had been a long tense one minute in which one of the other soldiers, Sirius, had been sure he had shot by mistake the captain and his best friend before James had revealed himself alive, laughing hysterically and showing the fake arrow attached to his badge.

Sirius had punched him, all rank forgotten, but then he was laughing too and everyone thought it was hilarious.

‘It was fun ’.

‘It was terrifying’.

‘Oh, so you were terrified I’d died?’, he jokes, his grin now very smug. ‘And I thought you didn’t like me’.

Lily blushes, lowering her head and hoping he hadn’t noticed it. Truth was she had misjudged him on the first day, annoyed by the way he acted with that captain badge pinned on his chest. He came from a long family of militars, after all, and he was very young, no matter what his father would praise about his grades in military school, so she had truly believed he didn’t deserve to be a captain, that he had only got there for his family name.

In the last few weeks, though, she was forced to admit he was a good captain. He had the vision for it, good ideas, an efficient way of training everyone and, of course, he was a leader.

‘I have nothing against you, sir — James’.

‘I’m glad to know’, he says, sounding earnest. ‘I am worried about you, you know’.

‘Have I done something wrong?’, she asks, surprised, fear involving her again. Lily had taken care of doing all exercises, overworking herself, all to prove that that stupid rule that forbid women in the army did not make any sense. They needed everyone in the fight against Voldemort, after all, and she would not wait patiently, especially when people like her were one of his targets.

‘No, no, you’ve been perfect, really, no one dedicates as much as you’, he assures her. ‘But you don’t socialize. You stay quiet during dinner. You don’t participate in any of the games', he pauses, before adding again dramatically: 'You don’t laugh at my pranks!’

All of it is true. Lily has purposefully gotten away from everyone, afraid they would notice something different about her, though that quiet soldier, Remus, had tried to talk to her. She just feels she can't risk.

‘I do not think it’s time for pranks, James’, she answers, deciding the last point was probably the easiest.

He shakes his head. ‘We are at war, Evans. If we don’t laugh now, we may not laugh after’.

She supposes he is right. And even though he enjoys more pranks than she thinks it’s reasonable, she knows he worries too. More than once, when she is on guard duty, she has noticed the light of his tent is on very late in the night. James may look carefree with everyone else, but he has concerns about the war — and what lies in his shoulder.

‘Your work has been impeccable’, he adds quietly. ‘I just want you to get to know more of your colleagues and for them to know more about you’. Lily presses her lips, hoping her worry doesn’t show on her face. That was all she was trying to avoid. ‘You will need to count on them in the battlefield and they will need to know you have their backs too. And the only way to do that is if we trust each other. Can we do that?’

James is waiting for her answer, his eyes boring into hers firmly, and Lily can’t turn away now. In the light of the morning, with the sun shining on his face, his hazel eyes seem to glint in gold, the pupil barely visible. He has wrinkles on the side of his eyes, and she suddenly wishes they weren’t meeting in the army while she is pretending to be an introverted thin young man.

He seems the kind of guy she would like to meet in college, or to grow up together with, or even in a dancing club with her friends; they would talk and she could be then fully herself, could share with him her witty side and even help him in a prank or two. In that other life she would appreciate how nice and beautiful he is, with that black hair that’s always messy no matter how much he tries to comb, and those hazel eyes that were made for laughing, not to be worried for the war.

But that’s not her life and she is sure that if he ever finds out about her, he will hate her. Somehow, with how much she has learned to admire him in the last weeks, she fears his rejection more than she fears being expelled from the army.

Lily knows she would trust James Potter with her life, knows she would do her duty and die for him if it was needed, and yet she also knows she can't ever tell him  her secret.

So she does what she has been doing best ever since she joined the army.

‘We can trust each other’, she lies.

He beams. ‘Great, Evans! And I thought we could start sharing your mourning runs’. He raises one eyebrow when she looks surprised. ‘I’ve noticed you awake at dawn to run’.

‘I like to train’, she admits. ‘I am… thinner than the others, so I am trying to get fitter’.

‘You look a lot better’, he compliments, touching her arm, where her biceps have been evolving nicely. It’s a pat, a soft brush, and yet it sends shivers down Lily’s spine; his hand is warm . ‘Mind if I join you?’

She hesitates just a little. ‘I will stay quiet’, she warns him. ‘I like to think while I run’.

‘Works for me. And if you want to share a thought or another, well, I’m here, Evans’.

He winks at her, again so friendly that she turns her eyes away, wishing she could tell him the truth. But she can’t, so she presses her lips, ties the ribbon around her hair so the bun stays in place, and kneels to make sure her shoes are tied. Then she raises and her heart stops for a full second.

James has taken out his shirt. She knows he is fit — there is no way he can’t be with all the years of training he had — and she has seen before shirtless, but only when she was far away in the line, hoping to get unnoticed as she trained the movements.

Now, it’s only him, his tanned skin glistening under the morning sun, a god coming out of her dreams. She is staring and she knows it, but there is no way she can avoid it; weeks at the army have made her lost a lot of discomfourt around men's body, but this... This doesn't seem fair.

She watches the muscles in his arms, his biceps far more evident than hers will ever be, and it suddenly occurs to Lily that she would like very much to feel them around her, involving her, holding her. There would be only benefits in hugging him, she realizes, as her eyes move to his torso, enjoying the firmness of his chest and the muscles in his abdomen, a six pack that seems drawn perfectly. In his arms, she would glide her hand through his chest, would place a kiss over his heart and then she would raise her head and they would be so close —

And then James stretches his arms, raising them above his head, and she notices the hair on his torso, a few patches near his chest that shine with a few drops of sweat she wouldn’t mind drying, and then the darked patch over his abdomen, in a path that goes on vanishing inside…

When she finds herself staring at his pants, Lily decides she has crossed more limits that it's reasonable.

She turns, all her concentration in avoiding glancing at him again, though she feels it's fruitless. The sight of him seems to be recorded in her mind. He will appear on her dream, she is sure of it.

‘Everything all right, Evans?’, he asks, right behind her, and she jumps. 'You look red'.

Lily knows it; her face is hot, burning even before she has started to run, and she won’t fool herself pretending she doesn’t know the reason.

‘I'm fine, let’s go’, she answers quickly, heart racing in her chest. This was a horrible idea; mourning runs with her very gorgeous hot captain will do no good for her keeping her secret.

She sprints without warning, but he catches up with her easily. She keeps her eyes ahead. Don't look, don't stare, don't ogle.

‘There is something special about you, Evans’, he declares, the run not seeming to disturb his breathing. ‘I will find out one day’.

[shanitani]

Hi! May I ask Todoroki accidentally forgetting his S/O's birthday, angst time until his S/O accept his apologies and he decided to spoil them (even tho their S/O does not want him to spend so much money on them... He still don't care lol) thanks! ♥️

contains : shoto x fem reader

includes: angst -> fluff

a: hi babe, ngl this made me get a bit sad bc I feel like he would Lowkey forget ur birthday but not to this extent yk like probably for the first hour of the day- anyways I’m rambling .. here you go <3 

Feeling the crisp morning air hit your face, you smiled before even opening your eyes. Snuggled in what felt like your boyfriend, was in actuality just your throw blanket. You looked around for a sudden moment, stuck in the back of your mind that maybe, just maybe he forgot your birthday. 

‘Maybe he’s just cooking breakfast’ You shook away your thoughts stretching out of bed to smell nothing. To see nothing but a flimsy note on the kitchen counter in scribbled drawn out writing “Had something come up at the agency, be back later - shoto”

You couldn’t say that you weren’t mad or that you didn’t feel a slight pull at your heartstrings, but Shoto was like this - he doesn’t show emotions well with language, more so physical touch. And, you knew what you were getting yourself into dating a pro hero. He let you know before hand how much he had to be gone no matter the instance, and you still stuck with him because he was one of a kind that you couldn’t just let pass up - that’s what made Shoto instantly fall in love with you.

So, you stuck to your promise of unconditional love no matter if he was wrapped in your arms, or messily throwing things in a suitcase to fly out for a emergency mission. You just wished the universe had been a little nice to you today, or at the least gotten an happy birthday at the end of the note.

Despite not being with your boyfriend, Mina had instantly hit you up asking to hang out at the bar later. So instead of sulking, you spent your afternoon with Mina - waiting patiently for your boyfriend to come home.

The afternoon passed, and he still wasn’t home. dropping you a quick message saying, “taking longer than expected, be home later tonight - don’t wait up.” don’t wait up.. was he forreal? or was this just he serious? you thought over and over again taking off the heels you were supposed to wear with Shoto to your birthday dinner.

You wanted to cry, but you didn’t. “Not on your birthday Y/N” you spoke out loud trying to surpass the tears fighting to come out. Instead, jumping in the shower to clear your mind from it all and sitting down on the couch and watch movies to pass the time. 

Hours clicked by, 10pm it stated on the clock. Your birthday was over, and your boyfriend was nowhere to be found, tears fought angrily to come out - and you couldn’t do anything but let them force their way out. You choked out a sob on the couch, feeling hopeless and letting your mind get the best of you.

Was he seeing another woman? did he forget? does he even love me anymore? I wouldn’t blame him... Am I not good enough?

---

“Yeah thanks for helping me with the Mission today, I know it was last minute.” Midoriya nervously smiled rubbing the back of his neck before the bi colored boy shrugged picking up the last of his belongings. “Sorry again, I really do owe you.” the two boys walked out of the agency about to part ways as Todoroki stood confused at why Midoriya felt so sorry this week - this was usual for him to have to leave last minute.

“What for? this is what I signed up for.” Todoroki began to open his car door, shuffling his hair back into place, “Well I tried Bakugo and Kirishima but they had their own mission to fufill, and Denki wasn’t suited right for this job. Didn’t want to call you on your girlfriends birthday y’know? seemed rude.” Todoroki stopped in his tracks, trying to calculate what day it was. He fumbled with his phone trying to see the date, It can’t be today... its not, Midoriya’s just tired.. right? he silently prayed Midoriya was wrong - until he wasn’t.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ve gotta go Midoriya okay?” The boy didn’t wait for response from the green haired boy, rushing home. ‘How can I be so fucking stupid’ he banged on the steering wheel, pushing on the gas pedal harder as he finally got to the shared apartment.

He opened the door, cringing at the bright heels he’s never seen before laying nicely by the door. Shoto rubbed his eyes with his hands - looking at the phone one more time. 11pm. the apartment was pitch black, slightly smelling like food you had previously cooked for you and your husband - that’s when guilt finally started to rush through his body, but he needed to see you - he couldn’t just not say anything.

He walked slowly through the living room door, hesitant on opening it and seeing a furious you. In the back of his mind he hoped you wouldn’t be so mad at him for this happening, but he knew the chances were slim. He opened the door only seeing more pitch black and static on the TV screen, his eyes softened to see you tugged closely onto the couch pillow. 

He inched closer to you finally taking in your looks, you had a black silk dress that slightly rose up from you sleeping, you hair was a mess - frizzy at the top. And he could tell you’ve been crying, seeing your puffed out cheeks and calmer state. He felt terrible, trying to find out how to face you. All you’ve ever done for him was be supportive, and he couldn’t even take a day off from his hectic life to spend time with the person he loves the most. 

Without thinking, he woke you up, inching you awake slowly to see you wake up in discomfort before looking at him. He smiled at you, teary eyed - but you couldn’t quite figure out why until it hit you that it was still the same day. “Hi baby, wake up we’re going somewhere.” “huh” you rubbed your eyes, feeling Shoto tug your arm up and into his arms

He leaned to your ear, whispering a small ‘i’m sorry, let me make it up to you.’ and before you could answer he opened the door, motioning you to come outside. You complied; seeing his emotional face look at you made your heart melt. He pulled you into the car, putting his hand on your thigh and starting the car. putting the radio on for background music there was a comfortable silence in the air. 

You finally pulled into a driveway, the highest level that looked over the Japan city that you liked so much. He pulled you out urging you to come to the edge and breathe. He knew that after small breakdowns you would usually come out here to get your mind off things, so he thought this was the perfect place to bring you - at least just for tonight.

His head hung low trying to figure out the words to say to you, he didn’t know how to apologize, and he wouldn’t be surprised nor mad if you wouldn’t accept it. “I’m sorry. I’m a bad boyfriend.” he croaked out, with damp cheeks attempting to look into your eyes, he grabbed your hands subcontiously to stop his rapid heartbeat. You smiled at him, taking his head and putting it into your chest like he always liked. 

“It’s alright baby, you’re an amazing boyfriend. always will be my hero.” you hummed stroking his hair softly. you didn’t care about the date or the gifts, you cared about his presence, and it was before 12am. So technically, you got what you’ve wanted.

“It’s not, and i’ll try harder to be with you more.” he looked into your eyes finally, cupping your cheek. You smiled, “best birthday ever.” you smiled, kissing his lips that you’ve longed for all day. He was scared to at first, but soon drowned into your mouth - comfortable with your taste. You pulled back, fully relaxed and content, “baby?” he hummed in response. “You still didn’t say happy birthday to me.” you teased grinning as he playfully pushed you away from him only to bring you back into his chest closer, “happy birthday sweetheart.”

BONUS BECAUSE I NEED TO:

You awoken to the smell of pancakes and bacon, the sun shining warmly on your face making you sit up. You were awoken to food, presents, and a beautiful card placed on the left of your bed. Standing over you was your boyfriend, with messy hair and sweatpants that sat nicely in the middle of his V line making your cheeks heat - he never failed to look so adorable. 

“Good morning beautiful” he kissed your cheek, sitting on the edge of the bed near you, “Close your eyes.” you complied, feeling a small thin cold object grave over your neck, “Open.” you opened your eyes to see his phone handed to you to look at the object, it was a small gold necklace engraved to say “Todoroki” you smiled finding his eyes at yours, leaning in to kiss the boy.

“You’re already gonna have my last name, so for now this will do until I put a ring on that finger.” your cheeks grew incredibly hotter, “Thank you so much baby, it’s adorable.” you grinned placing down his phone and suffocating him once more in an endless amount of kisses to his face.

masterlist

[heliads]

Being Miss Misery

Based on this request: “a fic with newt based off mr perfectly fine by taylor swift”

masterlist

If you were going to describe the one thing you looked forward to each morning, the one person who made you want to fight your whole life to escape the Maze, you would say it was Newt. How could you not? You love him, after all. Or, you loved him. There are days when you wish you could go back in time and tell yourself that you had gotten it all wrong, that some dreams were just meant to stay dreams and never become real. Then again, if you had never let yourself jump this time you’d spend the rest of your life thinking about the fall you could have had.

In the end, you suppose there was no way you could have ever chosen differently. No matter what happened, no matter what words were said, you could never quite forget how happy you were before, even when you were stuck in the Maze. That was the best thing about Newt, after all- he made you smile like no one else ever could. There’s always a second side to every coin, though, and that means that he has hurt you in a way so unique to him that no one else could ever hope to mimic it. No matter how many times Janson or WICKED tried to hurt you, nothing would ever cut quite as deep as this.

With every story, there’s a start. A reason why things ended up the way they did. Yours begins with the Box, the same way every other Glader remembers their first day. There is no before, not in the Maze. Just the Box, and what comes after. Everything else has been wiped from your mind, cleared away like fog from a glass. Gone, never to be found again.

You had been pulled from the metal box and stood, squinting, letting your eyes adjust to the sudden bright sunlight. You had looked around, taking in the sight of the massive stone walls surrounding you and felt your pulse start to skyrocket. Before you could really start to panic, though, a voice sounded out from behind you. It was quiet, peaceful, and you knew from that second that you would be alright.

“That’s the Maze.” You had turned to face a blond boy, one with a limp and a slight accent that tinged his words the same stilted gold as a piece of bronze. “The Maze?” The boy had nodded sagely. “You’re in the Glade now, greenie. The Maze keeps us stuck in here.” You had nodded again, and the boy apparently took pity on you, softening his tone even more, folding it up into a more peaceable sound. “I’m Newt, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

You had started for the usual greeting, the fine, thank you, and I’m- but the problem was that you couldn’t remember your own name. No place, no history, no name. It’s like you were a blank canvas, but one that had once held the most brilliant of landscapes if you could only remember it. Newt had clicked his tongue softly. “You won’t remember it, love. It’ll take a while before your name comes back to you. Don’t worry, everyone forgets.” You had stared at him. “Where are we? I know it’s the Glade, but where is it?”

Newt had shrugged. “Nobody knows. We all just showed up here, one at a time, with no memory or anything except the shirt on our backs. You can ask all the questions you want, but we won’t have any answers.” He had looked at you sideways then. “Actually, don’t ask all the questions. We told that to Chuck-” he points to a young boy with a mop of curly brown hair, “-and he took us too literally. Don’t think we slept for a week. All we heard was questions.”

You bite back a laugh. “Sounds good, Newt. I’ll keep my questions in the single digits.” Newt flashes you a smile that seems as bright as the sun. “I like you already. I think we’re going to get along very well.” If only he had known how true that would be. If only you had known, so that you could stay away.

You’re not sure you can remember quite when you realized you loved him. In the end, the exact date doesn’t really matter. It happened, you couldn’t shake it, and it felt like the most beautiful mistake you might ever make. In the Glade, you couldn’t count on anything- not the weather, not the people, not even the Maze, which changed each night. When Newt had told you how he felt one night by the campfire, you were sure that it would haunt you for the rest of your life, that it was too good to be true or too good to last.

You had started to stand up, ready to hurry away and pretend like you hadn’t heard a word. Newt had stood up too, taking your hand and keeping you by his side. “I’m not going to break your heart, Y/N. I promise. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve been waiting for you all my life, and I want to be here with you. Right by your side, until the end.” You had smiled at him then, finally letting the last of your walls down. When he kissed you, even the whoops of the other Gladers weren’t enough to dissuade you.

There was nobody like him, that much was true. He made the Glade better, made even the stormiest days feel like a cloudless blue. You came to trust him, to depend on him. You believed that he wouldn’t leave. It was like he said, right? He looked you in the eye and told you he would never go away. You two were practically inseparable, and it was the best feeling on the entire planet.

When Thomas arrived, bringing with him the destruction of the Glade and promises that he could get everyone out, you thought it was the best thing you’d heard in a while. You had held Newt’s hand while you ran through the Maze, dodging Grievers and doing everything in your power to keep the other alive. That was what you did best, after all- loving each other, staying together. You can still remember that one night before you left, when fires had been burning the homesteads down and the shrieks of dying Gladers echoed through the night. It drives you to run faster, to move farther away from everything that had happened and all the horrors you had seen.

Newt had taken your hand in his, pulling you close in the dark of the night. “We’re getting out of here, alright? Promise. I love you, Y/N, and we can finally have a life outside of all this.” You had smiled at him, letting him press a kiss to your cheek. It sounded perfect, that was the problem. Perfectly fine, and none of it was true, although you’d have no way of knowing it then.

That day seemed to pass in a blur, and the next day, and the next. You made it out of the Maze, out of the nest of Grievers, and into a pressed-clean WICKED facility. They promised you safety, shepherding you into groups of other boys and girls who’d managed to make it out of their respective Mazes. When Newt gestured for you to talk to him separately, away from the other boys from your Maze, you had assumed nothing of it. How wrong you had been.

His voice was quiet, eyes darting over to the other boys as if wanting to make sure that they didn’t hear. “I want to break up with you, Y/N.” You had stared at him, not able to understand. “What?” He swallowed, then repeated himself. “I want to break up with you. I’m really sorry, Y/N, but I don’t think this is going to work out. I just- I stayed with you for longer than I should have in the Maze, because I thought we were going to die, but-”

You cut him off, feeling your tone turn icy. “You’re done now because our lives aren’t at risk anymore? You don’t have to feel guilty about it?” Newt winces. “It’s not like that, Y/N. Honest. You’re a great girl and all that, I just don’t think it’s working out anymore. Sorry.” With one last insincere apology, he turns and walks towards the rest of the boys, his step considerably lighter as if a sudden burden has been relieved from his shoulders. You’re left to stand there, alone and mute and utterly heartbroken.

There’s nothing left to do except pick up your broken pieces and go back to the table with the others. Even this brief moment of weakness, this one last hesitation by the door, has drawn looks of confusion from the Gladers. You force a smile, a spring in your step, and sit down next to them. If you make sure not to sit next to the backstabbing blond boy, well, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

The days blend together, one into the next. You didn’t realize how much you depended on seeing Newt, talking to him, saying something clever and warranting a smile, until it was all gone. You were still a Glader, and that meant that when everyone escaped the WICKED compound he made sure you stayed alive like the others, but for once, there are no more strings attached. No promises to make it out, no lies told to make it through the night. This is what it was like in the beginning, you remind yourself, and you have to learn to deal with it once more. If only it was as easy to do it as it is to say it.

Now you sit alone at a campfire in the Scorch, watching white-hot sparks cascade into the open air. Your friends from the Glade have met up with the girls from Group B and some members of the Right Arm, meaning that you’re in a crowd for the first time in a while ever since entering the Scorch. All around you, people are taking advantage of the sudden numbers to mingle and chatter with the din of a flock of birds, but not you. No, you use the overwhelming mass of people to hide away, blending into another silhouette in the desert.

It appears you’re not to be alone forever, though. Someone slumps down into the seat next to you. You smile ruefully at the expression on her face- the same heartsick, stupidly trusting look that you have no doubt has been on your own. Brenda, it appears, is not doing well with the sight of Thomas parading back and forth with Teresa. 

“Having a good night, Brenda?” She gives you a look. “About as well as you, I think. How are you, by the way? I heard you were dating Newt in the Maze but if looks could kill I think he’d be worse off than the Cranks.” You sigh. “We were dating, that much is true. He broke up with me out of the blue, broke my heart for no reason other than the fact that he didn’t feel like he had to protect me anymore as we were out of the Maze.”

Brenda stares at you, all thoughts of Thomas banished. “He didn’t say that. Tell me he didn’t say that.” You nod, smiling bittersweetly. “He did indeed. Mr. Casually Cruel, that’s his new name from now on.” Brenda looks over at you. “If he’s Mr. Casually Cruel, what does that make you?” You prop your chin up on your hands, staring with unseeing eyes at the throngs of people around you. “Miss Misery, I guess. He’s perfectly fine, I’m falling apart.”

Your eyes find a familiar figure in the crowd, one you’ve been doing your best to avoid but always seeming to return to. “The worst part is that he moved on so quickly. You’d think he’d forgotten he’d ever heard my name. I mean, look at him.” You jerk your chin towards a pair of figures on the opposite side of the roaring campfire: a blond boy, arms wrapped around Harriet. He smiles at her, lingering traces of his face disappearing into a haze of heat from the flames in between you. 

“I’ve been picking up the pieces of my heart, he’s been picking up her. I’m starting to think that I never meant anything to him at all.” Brenda clicks her tongue indignantly. “That jerk. Hey, if you ever need someone to accidentally push him off a cliff-” You cut her off, laughing. “I’ll look to you first. Don’t think we’ll need that quite yet, though.” Brenda folds her arms across her chest. “You don’t need him, though. Honestly. He wants to promenade around here like he’s Mr. Always Wins, fine. He just walked out on the best thing in his life and he doesn’t even realize it.”

You smile at your friend, a true smile this time. “Thanks, Brenda. Now, if you could keep your same advice around Thomas-” Brenda holds up her hands, starting to laugh. “We’re not talking about that! I changed my mind, let’s go back to Newt.” If you’re so distracted by the conversation and laughter with your friend that you don’t notice a certain blond boy looking your way, eyes drawn to you again and again even if he does his best to pretend otherwise, maybe it’s for the best.

The night is late, stars hung in the sky as if by some absentminded hand. The fire has died away to ash and coals, tendrils of smoke starting to creep up to the horizon. The din of the gathering has proved a little too much for you, and you’ve chosen to fade away into the night, your feet carrying you further and further from the center of the group. You lean against a rough rock face, letting your eyes trace the curves and stars of the night sky. You’re distracted enough by the sights that you don’t hear the uneven footsteps coming up behind you, the telltale lurch of a boy with a limp.

“You always liked looking at the stars, didn’t you?” You startle at Newt’s voice, appearing out of nowhere. You shake yourself, forcing your shoulders to sink and relax once more. “They’re beautiful. Always have been.” Newt’s smile is as sure as a running river, always strategized, always well-placed. There’s a confidence there, too, an edge. Proof that he’s so far above you in every sense, above feeling anything at all. “Just like you.”

You raise an eyebrow. After everything he’s put you through, after everything that destroyed you but never fazed him, you’ve learned to doubt a careless compliment like this. That may be all you’ve learned, but it is enough. Newt takes your silence as an invitation to keep speaking. “I think I’ve made a mistake, Y/N. You’ve always been so good to me, you know? Always here to stay, always at the right place at the right time. I hate to speak too quickly, but would you consider giving me another chance?”

You’ve thought about this moment for a long time. Mr. Perfectly Fine, Mr. Casually Cruel, finally seeing you in new eyes and realizing that by leaving you he was giving up everything you might have had together. But you’ve seen this moment through a hundred times in your head, and for once your head is clear, eyes bright and looking forward instead of on what might have happened. You know your answer, once and for all.

[talonwings]

Empires SMP Fic

first crack at Empires writing below the cut. I tried to follow the very helpful suggestions of those who replied to my question about writing a few weeks ago (huge thank you to all of you!)

this is only the first part of what i plan to be a longer piece, depending on feedback--so please enjoy and don't hesitate to tell me what you think!!

It had rained for hours now, and still the young man sat, unmoving.

One might have thought him a statue at first glance; forlorn and alone, his head bowed toward the murky shallows of the swamp in which he slumped. The rain had soaked his sandy hair through, and it sagged toward his shoulders under the weight of the water, along with the twigs, moss, and slime scattered throughout the fine strands. His simple garments were equally drenched and slimy, his bare feet awash with greyish mud; dirt-streaked elbows rested on his patched knees, his hands outstretched to shield his face from view.

He had not moved since they came. Since they came, and they took, and they left, carrying that which was most precious to him and vanishing without a trace.

From behind his splayed fingers, a single tear trickled down his cheek, but it was quickly lost in the storm.

-

Jimmy had never much cared for fWhip.

Of course they had plenty of history now to justify his dislike--the Count had blown a ravine in his land, attempted to assassinate his closest ally, and launched explosives across his border, just to name the most recent things he could recall. But even before the narrow-eyed ruler of the Grimlands had made a move against him, there was something about him that the young swamp king knew was amiss. Perhaps it was his smile, just slightly crooked enough to be unsettling; or maybe it was the way his fingers constantly twitched at his belt, as if searching for a weapon. Whatever it was, Jimmy knew that fWhip was not to be trusted, and for the most part, he tried to keep his distance.

Unfortunately, keeping your distance wasn’t as effective when the object of your dislike was following you.

The Count’s unsettling laughter echoed behind him as he cleared the boundary of the deep-violet portal, the bridge between his swamp kingdom and the hellish underland known as the Nether. Though dangerous, the crimson hellscape was rich in mineral resources, which was why the rulers of the above-world so coveted the obsidian-rimmed gateways into its depths. It had taken Jimmy months to gather enough obsidian to construct one, and though obsidian was a hardy ore, he shuddered to think how it might fare against an explosive blast.

He was startled, upon exiting the gateway, to be immediately surrounded by what looked like a massive pile of loose stones, built up haphazardly against the shimmering black frame. Several of the smaller ones were startled free from their stacks by his arrival, and he was forced to dodge aside as they tumbled to the earth, sending up small splashes of mud and making divots in the land where they came to rest. The stones were so plentiful, he could barely make out the green-gold glimmer of the sun through the cracks between them.

“Who--” he began, but a chuckle from behind him cut the words off as he spoke them. He cringed at the familiar sound.

“Do you like your gift?” the Count’s suave voice asked. He sounded absolutely delighted.

Steeling his nerves, Jimmy pivoted to face his adversary.

“Why?” he asked frankly.

fWhip shrugged. “It was fun,” he replied, a gleeful, uneven smile cracking his face. “I didn’t do it alone, if you were wondering.”

“Of course you didn’t. I’m sure Sausage was pleased to help,” Jimmy managed from between clenched teeth. The ruler of Mythland was possibly the only person he despised as much as the man before him.

“Oh, not him. He was busy.” fWhip waved a gloved hand, as if the words were unimportant. “Lady Katherine and Lord Scott were pleased to help me.”

That startled the Codfather, though he did his best not to let it show. Scott’s name surprised him less--the elven lord was fickle on the best of days and had no great love for the swamp kingdom or its ruler. Lady Katherine, though…

“I thought House Blossom was an ally of mine,” he finally replied, trying to maintain a calm tone. “Or, I suppose you could be lying. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

fWhip chuckled again, and Jimmy clenched his teeth just a bit harder as the sound sent a shiver down his spine.

“No lie,” the Count said, rubbing his palms together. “She is an ally of everyone--which is to say, an ally of no one. She delights in mischief, though I am sure that is not something she wishes to be known.” His lip quirked just a little higher, revealing the glint of a sharp white canine tooth. “I know much that others wish was unknown.”

“Is that a threat?” Jimmy retorted, unsure of what to do if it was.

“A statement of fact,” the other man replied with a casual shrug.

Jimmy digested this in silence for a long moment; finally, he narrowed his eyes and regarded his foe. “Fix it.”

fWhip quirked an auburn brow at the command. “I’m sorry?”

“You did this.” Jimmy gestured around him at the piles of rocks. “Fix it.”

“My, my.” This time the Count actually laughed, deep and hearty. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard you stand your ground to my face before.”

Jimmy swallowed hard. “Well, I’m doing it now. Fix. It.” He clenched his fist to hide the trembling in his hands.

fWhip tilted his head, and Jimmy had the creeping sensation that the other man was looking at him the way a spider looks at a fly. He met the Count’s blue-green eyes steadily, even as he felt a bead of sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

Finally, fWhip shrugged again. “Fine. I grow bored with it, anyway.” He gazed off into the distance for a moment, apparently lost in thought; then that unsettling smile returned, and he tapped his nimble fingers on a pouch hanging at his belt. “How would you feel about an expansion to your lands?”

Jimmy eyed him warily, gaze drawn to the strange leather bag. “What do you mean?”

fWhip just laughed quietly, and for the briefest of moments, Jimmy could have sworn he saw his enemy’s eyes gleam scarlet. The Count cocked his head as if listening for something; whatever it was apparently pleased him, for his grin widened and he undid the drawstring of the small bag, reaching a hand in for whatever lay inside.

“No, wait.” Jimmy held up his hands, unable to keep the rising panic from his voice. “What’s in there?” When fWhip did not respond, he raised his volume. “fWhip, what is that--no, don’t--!”

He was unable to prevent the soft whoosh of the match flaring to life; all he could do was throw himself behind the portal frame and hope to whatever gods might be listening that he was far enough away as he clapped his hands over his fin-like ears.

The explosion shook the ground, sending rocks careening from their piles in all directions. Though his ears were plugged, the noise was still deafening, and Jimmy felt that he could feel the vibration through his muscles and bones and blood, all the way to his very soul. He bowed his head toward the muddy earth and closed his eyes, waiting for the moment when a rock would land on him and crush him beneath its weight. Thankfully, the obsidian frame held, and while several pebbles nicked the swamp king’s slimy skin, the larger rocks simply ricocheted off the obsidian and landed in the neighboring muck with loud slurps.

The silence that followed was deafening. Ears ringing from the blast, Jimmy finally allowed himself to open his eyes and take in the devastation.

A sizeable crater had formed where fWhip had dropped his explosive, mud flung away from the hole to reveal even waterier soil beneath, glinting with a soft sheen in the now-bright sunlight. It was nowhere near the scale of the ravine the man’s explosives had previously created, but the sheer immediacy of the destruction was enough to tie a hard knot in Jimmy’s gut.

“What have you done?” he croaked, his voice seeming muffled to his still-damaged hearing.

“I fixed it,” fWhip replied.

[jayankles]

The Culmination: Endgame

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Word Count: 2362

Summary: Y/N doesn’t feel so good and it’s not like her to not answer the phone to Sebastian. He was right to send over Josie, Y/N’s friend, over to find out what’s wrong.

Warnings: Angst, Implied Smut, Fluff

Written for: @anyfandomangstbingo​ | @anyfandomfluffbingo​ | @anyfandomgoesbingo​ 

Squares Filled:  Sick fic | first time | “I really don’t like doing this over the phone”

A/N - Blake Lively is not a representation of the reader; it’s just for the dress. And the other beautiful woman is exactly who I pictured for Josie.

Feedback is gold and appreciated

Of course, you were sick today. The day that Sebastian had told you that he was to take a day at the gym then spend it with Don. You knew that when you woke up this morning it wasn’t going to be a good day, the cold sheets a little foreshadowing of how your day would have gone. The little guttural feeling you had punching you in the gut right now, it had you on the floor, bent over the toilet seat with your head in the bowl.

You felt awful. Unable to move, unless it was your throat spasming. Definitely the worst day so far, you couldn’t move and when you finally were able to move at all you felt like a robot. Not a good look.

You decided that it was time to head back to bed, none of your food would stay down so you made yourself a bottle of water and stumbled into bed with a bucket in your hand, ready to put the bucket on the floor beside your bed.

Pulling at the covers, you curled up under them and took a swig of your drink. Tears rolled down your face as you felt the pain grow stronger, you rubbed your stomach in hopes it would make you feel better; it didn’t.

All you could do was pray that you would fall asleep to not feel this pain anymore. Sleep evaded you. The pain is all there is that you feel. You threw up another three times before you finally succumbed to the pleasures of sleep. Rattling of keys had been the object that had drawn you out of your few moments of slumber. You didn’t dare move though, there was no point, you couldn’t move anyway.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?” It took you a minute to realise that it was your friend, Josie, shouting your name in hopes of finding you. “Y/N, Whe- There you are. What are you still doing in bed? Oh...”

She looked as if she sighed out a breath of relief before she retracted, covering her mouth and nose with her hand. Inhaling the stench of the room, she quickly ran out of there, returning with air freshener, spraying it around you to make her feel better.

“You need a bath, babe. Stay here and I’ll run you one. Of course you’re going to stay here, you poor thing.” Josie rambled, you stopped her before she could go on for another hour.

“Jo, pour some lavender in there. Love you.”

Freshly out of the bath after thirty minutes, you were wrapped up in Sebastian’s bathrobe, a reminder that he was home as it still smelt like him. “I hate feeling like this. It sucks. But I feel better already.”

Josie softly smiled at you, pity in her eyes. “Must have been that nap you took but I know it sucks. Could you imagine Seb with this kinda illness, though? It would be 100% worse just because it’s man flu.”

“Thank you for being here.” You said, taking a seat on the couch. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Seb called, said he tried texting and video chatting you but you wouldn’t pick up. I guess he was right to have me come over and check on you.”

“He’s such a cutie.” You groaned as you walked, the bath only slightly relieving some of the pain.

“I know. It makes me wanna barf… not like you, though. That shit is nasty, no, thank you, ma’am.” She tutted through a pinched nose, reminding of just how gross you felt and smelt not even a mere hour ago.

“You’re a pleasure as always, Jo. Always so kind to me, when I feel like shit. Thank you.”

She shrugged knowingly, a smirk on her face as she reached forward for the remote, finding a music channel and turning it down a little so it faded into the background becoming nothing but white noise. “So do you know what brought this on? Eat some bad food?”

“I don’t think so, otherwise Seb would feel the same way right?”

“Well you aren’t pooping as well as being sick so this isn’t a viral or bacterial thing. You’re not burning up? No severe migraines?” She asked and you only had one answer.

“Nope. And no, my appendix hasn’t burst because I’ve already had it out.” You said, becoming tired again as you let out a yawn.

“Well, I think I might need to slip out for a little bit.”

“Why? Where are you going? I thought you were going to take care of me?”

“I am. I’m just gonna head to the store and grab you some stuff to make tomato soup. I’ll be twenty minutes tops.” Josie was true to her word, never taking more than the twenty minutes she promised. Putting the bag of groceries on the counter, Josie pulls out the contents, revealing the ingredients she offered to get for you but you could tell that there was something else in the bag.

“What’s in there?”

Josie was fidgety, her fingers twiddling together. “I need you to keep an open mind because I think I know why you’re grossly throwing up.”

“Hit me. I wanna know how I can feel better right now.”

“It’s a good thing that you’re sitting down because…” She paused, making a face that she knew you weren’t going to like. “Because I think you’re pregnant.” her face unchanging as she pulled out the pregnancy test.

Then it hit you. 

No.No.No. Fuck!

Hands dancing.

Tongues twining.

Passion blooming.

It was everything you could have asked for when he was away but now that Sebastian was back, you couldn’t keep your hands off of him. You covered every area of the apartment possible.

Oh crap.

“Fuck!”

“Yes you did.” Josie laughed at her own joke, the reaction not quite the same on your end.

“Oh god, Sebastian is going to kill me. He’s never going to want to talk to me. Why was I so stupid? Oh, I’m never gonna hear from him again. I’ll be kicked out. I’ll be a single mother. I’m gonna have to live with you and if I have this baby, you’re gonna hate me, then you’re gonna kick me out too. ”

Josie scoffed at you, helping you scurf back your hair away from your face, making you look into her wide eyes. “First of all, chill. I gotchu, you know I gotchu forever. Sebastian isn’t like that, but if he is you will never see him again and that is a promise and maybe a little bit of a threat. He’ll deserve it if he hurts you so. Just be my alibi if anything ever happens. Just go take the test. Negative? You’re just sick. Positive? You call Sebastian and you talk to him like an adult.”

“Why are you always right? Don’t you ever get sick of it?” You huffed before you smiled at her, squeezing at her hand after taking the small handful of the pregnancy test boxes back to the bathroom.

Five minutes passed and you were holding the peed on sticks in your hand, four out of five of them being positive. “I think I need to call Sebastian, and a doctor.”

After making an appointment with the doctor, you took a deep breath and pressed the button to call Sebastian. He picks up the call pretty quickly and you are not surprised.

“Y/N! Finally! Are you okay? What happened?”

“Hey bubba. I’m fine, just a little sickness. But I really don’t like doing this over the phone. When are you coming home. We need to talk.”

Two months later.

It was the night of the premiere of Avengers: Endgame and you couldn’t be more thrilled for the success that the Marvel Franchise had. It was 10 years of absolute lovable craziness. Thank you, Stan Lee.

You had no idea that you would be here on the aptly coloured, purple carpet with Sebastian after all you would have thought that you would still be with him after the whole pregnancy fiasco but the two of you were able to talk things through. Things were thrown, voices were raised, and tears were shed but still after all of that, Sebastian made the executive decision to calm the two of you down. The stress was no good for anyone at this point. You were both going to be parents; it’s what was established.

The two of you walked hand in hand, palms sweating as the cameras flashed, and photographers called out to each and every star that was involved in the production of Endgame. The culmination of the whole franchise was just so surreal, the fact that it was ending with a bang both made you swell with pride but it also made you a tad emotional because this collection of amazing characters wouldn’t continue but the legacy they left would. And that was what mattered.

“Sebastian! Y/N! Over here!” You heard from one of the interviewers, looking beautiful in her outfit, Sebastian rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, you were going to be okay. He was right there with you and you had done this a few times before. He was there for you.

“Hi.” “Hello. You and Sebastian answered at the same time, making the interviewer laugh.

“Wait, I remember you. I bought you a soup in a thermos and Tom gave you his jacket. I see we got lucky with good weather today, huh?” You said, smiling at her.

“Yes. You remember me?!” The woman turned to the camera looking right into the lens of it. “Guys, I’m fangirling so hard right now. Ah!”

Once the woman got her fangirling out of the way, she moved onto the interview, trying to get any information that she could before the movie premiered. Sebastian took over that one, telling her that there was no way that they were allowed to say anything about the movie other than he was dust.

“Now we’ve got that movie non gossip out of the way. Are you okay to talk freely about your pregnancy?”

You looked to Sebastian, it was his decision just as much as it was yours, you knew that Sebastian wanted to keep his private life separate from his professional acting career. “It’s okay, honey. Go ahead.”

“I think you’re good to go.”

“Thank you. I must say that you do look stunning in that dress.” She gushed, you thanked her, hiding your face a little. You loved this dress, the nude under layer and the little white and purple flowers that scattered across your dress, your bump barely visible through your dress.

“How far along are you?”

“Well, we’re in the first week of the second trimester. So I’m a little more confident when telling you that.”

“That’s amazing. Was the pregnancy planned at all?”

You made a face, sucking in a little air, looking to Sebastian for a little light to be shed on the situation. “Not at all. It was Y/N’s friend that actually realised that her morning sickness wasn’t her having the flu. She felt absolutely awful that morning, it was enough to know that it was bad when I tried to call her and I didn’t get an answer.

“We had our issues, you know, we didn’t know what to do, we're new at this. But I think that it’s important to know that you don’t abandon your family.” Sebastian softly smiled at you, subconsciously putting a hand on your slowly growing stomach. “I guess that is what this franchise is about though, right? It’s about family and- and looking out for one another. Everybody’s got a somebody here and I love that.”

“And Thanos, fucks it all up and snaps his goddamn fingers.” The three of you and the cameraman began to laugh at your little outburst about the mad, purple titan. “God, I can’t wait for the premiere tonight but I’m scared. For everybody. But especially for me, you know, I’m an emotional person anyway, add a hormonal woman to the mix and a whole lot of angst. Get my ice cream and tissues ready, because I’m coming for you, Thanos.”

“I heard that!”

“Love you, Josh. For the record, Josh is a nice guy, the character he plays is a big old sack of balls and I have no idea how he does it so convincingly.” Lovingly, you made eyes at Seb. “But it’s just like my Sebastian, a dark hydra assassin but in reality he’s a big ball of sunshine and goofiness. And I love him for it.”

“This is- this is what gets me.” The interviewer leaned in a little as Sebastian’s voice dropped to a slight whisper. “I know that she is going to be the best mom for our child because Y/N loves everything and everyone and that is a great quality to have but she’s also caring and matches my goofy side but her sass outweighs mine of course, no one can beat that.”

“Aww, he’s making me cry already. Seb,” you whined. “My makeup.”

“Well that's it folks.” The woman spoke, telling the audience that this was one of the cutest interviews that she had ever taken, that she could die happy and quickly saying congratulations before the two of you were whisked away to walk the carpet again and pose for pictures.

“You’re way too good to me, you know that right?” You said to Seb as you admired the sky blue suit he was wearing over his plain white tee. “I never even got to tell them that this baby will have the hottest dad in the world as well as the sweetest man. Thank you for being my baby daddy.”

Unbeknownst to you, the cameras had caught every single moment the two of you shared. The kisses you shared together, were now shared with the world, all over social media. At this point you didn’t care, you only cared about the man in front of you and the baby growing in your stomach. And this god damn movie!

Feedback is gold and appreciated

[yaku-soba]

everything i could never say to you (i wrote into a song)

༶•┈┈ semi eita x gn!reader | light angst, eventual fluff

༶•┈┈ general m.list

warnings/tags: childhood best friends to lovers, this bad boy can fit so much pining in it, in this fic semi plays the guitar and the piano and also sings, i looped sorry for writing all the songs about you by clara mae while writing this and it shows

word count: 2k

a/n: a repost from my old account!! re-reading this made me realize how much my writing has changed :””) i hope yall enjoy this!!

summary: All of his songs are about you. Eita doesn’t know how to write anything else. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

Eita’s had many favourite singers. He doesn’t remember them all, because there are too many, but there’s an interview he’d watched once, back in his first year of middle school that sticks with him.

Find a muse, he remembers the singer saying - he doesn’t remember their name anymore, but he knows these words by heart - find a muse, and write them into your music.

(It’ll be the most painful thing you’ve ever sung, but it will be the most beautiful.

He hadn’t understood what the singer had meant, then.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

“Semi-semi!” You shout gleefully as you throw open the doors to the gym. Catching Tendou’s eye, you shoot him finger-guns, smiling even as your best friend storms towards you, the volleyball in his hand flying against the side of Tendou's head. 

“Out,” he says gruffly, catching you by the back of your collar, and you wave a jaunty salute at the rest of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team as Eita hauls you out of the gym.

“That was mean,” you pout, turning when he finally lets go of you, “and after I came all the way here to pass you your math homework.” You drawl the word all, and delight in the tick in Eita’s brow. 

Your best friend sighs, massaging his temple in a way that has no business looking that all-suffering, “I never should have let you meet Tendou.”

Laughing, you hand him the worksheet he’d left under his table. “We would have met anyway,” you point out, “seeing as he had a puppy crush on me back in first year.”

Eita stiffens, and the hand taking his worksheet from you crumbles into itself. 

“You’re crumpling the worksheet,” you say, “what, are you jealous?” You wink, your tone just shy of flirtation.

(You wish you were brave enough to just ask.)

He laughs, voice cracking, and the sound grates more than it should. 

“Of course not,” he says, free hand smoothing out the wrinkles until it’s like they were never there, “I just wouldn’t wish you on anyone.”

“Right,” you agree easily, “says Semi-I’ve-been-single-my-entire-high-school-career-Eita.”

Your best friend scowls at that. “There’s still a few months,” he argues, and you brush off the rest of his statement by pushing him back into the gym.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, grinning, “I bet you’re a real heartbreaker, Eita.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

The first song Eita writes that’s worth mentioning is about you.

It’s full of steady strums and simple notes, and when his lips form the lyrics, he sees in his mind's eye the way the sun catches in your lashes in the way they do on gentle spring afternoons. He’s long since memorized the way it drips across your cheeks, honeyed gold like the belly of the guitar that he’d promised himself he’d save up for.

(It’ll be the most painful thing you’ve ever sung, but it will be the most beautiful. Eita hadn't understood it at twelve. At eighteen, he thinks he does.

He understands it now, as a third-year usurped by his junior. Every game he doesn’t spend as the starting setter stings like road burn, but still the court beckons like a mirage in a desert and he cannot let go.

Eita learns to tell himself that this is okay. He’s fine with being a pinch server if it means he gets to stand on the court. At least he still gets to hear the squeak his shoes make against the wood when he takes off like a bird in flight.

So - of course Eita understands, he’s your best friend, after all. And he knows that’s all he’ll ever be.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

Once, when you were children freshly enrolled in middle school, Eita had asked you to be his muse.

You still remember how nervous he had been, how his hands - long even at their age, beautiful like a pianist or a setter’s - shook. You remember the blush across his cheeks, cherry blossom petals you had wanted to keep. 

You wonder if he still remembers, if he still writes his songs with you as his muse.

You wonder if they're love songs.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

Sometimes, you think that he might like you back. 

It’s a thought that you can’t help thinking whenever you catch him staring at you a breath too long, when he makes eye contact with you the moment right before he serves (intense), whenever his fingers linger on your arm (butterfly kiss-light). 

Sometimes, he looks at you the way he strums his guitar - gently, all adoration and other soft things. He’ll look at you with the corners of his eyes crinkled (just slightly, like origami), and his lips stretched into a small smile - and your heart will leap, it’ll tumble gracelessly, and you’ll think, what if. 

But you are, at heart, a coward. You love Eita more than you have ever loved someone else, and it terrifies you - you don’t know what you’ll do if you lose your best friend.

You don't want to find out. You'll learn to satisfy yourself with just his friendship, because you know, without a doubt, that losing it will kill you.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

All his songs are about you. 

It’s not even that Eita’s trying. He writes a lyric and realizes it’s a metaphor for your eyes; he hums a verse and finds that it’s the exact pentatonic scale of your laugh.

You’ve wormed your way into every page of his music and into every turn of phrase, and Eita cannot stop hearing you in every song. It’s keeping him from writing anything else.

It's only terrifying because he doesn't know if he wants to write anything else. He tries not to think too much about it, but sometimes - only sometimes - he thinks that by writing you into every note and every lyric, he can make you his. Even if it's only for the length of a song. 

(He wonders what you’d say if you heard them. 

He wonders if you’d hear the arching crescendo, the way it builds and builds and builds before overflowing, crashing like a wave against the shore - and know that it’s about that night you’d crawled through his bedroom window just because he’d called you, upset. He wonders if you’d pick out the light, sure-footed rhythm that he hides in all of his music and know that it’s a desperate imitation of the thousands of times you’d skipped ahead of him on the walk home.

Eita wonders and wonders and wonders, and knows that the only dreams that hurt him are those that he wants, more than anything else.)

He doesn’t let you listen to the songs he composes, anymore.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

It comes to a head two weeks before graduation. 

You’re late to lunch with your friend, rushing down the halls with your bag slipping down your shoulder, when you hear it. 

There’s someone playing the piano in Shiratorizawa’s perpetually-empty music room, and it’s the rawest thing you’ve heard since the first song of Eita’s that he’d let you listen to. 

(It had been simple, no fancy chord progressions, no key change or two-part melody. 

When he’d sung it to you, all you could see was the graceful line of his neck, traced by the sunlight through the window of his bedroom, and the tenderness of his fingers on the strings.)

You pause, peering through the tiny window in the door. 

It’s Eita. Your next exhale is shaky. 

He’s playing a song you don’t know on the piano, and after a few bars you realize it must be one of his own. It’s played too adoringly to be anything else. 

It feels like cheating, crouching like a thief outside of the music room, hunched so he can't see you through the window in the door. Eita hasn't played his songs for you in ages, and while you're happy that you finally can hear them, listening to them this way feels too much like a betrayal.

You've just resolved yourself to knock on the door when he starts playing the first song he ever sung to you. 

It's a little different - there are triplets now, and they stumble into each other the way you remember tripping into Semi the night you'd skinned your knee and cried, back when you were nothing but children. The phrasing is different, too; there are more arcs now, and every slur feels heady, feels giddy like the brush of his hands against yours on the evenings you walk home with him after he’s finished volleyball practice.

It's different, more complicated. But it's still unmistakably Eita, and every press of piano keys tugs at your heartstrings like calloused fingers on a guitar. 

(You think it sounds like heartbreak, slow in the making. It sounds like a decade's worth of nights spent staring at the lit room in the house next to yours, trying to make out his silhouette through the drawn curtains.)

"You should play that for Y/n," someone says suddenly, and you startle before you realize that it came from inside the music room. The voice speaks again, and you recognize it as Tendou's. "It's not as hopeless as you think it is, take the Guess Monster's word for it!" 

There's a pause, and you strain your ears to hear Eita's reply. 

"This isn't a game, Tendou," is all your best friend says. He sounds defeated, but you can't even focus on that, not when this sounds so much like what you want that it's too good to be true. "And there's no way Y/n thinks of me that way. Even if I-"

You lean closer, pressing your ear to the door more firmly-

-And lose your balance. There's a moment of too-loud silence as Eita cuts himself off abruptly when you tumble into the room, and the three of you look at each other in shock.

Tendou is the first to move. "Well," he says cheerfully, blissfully ignoring the pleading looks you send his way as he stands, "guess I’ll leave you two to it!"

He grins as he walks past you and through the doorway. You’ve never despised him more than you do in that moment. 

You turn your gaze back to Eita, mind racing even as you know that it's blatantly obvious that you'd been eavesdropping. You’re still half-sprawled on the ground. 

Eita clears his throat. "Um," he starts eloquently. You're struck with the reminder of what he’d been about to say.

Even if you what? You think desperately. What were you going to say?

"Eita," you say, testing his name on your tongue like you haven't already spoken it enough times to fill the seas, "what were you going to say?" 

He looks panicked, fingers twitching like bird wings against where they’re resting on the piano keys.

"Please," you add. You have to know.

You watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes in a deep breath the way he does right before a service ace. 

"I like you," he says finally, "and I'm sorry."

You’ve never been the musician, not with Eita around, but with his confession, your heart sings. 

"I’m sorry," you breathe, and the air aches beautifully as it enters your lungs, and it feels like coming home. Eita’s face falls, something knowing and terrible - like heartbreak - setting in. "Because I like you too," you finish. 

There’s a sparrow chirping on the windowsill of Shiratorizawa's music room. 

"Oh," your best friend says, except he can be more now, can't he? "Oh," he repeats, and you smile, opening your arms in welcome as he makes an aborted motion to stand.

He fits into your arms like notes on an empty score.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------«« 

On a lazy spring afternoon, Eita plays to you all the songs he’s ever written.

He tells you they’re about you. 

You tell him you know, you ask him if that’s why he used to keep from playing them to you. 

He peppers you with kisses.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated!! do let me know what you thought in asks / the tags!! </3

[beardrabbles]

rock solid bonds.        pt. one

characters: zhongli, female reader, gimel ( geo hypostasis )

warnings: none

word count: 3,858 ( it’s LONG, y’all, sorry )

notes: first thing tossed into the genshin fandom is zhongli because i’m weak. so very weak. i know this idea is strange, but i’m running with it. this will have many parts, just not sure how many. anywho! :D hey. how’s it going? nice to meet’cha. oh!! also. i don’t have a beta reader, so there may be typos i’ve missed. oof.

You had made this trip several times before, and you assumed that this trip would be no different. You skirted around small packs of curious hilichurl, scooped up seashells from the many beaches you followed and swam through the clear, blue waters of Guyun Stone Forest until — finally — you reached the island you had been visiting over the course of several months.

The moment your water-logged feet touched solid ground rather than loose sand, you felt it — the faint traces of a low, constant vibration. It was a steady buzzing, except where the intensity would pulse every now and again, like a living heartbeat.

‘ It’s here, ’ you thought, ‘ good. ’

You hurried to rest against the crumbling wall of the ruins where the hypostasis often lingered, allowing yourself a moment to dry off and rummage through your supplies. No matter how routine this was, you knew you couldn’t become complacent. You could handle the stubborn bundle of geo, no problem, but you knew it never hurt to be prepared.

From your bag, you pulled out a wrapped bundle of fried fish and a single, elegant vial of a bright yellow liquid. You sloshed the liquid around, recalling the last time you’d been overconfident and forgone making the geo dampening potion. You had returned home that day with several more bruises the usual, and so you had firmly reminded yourself at you would prepare some, even if it had meant several days worth of butterfly chasing.

“You got lucky last time. Saw you learned a new move, but I’m smart. I learned.” You lifted the stopper out of the vial and knocked back the contents. The effects were immediate. You didn’t look it, but you felt thicker, sturdier, more centered. You hoped that was the effect of the potion, anyway. Nothing would sour your mood more than to realize the person you’d hired to make the potion had fouled it up.

Shrugging, you placed the empty vial into your pack, gulped down several bites of fried fish, then left your pack tucked up against the wall and behind a mess of tangled roots. Your hands moved next to the handle of your weapon, which peeked out from over your shoulder. With a heave, you brought out the claymore you so adored. It was nicked in places and scuffed in others, yet you found you were too attached. It had gotten you through too many battles, and it felt wrong to abandon it.

“Alright, we’ve got this. Just a few more months of this, and we can——!” Your self-given peptalk was cut short when you glanced around the wall and found that the hypostasis wasn’t alone. Choking on your own words, you quickly ducked back into the hiding. “Dammit! Someone’s already here.”

You set your claymore aside and pressed your hands to the wall, using it to lean around and peek.

“Huh.  .  .” Strange. Nearly every time you found the raw elemental, it had its defenses up. Even as it seemingly napped in place, it surrounded itself in solid, almost unbreakable basalt. Now, in front of this tall stranger, it was nothing more than its small, brightly glowing core. It bobbed and spun, giving off the sunshine-bright disposition of a puppy.

It was almost cute.

Interesting as the hypostasis was in this form, you found yourself drawn to the stranger interacting with it. Slender but strong, standing tall and straight, with a single hand that wove through the air around the exposed core. From where you stood, you couldn’t quite tell who he was, but something about him felt familiar.

‘ I’ve seen him before. ’ The earthen tones of his clothes and hair, the elegance and the poise. You were certain you had seen someone similar making their way through the streets of the harbor before. And, in his wake, came dreamy sighs and low purrs of admiration from all manner of people. The name eluded you, mostly because you didn’t care. He was a stranger, and you had no reason to acknowledge him until now.

“Why does it look like he’s playing with it?” You huffed through your nose, feeling thoroughly irritated that your chance to mine precious gems from the hypostasis had been squandered.

Without meaning to, you let out a groan of frustration.

The elemental core gave a sudden jolt, it’s small form jerking away from the man. In an instant, it wrapped itself in its armor, dark basalt etched with shimmering lines of gold appearing in large, even chunks. You gasped and ducked back for a second time, your heart rapidly beating against your chest. It didn’t know you were there. It couldn’t! You weren’t that loud, were you?

“Moron!” You scolded yourself and made to snatch your pack up when a voice, smooth and deep, reached you.

“I know you’re there.”

You stopped and stood still, as if that would render you completely untraceable. Breath held, but heart still hammering, you waited.

“It would benefit you greatly to come out of hiding.” The voice continued, calm and even.

Something about the voice made you reluctant to run. Shuddering and setting aside your things, you willingly stepped out from behind the crumbling ruins. Hands up and empty, you first revealed that you were unarmed. Harmless. Totally harmless.

“Ah, there you are.” There was a hint of satisfaction in the man’s tone, but you hardly paid attention. Your focus was intent on the sensation soaking through the soles of your boots. The vibration from earlier wasn’t as calm as it had been, the heartbeat-like thrum from earlier replaced with an anxious tattoo that traveled through your legs and up into your chest. You found yourself catching your breath, a horrible feeling welling inside your ribcage.

“Am I causing that?” Your own voice was soft and feeble and sincere. The man approached at a slow but steady clip, until he stood a mere foot away. His arms were folded behind him, making him appear even more refined up close.

“I wasn’t expecting you to realize your mistake so quickly. Good. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining it.” He arched a single brow. “Might I ask your name?”

“Uh.  .  .” You shook yourself from your mounting guilt and lowered your hands. He was polite, but you could tell from the sharp look in his amber eyes that he didn’t approve of your presence, and rightfully so. Still, you didn’t want to deny him your name when he had yet to force you off the island. You muttered your name, and he let out a thoughtful hum before repeating it.

Never had you heard your own name on a voice that alluring. It balanced on a fine line between heavenly and sinful, and you wished deeply that he would never, ever say it again. It sounded too good, and your heart already had its share of problems to deal with at the moment, shame being one of them.

“Seen you around the harbor before, but I can’t remember your name.” You gently prompted him to give his own name in return, hoping it wouldn’t be seen as rude. The corner of his lips turned up a fraction, but that hint of a smile didn’t last long.

“I am Zhongli. Under different circumstances, I would say it was a pleasure to meet you.” Still scolding, still disapproving. You shrank under his gaze, but still found it in you to speak in turn.

“I’ve never seen it out of its armor for that long before.” You observed.

“I wonder why that is.  .  .” Zhongli turned to face the elemental, his broad shoulders rising and lowering with a heavy sigh. Guilt punched you in the gut again.

“I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you had never once been convinced that your mining had been detrimental to the hypostasis.

“It cannot speak for itself, so you were lead to believe that your harvesting was harmless.” Zhongli mused as he ventured towards the elemental again. “That is understandable. But now that you are aware, now that you feel the effect your presence has on it, are you willing to change?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but were stopped but a sudden thought.

For the sake of a voiceless, sentient being, were you willing to change? Yes.        Were you able? No.

You hurried to follow Zhongli and weren’t the least bit surprised when the hypostasis kept its distance, basalt armor quaking with fear. You stopped your advance, keeping well behind Zhongli.

“I can’t.”

“Oh?” He didn’t turn his attention to you, but kept it intent on the elemental. He lifted a gloved hand, the palm resting carefully along the surface of one cube of armor. “That is a shame. I was hoping you’d be agreeable.”

“No, it’s — it’s not that I don’t want to. I want to! I didn’t know it was.  .  .”

“Capable of feelings?”

You nodded despite knowing he couldn’t see you.

“All things feel, all things remember. The lack of a voice does not make one unworthy of thoughts or memories, good or bad.” Zhongli smoothed his hand over the armor of the hypostasis. “It remembers. You are quite brutal.”

“I’m sorry.” You directed this to the hypostasis rather than him. “I didn’t know.”

“And yet you blatantly refuse to change your behavior?” Zhongli’s sharp gaze landed on you again.

“I have an obligation! I’m bound to my word.” Your hackles rose for a moment, but were lowered again soon after. “I have a contract.”

At this, Zhongli came to face you. “A contract?”

“I don’t know why I should tell you.” Your stubbornness reared its ugly head in that moment. Arms crossed, you waited for him to coldly dismiss you. Instead, he folded his arms behind his back and cooly stared you down.

“Contracts are, for better or worse, binding. I understand that, when broken, there can be dire consequences. Is this an official contract?” He wondered. You wanted to hold firm to your refusal to speak of it, but the man’s calm nature made it difficult.

Shifting uneasily, you gave another nod.

“Yes.”

“Are you barred from discussing the terms of the contract with people unrelated to the contract itself?” Each question was asked quickly and sharply, as if practiced. You frowned, moreso out of thought than offense.

“I don’t think so. No one’s ever told me I’m not allowed.”

“Then, please, indulge me. What about this contract requires you to mine as often as you do?”

“You want the long version or the short version?” You reached up to rub at the space between your eyebrows, mounting stress threatening to bring forward a headache.

“Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

“If you say so. My family’s in a tight spot, yeah? We owe some people a lot of money, but most of the people involved are too old, too frail or too inexperienced to go out and earn the mora we need. The people that are hounding us thought, hey, let’s get the daughter to go out and find these precious materials. No one can pass up on free labor, right? I work for them, I slowly whittle away at the debt my family’s worked up for the last few years.” You shrugged casually to hide the fact that the contract was draining you of your free time and, apparently, your morals.

Zhongli frowned, a wrinkle knitting his brows together.

“What are the exact terms on your contract?” He asked, ignoring a nudge against his shoulder from the hypostasis.

“There are quite a few, but the one causing me the most trouble right now is the fact that I need to come here every day and pick out the prithiva from your friend there.” You didn’t miss the shudder in the rocks or the way the hypostasis fled yet again, putting space between you and itself. Zhongli motioned for the hypostasis to calm, but the trembling remained.

“I need the terms as they were worded the day the contract was made.” Zhongli requested firmly this time.

“Three prithiva gems, whole and unblemished, every day for a year. Even if it means getting the slivers and asking someone to do their alchemy-thing on it, I gotta get those gems.”

Zhongli’s stern gaze softened as he motioned for the hypostasis to come nearer.

“That’s all?”

“When it comes to this fella, yeah. I just need the gems.” This time, you were the one to step away from the coming hypostasis. It was clear you had scarred the creature, and you weren’t about to disrespect it in front of this man, who so clearly cherished the living geo.

“You aren’t required to fight and take it?” He continued.

“They never said I did, but it was the only way I could think to fulfill the terms.” You slumped in place and let out a little whine. “Don’t tell me I could have just asked for it.”

“Did you consider the possibility?” Zhongli quipped.

“No! I didn’t think it could understand people!” You stressed with a growl. Zhongli chuckled, the sound taking you aback.

“It doesn’t understand language, but it understands intent. Come here.” The command was subtle, but you felt compelled to obey. Cautiously, you took to Zhongli’s side. His taller frame shadowed yours, and you swore you caught the scent of sun-warmed stones and hints of glaze lilies as an errant ocean breeze whorled past. “Put your hand out, like me.”

You hesitated, and he took note of this.

“Be calm. If you’re afraid, it will know.” He coaxed you, sounding far gentler than he had since calling you out of your hiding spot.

“I’m not afraid,” you corrected, “I feel bad.”

“As deserving as the feeling is, you can make it right if it is your intent to.” Zhongli pointed out. You sucked in a breath, nodded once, then held your hand out. The hypostasis shuddered again and bobbed backwards. Zhongli frowned like a disapproving father and clicked his tongue. “I understand that she’s been cruel, but I believe her when she says she was unaware of how sentient you are. If we are to make amends, the effort needs to be mutual on both parts. As long as I am here, neither of you will come to harm.”

The hypostasis twitched and the armor around it lowered for a moment, but it was fleeting. In a small fit of hope, you drew closer and placed your hand against the glimmering armor. The protective chunks of rock snapped back into place around its dim core, spun rapidly in the air, then sunk down into the ground where all that remained were spider-web cracks that glowed as warm and bright as the sun.

You stood there, hand out and mouth agape.

“It ran away!”

Zhongli lowered his head for a moment. “This was not the result I imagined, but it is progress.”

You lowered your hand and rolled your eyes.

“How is that progress?” You snapped. Zhongli didn’t so much as flinch at your aggression, but sported a knowing smile that irritated your further.

“Gimel let you near without attacking out of instinct. I would say that counts as progress, small step as it is.” He spoke assuredly, and you supposed he had a point.

“Gimel?”

“It has a name. It may work in your favor to remember it.” Zhongli added.

“Yeah, well — what am I supposed to do now? I can’t go back empty-handed.” You grumbled and turned away, stalking back to the spot where you had stashed your bag. The effects of the potion you had drank earlier had begun to ware off, leaving you feeling oddly light and slightly off-balance. That, coupled with your plummeting mood, made you want to leave behind the island and hope that your contract wasn’t seen as broken.

Behind you, you heard the steady click of boots as Zhongli followed behind you.

“I have an offer.” He stopped when you did, and he didn’t miss the flicker of confusion and wariness in your eyes when you spun around.

“What kind of offer?” You were like a cornered animal, and you wondered if he had sensed your growing worry since Gimel had disappeared. You weren’t desperate yet, but that may have been because you had yet to fail in completing your end of the contract. The consequences were unknown, but you were sure you would regret returning to Liyue Harbor without the gems you were asked to retrieve. Still, you were concerned, and you knew it was hard to hide when you fidgeted the way you did.

“A contract.”

“No.”

“One that won’t break the conditions of the contract you’re currently bound to.” He continued in spite of your quick refusal. You crossed your arms and wrinkled your nose, but it only caused him to smile again. “Don’t be stubborn, girl.”

You scowled and felt a rare flare of anger rise, but he interrupted you with a shake of his head and a raise of his closed hand. Long, slender fingers unfurled, revealing a small handful of pristine prithiva topaz gemstones. It wasn’t out of greed that you lunged forward, but a deep desire to protect yourself and your family. You didn’t grab the gems, of course. It wouldn’t do to anger this man after he had shown you patience, but you wouldn’t deny that it was a tempting sight to see him holding the gems out for you to take.

You whetted your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and spoke past the sandpaper feeling in your throat.

“What are your terms?” You croaked.

“You return to this place every day, unarmed and alone, to spend time with Gimel. In return, you will be rewarded with the gems required of you. As it’s clear they didn’t specify how you acquire them, it will not interfere with the terms of your current contract.” He raised both brows this time and held the gems out further. Your fingers twitched as you reached, but you didn’t take them.

“That’s all you want out of me?”

“We are merely acquaintances, but I hardly find it worthwhile to trick you into a dishonest contract. My terms are as simple as they sound. You cease hostilities against Gimel and attempt to right your wrongs, and you will have your gems. I only ask for a few hours spent here, nothing more. I can’t expect you to wrap your entire life around this one task.” He reached out to take one of your hands, turning the palm up. His touch was gentle and didn’t contest with your own freewill, but you let him do as he pleased.

His thumb uncurled your your fingers, followed the deep lines in your palm and smoothed over your wrist. Your cheeks burned, but you blamed the glaring sun overhead. He was only being kind, you told yourself.

“If I accept these, does that mean I accept the contract?”

“I’m afraid so.” He stepped closer, head and voice low. His dark hair framed his stoic expression, yet his hand on yours remained kind. “Your answer?”

You swallowed hard, weighed your options, then peered up into those vivid, autumn-tinted eyes. “Will you be here too?”

You weren’t sure what prompted such a question, but it seemed to catch him as off-guard as well. He blinked and pulled back for a moment. “Is this an amendment?”

“No,” you shook your head and dared to laugh, “just a request. I don’t think Gimel will trust me on my own, not at first.”

“Its trust will be be earned by your own merits, not because I am here.” Zhongli informed you stiffly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just think — maybe it would help if I observed you for a little while, maybe a few days. I can see how better to approach, then you can leave us be.” You tilted your head. “Is that unreasonable?”

“I.  .  . suppose it’s not. You are willing to learn, at least, and I cannot fault you for that. Very well. Starting tomorrow, I will accompany you for three days. After that, you are expected to use what you’ve learned on your own.” He closed his fingers around the gemstones and twisted his wrist, readying himself to drop them into your waiting hand. “Has your answer changed?”

You shook your head. “No, I planned to accept before.”

“Then we’re in agreement? You are aware of what will happen if you break the contract?” He warned. You nodded.

“I’m aware, trust me.” You wiggled your fingers impatiently. Zhongli placed the gems into your hand one at time, being sure not to chip or scratch them.

“Then it is done. I won’t be truly satisfied until you’ve signed a physical contract and we’ve made it official, but I will hold onto your word for the time being.” He helped your hand close around the gems, both of his own hands wrapped tightly around your clenched digits. “Find me at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor later tonight, and we can document our arrangement.”

“Sure thing, boss.” You pulled your hand away, the sensation of the gems in your grasp bringing you far more ease than you were happy with. To be so dependent on them made you nauseous, but Zhongli’s willingness to help made it a little less so. Although, you couldn’t help but to wonder why he was so quick to help. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Is it not human nature to want to help?”

“I guess, but.  .  . there aren’t many that are as open and willing as you are. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. It’s just unexpected. I didn’t think today would end the way it would.” You squirreled away the gems in your satchel, slung it over your shoulders, then affixed your claymore onto your back.

“Are you disappointed?” Zhongli calmly watched you pack up, head tilted slightly.

“Not at all.” You spared him a smile, a weight gradually lifting off your heart and shoulders. “I was annoyed at first, but I’m glad we got to meet, Mr. Zhongli.”

Another peel of soft laughter left the man, but it was hidden behind the side of his hand. “Then I will readily admit that I wasn’t expecting you to say that. I’m relieved you were so willing to cooperate, and.  .  . I am glad we had the chance to meet as well.”

You bounced once on the tips of your feet and gave him a mock salute. “Guess that means I’ll be seein’ you later! I’m going to pass these gems on, then I’ll pop by your place to sign my life away!”

You didn’t address the crinkle in his face at your jest, but you did snicker as you fled the island. Only when you were well out of sight did Gimel return, its core open to the air and nudging against Zhongli’s elbow.

The archon reached back to give the hypostasis a gentle stroke, but his eyes remained in the direction you had wandered off in.

“I have a feeling that our time with her will be very interesting.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

--

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.