#a four pack of my favorite plastic pens are more than that and don’t last as long

[catwouthats]

WIP/rough draft of the first page of The Extraordinarily Ordinary Adventures of Preston Lindsey fan comic

I’m practicing using my feather quill bc that shit makes such nice lines etc so this probably isn’t the final version.

Feather quill >>>> any other pen/inking tool imo

[katzkinder]

Little Drops of Water

Tetsu is his pride and joy.

It goes without saying, really, that his dear Eve is his greatest treasure in the world, and that the Item he has been given, one half of the set of four hairclips Tetsu used to keep his hair out of his face all throughout middle and highschool, are almost equally as dear to him as the boy himself. Long after Tetsu is gone, their shiny plastic, ocean blue, will last and Hugh will add them to his treasures. There they will remain alongside a young noble girl’s favored comb, a king and hero’s favorite embroidery (done by the steady and lovely hand of his wife), and… A peasant girl’s dress, carefully, lovingly preserved against the ravages of time, so delicate now that only the most trusted of his subclass are allowed to care for it.

Yes, Tetsu is his pride and joy, and yes, it goes without saying that Hugh holds him near and dear to his heart… But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t brag about him to whoever was fortunate enough to have to listen to him.

...Which is why the situation in front of him is so… Frustrating.

Now, call him a coward, call him a fool, call him a doddering old man… Perhaps he was all those things. But he was not so fool enough as to blindly praise working oneself into the ground, nor was he the type to give praise where it wasn’t due.

Tetsu was not the brightest.

He would admit this, albeit no longer to his Eve’s face. And while he would admit this, he would also much more readily sing Tetsu’s redeeming qualities. Tetsu was a hard worker. Tetsu was steadfast. Tetsu was loyal. Tetsu was a good listener.

Tetsu was all these things and more, but most of all, Tetsu was dedicated.

Which is how Hugh found himself acting as tutor, with his brilliant mind and sharp wit, while his dear Eve prepared for university entrance exams.

It was heartbreaking, though, how hard he worked. Not because Hugh believed he would fail, oh no, far from it. Tetsu might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was fastidious, and really, Hugh thought, the thing that held him back the most was his lack of confidence in his own abilities, to which Hugh proudly thought he had been quite instrumental in rectifying, if he did say so himself.

It was heartbreaking because… Sometimes, it felt as if the only one who believed Tetsu would succeed was Tetsu himself.

And Hugh, of course.

Now, don’t get him wrong. He didn’t believe Tetsu’s family meant to discourage their son. Far from it, they wanted nothing more than for Tetsu to succeed, and they supported him fully in his university career endeavors. Except, well, Tetsu had told him that he wanted to go to university for one very simple, but very heartfelt reason.

He wanted to save their inn.

The inn which… Tetsu’s own parents felt had no future.

But Tetsu and his iron will, of course, thought otherwise, and he refused to give up on the family business, the place he had grown up and loved and worked so very hard to help run, even as far back as before he and Hugh had met. It was charming. It was lovely. It made Hugh want to fight for him, more than ever before.

The inn was something that, even more than a contract with Hugh, Tetsu took Pride in.

So Hugh, in order to nurture that pride, in order to care for his Eve, would do everything in his power to teach Tetsu everything he needed to know to make that dream of his come true. To make their home, because that’s what it is, this place. This little inn is Hugh’s home now, too. It’s no grand castle, no stone walls or towers or awe inspiring, imposing structures, but he loves it all the same, loves the people who make it such a warm, wonderful place.

He wonders how he could have ever considered letting this place die.

Hugh knows the answer, of course. It’s because he was a coward, a fool, and a doddering old man.

He refuses to be that way any longer.

***

“Hugh. Are you tired?”

The Servamp of Pride exaggerates his yawn further, rubs at one of his eyes with a tiny fist, and mumbles that he is fine, he can keep going, let them continue the lesson. Tetsu frowns at him, adjusts the reading glasses he now needs (and he’s grown into such a handsome young man, Hugh thinks, barely able to keep the smile off his face to continue his ruse), and sets the heavy prep book aside.

“No, it’s late. What time is it?”

“Check your phone, my boy… It’s almost a quarter to eleven,” Hugh informs him, just as Tetsu makes a startled noise when he confirms as such with his own eyes.

“It really is that late… Hugh, that’s amazing. You never need to check a clock or anything.” He shakes his head, willing the distraction away. “Sorry. I should have kept a better eye on the time. Let’s stop for the night. I didn’t notice, but… I’m kind of tired, too.”

And just like that, Tetsu starts tidying his space, placing his glasses back in their case and his books back in his bag while Hugh goes to fetch their pajamas. His Eve pats his head when he returns, murmuring a quiet thanks while Hugh soaks up the attention in a way very few people who aren’t big brother are able to earn from him, and after that, it’s the rest of their bedtime routine as normal. Getting changed, brushing their teeth, rolling out the futon, and climbing in together, Hugh always forever tiny against Tetsu’s larger frame, forever his Eve’s favorite teddy bear.

It suits him just fine, and he chitters softly, contently, when he’s snuggled close, tucks his head up under Tetsu’s chin and inhales the scent of pine he finds there, that wafts from Tetsu himself and his futon each. It’s soothing. It’s home.

Hugh cannot allow himself to fall asleep yet, no matter how tempting it is.

He lies there, being held, being loved, and waits for Tetsu’s breaths to slow, waits for his arms to go slack, just a bit, because once Tetsu is asleep… His real work begins.

It’s easy to slip away. A bat in the night, easing the door to Tetsu’s room open and swooping out into the halls, a wandering pet no one will see in the dark and no one will hear, silent as the beat of his wings are. He pauses, only briefly, when passing by the front desk where the lovely spouse of Tetsu’s elder sister still diligently works, greeting Miyako with a swoop and a cheep. She smiles at him, bids him safe journey.

“I’ll leave the lamp on for you. Take care, Hugh~”

A charming young lady, and she treats Tetsu well. Hugh can’t say he disapproves of her, even if her family is one he could do without. Of course, he never says as much, neither to her face nor to Tetsu’s.

That would be rude.

...To All of Love, however, he will gladly complain.

***

Hugh does not return until hours later, when the moon has passed its highest point in the sky and is on its journey back down to the horizon, chased by creatures neither he nor humanity can see, and yet, if you had asked him once, he would proclaim for certain that they were there.

Now, though, science tells otherwise, and he mourns the loss of that mysticism of the past at the same time he celebrates the inventions of the future, because it is only through the inventions of the future that he is able to monitor what needs to be monitored, and complete the tasks that need to be completed.

Such as keeping up with the local subclass, not all of which are his.

It is… Exhausting work.

Tokyo is a large place, and even without the Melancholy vampires to look after, knock on wood that it stays that way, even without Lust subclass, godspeed to All of Love, the number of them in Tokyo is staggering. Most of them are his, yes, and he does not regret granting them new life, no, never, not one bit, but… Well. Some of them need more assistance than others, and between tending the inn alongside Tetsu, studying, and this, his schedule is just… Completely packed full.

He wouldn’t trade this mind numbing feeling for the world. Not after they worked so hard to achieve what is still, unfortunately, an unsteady peace, but it’s an unsteady peace that has allowed his siblings and his subclass to prosper. To be happy, and healthy, and it leaves him puffing out his chest, tired but proud. Tired but happy.

Hugh would do even more if it were asked of him, he thinks as he sits to start putting together more flashcards and mnemonics and memory games, pens and books and note cards spread out in front of him while he lies on his stomach and gets to work. He would do even more, do whatever he could, if only to secure Tetsu’s future even more surely than the rising of the sun.

Because Tetsu is his pride and joy.

And as his pride and joy… Hugh would make certain that his Eve could rest without a single ounce of guilt.

Sleep well, my dear. The future is yours.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Alt Ending, Part 5

Hot take but finals kinda suck

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Tag: @solangelo252

You’d think her body would be grateful that she was finally giving it food, but no. She put it in her mouth and instantly felt nauseous. It didn’t even want to go down her throat, and keeping it there felt basically impossible.

But Tim had looked so happy when she had tried, so she forced it down.

(Well, she forced some of it down. If he noticed that a good amount of the food she brought to her mouth actually disappeared into the sleeves and folds of her dress he didn’t say anything.)

Tim started coming by three times a day with food after that. She didn’t complain despite her discomfort, she had really missed him.

Also, he looked stressed out and/or exhausted whenever she saw him. She worried about him. They both had a tendency to overwork themselves when they hit blocks, hell she’d sometimes joined him in his week-long deep dives into cases, but now that she was an outsider looking in… she was kind of shocked she’d ever let it get that far for either of them. When was the last time he’d slept through the night? Taken proper time to clean himself, even? A while, she guessed from the deep bags under his eyes and the way his hair was frayed from running his fingers through it.

“Timmy,” she chirped.

He flashed her a tiny smile. “Hey,” he said, coming over and taking a seat beside her on the bed.

She took the bag from him and set it aside, much to his dismay, but then she reached over and dragged him into some cuddles and he suddenly had new concerns. He groaned into her shoulder.

“Bean, come on, I don’t want to sleep.”

She didn’t let go. “You need to.”

“Don’t have time.”

She rolled her eyes, bringing a hand up to start attempting to smooth out his hair. “You have to sleep eventually.”

“And I do!”

She didn’t answer, which he took to mean she didn’t believe him (a good assumption, she didn’t).

“I do! I get at least a few hours a week.”

“Wow, amazing. I take it back. You totally have a healthy sleep schedule.”

“Worry about yourself, first. You don’t sleep either,” he huffed, but he was starting to relax into her hold nonetheless.

“I’m also literally dead.”

“You used to say you’d sleep when you were dead.”

Marinette scoffed. “Well, to be fair, I thought I’d actually die when I died.”

He gave a short laugh, and she opted not to acknowledge that it was a little forced.

She yawned and laid back with his face in her shoulder. “I’m surprised none of the others have drugged you to get you to sleep yet.”

“They’re too busy drugging B --.” He winced just slightly. “They’ve just got a lot on their plates is all, I’m the least of their worries.”

She didn’t say anything about his tiny slip up, just gave a light hum to say she understood.

She didn’t dare to move until she was completely sure he had nodded off. Even then, she only did so to pick up the food he’d brought for her.

Her nose scrunched a little at the prospect of eating, but when she opened it and saw it was fried rice she perked up a little. She nibbled at her food.

Honestly, she didn’t know if it was working. It seemed to be, but then again most of the things that got better could be attributed to other causes. Her skin was gaining color again, but the bleach may have just started to wear out. She was feeling more energized, but then again she was now getting a total of four cups of coffee a day thanks to Tim and Jason fueling her addiction. Exercise was getting easier and she was packing on muscle again, but she was also working out enough with Dick for it to be explainable that way…

She didn’t know if it was working. She didn’t even know if she WANTED it to work. The plan had been ‘kill Bruce and then quickly off yourself before the others can react’ and not having an instant out was kinda problematic when it came to finishing that plan.

Not that the first part of that plan was working out for her, either. Bruce still hadn’t come to see her. She doubted he ever would at this point.

She didn’t even have a way out, as the door was automated and presumably opened by someone outside.

No. The only way she would ever leave was if she managed to ‘fix’ herself, and that wasn’t happening because there was nothing to fix! She would know. Her entire thing as Ladybug was fixing things.

She looked down at Tim. When he slept all the little wrinkles in his forehead smoothed to make him look much younger. She smiled a little at the sight, pressing a kiss to where she knew the creases usually were.

At least, even if her situation couldn’t be helped, she could still help others.

~

She’d come to expect a routine of sorts, so the moment it was broken even slightly her brain short-circuited.

Duke stood in the doorway as usual, but when she glanced past him…

“Where’s Cass?”

His grin disappeared a little, but he pulled his back to his face with ease. “Wow, I’m really feeling the love here, Mari.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, we both know Cass is the best person to ever exist.”

Duke nodded his agreement and came over to take a seat next to her. She cozied up to him as usual, curled under his arm as he pulled up their newest show on his laptop…

She had a lot of thoughts about Cass being missing.

On the one hand, she just missed her friend’s too-warm body pressed up against her and quiet complaints about how the actors were doing it all wrong.

On the other hand… Marinette was completely aware that they had Cass stopping by as much as she did to check on Marinette, to see if they were making any real progress with her. Cass was a human lie detector, able to detect when someone was going to be dishonest before they’d even realized it themselves, and they’d be stupid not to take advantage that. So, the fact that they were no longer making Cass drop in as often… either they thought she was doing better, or that she never would do better.

Marinette hoped it was the first. She knew it was the second.

She found it harder than usual to enjoy Duke’s snide comments about how dumb and cliche some of the characters were. She turned and pressed her face into his side. The glasses on the bridge of her nose dug into her skin.

Fuck. She was never getting out of there, was she?

She felt his free hand come up to run through her hair and she sighed.

“Duke…”

He pressed pause on the show.

“Tim told me you’re a meta, that you can control light. Can you do it for me?”

There was a beat.

“Why do you ask?”

She laughed a little. “Does it matter? Can’t I just be curious about why my favorite brother didn’t even bother to tell me that he has powers?”

“I thought you already knew. It’s common knowledge.”

She huffed. “Maybe I just prefer to be told things than meticulously look through every piece of information to figure it out.”

“What kind of bat are you?” He joked.

She winced and the hand in his shirt balled it just a fraction tighter. She didn’t respond.

There was a few seconds before he sighed and moved his hand from his hair to her chin, gently pulling her face out of where it was hidden in his side. She refused to meet his eyes.

It was silent again, neither of them sure what to say.

“Here,” he said after a moment, putting his free hand out and making light dance across his palm.

Her face lit up, literally and figuratively, at the sight of the tiny ball of light. She leaned a little closer.

“Aw, it looks like a tiny sun!”

He laughed a little. “Yeah. I can also…”

There was a moment of silence as he concentrated and the tiny ball of light split into the colors of the rainbow. She giggled, reaching out to cup his hand in hers. It was the first non-artificial light she’d seen in months, the first rainbow she’d seen since… Paris, actually.

Well, even if she wouldn’t ever see the outside world again, at least she could still have this little fake sun. It was basically the same, just as good, she told herself. She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks that were telling her otherwise.

~

She tossed the plastic spoon she’d stolen from one of her meals in the air idly.

The plan had been to turn it into Baby’s First Shank but that probably wasn’t going to work out. Pen to the throat was at about a .01% chance of working, attacking him with a spoon-knife needed a few more zeroes added to that already insanely small number. She gave it a .000000001% chance at best.

Then again, the other option was trying to strangle someone who had an insane height and weight advantage to death before someone else could interfere...

She sighed to herself and put the spoon in her teeth, starting to pull.

She didn’t get very far before she heard the metallic whoosh of the door opening and she barely glanced up to see Dick.

He stared at her from the doorway, his eyebrows slowly raising as he watched her attempt to bite an edge into a spoon of all things.

She pulled it from her mouth with a ‘pop’.

“I think your eyebrows are trying to escape,” she told him.

He blinked at her before rolling his eyes and walking inside fully. “Thanks for the assist. Would have lost them otherwise,” he said sarcastically.

“I’ve seen you lose your phone three minutes after putting it down, Dickie, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

He gasped and rested a hand over her heart. “You think that low of me?”

“Lower. I was being nice.”

Dick pouted and walked over to the bed. She didn’t think much of it until he was diving onto her stomach. She put her hands out in an attempt to soften the blow, but it wasn’t enough to save her. She groaned in pain as his extremely hard head made contact with her not-so-hard stomach.

“FUCK. This is why your parents called you Dick, y’know!”

He only laughed at her.

Despite herself, she gave him a smile.

She rested her head back in the pillows for a moment (mostly just to catch all the breath she’d lost) before pushing him off. “Ready?”

He groaned into her comforter before rolling onto the floor. “‘Kay.”

Marinette grinned as she took a seat beside him, starting her usual stretches. He pushed himself up to sit with minimal groaning and started working on his shoulders.

It was quiet for a while as they stretched.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek and kept her eyes on her foot when she spoke next: “Dick?”

She could feel his gaze on her.

“I… can I have some more stuff? Everything here is so boring. I just… I want new things to do. Or, at least, new things to look at.”

There was a long silence between them. Anxiety bubbled under her skin. She switched legs so she could gauge his expression through her bangs. His expression was carefully neutral.

She cringed.

“Obviously I’m not ungrateful! You guys have all been really nice and accommodating! I get food and a phone and, honestly, that’s fine --!”

“Mari!”

Her mouth snapped closed.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. Anyone would be bored here. I can talk to them. It’ll probably depend on what you want.”

She finally looked at him properly, eyes wide. She really hadn’t been expecting that to work.

He slowly pulled his legs to him to sit criss-cross applesauce, head resting on his hand. “I can probably get some baking things, a sketchbook, just blunt objects in general. Deadly, but not before someone could get there.”

Marinette nodded her understanding, a smile making its way across her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You constantly say Duke and Cass are the best.”

She was torn between agreeing with herself and flattering him. Since she wanted something, she decided on flattery: “That was, like, a few hours ago. I’ve grown since then. You’re my favorite now, Dickie.”

“Can I get that as my ringtone?”

“Only if you only use it to mess with Jay.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

~

The door whoosed open and she barely moved her head to look at it.

She froze.

Bruce?

No. No way. There was no way in hell.

But was there? Cass HAD stopped coming. Maybe she had somehow convinced them that everything was working out and everything was fine.

Marinette hadn’t done anything differently, though, so that probably wasn’t it…

Oh. Oh shit.

Maybe she was actually going insane. Because there was no way the bats would have made that kind of mistake by letting Bruce in when she was still intent on murdering him. He had to be a hallucination, because nothing else really made sense. Kwami, Tim was going to be SO smug about this one.

Actually, no, he didn’t have to know.

Her gaze slipped away from Fake Bruce and back to the dots on her ceiling. Because, as everyone knows, that if you don’t acknowledge hallucinations they go away…

“Marinette,” Fake Bruce said, trying to trick her into outing herself as losing it.

“Marinette,” he tried again, starting his way over.

She did her best to ignore the footsteps and the way the bed shifted when he sat down. No wonder schizophrenics fell for this shit, this was all so real…

Except... weren’t schizophrenics not supposed to be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t? Wouldn’t her knowing (thinking?) he was fake be an indication that he was actually real? Or was that just her mind trying to justify believing it?

Marinette bit inside of her cheek and let herself look at Fake Bruce again.

He cracked a smile for her. A hand reached over and pushed some hair away from her face. “Hey,” he said.

She hesitated.

It would suck if this all was fake, the others would get confirmation and she really wouldn’t have a way out. But if it was real then this was her only shot. If it was real Cass would be watching the cameras to see what she was thinking and she would know for sure that Marinette was still intent on killing Bruce…

Fuck.

Marinette pushed herself into a sitting position and looked Maybe-Bruce up and down before grabbing him by the front of his suit and pulling him into a hug. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes when he hugged her back.

“Fake.”

The man tensed underneath her and then sighed as he pulled back.

He gave her an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She shook her head slightly and fell back. With a flick of her wrists the knife she’d created out of her plastic spoon was in her hands and she absently tossed it at the hallucination. Either it would make him disappear or it would look like it stabbed him and she could pretend that it actually happened.

But then it didn’t do either of those things.

Her eyebrows knit together when the spife shattered upon impact.

He looked unconcerned as he gently swept all the pieces into his hand and then put them in his pockets.

“The fuck?”

“Language,” he chided lightly.

She grinned. “You really need to work on your ‘Bruce’. Accepting a hug that quickly is one thing but chiding someone for language? In OUR family? I’m pretty sure he gave that up by Jason.”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “I’m Superman.”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times before shrugging to herself. “Okay. You look just like Bruce. It’s kinda creepy.”

“Yeah, trust me, we know. It’s pretty helpful, though. One time a person tried to assassinate Bruce and ended up fighting me. It wasn’t their day.”

She smiled a little, but it didn’t last very long. She fell back in her pillows and glared at the ceiling. “This sucks.”

“I’m sorry this all happened to you. You’re just a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d long-since given up on denying that something had happened to her. Not because she no longer believed it, but because it wasn’t worth the effort. No one ever believed her when she said it.

(Could she blame them? No. She almost believed it herself just a few moments before. Still annoying, though.)

Instead of saying any of that, though, she brought a grin to her face.

“You and B should switch houses for April Fools. See if anyone notices anything.”

~

She really should have noticed something was up when her coffee didn’t energize her at all.

It had all been going fine. She was making Jason dispose of all the pieces of food she’d used sleight of hand to get away with not eating (she was still a little bitter about him stealing her pen and this was the most she could really do to get back at him, compromised as she was). They made idle conversation, mostly just about how Damian had got himself a new pet cat that he had named BatCat (though, apparently, they had heard him slip up and call him Charles a few times). They debated over how good that name was and the merit of Jason’s suggestion -- BatPussy, of course -- as she drank her third cup of coffee of the day.

It was about halfway through her drink that she began to notice that something was off. She squinted at Jason suspiciously.

“Decaf?” She asked, her voice worryingly sweet.

He raised his eyebrows and tried to look unimpressed despite stepping back a good half-step. “Please, if it was decaf classical conditioning still would’ve made it work at least a little.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then realized he was right. Or, at least, she was pretty sure. She couldn't seem to think of anything against it.

She frowned, looking down at her drink again and swirling the contents around. She drank the rest of it, trying to figure out why exactly it wasn’t working.

Was she already at the point where caffeine had little effect on her again? She didn’t think she was that bad yet… hell, she probably couldn’t be because she was depending on others to give her her fix…

She shook her head slightly and then quickly realized that was a bad idea. Pain stabbed through her skull and she stumbled into Jason. The plastic thermos slipped from her fingertips and went rolling across the floor. Her head crashed into his chest and arms were quick to wrap around her.

“You got shitty coffee, try a different place next time,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, okay, kid. I’ll be sure to do that.”

She nodded as much as her headache would allow and felt the arms around her slip down to pick her up. She blinked her eyes open blearily and regretted it when the light attempted to murder her via knife to the head.

Heh. Little light particles with little knives.

Wait.

Did she get a concussion? Somehow? Without getting hit?

She buried her face in his shoulder and it was then, as he set her in bed and tucked her in, that she realized what had happened.

“Bitch,” she murmured above whatever drug they had put in her drink.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she could do little more than scrunch up her nose and vaguely wave him off. Her eyes fell closed again.

~

Marinette woke up a while later.

The first thing she noticed was that the lights were dimmer, something she didn’t have to open her eyes to see because her head wasn’t pounding as much.

Then she realized a person was with her. They had entwined themselves around her, tangled their limbs with hers. They needn’t have bothered, everything felt like lead. She wouldn’t be moving for quite some time.

… why was she being held down? Oh no. That was probably bad, huh?

Marinette made a sound in the back of her throat and started trying to shift away from the person pressed against her back. She needed to see who they were. They didn’t bother to tighten their hold on her, she wasn’t really getting anywhere.

In fact, a hand stopped holding her down. Instead, it came up to pet her hair.

Oh? This was nice.

A voice by her head told her it was all okay. After a moment she realized she recognized that voice. She smiled sleepily. Cass. She liked Cass. She pressed closer to her and was rewarded with a hand rubbing up and down one of her arms.

She nearly fell asleep again. Cass was safe, Marinette was safe… the warmth against her and the soothing touch… of course, it certainly helped that the drug was still in her system and she was exhausted...

But then her mind wandered back to her first question. Why WAS Cass holding her down? Why did they drug her in the first place?

She moved so her hair could block some of the light and then cautiously cracked her eyes open.

The batboys were all moving things inside almost silently. Jason was carrying an entire fridge on his own. Dick and Damian were arguing over the positioning of the table they had just brought in through angry hand motions. Tim and Duke were working together on… was that a gaming set?

And she was being held down because the door was wide open.

Marinette looked at the doorway for just a moment longer. She allowed herself to imagine getting out and swinging through the city with her lasso, allowed herself to pretend she could lay in the grass, allowed herself to believe that she could see the sun and the stars and just breathe fresh air again…

And then she closed her eyes and sunk into Cass’s grip.

What was the point in trying? Even if she could somehow beat out all six of the people in the room with her and get past whatever security Bruce had to have outside of the room all while drugged… then what? No money or idea where she was… and she’d be running from the bats of all people…

Yeah. Useless. She curled up and allowed sleep to take her again.

~

Quite a while later she woke up and blinked a few times when she realized she wasn’t the only person in bed. At first she thought it was just Cass or Tim, they were the most likely culprits, but then she realized everyone had managed to cram themselves onto the bed with her. Her and Cass had gotten brushed to the side of the bed to make space for Tim, Dick, and Damian. Jason had collapsed across the end of the bed -- presumably for space, but Duke was laying half on top of him so that obviously hadn’t worked out.

Marinette smiled faintly and buried her face back into the crook of Tim’s neck.

~

When she woke up again, most of the drug flushed from her system (somehow…?), she thought she was alone.

This was fine. She was able to stretch out and sit up.

She blinked when she saw Damian, who was sitting on her floor and playing a video game.

Huh? Video game?

She looked around her room confusedly. The bats had basically made her a one-room apartment, complete with kitchenette and a tiny study area. Of course, it was much higher quality than the apartment she’d had, with a high tech gaming system and a little dining area and holy shit that was a MINI LIBRARY?

Wild.

“You’re finally up.”

She hummed lightly as an agreement. She crawled over to the end of the bed and smiled when he handed her a twizzler. It was objectively one of the worst candies, but she liked having something to do. She twirled it in her hand idly.

“Do you think… do you think it’s working?”

She frowned confusedly and dropped off the bed to sit beside him on the second beanbag chair. She chanced a quick glance in his direction to gauge how he was feeling... his expression didn’t let anything on other than that he was thinking hard, though she was pretty sure that was about the game.

“Gonna elaborate on that?”

He clicked his tongue. “Are you going to join the Undead Robins Club?”

She grinned at him. “I wasn’t a Robin.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her smile disappeared a little and she trained her eyes on the game. “I don’t know.”

“You know we never will know for sure, right?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge it. They were the bats, they were never going to chance taking off her glasses because if they were wrong and she WASN’T better… well, it wasn’t the kind of mistake they could easily come back from.

“Yeah, I know,” she said after a few moments.

“Do you care?”

“Doesn't really matter if I do. It won’t change anything.”

He frowned. “That’s not answering my question.”

She bit her cheek. “I… yes. I care. It still doesn’t matter.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but instead he just went back to playing the game.

“Damiiiiiiiii…” she whined and, when he gave a vague grunt to show he was paying attention, she continued with “... shouldn’t I get to play first? It’s mine.”

“You slept in too long,” he said without looking up.

She huffed. “Only ‘cause I was drugged!”

“Unfortunate.”

She got off the beanbag chair and whacked him over the head with it. He barely acknowledged it outside of an annoyed click of his tongue.

She huffed and pulled the chair back to herself to sit again. “Is it two player?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a bitch.”

He clicked his tongue again.

She pouted for a little while longer before looking back at the screen with a smile. “... heard you got a cat named Charles. Wanna talk about him?”

Damian’s face lit up. “Can I?”

“Only if you let me play.”

He looked pained. If he gave it to her then he’d be giving her something she’d want, which was a sibling no-no, but if he didn’t then she probably wouldn’t listen to him gush about his cat. A few moments went by before he reluctantly handed over the controller.

She beamed and scooted her chair over to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel him stiffen underneath her but, when she didn’t move again outside of what was necessary to play the game, he relaxed again.

“I thought you were going to listen,” he chided lightly when she didn’t take a break between levels.

“I can listen and play.”

Damian sighed a little and shook his head.

“You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want --.”

“I’m getting to it! So, he’s a black cat that apparently hadn’t been adopted because everyone thought he was evil so the pet store was going --.”

~

Marinette noticed something was up the minute the door opened.

First of all, it was Duke and Damian. That’s all that really needs to be said. Those two together… it’s never a good thing.

Secondly, they were there as Signal and Robin. Most of the time the others avoided even talking about their lives as vigilantes for fear of setting her off in one way or another, but here they were showing up in their suits? No, something weird was going on.

“Hey, Mari, can we skip a fight and you just put a bag over your head and let us pick you up?” Tried Duke.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You want to…? Huh?”

“We don’t really have much time to explain. I’ll tell you on the way.”

Damian held up a potato sack and some twine, which really wasn’t all that encouraging.

She hesitated. “... what’s something only you two would know?”

“Really?” Said Damian with more than a little exasperation.

“Hey, we’re all bats here. I’m not moving until you prove you’re who you say you are.”

(Technically, if they were really Duke and Damian, they could fight her and do it anyways. She probably couldn't beat both of them at once. Still, that kind of fight would hurt all of them and she really didn’t want to have to do it at the moment.)

Duke hesitated before shrugging. “Your favorite ice cream flavor is mint. Which I don’t understand. Just brush your teeth if you like that taste so much.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Alright, you’re who you say you are. Robin?”

“… early on I lied and said that Nightwing’s real hero name was actually BatNightwing to mess with you both.”

She frowned. “I forgot about that. You’re a dick.”

“No, Nightwing’s a Dick. He’s a Damian.”

Marinette was THIS CLOSE to fighting them anyways.

But she didn’t. She was kinda curious about where all this was going. So, she allowed them to bind her hands and slip a bag over her head. Arms wrapped around her -- she didn’t really care who it was -- and she was lifted off the ground. Then, they were walking.

Part of her wondered if this was some kind of test. They were checking to see how compliant she was or how likely she would be to run once outside. Maybe they had Superman on call in case she tried to escape.

She really couldn’t tell.

She didn’t think that they had any reason to take her out of the perfectly safe and well-stocked place they had put her in.

Maybe her location had been compromised and they were moving her to a backup? No, that didn’t make sense. Duke made sense for transport, Damian didn’t. Damian was one of the worst fighters in the family (he was in no way BAD at fighting, of course, it was just a byproduct of being in the game the shortest amount of time and not being a meta) and he was the second most likely person to end up fighting her after Jason. What the fuck?

Wait, Duke said he’d explain on the way.

“What’s going on?”

“New idea on how to bring you back,” said Duke simply.

Well, she guessed that was more information than she’d previously had. She’d take it for now.

She heard a quiet whooshing noise and frowned confusedly, only to feel herself get set down… somewhere. She felt carpeting underneath her, which meant she was in… a house? No. A car, she thought as she noticed the quiet hum of an engine. She’d been put in the fucking trunk. She kicked out as much as she could without knowing exactly where they were and gave a cry of protest, but then the lid was clicked over her head and she was thrown into uncomfortably complete silence.

She scowled to herself. She shouldn’t have thrown her spife at Superman, it would have been really useful right then. She tested the bindings against her hands and winced at how tight they were. Did they really use zip ties? Those were notoriously bad for circulation.

… oh. Yeah. She was dead. That actually wasn’t that bad, then.

Still annoying. Hard to get out of. Assholes. She wondered if it was worth dislocating her arms…

Yeah. Probably. If she could get out then she would be OUT.

She flipped herself onto her stomach. She pulled her feet up to her arms and then started pushing back. Her body strained in protest and she bit down on the front of the bag over her head to stop herself from making any sounds.

And then she felt a pop in her left shoulder and a flare of pain and the makeshift gag wasn’t enough to hold back her sobs. Her arm throbbed and it was only made worse when they reached the city proper and the roads started getting choppy. Every little bump in the road sent a new wave of pain rolling through her and all she could do was ride it out.

They started hitting smoother roads what felt like hours later... it was kind of concerning because she had no clue where they could be, those were uncommon in Gotham, but at least she no longer felt like she was going to die every few seconds.

She took a few seconds to bring her breathing back to normal before she started slowly wiggling her arms out under her butt and legs and then they were in front of her. Great. She picked herself up as much as she could in the tiny space, checked her angle mentally, relaxed her muscles, and then dropped down on her shoulder to get it back in place.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. It felt weird and still kind of hurt but at least it was mostly better.

She pulled the bag off of her head and relished in the slightly fresher air.

She looked down at the zip ties on her wrists and she sighed a little. Time to do that hack that looked stupid but actually worked if the kidnappers were stupid enough to leave you alone.

She brought her feet up, untied the laces of her shoes, and tied them back around the ties. Then she set to work trying to saw at the zip tie.

She paused when she heard the low rumbling of a plane. Were they near an airport? Oh. That was going to be a problem. She went faster.

Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t get very far before there was a click and the trunk opened.

She cried out in pain at the sudden light and squeezed her eyes shut, turning to press her face into the carpeted interior.

Hands grabbed her and pulled her out of the trunk. Before she could do much to look around so she could get her bearings and make herself a portal, the bag was forced over her head again and a strong grip on her arm (the good one, thankfully) kept her from pulling it off again. Then someone knelt in front of her and fixed her shoelaces.

“Really, NightMare?” Duke said, unimpressed.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

Damian scoffed.

Someone picked her up again and she sighed as they carried her along. They were definitely at an airport. She could hear people milling about. She was sure it was Gotham, too; she could feel a few stares, but most people seemed comfortable with the vigilantes among them.

Then came the normal airport stuff. Walking. Some arguing over whether she counted as luggage or if she could go through the metal detector with them. Sitting. A little chatting with civilians. More walking. More sitting. Very light chatter, just formalities and asking for drinks (Duke, who she figured out was the person carrying her, slipped a box of orange juice up her bag so she could have something). And then they were in the air.

After some time in the air the bag and zip ties were removed. She kept her eyes closed to let them adjust to light naturally and instead focused on rubbing feeling back into her hands.

One English alphabet later, she opened her eyes.

They were in a private plane (or was it a jet?), which explained why it was as quiet as it was. Damian was drinking a glass of water and reading something on his phone. Duke was nibbling at some complimentary pretzels and working a Rubix Cube. They both glanced in her direction from time to time, but they seemed pretty confident that she couldn’t do anything while they were in the air (which was true, but annoying).

She looked around a little more and found that there were no other bats.

“Um… where’re…?” She trailed off, unsure.

They stopped glancing in her direction, ignoring her and her question. The frown that had been on her face since pretty much when they’d first taken her from the room deepened.

“Do they… do they know what’s going on?”

The silence spoke volumes.

She rested her head in her hand. “I’m going to need something stronger than a juice box for this.”

Duke sighed but called a friendly looking woman inside to get her some wine. Marinette and Duke sipped at a glass each (Damian wasn’t allowed any, something Marinette took a little too much joy in). She scrutinized the two over the rim of her glass.

“Are you going to explain or let me guess? Because letting me guess is going to end up with me assuming you’re doing something way worse than you actually are.”

Damian sighed a little. “It’s hard to explain.”

“We’re in a plane. I’m going to guess we have time. Start talking.”

“We drugged them all -- except Orphan, she’s just out doing patrols and won’t know what’s going on for a good few hours -- and grabbed you.”

Duke gave Damian a pleading look to make him continue for them.

Damian, reluctantly, put down his phone to talk. “Signal and I have an idea on how to bring you back from the dead. The others won’t like it, especially not Red Hood, so we’re making the executive decision to not ask.”

Marinette didn’t know a lot about when Jason had been resurrected, it was a sensitive subject so it was avoided pretty much at all costs. All she’d gathered was that it was a rather messy experience for everyone involved.

She rested her head on her hand and then looked back down at her drink. She snatched the bottle from the table and, when Duke protested, set him a glare and started drinking directly from it. They were actually going to bring her back through probably shady means. She was NOT drunk enough for this shit.

~

She got stuffed in a suitcase when they left, which was extremely insulting (and a little embarrassing, if she were honest).

She rested her head against the side of the suitcase and listened to the dull thrum of people talking on the other side. She vaguely recognized the language, both Nino and Damian both spoke it when frustrated, but the words were all Greek to her.

Well, they were all Arabic, but you get the point.

~

She didn’t even realize she had been asleep until she was awoken. Rather abruptly. The zipper for the suitcase was opened and she tumbled out. Marinette cursed in French as she hit the ground and laid there, her entire body aching from not moving for so long. She hadn’t known her face could get pins and needles, she wished she could go back to her blissful ignorance.

“Are you sure about this? You want to save her?” A woman’s voice said above her, sounding a little skeptical.

Marinette forced herself to roll over so she could glare at whoever it was, she knew when she was being insulted, and then she blinked up at the new person.

A tall woman with dark skin and hair and a body to die for stood above her, hands on her hips.

“Holy shit, Dami. You got terrible genes. She’s gorgeous and you’re… you? What?”

Duke hid laughter behind his hand and Damian scoffed.

Amusement flickered behind Talia’s ‘I could kill you before you could even scream’ expression. “I’ve changed my mind. I like her.”

“Cool,” said Marinette as she quickly pushed herself to her feet. Her body wasn’t ready for that, but that was the least of her concerns. The pretty lady was ushering her along and Marinette wasn’t going to hold her up if she could help it.

“How did you die?” Talia said, which was an interesting choice for conversation.

Marinette shrugged, though, unconcerned. “I don’t know, really, there wasn’t this ‘oh, wow, I’m dead’ moment. My guess is I either drowned in acid or died of dehydration at some point. Does it change anything or…?”

“No. Just curious.”

“Oh. Good.”

“... do you not know why you’re here?” Asked Talia carefully after a moment’s contemplation.

Marinette shook her head. “Nah, they’ve been avoiding telling me. I assume it’s painful.”

“... yes. Very.”

The four lapsed into silence after that.

Marinette felt weirdly on edge as they walked through the facility, her hands rubbing the goosebumps that were prickling along her arms. The further they walked, the more on edge she felt. They were approaching something unnatural, something so undeniably WRONG, and she needed to GO.

But Damian and Duke were behind her, probably sensing her unease, and running ahead would only get her there faster… so she walked.

She bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to ground herself.

But, the moment they stepped into the room, she froze.

Green water. That apparently hurts.

Acid.

“FUCK.”

Duke was ready for her to run, apparently, stood in front of the only exit and ready for a fight before she could even get a full step away from the hell that awaited her.

“No no no no no no wait it’s fine I actually don’t mind being dead it’s fine guys please --.”

Damian grabbed her arms and she choked out a sob,

“Damian god damn it I was kidding about the mom thing you’re perfectly attractive or whatever I promise I really didn’t think it would hurt you that much we don’t need to do this let’s tALK IT OUT --!”

“It’s not about that --!”

Duke managed to get a hold on one of her legs and lifted and all she had to struggle against either of them was a foot and she was SO fucked --.

“PLEASE DUKE PLEASE I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID BUT I PROMISE I CAN BE BETTER YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GO I’LL BE FINE WE CAN FIGURE SOMETHING OUT PLEASE --.”

Talia grabbed her last leg and she sobbed as she thrashed around uselessly. They started dragging her towards the acid. Nothing to do no way to run no help in sight no --.

“PLEASE! I PROMISE I’LL BE BETTER PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!”

And they did. They let her go and she fell into the acid.

[fragileizywriting]

bad day blues

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 10,418 chapter: 1/1 rating: E summary: “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit and end up spraining an ankle?” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.” “I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.” “You’re not.” Luka kisses the top of her head as a punctuation to his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.” “One of the worsts in a while,” Marinette nods into his shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?” He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.” Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.” AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

Here's some more Lukanette! Don't worry, there's plenty more incoming, too. This series is so wonderful to write, I'm having so much fun!!! Especially since Luka is my favorite character 🥺

Enjoy <3

She’s having a bad day.

Like, a really bad day.

There is that whole cake ordering business that her parents live off of, that she helps out with. She’s rolled so much fondant out that her arms hurt, and they’re barely attached to her body when she’s rushing out of the door to get to her class when the second bad part of the day happens.

She spills coffee all over herself.

Well, it isn’t her coffee. Her dad’s been getting into the habit of walking around the bakery and the pantry with his mug she got for him for his birthday, a delicate piece of ceramic that is absolutely dwarfed by her father’s large hands. She’d knocked into him while scarfing down some breakfast of her own, where she’d tried to get bits and pieces of it into her mouth while rolling out fondant for that particular eight-tiered cake that is surely going to be the death of her that she still has to pipe and decorate when she gets back from class.

Her blouse is stained, and it’s warm. It doesn’t seep far into her shirt, because her dad presses his apron right on the stain to soak up as much moisture as possible, but she yelps anyway out of sheer instinct.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry for making you spill your coffee, baba. Are you okay?” She waves him off with a little smile. These things happen, it’s okay. Besides, smelling like coffee isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t the smell of a particularly expensive perfume, but she can hardly say no to smelling like coffee when she’s lived at a bakery for the entirety of her life.

“I ran into you, sweetheart, not the other way around,” Her dad shakes his head. “Go change your shirt while I get you some packed food to take with you to school for you and Mullo.”

“Thank you! I’ll be right back.” She kisses him on the cheek, making sure to stay clear away from his mug. She rushes up the stairs, trying her best not to accidentally tear her skirt, but isn’t as delicate to her blouse as she could be. The side rips open. She squeaks while getting it off. “Oh, no! I just bought this!”

“Oh! Is everything okay?” Mullo peeks out from the little cubby Marinette’s made into her own little room.

“Yeah— I’m okay! These things happen, don’t worry. I’m just going to change my shirt into something better and then we can head out, okay?” She snaps open a drawer, tossing her soiled top into the laundry bin near her desk. She’s not opposed to wearing other shirts with this particular skirt, but… she really likes wearing that peter pan collar. This is fine. A normal button-up will go fine with the skirt, even though now she looks a lot more formal than she wants to be.

It’s a good thing her bra is nude-colored. She’s already in a rush as it is.

She hasn’t learned a single thing since school was at a walking distance, clearly, because she’s rushing to get to the metro, running back down the stairs, tugging her backpack over her shoulder with Mullo zipping into the pocket of her skirt, and kissing her dad goodbye and thanking him for the food— all the while trying her best to go over the list of things she needed to do before heading off to class.

Feed Mullo, though the little mouse can definitely go scavenging for blueberries whenever she wants. And yet… Mullo starts to whisper that she’s hungry the moment Marinette makes it down the stairs of the metro and goes pawing for her metrocard. She’s grateful that she’s placed a small container of fresh blueberries inside her backpack, with even a portion of small chocolate chips in the screw-top compartment of the container, just for the little mouse— and the small kwami is giggling and back to being happy before Marinette can even blink.

She looks for her metrocard. It’s on the inside of her phone case, which is good, so she’s able to go through the ticket booth with no problem— thank goodness. She doesn’t need another stressor for the day— but she needs to make sure she repays the bill for her monthly pass before the next month arrives so that she isn’t late trying to pay for it the day of, and hopefully she can remember this thought for long enough to write it into her agenda so she doesn’t forget during the week.

Oh, gooseberries. Hopefully she���s not late.

She checks the time on her phone once she’s safely situated inside a subway car, only to look at the turned-off screen with a confused noise. She tries turning on her phone but blinks with so much confusion when the black screen refuses to light.

Wasn’t one of the things on her list to make sure that her phone was charged last night?

What in the world happened to her phone battery?

She tries to think about it, pinning down that the only real reason it would be out of battery would be if Mullo wanted to use it to watch videos or listen to music while Marinette was asleep.

She makes sure to unzip her bag, peering down at the little mouse kwami with inquisitive eyes, trying to understand why her only communication device isn’t charged, speaking in a hushed voice to not alert anyone in the subway car with her. “Lolo, did you watch videos last night?”

Mullo is asleep. At least she remembered to put the lid back onto the container, which is some good news. Marinette can’t feel too upset, looking at the little creature. It’s a good thing she packed her bag and made sure to grab her portable charger— it’s not often that Mullo gets in the habit of overusing Marinette’s phone— but she’s always prepared, just in case. Mullo likes texting Sass, too, though all their texts look like gibberish to her and Luka whenever they try to reread it.

She opens the front pocket zipper with the cute little mouse charm attached to the handle and freezes.

This isn’t her school backpack.

She’s not sure how it didn’t dawn on her before, but this isn’t the right backpack at all.

The only thing it has is a plastic bag with her swimsuit she’d used during the weekend— it’s not exactly dry, given that it’s been in the baggy for at least four days since she’d come back from the pool with her friends. That’s strange— she’s not one to just drop her bag off to the side and not put away her stuff— so, what gives? She chews on her nail while she thinks about what could’ve possibly distracted her from hanging up her swimsuit and letting it dry, and stopped her from putting away this particular backpack, and squeaks to herself when she remembers.

Oh. Right. That’s right.

Viperion had shown up in her room just as she was going to go take a shower— having completed patrol on his own because he wanted her to have fun with friends and go swimming— and since her boyfriend is somehow allergic to learning how to swim, he’d happily shoved her out of the house with the pretense of keeping Paris safe while she relaxes for once in her life— no wonder she’d been so distracted and completely forgot about the backpack.

He’s so insatiable, nowadays, wanting to spend so much time with her that it’s completely pointless to try to keep clothes on around him. He’d taken one good look at her while she was making her way to her bathroom tucked into her towel and had decided to wash her himself— joining her in the shower without even taking his suit off.

She knows that their hexleather is water-resistant— but she didn’t know that it’s enough to keep water from completely entering his suit.

He’d cleaned her inside and out— pressed her up against the bathroom tiles, hopeful that she would keep quiet, as Viperion slicked two fingers inside of her.

The hexagonal grooves on their suits had never been something she’d even considered until now— it was obsession at first touch, in all honesty.

Her back is filled with love bites and possessive teeth marks that make her toes curl in her shoes when she thinks about it more, or remembers it whenever she brushes up against her shoulders. Not to mention she feels a comfortable full-body ache when he finally slips away to go home— she’d spent the rest of that afternoon in bed, curled up, dreaming of the day the two of them can always wake up next to each other.

She shifts in her seat, feeling damp and uncomfortable. She misses him already.

But all of that means… her school backpack is still at home. And she’s carrying nothing except her wet swimsuit, instead of her agenda and planner and notebooks and sketchbooks and pens.

Oh, sugarcubes.

It’s fine, though. These things happen. Sometimes no matter how much she plans and prepares, the universe sometimes throws her for a loop, and that’s okay. A good planner knows how to plan for things going wrong— even if she doesn’t want it to happen in the first place.

In all honesty, this is probably not what Luka meant when he said to let things flow and don’t let things bother her, but it is kind of hard to stop her tendencies to want to plan for the worse.

Okay, so how does she fix this?

She has a lecture that starts in about twenty minutes that she can technically skip out on and go back home to grab her things, assuming she switches subways at the next stop. Since she’ll be late, she might as well change out of her clothes, too, into something much more suited for her. She doesn’t like wearing button-downs— especially since, oh, gooseberries, it looks like she’s missed out on about three buttons and gotten her neckline skewed. There’s no point in even fixing it, as long as she’s able to tuck her miraculous back underneath her shirt without someone seeing it.

What else does she need to do?

Well, she definitely needs to make sure she gets the right backpack the next time she slips through the door. Make sure to bring another container of blueberries, too— she never knows when there’ll be another Akuma, and of all things to not be worried about, this is something she’ll never stop.

Everything will be okay. No worries. The lecture wasn’t that important, she’s sure of it.

The moment she makes that same thought, the subway car slows to a crawl. The lights in the car flicker, and she looks around to the other passengers, hopeful to see anyone who has any idea of what’s going on.

Everyone looks nonchalant. They probably assume it’s an Akuma, at this point.

“We are having technical difficulties,” The subway car emits a tinny, metallic little noise from the speakers near the doors. “Please stay calm and wait while we fix it.”

Marinette groans. Okay, maybe she’ll be late for a lot more than just her first class. This is fine. Things happen. Things like this just happen— she just needs to relax about it. At least it’s not an Akuma— and it’s not like she can be blamed for the subway being stuck.

There’s just nothing to entertain her, though. No pencil, no pen, no paper to doodle and keep her occupied. No phone to listen to music or keep her busy. Just her, the plastic bag with her swimsuit in it, a sleeping kwami, her breakfast, and half a container of chocolate chips. She might as well start eating now, since there’s nothing else to do— eat and think about her boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes.

-*-

She has— well, had— a pop quiz in her missed lecture.

Worth twenty percent of her grade.

She stumbles into the classroom after everyone’s starting to clear out, looking for the professor and her continuously bored glare she gives to the class on the regular. “Uhm, excuse me— sorry, I didn’t attend class today because of the metro—”

“You can’t make it up.” Her professor says, collecting a thick stack of paper into her briefcase. The only professor she’s ever met to actually use a genuine briefcase— it makes her look more like a lawyer and less like an introduction to fashion history professor.

“Make it up?” Marinette blinks, confused. “Make up— make up what, exactly? I wasn’t in class.”

“The quiz. Twenty percent of the grade, of course, because no one in class was answering my questions today for some reason.” Because Marinette’s the one who usually answers for everyone, of course. No one stepped in, probably, because they were most likely too comfortable with her answers to actually come up with one of their own. “You missed out on the quiz. You can’t make it up.”

“Oh.” That’s fine. Things happen. Sometimes the universe just throws curveballs— her grade in this class won’t suffer. “Uhm. Is— is that all I missed?”

Her professor gives her a good look. There’s something in her dull, tired eyes, like she registers who Marinette is in the class— and what she brings to the lecture hall. “I’m going to give you the homework, even though I technically shouldn’t. You’re a good student— you’ve never been late to class— and definitely never missed an entire lecture. And today, without your questions, it was completely and totally quiet.”

“Oh.” She repeats. “Th— uhm. Thank you.”

She pulls out another stack of papers, handing her a stapled group of paper from the top. It looks ridiculously thick— as in— maliciously thick. Maybe at least thirty pages. “Here’s the homework. Make sure to finish it by next class.”

One week to finish the assignment. No problem. She can do that.

“Of course,” Marinette breathes, slightly overwhelmed, looking over the title of the assignment. She has no idea where to begin— the lecture today must’ve been all about it. Maybe she can find one of her classmates and ask about it? Although, she’s never really made a friend here before… “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t make it a habit to skip,” The professor calls out to her as she leaves through the door.

“Understood,” Marinette mutters under her breath. The strap of her kitten heels breaks when she runs her foot too close along the doorframe as she leaves behind her. She trips, falling into her second person with a coffee today, spilling all over her shirt again. This time, it’s cold— it’s an iced latte, of course, and ice cubes fall down her collar and into her shirt, and pain blistering up her ankle.

She tries to walk it off, she really does, but it ultimately just collapses back onto the floor the moment she tries to put pressure on it. Mullo comes out of hiding when she makes sure that there’s no one around, asking if Marinette’s okay— and all she can do is just smile at the little kwami, trying her best not to wince.

Today just isn’t her day, is it?

-*-

By the time an Akuma actually comes around, and tries to do damage in the city of Paris, Multimouse is running on fumes from how close she is to breaking down.

She’s weaved and dodged most of the attacks, relying on her rope to get out of the way. Her ankle doesn’t hurt as much when in the suit, of course, because the magical properties of the miraculous make it so that they focus on the fight first than anything else. She can put her weight on it, which is the good news— and that’s enough for her to walk and run and jump rope when she needs to.

Seeing Viperion is such a blessing. She hasn’t been able to text him much all day, aside from the vague ‘good morning’ text she sent when she finally managed to get her phone to turn on— she’s been too busy to respond to all of the texts he’s sent throughout the day.

Hopefully, she can talk to him after the fight is over. She needs a little bit of downtime.

But she can’t exactly focus on how thankful she is to see him when she’s in the middle of weaseling out of the Akumas grabby hands. She tucks and weaves, snaps her rope out like a whip when she needs to, and does her best to roll out of the way of the Akuma that falls into their trap using the Liberty that sends him spiraling across the city with it. Viperion is nearly on the other side of the city taking care of the sentimonster when she feels her ankle start to blister in pain again, indicating that she’s putting far too much stress on the ankle for even magic to make it stop hurting.

By the time they’ve got the Akuma purified, the sentimonster dealt with, and the victim is in safe care with the social worker from the workforce that’s been assigned to assist people who have just been Akumatized— Multimouse can barely stand up. She chooses, instead, to keep sitting down on the lip of the sidewalk between a couple of parked cars, her legs spread out in front of her, trying her best to seem like she’s just out of breath. She keeps her right boot completely straight, hopeful to not put any more strain on her ankle, but lets her left boot sag against the asphalted road, and tries her hardest not to hide her face in her hands.

Viperion makes his way back to her after he’s done talking to the social worker.

“Mousey?”

“Hi, Vai,” She speaks into her gloves. Some battles are just too difficult for her to focus on, and trying to keep herself from doing something just isn’t worth the effort anymore. “That was a tough one, huh?”

He sits down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. There’s probably not enough space for him in between the cars, since his shoulders are wide, but he makes the effort anyway. Besides, if it’s truly that bothersome, all he has to do is give a gentle push to the car next to him— the miraculous suits give them extra strength, after all— but even without the suit, he’d probably be able to push it forward. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She leans into him. “I missed you so much.”

“You didn’t text me today like you usually do,” He murmurs into her hair. He’s a thick wall of heat right next to her, and she’s so thankful for him like usual. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is— it’s fine— I’m sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night, and Mullo was watching videos while I slept, so my phone just went kaput.” She smiles in her hands when he makes a noise meaning that he understands exactly what she means. “I only got to text you when my phone was back on. I’m just tired, really. I’m not having a good day.”

The road is going to be populated soon with whatever foot traffic it usually has, now that the Akuma’s been taken care of. They need to probably get up to higher ground before the people of Paris come out to ask for autographs or selfies— and, okay.

She wants to give everyone the best treatment possible, of course, but she’s in absolutely no condition to do that like this. Definitely not like this.

It’ll be better for everyone’s comfort if she doesn’t stay around to listen to what people have to say about the fight— she’s Paris’s sweetheart, she knows, but if anyone says anything remotely negative in her direction, she’s pretty sure she’ll start crying.

Not to mention that if she hears anything bad about Viperion, she’ll start crying while beating civilians off with a ten-foot pole. She’s not in the mood at all to continue behaving like the sweet little Parisian Princess today— she can’t do it.

“Are you stressed out?”

“Yes. Very much. Ironically, the Akuma was my break from stress. Imagine that?”

He laughs. It’s a loving noise, usually, but there seems to be an edge to it this time. “Do you want me to help you with that? I think I saw an alley over there. Let me help you relax.”

She steams red behind her gloves. Oh, she knows exactly what he means— and, well, the answer is always yes. “Yes— but maybe not here. People are going to show up, soon, and I’m already in pain as it is—”

Viperion looks at her. She can tell because her face starts to prickle underneath her gloves. “Pain?”

She takes a deep breath, looking up at him. His hair is starting to curl around his neck, it’s so lovingly him that she can’t help but comb her fingers into his hair and smooth it back. The confusion on his face morphs into contentment as she takes her time brushing his bangs back, getting a good look at what the top of his domino mask looks like. “Nothing’s wrong— things are fine. Everything is fine. Sometimes things happen, and we can’t control all of it.”

Liquid golden eyes look back at her when she’s done petting through his hair and, he— he smiles at her. Really smiles at her— he knows that she’s trying to repeat the quotes and virtues that he usually says to himself. His smile makes his domino mask crinkle, the scales on his hexleather shimmering turquoise and green, and it’s not exactly a front when she smiles back at him. “That’s true. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control, even if we really try, but sometimes we can fix whatever is hurting us. So what really happened, Mousey?”

“Just a bad day,” She uses her left foot to brush against his, taking her hands back from his hair to follow the scale pattern on his chest. The muscles underneath are no illusion— he’s truly that filled out. She likes physical contact with him, just as much as he loves physical contact with her— and she finds a certain kind of sweetness in the way he leans just slightly into her touch as she traces his collarbone. “I’m not kidding— I’ve been having a really bad day.”

“The Akuma didn’t help all that much, huh?”

She cups his cheeks with her palms. She can’t feel him, because her fingers are covered in protective hexleather, but it means all the same to her when she presses their foreheads together, smooshing their bangs against one another. “I don’t know about that. I’m getting to see you, after all— I love being able to see you, Vai.”

His eyes twinkle as he laughs, giving her a kiss. “Stand up for me? I want to check if you’re missing any body parts.”

“What? I’m not missing anything.” She finds herself laughing at the strange request. “See? Look: I have my two arms, my two legs. Tail is still here, and so is my miraculous.”

“I don’t know about that,” His face is oddly serious, even as she continues to giggle. “Wiggle your fingers for me so I know they’re still there.”

“Vai,” She makes a face as she laughs. When he implores her, she rolls her eyes, twiddling her fingers in the air. “Told you.”

“All ten fingers?”

“I think so,” She breaks into a grin. What is this man on about?

“Let’s see.” He takes her hands in his, bringing every single finger up to his mouth so he can count them with a kiss. “One. Two.”

“Oh my gooseberries. Vai,” She giggles hard enough for her shoulders to shake.

“Don’t make me lose count, Mousey, this is important. Three, four—”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“I think it’s the other way around, honestly. Five, six— how did I get so lucky to have you?”

“By treating me like this,” She can’t help but bite her lip when he makes it past seven and eight. “By treating me so sweetly.”

“Sue me, little mouse. I like treating my girlfriend well. Nine, and ten.” At the tenth finger, he kisses where her fingernail would be, then her knuckle, then the back of her hand. He kisses up her arm, too, all the way up to her shoulder as she snorts and giggles, until he tilts his head and kisses her against the jaw, finally completing his quest and kisses her softly on the lips— she melts. He keeps the kiss soft, though— and if her ankle wasn’t rolled, she’d honestly climb into his lap for more than just something so chaste. She deserves it, after this horrible day— and he always makes her feel loved and comforted. “I think your hands are okay.”

“You think so?” She feels a little dopey from the kiss.

“Move your feet, too, so I can figure out if your legs are still attached.”

She moves her left foot only, letting her right boot rest. Instead, she pulls up her right leg, hoping to look like she’s just switching up her sitting position, but that’s enough for Viperion to break eye contact with her and look at her knee. “See?”

But he’s smarter than that. “Ah, there it is. So you did injure yourself during the fight?”

“No. I— uhm— no. Not during the fight.” She’s not lying, but her smile dies down as a quiet contemplation morphs on his face. “It’s— I’m fine, Vai, honestly, I’m okay. My ankle will be fine after some ice, I’m sure—”

“Oh, Mousey.” He looks hurt for her, immediately swiveling in his seat to look her over. He grabs gently for both of her legs, lifting them up to place in his lap, and gently starts to move her foot at the ankle back and forth.

The first leg is the good one, so she barely even reacts— let alone blinks— to him swiveling her ankle around and testing the elasticity. But her bad ankle— oh— it’s enough to make her start to squirm.

His eyebrows pinch when she continuously flinches, her half-sentient tail batting against the asphalt behind her as she tries her hardest not to cry out in pain. He supports the back of her ankle with his palm, and doesn’t let her foot rotate when he puts her leg back in his lap. “When did this happen, baby girl?”

“It happened at school,” She hides her face back into her gloves. “Just the cherry on top, honestly. I fell and twisted my foot. I thought I was okay, but— I can’t walk in my civilian form.”

“School? And you fought the Akuma while injured? Oh, Mousey— I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have let you stay alone with the Akuma if I had known. What else happened? Tell me what’s wrong.” She feels the gentle pressure of his thumb against her calf, even through the hexleather. “Maybe I can help you. I sure want to try, at least.”

Why is he so gentle with her? Why is Viperion always so sweet and soft to her— kind and loyal?

She knows why— there is the whole ‘they’re dating’ part of the answer— but honestly, how did it get this way? When did Viperion become the boy she fights crime with, day or night, live or die— to the man who snags her just before her showers, who makes it a habit to make her toes curl every time he sees her, who is happiest when she cuddles and routinely hides in his bed with? How in the world has she gotten this lucky?

How? How did she get so lucky to have a man so conditioned to care about her?

Why did he ever fall in love with someone like her— someone who needs everything to be in its place or else she has a nervous breakdown? Someone that loses her demeanor when there’s even a slightest mistake, because everything needs to be perfect or it’s not worth doing at all and— and— why would he even stay with someone like her like this? Why? She’s completely the opposite of him— so— why does he stay and deal with someone so completely different than him in every single aspect?

The thought is enough to make her cry— and— oh— that’s it, really. That’s what makes her push over the edge and start hiccuping into her hands, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh—”

“Mousey, it’s okay. Shh. Your ankle will get fixed up in no time, okay? We can fix this.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, more to herself than anything else, gesturing to her leg before hiding back in her hands. She sags against him so easily when he pulls her onto his lap. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry, Vai. It’s not just— just the ankle— I’m just—”

“I know.”

“And— such a bad day—”

“Breathe, Mousey,” He traces circles against her back.

She gasps for breaths between sobs. “And I just— I really did try to not let it get to me— I really tried—”

“You did very good. You are doing very good.”

“It really hurts, Vai, I’ve never rolled my foot before, it’s so painful— and I know I’m going to be in more pain when I’m out of the suit. I’m so exhausted, Vai— today has been so difficult.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Where does she begin? “So much coffee on my shirt, I smell like an espresso machine—”

He listens to her ramblings, even if they don’t make any sense without the full context. He’s gentle when he shifts her even closer, making sure that her foot doesn’t hit up against the car next to them, tucking her in next to his collarbone and letting her cry it all out. His chest is so warm against her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“And then the subway— and I don’t have more blueberries for Lolo right now because she ate them all already, even after I went back home and refilled her cup—”

“We can get more in my house, it’s okay. All the blueberries Mullo could want.”

“And I was also stuck in the subway for two full hours with just a swimsuit—”

“You went on the subway with only a swimsuit on?” He makes a face. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“In my bag,” She explains, even if it doesn’t make much sense, sniffling around her gloves. “I mean— I picked up the wrong backpack— the wrong bag— before leaving the house and it was just my swimsuit in there— the subway got stuck and I thought it was because of an Akuma so I was just—”

“Take a breath, Mousey.”

She sucks in a breath, trying to fill her lungs in all the way, before the inevitable fresh wave of tears that she continues to border on. “And I— I couldn’t— even text you. I couldn’t, because my battery was out— and I was underground— and— oh, sugarcubes, I was so bored— I just kept coming up with more and more ways to sneak off the train without being seen because there was nothing else to do and I ended up overthinking everything.”

Everything. All of it. Every single thing. If she’s doing well in school— if what she’s trying to get a degree in is even worth it— if she’s wasting her time not focusing on defeating Hawkmoth— if Viperion even finds her necessary in fights. After all, most of what she does is just a distraction for him to get close and defeat the Akuma— but there’s not really a genuine need for her since all he has to do is move his ouroboros miraculous over to the side and turn back time and do whatever needs to be done, right?

“I thought about how you’re so much better without me during Akuma battles— I thought how much of a klutz I am— I thought about how I always have these nervous breaks whenever something goes wrong and you always just deal with them and I wish I could just stop worrying about every little thing without making it into a thing— and— and—”

Gentle hands make it to her wrist, and she looks up, sniffling and biting her lip. Viperion’s smile looks soft on his face as he wipes away her tears— golden eyes looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks— her nose, too— all in favor of getting a smile back onto her face. “None of that is true, okay? There’s no need to overthink about any of it anymore. You’re okay, you’re here— exactly where I need you to be. You are the entire reason why Paris is safe every day— I’m just here to keep you company, in all honesty. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, little mouse, and I absolutely cannot do any of this without you.”

Amazing woman? Has he met his own mother before? “But— what about your family—”

“I’m aware of what I’ve said,” He smiles. “I don’t deal with your problems, we deal with our problems. You getting worked up about something is something we both work on together— I’m not going to let you suffer alone when you’re nervous about something.”

She blinks slowly at him, her lashes damp and full of tears, only being able to offer him a watery and a heartful: “Oh.”

He nods, encouraging her to smile back. “Everything’s going to be fine, just like it always is, okay?  You’re not a klutz. You’re doing great. Everything is going to be fine.”

“But—”

“Breathe, Mousey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looks at him in the eyes, her breath slowing down, looking around them to see just how empty the street is. It’s an unpopulated street to begin with, so there are only a couple of shops at the corners, nowhere near them where they sit in between the cars, catching their breath from the battle. “I’m— I’m going to be okay. I am okay.”

“You’re okay.” He nods, smiling gently, taking her hands in his.

“I’m— I’m fine.” She takes another breath. She still feels watery, still feels like a wet sponge, but it’s a little easier to breathe. “Sometimes days just don’t go my way, no matter how much I plan for it.”

“Good, good— but you’re forgetting the second half of that.”

“The second half?”

“For every day that it happens, whenever your days don’t go right, I’ll be right here for you to cry on because you and I have always been a team.” He kisses her bangs, smoothing his gloves at the back of her head, behind the buns in her hair. “As much as I don’t like seeing you cry, baby girl, I know that I’d rather see that, than have you bottle it up inside.”

She sniffles, giving him a little smile when he pulls away to gauge her reaction. “Thank you, Vai.”

“I love you.” He kisses her on the lips again.

“I love you, too.” She ducks her head as a blush stains her cheeks underneath her domino mask. “Oh, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For crying on you and turning this into a mess.”

“My girlfriend seeking out comfort from me— what a scandal, little mouse,” He teases with a flash of his fangs. “How dare my Mousey want reassurance from me.”

She has the reflex to giggle, even though there’s a bit of tears still trying to make its way down her face. “It’s probably not what you had in mind for today, huh?”

“All I had was work today,” He wipes at her cheek again. “The Akuma is always unpredictable, but it’s not like your parents don’t know why I have to leave the register when our phones start to ding with the Akuma notification, right? And I’m always thinking of you, so, in a way this is sort of what I had in mind.”

She kisses him. It’s not as quick as it should be— it definitely isn’t as innocent as it has to be, given that they’re in public and they haven’t technically told the public yet that Viperion and Multimouse are more than just a duo, not to even mention that they’re a lot, lot more than a duo now, if her wandering hands are any indication— but she breaks away just before she has the urge to shift her position on him, laughing softly when he narrows his eyes at her. “We should— uhm— probably go back, right? Your mom is probably calling your phone right now, asking why in heaven’s name you picked the Liberty for the trap location— Alya will be here any moment now to ask things for the Ladyblog.”

“Hmm? What did you say? I was too busy living in the moment of hearing you laugh again. Such a sweet melody.” He looks back up to her from looking at her ankle. She has no idea what’s going on in that head of his— and it bothers her, because she so desperately wants to know, even as he gives her a wink and a smile.

She’s so thankful for this man. So ridiculously thankful.

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling harder. “We need to go. Out of here. And I need a favor.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, Mousey. What is it?”

“I need you to marry me.”

His eyes widen, completely caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean— I mean carry—” She gasps, hiding her hands behind her mouth. “Oh gooseberries— I’m so sorry. Sorry! I meant carry, I promise! Slip of the tongue, oh sugarcubes— I’m so sorry— that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Breathe, Mousey, come on.” He snorts so hard that he has to hide his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking in mirth. “Obviously I’ll carry you. That’s without question— I’m not letting you walk like that. Come on, let’s get you back home.”

-*-

Marinette’s finally sleeping by the time he’s back into her room.

They’ve wrapped and bandaged her foot, kept it elevated and out of the way for her. She sleeps soundly, even as he struggles with her trap door to not make any noise. He’s not good at being quiet when he really tries— the universe is always out to get him whenever he tries to do something quietly. Or maybe he just gets too self-aware of himself.

“How’s she doing, Sass?”

“She’s been sleeping for the whole time since you brought her home,” The little kwami answers just as softly. There’s a couple of doll-sized lounge chairs on her nightstand, as well as a small little dining table with a couple of cushioned seats— it looks like a playset, in all honesty, but they’re the perfect size for the two kwamis to sit and eat away at their food.

Sass looks like he’s finished with his eggs, which is good to see. Mullo is still working on her blueberries, chewing through each one almost anxiously as the two kwamis watch Marinette rest. He’s never known just how many blueberries is enough for Mullo, so he’d grabbed a heavy container full of it and put it in a small basket to keep her entertained.

“Is her foot going to be okay?” Mullo squeaks out.

“She’ll be fine,” Luka sits on the floor to be at eye level with the kwamis. He takes a couple of berries in his hands to snack on in order to have something to do. “She’s never hurt her ankle before, so it’ll heal up fast. Master Fu wrapped it up for her, after all— her uncle wouldn’t lie, would he?”

Both kwamis nod in agreement.

“I feel like this is all my fault,” The little mouse makes a face. “I should’ve helped her today, I shouldn’t have been quiet the entire time. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Maybe I could’ve told her she was taking the wrong bag— or maybe I could’ve remembered to plug in her phone. I fell asleep watching videos on mermaid history, I’m pretty sure— I don’t think the videos were worth her twisting her foot.”

Sometimes kwami and holder are really alike, huh? Even the face that Mullo makes is so reminiscent of Marinette, it’s incredible— he tries his best not to smile lovingly but can’t help himself. “It isn’t your fault at all, Mullo. There’s no point in thinking about what you should’ve done— all of it has already happened. It’s okay.”

“She’s never gotten injured like this before for as long as I’ve known her— and you said earlier that she hasn’t torn any muscles since I was given to Luka. Her ankle will heal before you know it.” Sass is quick to pet his friend’s arm. “But until then, she definitely won’t be able to act should an Akuma arrive.”

The room goes silent again as the three of them settle back into what they were doing. Sass is curled up, of course, enjoying the luxury of the little doll chair that is stuffed to the brim with cotton and sewn expertly shut. The dollhouse furniture looks well-loved, though— he’s under the assumption that Marinette most likely bought second-hand miniature sets for Mullo to play house in when she had first been given the mouse miraculous. There’s no dollhouse in sight around anymore, but the bookcase near Marinette’s bed still has two cubbies empty in favor of a little curtain pulled open to reveal two fake little rooms.

There’s a little closet rack full of little clothes. There are hats lined up against the bookshelf wall with two slits on the sides to make space for Mullo’s ears. There’s a doll bed with a blanket and a cushion— there’s a couch and potted plants all made out of felted material in order to decorate the space. A rug, too, underneath all the furniture.

All of these little trinkets and toys, so loved and cared for by a young girl and the love she has for her mouse— now something cherished by a young woman. “You know, I’ve always wanted to ask— how long have you two known her?”

“The Cheng family has always kept the miraculouses safe,” Mullo bites into another blueberry. “We’ve been passed down for generations.”

“Well, usually. Master Fu is the guardian right now, but he’s making sure that Marinette is the next guardian.”

“I know that, yes— but I meant Marinette specifically. How long have you two known Marinette?” He turns to her, wondering if she’s in any pain. The inflammatories must be working well in her system because there’s nothing on her face that indicates that her foot’s been wrapped and bandaged to stay still.

“We’ve known her ever since she was little. About eight years old, maybe? All of the kwamis loved playing house with her— the little princess was always so sweet and lovable. Growing up an only child was really lonely for her, so we played with her whenever we could.” The dollhouse furniture makes a lot more sense now. “You name it, we played it. Hide and seek, dollhouse, tea time, dress up— princess and the knight, too.”

Of course Marinette would’ve made them little clothes, how could she have resisted? The idea is adorable.

“Kaalki would frequently run away from Master Fu’s place in order to come play with her. Who could blame him? I for one loved it when it was tea time. Princess always made deviled eggs, just for me.” Sass slips his eyes shut to sleep. He always gets tired after eating his share of eggs following an Akuma attack— Luka’s thankful he works at a bakery, where eggs are plenty.

Sass is out like a light.

Mullo giggles to herself, holding a giant blueberry between her two paws, turning to him in her little chair, speaking as quietly as possible. Marinette may be asleep for longer, but Sass’s hearing is always so sensitive— they don’t want to wake either of them up. “I just ended up being the lucky one that got to stay with her. All of the other kwamis were really upset when they heard that I was her permanent friend— especially Kaalki. They all loved playing with her. We’re sure that Plagg and Tikki will love her, once we find them again.”

So much history between Marinette and the kwamis. No wonder Sass was so happy when they’d finally revealed their identities to one another. “Hey, Mullo— how come she didn’t tell me about her ankle?”

“She didn’t want to worry you.” Mullo replies in her soft, tiny voice. “You both needed to focus on the Akuma first.”

But in the end, she’d hurt herself. What he wouldn’t give to second-chance her ankle back to normal— but it’s been hours, not minutes, since it happened.

He takes his time eating the handful he’s picked from Mullo’s basket. The blueberry is sweet in his mouth, and tasteful, and something quiet to do while he looks at Marinette’s sleeping form. She’s working herself too hard, isn’t she? Trying to keep up with all the things at university— and trying to keep up with everything at home— and definitely trying to keep up with Akumas on top of it all. They haven’t technically even been on dates together, if that’s something she even wants, because her life is so full. It’s commendable, but watching the girl of his dreams get pulled in all different directions makes him understand entirely why a multitasking miraculous is the perfect one for her.

“You should rest, Luka. It’s getting really late.”

“I don’t know if I should— I don’t want to accidentally wake her up.”

“She’ll be more upset if she wakes up and you’re not in bed with her,” Mullo argues. He smiles, because he can’t help the humor at the sincerity of her words. “You should join her.”

He’d have to take off his jeans, and go pawing for one of his shirts she’s stolen from his room in order to not get flour all over her bed, but it’s doable. Her parents already know he’s up here, after all— he’s said he was going to check up on her once his shift ended. Her parents had let him go without barely any warning gaze— in fact, Mrs. Cheng had implored him to spend the night and make sure Marinette didn’t attempt to run off, in case another Akuma were to pop up.

They trust that he’s a good person and will actually stop her from leaving the house. And he doesn’t want to disappoint.

The last thing he wants to do is go back home and listen to the absolute earful he’ll be getting from his mom about using the Liberty as bait, so he’s going to camp out in Marinette’s room after sending about a billion and one heart emojis to Juleka, hoping she’ll try to keep their mom out of trouble.

Maybe it’d been a bad idea to tell his family about his identity— just his family in general. It’s safer this way, now that his family knows, so there won’t be any nasty revelations down the line and his family won’t turn into Akumas (and if he has to fight Reflekta or Captain Hardrock any more times in his life, he’s going to quit) but now there’s the added bonus of his mom knows why he disappears all the time.

So.

Heart emojis sent to Juleka it is.

“And what about you? Won’t you be going to bed?”

“I’m still hungry, so I need to dip downstairs and get some more food, if that’s okay. Or, better yet— do you want me to take Sass downstairs with me when I go?”

He raises a brow. Surely she doesn’t mean to imply… “She’s— Marinette— come on, Mullo. She’s injured.”

“I’m not sure she needs her ankle for that!”

This doesn’t top the weirdest conversation he’s ever had, but this is definitely up there. “And she’s asleep— I’m not comfortable with the idea.”

“She’ll wake up soon. You should ask her then, obviously.”

“Mullo.”

“You’re two aren’t our first holders, you know, we’ve done this so many times before.” Mullo giggles behind a paw. “So, do you want privacy? If you don’t, I’ll stay right here. Mari likes to tell us that we’re as scary as actual dolls, sometimes, with our beady little eyes.”

No one has to tell him that. He learned the hard way when he’d woken up the first time with Sass looking straight at him. Beady little eyes indeed— it’d scared him shitless and almost caused him to scream at a bleary five in the morning. Sass is a terrifying little creature when he wants to be.

“Maybe it’s a good idea to give us a bit of time.” He tries not to blush when Mullo tilts her head in acknowledgment. “I don’t think she wants anything except sleep, but, who knows.”

“We’ll give you all the time you two need,” The little mouse nods. She grabs Sass’s sleeping form by a paw, taking one last bite out of the remaining blueberry, before the two of them phase through the floorboards down below. Sometimes kwamis are weird little creatures with all of their powers, honestly— he’s gotten used to Sass appearing out of thin air in his attempts to scare him, but it’s always so concerning to see it happen without that context.

He lifts himself up from the floor, peeling open some of her drawers in search of one of his shirts. She’d taken his pleading to heart, and now has a steady collection of his clothes starting to grow and multiply in her closet— he’s running out of his own clothes, honestly, but he can’t say no when she smiles at him like she always does before squirreling away a new shirt into her bag when she wants to keep a piece of him with her.

He should probably take some of these shirts home with him, though. If the point was for her to smell like him, well, he should probably make it happen.

He folds his shirt and jeans. Marinette doesn’t have piles of clothes everywhere unlike him, so he makes the executive decision to stack his clothes on her desk chair. By the time he’s going back up the ladder over to her bed, Marinette’s shifted onto her side, facing him— she wakes up the moment he tries to shimmy his way under the covers with her.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” She has pieces of her hair catching in her eyelashes— he brushes it away, shifting closer to her. Her entire bed smells of faint traces of lavender, what a nice scent. “How are you feeling, Mousey?”

“A lot better,” She’s quick to smile, even as she’s groggy from sleep. Adorable. “Probably because of the amount of pain killers I’m on right now, though.”

He laughs. “Master Fu told me you don’t usually take painkillers. You must just completely relax under it, then, since your body isn’t used to it.”

“I don’t think I tore anything, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so. Your uncle said you’re fine, after all, but you should just stay out of commission for this week until you can put weight on that foot again.”

She looks so disappointed. “Where’s Lolo?”

“Downstairs. She’s probably eating through your entire pantry at the moment.”

“And Sass?”

“Went with her. Mullo took him to give us privacy. Are you okay?”

He should’ve known better than to relax his guard around her. The moment he’s completely at ease in bed, she grabs for him, pulling him so close to her that they’re perfect puzzle pieces. “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.”

“I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.”

“You’re not.” He kisses the top of her head as a punctuation of his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“One of the worsts in a while,” She nods into his— hers?— shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?”

He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.”

How can she blame him? She has such soft and delicate skin. Everywhere.

He loves touching and feeling her up whenever she lets him and asks him to. Not to even mention her ass— god— he could write so many songs just about it— he likes biting her everywhere he can, and he’s sure he’d done exactly that while sneaking his way into her shower box. Marinette always takes to bruising really well when it comes to him teething at her, she blossoms into hickies whenever he has his mouth on her. Not to even mention just how excited and turned on she was when he’d finally fingered her to completion.

“I don’t believe you were complaining, were you? Besides, I was just giving my girlfriend what she likes the most.”

She snorts and giggles. “And what is that?”

“Word is around here that she really likes Viperion. Has lots of fantasies about him— and, hey, I’m a pretty understanding guy. If my girlfriend wants to call out his name instead of mine, I get it.” He loves it when she laughs this hard— it’s always so much better to hear her laugh than it is to hear her stay quiet and in her thoughts. “It’s a good thing he likes helping out, too. The guy’s taken a real liking to my girlfriend, even though I’ve heard that him and Multimouse are a thing.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smiles against his mouth. She’s feeling a lot better now, he can tell, because her hands disappear under his— seriously, hers?— shirt, teasing all of the skin available to her. Her fingers are ticklish against his chest and abs— she’s just as handsy as he is, most of the time.

“Insatiable,” He kisses her before pulling down the covers.

Her sleepshirt is soft and stretchy in his hands, and it’s easy to pull it up enough so he can kiss her stomach and hip at the waistband of her panties. He’s careful with her leg, of course— he doesn’t want to move it, just to make sure the wraps on her ankle don’t come undone by accident. He helps her out of her underwear slowly and gently, pulling the cute panties off so he can get her completely bare.

Such cute underwear. But then again, he’s always a little biased to anything green or blue— and the mint green color is adorable on her pale skin. The cut is cute, too— he doesn’t know enough about women’s underwear styles, but these are a lot cuter on her than he’d imagined. They rest just at her hip, with a pretty little scalloped edge that is just a smidge too Marinette for him to reasonably handle.

But he likes her better naked, of course.

“You’re already this wet?”

“Don’t tease, Luka.” Her hands disappear under her shirt. He doesn’t get to exactly see what she does underneath with her fingers, but it doesn’t take much brainpower to recognize the arching of her back like she always gets whenever he’s pinching at her nipples.

He follows the line she’s made with her body with an appreciating gaze, kissing up and down her thigh so slowly that she makes a frustrated noise. “Awh, don’t be like that, Mousey. Tell me why you’ve soaked through your underwear, I’m curious.”

She groans. “I thought of you the entire time I was in that stupid subway.”

Oh, did she? “No wonder you’ve been so tense today.”

She makes eye contact with him after a little flinch and a little exhale— she must’ve pinched herself just enough to make it count. “I was thinking about what you did to me in the shower. You’re such a glutton, Vai.”

He grins at her. Oh, he loves it when she calls him that. “I’m not so sure about that.”

And gives her what she needs.

He takes his time licking between her legs, even though she’s wet enough that it wouldn’t take much effort at all to slip his fingers into her. He likes this part, personally, even to the point where he shifts his hips down into the mattress to alleviate some of the pressure building at the base of his spine, starting to get desperate himself. It’s always so satisfying to go down on her— the noises she makes are always so attractive, and he loves making her come without much regard to himself. Marinette isn’t loud when she vocalizes her likes and dislikes, but not because she doesn’t want to be— she always hides her mouth behind her hands— and it always feels like a contest.

Today is no exception.

Her ribs heave under her shirt as he licks and licks, swirling his tongue at the place she loves the most. Her sighs are soft and sweet, even as he pulls her good leg up and over his shoulder, burying his face into her cunt as she makes a noise halfway between an exhale and a laugh.

“Who’s the glutton now?”

He makes a humming noise, not exactly interested in answering her question— he’s more in favor of showing. He’s glad to help, after all— pulling noise after noise from her when he licks his way into her, digging his tongue in as far as he can possibly reach. Her hips lift, using his shoulder as an anchor, and she moans— but still, again, it’s so soft and nearly quiet like she doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to. Always so considerate of others.

Cute.

By the time he’s got two fingers dipping into her, she’s wound up tight already. He can tell by the way she twitches, how she bites the fleshy part of her thumb— and how she bites harder when he uses his free hand to cup her ass and give her a squeeze. Soft. Soft soft soft.

God, so deliciously soft.

“Luka,” She whispers, trying her absolute hardest to stay quiet as he curls his fingers into her. Her free hand makes it to his hair, brushing it back so sweetly— she’s more cuddly this way, than an actual sexual deviant, like she’s desperate for reassurance. “Please please please?”

He loves it when she starts to beg for more and asks for more physical touch whenever he makes a home between her legs.

“Easy, Mousinette. Take a breath,” He kisses her thighs, liking the way how her thighs get sticky and messy with it. She sucks in a breath at his suggestion, looking at him with her hazy, pretty eyes. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—” She cuts herself off with a particular sigh that makes him piston his fingers more into her. She reaches down with the hand that was in his hair, gesturing for his hand underneath her to join her. “Could you— oh— please—”

“There you go. That’s it. Come whenever you want, baby girl.” He intertwines his fingers and clasps hands with hers, giving her one last swirl and flattening of his tongue, before he feels her start to come on his fingers.

“Luka—” He doesn’t let up once he recognizes the exhale, or the squirming— especially not when he feels the attractive fluttering of her walls. She squeezes and squeezes, milking his fingers desperately.

He can deal with his erection later. For now, he slowly eases his fingers out of her, and kisses her thigh again when she complains about the loss of his hand between her legs. “How are you feeling, Mousey? Better?”

“Always am when I’m with you. Sex or no sex.” And— oh— if he wasn’t so desperately hard in his boxers, he’d fall in love with her on the spot all over again. She’s always so honest with him— it’s always such a shock, even when he knows that’s just how her personality is. He watches her eyelids struggle to keep open, even as she raises her hands up in an attempt to coerce him to bed— barely clothed, with a sleep shirt that covers nothing except her chest and her shoulders at this point. “Come cuddle? ‘M tired. I want my boyfriend.”

“Probably not a good idea. I’m going to end up dry humping you— I’m so fucking horny.”

“Vai…” It’s so heartbreakingly cute that she tries to be stern even while falling asleep. “Cursing.”

“Sorry,” He laughs, gesturing to himself even though she’s not really looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I should probably go take care of my di— uhm, I mean, this— in your bathroom, and wash my hands too.”

Her face unpinches. “But what about cuddling?”

“I will after I clean you up,” He kisses the lines of her abs— pulling her shirt down enough to get comfortable. “If you fall asleep can I still towel you off? You know I don’t like it when you’re left messy.”

“Always take good care of me.” She mumbles, completely oblivious to the way he hides his steaming face behind his hands. She nods a confirmation, patting the spot next to her. “And then after cleaning come cuddle. Please.”

By the time he’s made himself orgasm while thinking of her, and washed his hands clean of her, and made sure that she’s no longer sticky between the legs— Marinette is still bravely putting up a fight with sleep. He helps her put on some new underwear, making sure that she doesn’t move her ankle as much when he does it— but he’s completely caught by surprise when she pulls him in for a hug— and, honestly— he should know better by now.

He loves it, though.

So much.

AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

[overdrivels]

Deleted TWtaH Scenes

[Original opening sequence for chapter 1]

The kitchen once held no less than twenty cooks at a time back in its hay-day at peak hours, and at least four during downtimes.

Now, there was no need for that many cooks, however. There were less agents this time, less funds which meant less provisions, and a dejected look inside the nearest fridge yielded even less ingredients that can contribute to a coherent dish.

The only fitting solution was the age-old family-friendly Overwatch (and Blackwatch, of course) version of Russian roulette: the "Surprise Menu".

The small pot of translucent slop bubbled gently by its lonesome atop a gleaming stove meant for the meals of thirty agents of varying tastes.

A ‘ping’ notified you that an order was placed. A quick glance at the name (Agent McCree) already had your hands grabbing for cabinet doors and bowls.

McCree always ordered from the regular menu, even when it contained things that he would leave untouched (like the octopus salad four days ago) or when it would have nothing he liked to eat (he leaves everything half eaten those days, except the bread—he usually asks for seconds regardless of the type).

The previous Commander Gabriel Reyes had forced him to choke down anything that was being served on the "Surprise Menu" that day for being a little shit. Jesse McCree can now eat anything, but the grimace on his face made it clear he would rather not.

Soldier 76’s ratio of “Surprise Menu” to “regular menu” was fairly even. He would take the tray and disappear for several short minutes before returning the tray, completely devoid of any traces of food. You were never sure if he ate all of it or if he has just eaten a little and chucked the rest, though a check of the base's garbage disposals just made you then wonder if he actually flushed the food down a toilet somewhere.

"Thanks, it was good," he would say when returning his tray. Only ever compliments. "Better than sewer rats," he had once said. Though, he did once admit the chicken was too spicy in one of your dishes.

D.Va bristled at the suggestion and demanded for more spice immediately after.

You endeavored to warn 76 of spicy dishes on the Surprise Menu and to find ways of adding more flavor to those of D.Va's.

The plastic tray echoed a finality against the window counter that bounced off the far away kitchen walls and rung in your ears.

You flip through the worn list hanging by the refrigerator nearest you.

Foods must be similar in portion.

Foods must be similar in consistency.

Foods of different color cannot be next to each other.

Foods of different temperatures cannot be next to each other—

You didn't even hear the doors to the cafeteria swing open.

Favorites (at least one for every meal):

Curry with soft beans (ABSOLUTELY no hard solids, no half-cooked beans. Chili is not acceptable substitute!!) Potatoes (plain) Extra short grain rice (extra water) Basmati rice (normal water)

**When cooking rice, wash four times (taste is noticeable otherwise)

A ‘ding’ of the overhead monitor alerted you that someone had placed an order.

Zenyatta did not eat, and Genji's limit was a cup of tea half the size of his fist and a sweet, but they enjoyed sitting near the kitchen window to speak with flashes of your hands and the clinking dishes set in front of them, but never for them.

[Deleted scene of Chef fighting back against Talon]

The video plays.

A team of six sweeps through the cafeteria, and immediately, he sees the issue which has the team swarming the kitchen door and the service window.

The lights were on.

Even though he knows of your fate, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fear grasping at his chest. They split up into two teams. One checks the window–they signal to the other team around the corner, and they signal back, guns at the ready.

He can see them count down with each wave of their hand.

One.

Two.

Three–

Hanzo expected that when it happened, you’d walk out daintily, the same way you put down a tray noiselessly, the same way your fingers touch the marble service window, the same way you touch your fingertips together when in thought, the same way you gesture–all soft flourishes and curling fingers.

But no.

You stride out through the double doors like a storm, head ducked down to avoid any deviant bullets, armed with only a large soup ladle made to handle a meal fit for five and a deep furrow in your brow with a scowl to match.

And then you begin to swing. Not wildly, but small, precise sweeps of little circles and sharp flicks of the wrist that cleanly disarm the shocked Talon operatives before slamming the underside of their chins. Even he has to give a sympathetic wince when their teeth clack together, or even worse, when they don’t.

Up close, he can see you still wear your chef’s uniform, all white and emblazoned with the Overwatch logo right on the sleeves of your upper arms.

You only had three of them; the other three take their shots through the window.

He sees you reach back with your free hand inside the doors, and immediately, a metal door comes slamming down behind the window. The Talon operatives jerk back, lest they get their arms caught.

He’d never admit it, but he swears that his hair has just become a bit greyer after watching the surveillance video.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v1]

The meal is delectable, but he doesn't taste it. Countless experiences with chasing spirits and tobacco did not come without a price.

Even so, he makes a show picking at his food with enthusiasm. Just enough to show interest but not overly flatter and be taken for a fool.

[Filler]

“Cœur d’Artichaut.” The man flips the card elegantly between his long, thick fingers. “A leaf for everyone. A bit of love for everyone. Sounds good, no? Everyone deserves a bit of love."

He then holds the card still and places a gentle kiss on it, letting it cover his lips as he murmurs, "But what that means is to give and give and give until you’ve nothing left.”

The man takes a moment to pull out a pack of cigarettes and lights himself one, silently offering one to the disguised McCree. Not one to turn down such an offer, McCree takes one for himself, leaning into the flame when the chef holds the lighter to him, his dark hand cupping around the flame and McCree’s face. It’s an oddly intimate gesture that he can't be sure isn't because he's being polite. McCree just hopes the heat doesn’t affect the hardlight contours of his disguise.

A plume of smoke gushes from the chef’s mouth. The grey wisps caress his sharp cheekbones and winds itself around his head, allowing only his lighter eyes to shine through. It reminds McCree of a mythical creature.

"It iz a chef’s responsibility to take care of their customers. Cook ze best food for them. Love them with all our being. We chefs exist for them.” A bitter quirk of his lips accompanies the change in his tone. “We die for them. Their bodies are built on the meals we make, and so we must give as much as we can to help our customers face another day. This, of course, includes love."

"I see ‘love’ is a running theme with this restaurant. Could you tell me what you mean by ‘love’?" McCree raises his tablet and pen.

Just when he’s about to interrupt the silence with another inquiry, Richard takes another drag of his cigarette and stares out into the distance.

"Love,” he begins. “No greater form of love than to nourish another's body and soul. It can be as simple as a prayer or as complicated as picking out ingredients and cooking them in a way that is appropriate for that customer and that one customer only. There are many ways to love and show love. But to give and give and give love but not receive, even the greatest of lakes will run out. Love is an ingredient. Love,” he stresses with a wave of his hand, “iz not infinite."

"But love isn't an ingredient you can put on food, is it, sir?"

The chef's eyes slide over, fixing itself onto McCree's face for a moment, so piercing that he's sure he can see through the disguise. It sends shivers up and down his spine. He’s being measured, judged, like a fish on the chopping block.Mercifully, Richard looks away, letting the smoke rise out from between his teeth. Something like a laugh makes the smoke stutter.

"It is the food. It is the effort. The thought.”

“And so you plan on carrying on the ideals of the previous CEO?”

Richard barks a laugh.

“Of course not. That foolish, naiive child."

“Could you explain?”

“Mm. A naive, desperate people-pleaser. That sort of love means little. People like that ought to have more self-respect.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a chef doing their best, is there?”

Richard waves his hand dismissively. “Of course there isn’t. But doing one’s best to satisfy their customer’s paletes is different from being a doormat.”

[Filler]

"That child does not understand that love can flow in many directions."

[Filler]

"I am here to restore the balance and clean up ze mess my...protégé...has made."

"Hm. So long as my protégé remains a child, then this toy will remain in my possession."

[Filler]

"Even chefs must eat."

[Filler]

"Do parents not give their lives for their children? It iz an obvious conclusion."

Protests and bitter memories that illustrate the contrary almost make it out of McCree's mouth. Instead he swallows them down and replaces them with a, "Of course. There's no parent who wouldn't."

No other lie has ever burned his tongue so.

[Filler]

“I hope this interview has been…enlightening…" There's something about the way that word is said that puts his nerves on edge.

"Oh, it has. Thanks very much for your time."

Richard scoffs, snuffing out the last of his cigarette against the heel of his hand. Tough son of a bitch. No wonder he and Reyes got along so well. The butt makes its way into a pocket instead of on the ground and Chef Richard opens the back door.

Over his shoulder, he calls, "Please do come again in the future. I look forward to reading your article. As thanks, we will have...surprise meatloaf waiting.”

McCree’s shoulders draw back tight and he fights every instinct to not stiffen and turn around. Instead, he keeps walking, a wry and defeated smile on his face.

“Oh, and tell that child that one should not preach about love if without having experienced it in full."

The smugness could not be any less evident, and the door slams shut, allowing the threat to linger in McCree's ears.

Sonnavabitch.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v2]

He’ll have to evaluate their true value, but decades-old wine definitely has buyers and he thinks he may know one or two. It’s not gentlemanly to let a favor like this go unpaid, and he’s already got a few ideas on how to do it.

And that’s how he finds himself here, sitting in the very back of Cœur d’Artichaut, bathed in the afternoon sun with his laptop, pouring a tiny pitcher of espresso into his coffee. He never understood fancy places and their need for so much extra silverware and fine china when the food he’s eating is the size of a well-used soap bar.

At least it tastes better than one.

Glazing across the restaurant, he sees the person he’s supposed to thank, still talking to the General Manager, Argus.

With half the cup in his stomach, he puts his hands to keys and types.

‘Chef Richard Sauveterre, a chef of renown fame whose name is given reverence, not in written word, but through the mouths of those he has fed,’ the first few lines of his draft reads.

‘The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, made more distinguished by thick cornrows that trace the sides of his skull like a crown, the remainder cascading down in a neat waterfall down his neck. He is King Midas in a chamber of heat, steel, and raw ingredients that he spins into award winning meals capable of turning the stoniest of hearts into gold.

‘Now the CEO of acclaimed charity restaurant, Cœur d’Artichaut. The heart of an artichoke, a leaf for everyone, is their motto.’

McCree pauses for a moment, licking at the scab on his lip, searching for the next words and filling himself with another deep sip of coffee when he can’t find them.

“Pardon the wait, monsieur Morricone.”

“Not at all, Chef.” McCree gets up from his chair and extends his hand. “I’m just glad you made time in your busy schedule for me.”

“Likewise.”

McCree was bracing for it, but the weight behind the chef’s handshake still catches him off-guard. It’s just one strong up-down motion with a firmness that softens as they let go, but it’s that immediate contact, that sheer presence that puts him off-kilter and reminds him that this man is not only a cook but also a world champion fencer who could give some of the lower and mid-tier members of Blackwatch a run for their money in terms of reflexes and sharp wit. It is not only his hands, but Chef Richard makes sure to lock eyes with him, pinning him down. While Gabe would look for weaknesses to be exploited, Chef Richard is looking for gaps to be filled.

At least Richard doesn’t greet him the way he greets Reyes: with more kisses on each cheek than should be necessary. Though he may have to attribute that distance to his current disguise.

McCree begins his usual spiel: who he supposedly is (Joel Morricone, freelance writer, likes long walks on the beach and freshly roasted coffee), why he’s writing this (following up on a previous article he wrote about the restaurant ousting their CEO), and a few general compliments to loosen up his interviewee.

In the midst of all that, Argus brings over Richard’s coffee and replaces McCree’s. Her movements are quiet and unobtrusive, befitting of a high class restaurant like this. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’s forgiven him for having written an article about them firing their CEO, but he knows better. She definitely debated turning him away at the door when he tried to come in ten minutes ago.

In return, Richard gives a brief summary of who he is and his accomplishments, factually and without embellishments as though he were talking about someone else. The names of awards and institutions he gives are fancy and long and would probably be more impressive if McCree actually knew them, but all he can do is nod and ask probing questions that makes him sound like he actually knows more than he does.

If McCree didn’t know his history any better, he would have missed that the man glossed over the fact he led Overwatch’s kitchens for a good portion of its existence.

Past the initial niceties, McCree begins digging into the real reason for his interview.

“Prior to this position, do you mind telling me what you were doing and why did you come here instead?”

“I came because I saw some article about a former employee of mine leaving behind unfinished business.”

“And where did you come from?”

“My mother’s womb, where else?” he says dryly, and McCree damn near types that down.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it.”

Richard smiles. “No.”

“O--kay. Let me remind you that this interview is confidential and you will be the first to review the contents before public—”

“I am aware.” Then he pauses as if reconsidering, his smile growing wider with a glint in his eye that makes McCree want to squirm in his chair. “If you must know, I was anchored.”

“Anchored?”

He doesn’t elaborate any further and McCree’s brain is working overtime trying to decipher his words and not let it show on his face.

Anchored. Tied down somewhere. Somewhere that you nor anyone else have been able to reach. McCree goes through all the iterations of what that could mean and he lands on either ‘prison’ or ‘out so far in the boonies that technology couldn’t reach him’. Either one is possible with this man.

“Right, next question.” He clears his throat. “Now that you’re here as the new CEO of Cœur d’Artichaut, what is going to be your strategy for the restaurant going forward and your current impressions of things so far?”

Richard’s eyes flit once between McCree’s disguised face and his own cup of coffee. There is a semblance of bitter fondness that lingers in the corner of his lips that is quickly covered by the rim of his cup. For the first time since this interview started, his demeanor shifts. McCree can’t explain it, but it feels like he’s no longer talking to Richard, a professional chef, but Richard, a person.

“Avoir un cœur d’artichaut.”

“Pardon?”

“‘I have the heart of an artichoke’. I love everyone who eats my meals, for everyone who has eaten my meals has a piece of my heart.” He sips at his coffee for a moment too long, . “This restaurant’s motto, ‘cœur d'artichaut, une feuille pour tout le monde’, iz something I had said a lot in the past.”

“So the restaurant’s namesake is from you?”

“The saying is not mine alone, but that seems to be so.” There’s a bitter twist to his lips like he wished it weren’t. “As for the direction of the restaurant, a lot of effort has been put already and I will not change what does not need changing.”

“Have you had a chance to speak with the previous CEO during the transition?”

“No.”

“And is there anything you’d like to say, any message you’d like to convey?”

“Yes. ‘Do it your own way.’”

“That’s it?”

“Did you expect a heartwarming speech?”

“Well, I was expecting something a little more personal?”

“Personal things should be told to the person in question, yes? And not to a...” Richard looks him up and down, real slow and deliberate. A shiver runs through McCree’s spine--the look would make a lesser person shrink in their seats and the way he says his next word would evaporate them from existence. “...mere reporter?”

McCree manages a grin. He’s seen scarier. “You’re right, you’re right. So if you don’t plan on changing the restaurant or giving any words, any menu changes?”

“I’d take away those awful pancakes,” he exclaims with a toothy grin and a flap of his hand, and McCree can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a joke. He doesn’t have to guess as Richard continues. “This menu is like a baby imitating their parents. Too many recipes similar to mine, not original enough.”

“Oh?” McCree puts his hands to his keyboard again. Food seems to be the way to get this man to open up. “I’ve seen raving reviews for ‘em—”

“Bah. Shitty taste buds. Zis thick piece o’ dough cannot be called, eh, pancake. Babies will choke and the elderly will die of malnutrition, zis--non, non, non. Zis is something only someone with bad tastes could like. But ze compote! ‘Ave you tried it? That is the only thing that makes it menu-worthy.”

The rambling critique of your menu goes on and on and Richard’s accent only gets thicker as his excitement pours out in unstoppable waves. As disparaging as though remarks are, McCree can’t help but get the sense that Richard right now is like a proud father, and he wonders how he can convey that to you in his article.

“A chef must always think of their customers. This menu is subpar, but I can feel the thoughtfulness in the service and selections.”

“Humans can eat most anything and survive, but it is a miserable existence. Gladden the senses, bring people together. Our dishes are made with love, but that love must come from somewhere. No chef can provide it all without having received any, and I will continue that mission here.”

[Filler]

“Please, stay for lunch. I do not wish to host a guest without showing proper hospitality.”

McCree suspects he’d probably be murdered if he does agree if not by Richard then by your own staff who already hold a grudge against him for having written an article about your forceful resignation without their consent. (A scoop is a scoop, and it made Richard come back to Gibraltar, so all’s well that ends well.)

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but I think you’ve shown me plenty.”

“It will be on the house.”

“Really, I’ll come by another day. Lots left to do.”

McCree pulls out a handle from his bag and presses a button, the rest of the cane materializing as he uses it to get up. Chef Richard is right there beside him with a hand hovering over his elbow.

[Filler]

“The next time you come we will have our specialty for you prepared: Surprise Meatloaf. Oh, and no need to be concerned; insurance will handle both the trucks you and your friends destroyed.”

McCree turns around but the door clicks shut behind him, the heavy wooden door now much more threatening than before.

He grins wildly to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

That sonnavabitch.

[Deleted Scene of Reaper encountering Chef]

"Hello, dishwasher."

You turn and gasp at the stranger in the kitchen. “What the f—ATHE–!!”

The man explodes into a tidal wave of mist, and your mouth is covered with one large hand, claws digging to your face, the rest of your body held immobile by the darkness. “Now, now. No need for that, dishwasher.”

Dish–!!?

Paralyzing fear courses through you like lightning. You struggle to free yourself from the confines of...whatever it is that is holding you. You need to alert everyone. You need to get free. A threatening squeeze of your body--your spine pops a little and your recently healed injuries protest the rough treatment--and the bone mask in your face makes you pause for a moment.

“Now, be good; don’t call for help. I’m just here for a house visit.”

He removes his hand slowly.

“A house visit?" Your voice is shakier than you'd like it to be, brain buzzing with fright.

The mist detangles itself from your limbs cautiously, ready to strike and immobilize you against if you were to make a stray move. The blood rushes back into your head and brings spots to your eyes, drumming in your ears and making you more nauseated than you would've liked.

While you're busy trying to reorientate your body, the part-mist, part-man glides slowly around the kitchen, looking around. You can see him pause at some of the injuries the kitchen sustained during the Talon attack.

"Pity. That baker, Woo, really liked this countertop. She'd have a fit if she saw this."

Stunned, you stare at the wandering mist figure. "You know this kitchen, you know Patisserie Woo?"

He turns his mask toward you, and you’re sure that he’s raising an eyebrow behind it. The response, 'Obviously,' exudes from every fiber of his body. .

"Wait, who are you…?”

“Take a guess.”

You narrow your eyes, curling your fingers around your lips in thought. Someone who knows your past. Someone who knows you since you were a dishwasher. The chefs in this kitchen didn’t exactly have a high turnover, but there were very few people who knew you throughout your journey up the ranks. A man who first knew you as a dishwasher and called you such.

"Omar? Frederick? Johnny?"

“Try again.”

The fear and wariness ebbs away as the threat of death evaporates.

You search your memory. There's nothing familiar about this man except the way he stands, arms crossed and staring down at you. If you squint, you could almost overlap a memory with this figure.

“Come on, now. You picked up everything in this kitchen pretty quick. You can’t even figure this out for yourself?”

It hovers over the edge of your memory, just out of reach. Think, who is this person acting like? You’ve seen this behavior before.

The voice becomes soft, endearing almost as he utters, “Come on, dishwasher. You’re smarter than this.”

The image of a man, leaning against one of the counters during the lull between service, watching you attempt a new recipe with calculating eyes. You almost expect Head Chef Richard to appear behind him and slap him on this shoulder, watch them both get up and give each other a brotherly hug.

Your eyes widen.

"Gabriel.” Your mentor's voice and yours overlap in a breathy whisper. "Comman, commander Gabriel Reyes."

There's a hint of a smile in his voice when he says, “There we go, always knew you were a clever little thing, but I go by 'Reaper', now."

A slight flush goes through your cheeks, forcing out the icy sheen of fear that lingered in your veins. Even now, despite being on opposite teams, it is nice to be praised by the former Commander. However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted when you remember that this is Reaper--the Talon higher-up whom the recalled Overwatch were on the look-out for.

"What are you doing here?"

"House-visit," he repeats. You're not quite sure what that even means. "You're not supposed to be there."

Confused, you ask, "Be...where?"

Commander Reyes--Reaper--sweeps his arms out, gesturing at the kitchen in its entirety. "Here. You weren't supposed to be here that night."

Talon. The attack. You gasp, hand flying to your mouth and other protectively against your middle. Your wounds ache at the mention and quickened pulse.

“They were supposed to lure you out," he continues. "Leave the path open so that Talon can use the passage,” he rumbles.

"But I came back..."

"Right. Now I came to give you some information."

"Why would you do that...?"

He shrugs. "Because I'm feeling generous, maybe?"

A small laugh escapes the fingers covering your mouth. That can't possibly be true, but then again, he is--or was--Gabriel Reyes.

"You don’t trust me?"

It’s hard to trust someone who looks like the Grim Reaper come to life.

"I do," you say distantly. "Because I trust Command Reyes. And…” You hesitate. “And, you know, the Head Chef…he really loved you."

"That man loves everyone,” he scoffs. “Don’t bring him into this. Anyway," --he waves his hand around-- "don't you wonder about the attack that night?"

"Yes. Like how they were able to find the passage. It's only supposed to be known to kitchen personnel--wait." Something clicks in your head. "Were you the one who led everyone here?"

Reaper exhales something between a growl and a huff. "No, but someone in your little organization’s turned traitor."

The world got absorbed into a vortex, and you suddenly feel like you're free-falling or sinking or just dying. You can't breathe, you can't hear, couldn't think, not when reality decides to take an unexpected vacation.

You force out a shuddering laugh that sounds grating even to your own ears. "What do you mean 'turned traitor'? There's, there's no one who knows that would ever..."

You sink down to the ground, reality righting itself and your limbs feel like a ton of bricks or that you've been hit by them. It didn't really matter. You're trying to get your brain to function, to think. But the shock of his words were too much. You trust--trusted--everyone at your restaurant.

But...then...

“Turned traitor on you and your organization."

You clench your fists and bring them to your mouth.

"Reaper on premise! Reaper on premise! Repeat, Reaper is on the premise!"

"Took them long enough,” Reaper says at the exact same time you order, “Athena! Cancel the alert!"

"Command overridden. Reaper on premise!"

You give the man a weary look and he returns it with a shrug.

"Can I offer you a meal before you go?”

He laughs. “I don’t think you can make anything fast enough. Those Overwatch brats will be here soon."

You’re already walking to one of the refrigerators while he speaks and pull out a lunch box that was meant for Agent McCree before his mission, but given the circumstances, you’re sure it wouldn’t matter much. You can just make a new one anyway.

"Here you are."

He takes one look at the name written on it and tosses it right back at you.

"Give it to the brat. I don’t take sloppy seconds.”

You don’t even have a chance to retort before he disappears into a puff of smoke, slipping in beneath the door from which he came.

The kitchen doors burst open, Agent Soldier: 76 at the helm. And not a moment too soon.

“Kitchen personnel only!” you say, reflexively.

“Where’s Reaper?"

The other agents are spread out, alert, but some are looking around the place like it’s a tourist attraction. You cringe.

"I didn’t notice anyone here."

His sweeping gaze falls on you, and you’re suddenly an insect that’s been pinned, unable to escape from the piercing gaze of the ex-Overwatch Commander.

"Talk, Chef.” Nothing in his stance bodes any hint of compromise.

You know he doesn’t believe you. Not when you’re standing there with McCree’s lunch in your hands, wrapped and with no dishes around.

[Original scene of Hanzo’s first break-in into the kitchen]

He drops down from the top of the doors, only to freeze when you round the corner.

The words tumble out of his mouth ungracefully. “You’re a person.”

“Get out.”

The biting intensity in your voice is challenging enough for him to forget exactly who he is speaking to.

“I go where I wish.”

It’s the wrong answer.

He sees your eyes flash. In an instant, you’re trying to man-handle him out. Hands clumsily fisted into his gi, twisting, tugging, hips down and bearing weight against his bulk. However, you’re no match for a trained assassin. His reaction is too immediate. He has you on the ground, straddling your hips, pinning both your arms to your back with a hand, his other hand bracing himself on the floor by your head.

You try to buck him off relentlessly, like an animal.

“GET OUT!”

He grits his teeth, and presses tighter against your hands. Your breath comes out in a wheeze, and in the back of his mind, he’s aware that you will have trouble breathing.

“I do not take orders from a mere chef!” he barks.

You seize in his hold.

For a bone-chilling moment, he thinks he may have gone too far in his technique. His grip slackens just a margin.

You twist violently. He gets unseated just long enough for you to aim a knee up at him. He blocks it, and you are scrambling off the ground, hand reaching for something. Anything.

A ladle—you hold it out in front of you, the rounded end pointed squarely at his chest.

“Get. Out.”

He furrows his brow, aware that he’s all teeth and spitting fire. “Is that all you can say?”

“Agent Hanzo, you are forbidden here, get out.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

It’s Satya who stops the fight from the door, well within the boundaries of the rules set.

“Going into the kitchen is against Overwatch policy,” she recites coldly.

He can see you’re still ready to fight even though you are horrible outmatched. If he really wanted to, you’d be dead in an instant.

But those burning eyes promise him something more than a poorly attempted beatdown should he push the matter.

With a huff, he leaves.

She gives him a disapproving look, which he shakes off, angered.

[Filler]

The next day, he’s only mildly horrified to find two turrets stationed outside the kitchen doors, and is suddenly paranoid that there are many more waiting where they cannot be seen.

Hanzo does not know if it's you who ordered them or if the architect had done it off her own free will. (If he has to guess, you had explicitly requested it.)

The architect is extraordinarily good at her job--able to merely look at a building and understand the structure and blind spots even if she doesn’t fully appreciate the depth of this part of her skillset.

He could swear they’re all looking at him--glaring, even--ready to teach him a lesson for his transgressions.

It prickles at him.

[Alternate shopping scene with Chef and Hanzo]

The air, crisp with the snap of an impending winter, chills your lungs as you breath it in. It feels liberating.

The market is as busy as you remember it. Medication and a lengthy preparation time kept you sleeping past the normal time you'd be up and about, searching for the juiciest, freshest, and tastiest of produce. But at 0830, most of them were already snatched up by other more savvy people and chefs who have likely returned back to their kitchens to celebrate their prizes. Now only the more casual crowd remained, a steadily surging crowd.

Agent Hanzo stands right at your elbow, being one of the few agents who were awake when you were plotting to leave and caught you in the act of trying to disconnect yourself from the supplies that are theoretically keeping you healthy. (You’re fine. You can stand and walk with minimal trouble, so a few hours outside shouldn’t be an issue.)

“It is not safe by yourself. I shall accompany you,” he declared like it was a given.

You just didn't have the energy to fight him. After a few failed attempts to even stand up from your bed, you figured it wouldn't hurt to have him around in case your body decided to betray you. Athena, bless her, was blissfully complacent in letting you both go once you promised you would take it easy and forced Hanzo to take responsibility for protecting you (and that you'd both return by lunchtime; she threatened to send other agents after you both and you shudder to think of the commotion that would cause).

So far, Hanzo’s been attentive and pleasant company with an occasionally sharp comment that is more witty than barbed and a helpful hanp.

“Is there anything you'd like for lunch or dinner today?”

“Are you so unwell that you are now taking requests?” he asks incredulously, glancing at you briefly with a raised eyebrow before sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

“Very funny, Agent Hanzo. I’m serious.” You pick up a radish and look it over. You can make radish curry with this. Agent Symmetra would probably like that--something closer to home--or maybe radish salad, or garlic roasted radish with feta cheese, or maybe even grate it into a yogurt sauce. “Since you decided to accompany me, it's the least I could do.” You didn’t have much else you could give to him or do for him anyway.

He scoffs, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth shows it’s not as condescending or mean as it sounds. “Anything you can make without dropping.”

“That was once! And you dropped way more things than I did.”

“The magnitude is greater,” Hanzo says flippantly, lifting the heavy bags he held so easily back into view. “Whatever you plan on making with this will be payment enough, I’m sure.”

Somehow, you couldn't help flush a little, unsure if it is meant to be genuine or teasing.

“If you don't decide soon, I'll make pepper soup.”

Hanzo just laughs, a light and actually jovial laugh that makes you flush a little brighter. It's a stupid threat especially against an Overwatch agent, but it’s all you have. But even so, he didn't have to make fun of you.

“I'm really going to do it, Agent Hanzo.”

He looks at you, a challenging gleam in his eyes that you've seen far too many times from other ill-fated agents who think the kitchens are a game. The look makes you burn just beneath your skin.

“Aren’t you supposed to reward me for my services?”

“And I will,” you say with a firm determination. “I promise.”

He has nothing to say to that, but the look on his face speaks for him: we shall see.

For the remainder of your shopping trip, Hanzo remains a quiet but intimidating presence behind you as you continued to pick out your produce. Hanzo still says nothing even after moving through several other booths where you take your time to buy and bargain for large and colorful peppers. He wordlessly takes your bags as you get them, refusing to return them to you even after you kick up a small fuss that quickly exhausts you.

[Filler]

A heavy weight in the middle of your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you clench your teeth to hold back the noise of pain that tries to crawl its way out of your throat.

At your ear, Hanzo mutters, “Come.”

“Is someone following us?”

He doesn’t answer, weaving his way in and out of the crowd with you held close to his side. Absentmindedly, you realize he’s quite warm amidst the autumn air. As sharp and callous as Hanzo is, he sure is comfortable. It’s presumptuous, but maybe you could ask him if you could take a nap against him when he has the time. Maybe for half an hour or so. Just once.

You’re startled out of your thoughts with a quick jostle. “Chef, hurry.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Stay beside me.”

“Do you see something?”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

You can see him scanning the area as though seeking a route. The number of people have thinned considerably, leaving you both exposed. Hanzo keeps you by the walls of what buildings are around, but those are quickly becoming sparse, too. There’s a constant flex in his jaw and it’s clear to see he’s a little agitated.

“Oh!”

You reach for one of his hands--it’s also very warm and very large--and begin to pull with what strength you had even as he tries to snatch it back. You both need to stay together and this is the best way to ensure it even though you’re very sure he can keep up against your injured self.

“Wh—”

“This way.”

You know Gibraltar better. You know its secrets and its truths and exactly how to lose people here. Hanzo, perhaps knowing this, follows obediently after you--he has no choice, you have his hand.

The bags are definitely slowing you both down and a small ache begins to settle around your stomach and sides--the pain medication must be reaching its end, but you push forward through small alleyways that barely fit the both of you until you both made it into the Siege Tunnels where you both took turn after turn into the winding dimness.

“We...we should be safe here,” you huff.

He nods and says nothing, both of you listening, backs pressed against the chilly stone walls, listening for anything beside the echoes of the whispering wind or cries of the many macaques that call these tunnels their stomping ground.

The darkness makes it hard to see anything, but it only makes everything else just so much more apparent especially the proximity between yourself and your bodyguard for a day. You notice you still have his hand in a death grip but you refrain from saying anything: there’s no telling if the danger has passed yet and you didn’t want to risk making any more noise (and he hasn’t tried to pull away again after the first time). It’s embarrassing and downright childish, but you had to admit you felt just a little safer just having him beside you as a solid and warm presence.

You’ve worked alone for so long, it was nice to be in such close proximity with someone who is not looking to you for orders or putting the pressure of work on you. How many years has it been since you were free of expectations? When was the last time you stopped vying for the approval of others?

It must have been a long, long time. All of your actions had you wrung out and stressed, looking over your shoulder at every whisper and imagined gaze. Were the UN after you? Was the Head Chef there? Were your staff watching your every move and judging you? You didn’t ever feel certain even as you rose higher and higher in the world--it felt like each step toward what most people would consider to be an ‘accomplishment’, you became one step closer to uncertainty, trapped by silver walls and isolated from everyone else around you.

This impromptu trip was a good idea even if it made your muscles hurt. Agent Hanzo didn’t judge you, didn’t try to give unnecessary praise or respect, or treat you any lesser. He’s good company with a discerning eye and even better jabs. Maybe next time you decide to sneak out, you’ll tell him first.

Somehow, you realize you’ve closed your eyes as you were thinking. The cool stone at your back and the warmth at your side is intoxicatingly comforting, the shoulder beneath your head is a little hard—

“Oh! I’m so sor—” You bite your words back, forgetting momentarily you both were on the run, a chill running up and down your skin because what if--.

“It’s fine. I believe we are clear.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. We can take this tunnel straight back to the Watchpoint. It’s a bit of a walk, but I think it’ll be faster than going back outside.”

You push yourself off the wall with a grunt of effort. After running around so much and taking a break, your muscles refused to cooperate. Hanzo gives you a strong pull with the hand you have gripped tight.

Again, you flush with the realization. The danger has passed, there’s no reason to keep holding hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t really--I can let go, if you’d like? This must be stopping you from doing your job.”

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it’s difficult to tell in the dark. After a moment’s pause, he gives your hand an experimental squeeze and says, “No. We’ll stay like this. So you cannot get lost in the dark.”

There’s a hint of a wicked smirk in his voice that’s somewhat playful and again, a warmth blooms just underneath your skin; a mix of embarrassment and indignity.

“I can find my way around with my eyes closed!”

“Shall we try? I will not warn you of walls, just so you are aware.” Regardless, he walks with you, close to your side.

“I don’t want Athena to send a team after us, so next time!”

“Next time.” The way he says those words sounds like he’s testing them in his mouth. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you swear you can hear his smile. “Next time.”

[Deleted interrogation scene between Chef and others]

The facts were laid bare before him once more in the morning when Hanzo speaks to Winston, Soldier, McCree, and a holovideo of yourself and Ana.

It is almost like a trial, the image of your listless face, turned away from the monitor, sits on the central terminal of the meeting room for everyone to see and judge. It's the first time Hanzo had seen you since you were carried out of the Cellar by Soldier--the Cellar which has been opened up by order of Winston and interconnected with Athena's systems, yet the secrecy of it's entire contents remained mysterious by effort of the Junkers and the AI herself. It may be a small comfort to you to know that not everything was defiled, but he doesn't know just how much you knew about the state of your kitchen.

But today's meeting wasn't about that.

You were told to deliver the facts of what you've been doing and your dealings for Overwatch. You did so, slumped in your bed without care for appearances or the usual politeness that came with your service, answers flat and pointed. Normally, this type of disrespect and blatant disregard for manners would earn his ire, but instead, it makes him uneasy.

It is not the look of an injured person on the sliver of your face, but your whole body told the story of someone who has given up after a long, harrowing effort.

You confirmed that you owned a restaurant, the card of which sat on Hanzo's scant dresser. It explained the service, the food, the aesthetic. It seemed so painfully obvious that Hanzo wondered why he never saw the connection before.

When questioned about the previous head chef, you admitted you didn't know where he was. You should have set off for France, but you knew he wouldn't go there. Some personal issues that you never understood and no one wanted to question.

You distantly confessed the amounts you've given Overwatch, the methods for contacting donors, and the sloppy way you went about verifying them. Even sloppier were your attempts to make the transactions seem legitimate and the lengths you went through to protect Overwatch, the donors, and your customers from the potential fallout.

All throughout, you refused to look at them or give excuses, only clinical facts and simple 'yes' and 'no's.

"Anything else?" you ask wearily.

"No, we will let you know if we require further information. You have given us enough for now. Please get a good rest," Winston says.

Nodding at them, you lean back into your pillows, and let out a bone-rattling sigh. Mercifully, the screen turns off

There is a deafening silence that follows.

They have been given a lot of information to digest and Hanzo, long grown out of the habit of writing down thoughts during a meeting, finds himself wishing that he had if only to organize the chaos that you’ve thrusted upon them.

It is an incredible tale, regardless of the number of times he had to hear it. The amount of danger, sacrifice, and sheer naivety involved

"The donors can claim ignorance then."

"It was well planned." Even Ana sounds slightly impressed, toying with the string of her teabag. "If the auditors checked, only Chef would take the blame." A smirk comes over her face. "Ah, doesn't that sound familiar, hm, Jack?"

The man grumbles something unintelligible.

"What's that, Jack? I did not quite hear you."

"The restaurant workers are just as guilty. They are accomplices." Ana rolls her eyes at Soldier's obvious diversion but allows it to proceed by sipping on her drink.

“The way it’s set up, only Chef handles the finances. On paper, as far as the other two go, they can say they didn't know about the operation...”

[Filler]

It's not safe for them to continue sending the money especially not after they had their run-in with the auditors. It wouldn't take long for an investigation to find both the restaurant and Overwatch guilty of money-laundering.

What is the best thing to do?

Hanzo's brows furrows, painfully tight as he rummages through his mind for the correct answer.

He is not well-versed in Gibraltar law and even less so with financial laws involving a charity like yours.

"It's smarter this way."

"Though how they plan on covering the gap is beyond me. The timing is too convenient and matches the auditors' investigation too well."

"Wouldn't it be weirder for them to stop?"

[collecting-stories]

Secret Santa - Connor Murphy

A/N: Getting some things out before Christmas comes. Ah! 

It’s Christmas time and the reader got Connor Murphy for secret Santa. 

-

“It’s secret Santa, it’s anonymous.” Jared pointed out, looking passed you toward the sign for the food court. It’d only been ten minutes since he parked the car and you walked inside but Panera was really starting to call to him.

“No, it’s supposed to be a surprise to the other person, it’s not anonymous.” You replied, ignoring his longing looks and starting to walk again, “What if we got each other? And then I give him his present and it’s shit and he’s gotten me something nice.”  

“Knowing him he’ll have forgotten until the day of and end up giving whoever he got a joint.” Jared pointed out. “Or Wednesday Addams will have a freak-out and then no gifts.”

“Can you just help me?”  

“Alright, alright. I gotta buy a present for Evan anyway.”  

“You got Evan?” You asked.  

“Unfortunately.” Jared had been tempted to the name back in Zoe’s jar and pick again, not exactly wanting to tackle buying a present for Evan. He would have preferred Alana or even Zoe, he could have just gotten off with an itunes giftcard and a cheesy card.  

“Please, Evan is easy.” You had gotten Evan last year and given him a forest guide, plus when the weather cleared the two of you had taken a trip to the state park together. Connor had not participated last year.  

“Connor is easy too, buy him a joint or lay on his bed naked...he’d probably be down for both.” It was no secret that you and Connor had a thing going on. If you could call awkward flirting and pinning over each other from a distance a thing.  

You thought that going away to college would make it harder to keep in touch with everyone but somehow with Connor, it had become easier. While Evan had opted for in-state (closer to Zoe he claimed but closer to his mom you were sure), you and Jared had both ended up out of state, at the same college. Connor was “taking a year off” and working and yet you were certain he spent more time in your dorm than your roommate did. He drove the four hours up on Friday nights and stayed until Sunday evening, you texted him constantly and had managed to convince him to make a snapchat (“So I can see your beautiful face every day”). But you were just friends. Or something along that line, he hadn’t talked about wanting more and you were afraid that if you mentioned it he would want less.  

“Jared!” You hissed, glaring at him.  

“You could lay on my bed naked.” He smiled cheekily, earning an eye roll from you.  

“Keep dreaming.”  

“What about money?” It was what he was thinking about getting Evan and at least if you gave Connor money too then he wouldn’t get flack from Alana about his gift being impersonal.

“I was thinking something more personal than that. You’re not helpful.”  

“I never said I would be. Besides I thought you got me and that’s why you wanted to go out.” Jared pointed out.  

“I needed a car. You have a car.” You replied, shrugging.  

“I can’t believe you used me for my car.”  

“Jared, focus, presents.”  

-

You weren’t surprised when Zoe told you that Connor would not be joining the party. He had, according to her, had a blow-out tantrum over something Larry had said earlier and had locked himself in his room. And despite her warning not to go upstairs you did anyway, carrying your giftbag with you. Willingly choosing to take your chances on Connor when you could easily stay downstairs with the rest of the party.  

You knocked on his closed bedroom door, listening for his inevitable ‘fuck off’.  

“What?” Connor shouted, a harsh tone to his voice.  

“Is it okay if I come in?”  

“Tell Zoe I’m not coming downstairs,” he yelled, “this whole thing is stupid.”  

You waited for a minute, mulling over whether you should go back downstairs before finally deciding to try one more time. “Connor?”

“Go away.”

“I’m not here to drag you downstairs Connor, I got your name for secret Santa so, stupid or not I have a present for you,” you held up the bag as proof even though he couldn’t see it.  

While you couldn’t hear the sigh that escaped his lips you could imagine it. “Come in.”

“So, it’s not much, but,” you handed over the present as you came in, standing awkwardly at the edge of his bed. He was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and throwing a hackey-sac up in the air. He looked over at you, managing to catch the sac before it landed on his face and sat up, taking the gift bag.  

“I didn’t get you anything.” He mentioned, picking at tissue paper.  

“It’s not a big deal, I got your name so-“ You shrugged.  

“That’s what I mean. I got your name too.”  

“Just give me a joint or something, it’s really not that important. If you don’t wanna participate you don’t have to.” Zoe made everyone pick names at her friends-giving, which Connor also made himself scarce from. He didn’t want to be part of the secret Santa and he’d told her enough times that she should have known but she insisted that he take part.  

It didn’t matter to you that he hadn’t gotten you anything. Regardless of the idea, the intent of the tradition was not to receive. And besides, he had given you plenty. He stopped at Starbucks every Friday and brought you ridiculously overpriced lattes. He bought you packs of pens or notebooks or random things he found while stocking shelves at Target. He spent money on gas driving eight hours every weekend just to see you. No gift could top that.  

“Yeah but I still feel shitty about it now.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t get you a present?”

“I thought Zoe would tell you I wasn’t gonna do it.” He replied, fiddling with the tag, you’d written his name in pretty cursive.  

“Well too late for that, open your present, I wanna see if you like it.”

“Thought you said it wasn’t a big deal?”  

“It’s not.”

“Seems like it.” He mumbled, pulling different tissue-wrapped gifts out. It wasn’t much. A pair of socks with marijuana leaves on them, a dark grey sweater that looked warm and that Evan had weirdly known the right size for, a moleskine sketch-book and some watercolors that you’d spent way too much money on, and a set of Christmas themed scrunchies as a gag. He held up the pack of scrunchies, shaking them and watching the bells on the red one jingle.

There was a long pause, thoughtful even, as he looked over the presents that you had spent the weeks between Thanksgiving break and Christmas break mulling over. The green scrunchie in the pack was velvet and he tore the plastic binding them together so he could pull his hair back with that one. It was his favorite color and while he realized that it was just a stupid variety pack he recognized from a display at his Target, he knew there were two other packs as well. Maybe it was too much to be hopeful for but he sort of wished you had chosen that specific one because of the green.  

You were still standing there, waiting in silence. Watching him patiently. You gave the best gifts, he knew from experience. In third grade you made everyone in class ornaments out of intricately folded paper. You’d made him a snowflake and glittered the edges dark green and told him you hoped he liked it because you knew that was his favorite color. The paper was a page from your favorite book, you had mentioned when he attempted to make out as many words as he could. Tuck Everlasting, you said you’d been to the town where they filmed and it was right by the beach.  

He hadn’t said it then but he had thought about how fun it would be to go to the beach with you.

“Hold on,” Connor jumped up and went over to his desk. He made a show of rummaging through papers and drawers.  

“Connor,” You stayed in place but twisted your body to follow his movements.  

“I’ve got something I can give you.”  

“It’s really not a-“

“Not a big deal, I know, I know, just, just close your eyes.” He requested, turning back toward you.  

“Why?”  

“Just do it okay?”

You closed your eyes and waited for whatever might happen next. His footsteps were muffled by the carpet but you felt his hands on your upper arms. You could hear him breath and, as he leaned in, you realized you could feel his breath on your face. Just as you were about to open your eyes and ask what he was doing you felt his nose brush against yours and his lips press a kiss to yours. It wasn’t anything especially romantic or passionate. It was quick, a closed mouth kiss, just the ghost of the feeling of Connor’s mouth on yours and then he was gone. You opened your eyes and he was still holding your upper arms but he was looking at you a little more vulnerably than before.  

And you opened your mouth to say something intelligent but the only thing that came out was, “Oh, thank you.”

The nerves broke and Connor smiled, teeth and all, so close to laughter he let you go to cover his mouth, “did you just say thank you?”

“You said it was a present,” you dumbly replied, the heat of embarrassment warming your face.  

“No one says thank you after someone kisses them.”  

“Maybe they do if it’s a present.”  

“I don’t think so.” Connor teased. He undid his bun and then tied it back up, a nervous habit you’d picked up on from all the times he spent at your dorm.  

“Well next time I won’t say thank you.”  

“You might. I might be that good a kisser.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You tried for even an ounce of sass but all you could muster was the same tone of awe you’d had since he kissed you. He had kissed you and your whole body felt like it was tingling with a wonderful buzz of happiness.  

“Who do you have to stack me up against other than Evan?” He joked, sitting back on his bed. He was trying to play it cool, doing a better job than you, though he was still filled with nerves. Had he read the situation right? Did you feel the same way about him that he felt about you?

“Oh god, Zoe told you about that?” You paled at the thought of Connor knowing about that kiss. A dare Freshmen year of high school.  

“Jared.”

“That’s even worse!” You groaned.  

“It’s not so bad.” Connor replied, “didn’t turn me off the idea of kissing you.”

-

I’m finally posting again and it’s still whatever I want...sorry, its the most I can do for now. 

[foursideharmony]

New AU, anyone?

So I was at the LA Ren Faire this past weekend and I have the sore muscles and light sunburn to prove it. I guess I'll take my revenge out on the universe by presenting a Ren Faire AU!

In this one, the boys work for a traveling Renaissance Faire. It cycles around their region over the course of a year, spending one to two months open in each location, plus a week or two to pack everything up, move it to the next stop, and set it all up again. Most of the people working the Faire, in retail booths and the like, are independent vendors with contracts, but the boys are part of the permanent staff.

Logan is one of the organizers, and is the main person in charge of logistics for each venue. He has made an exact science out of knowing exactly how to lay out the Faire in each venue, where to put all the vendors and other features, and how many temporary staff members and volunteers they need. As such, he mostly works behind the scenes, but he does have a persona so he can wander the grounds checking up on things without appearing out of place. He takes on the role of a local town magistrate, blending his actual purpose with his pretend one as seamlessly as possible.

Logan was attracted to the Ren Faire due to its educational potential. He is annoyed by its recent trends of anachronistic free-for-all and fantasy, but keeps these concerns to himself because he knows he is in a distinct minority. He contents himself with setting a good example—his on-stage persona is scrupulously well-researched and period-accurate, to the point where he sewed his costume by hand rather than use a sewing machine, which didn't exist in the 16th Century. He makes sure to speak in the correct dialect at all times while on the grounds, but he has never managed to master the actual accent, a source of frustration for him.

Patton works at the Faire's game booths, which include everything from bean bag tosses to archery butts to tortoise races! (That last one is his favorite, because TURTLES!) He cycles through them, a different one each day...except the axe throw, which makes him too nervous. He especially loves it when children try out the games, and will spend a few minutes coaching them on technique (where applicable) before letting them try for real. Best of all is when he gets to hand out prizes—they're just cheap toys, but kids are delighted to receive a plastic crown for successfully throwing the “roc egg” through the basketball hoop three times in a row. Some customers assume, due to his sunny demeanor, that he is naive, but he has a hawk's eye for attempted cheaters and calls them out every time.

In Patton's view, the purpose of the Ren Faire should be FUN above all. He doesn't care that much about period accuracy—his costume is simple, made from a commercial Halloween pattern and easily washable (an important feature since he works around a lot of dirt, straw, water, and tortoise feed). He aspires to get even dirtier—he would really like to transfer to the petting pens, but he needs a special certification first, and he would have to take a vacation from the Faire in order to fit in the required classes, and he just hasn't worked up the will to do that yet.

Roman is the star of the show: the “champion knight” who struts around the Faire in plate armor, swearing allegiance to little girls in princess costumes and challenging anyone who looks “villainous” to a contest of swords. It's not all pretend—he really is trained in swordplay and horsemanship and shows off both during the weekend “jousting tournament” events. On weekdays, or in certain venues that can't provide a jousting arena, he instead plays the part of a “sword teacher,” supervising children as they whack at each other with foam toy swords...or at him with wooden ones (the armor really works).

He is pretty much Logan's polar opposite in terms of what Ren Faire means to him—to Roman, it's all about the romance of olden times and the fantasy of a world where people still believe in sorcery. His own persona is period-accurate, right down to his heraldry, but he doesn't click his tongue at people who show up in costumes from the “wrong” era or dress as fantastical beings like fairies and wizards. He's known to bring some of that content in himself, telling the kids stories about slaying dragons and rescuing maidens from witches. (If Logan is nearby, he'll deliberately ramp up the fantasy, just to troll him a little.)

Virgil spends the least time on-stage of the four, since crowds tend to trigger his anxiety. He has an extremely important backstage job: helping to take care of the horses. It's tiring, mucky work, but it's better than being around a ton of strangers all day, and he's really good at it. He has a nearly perfect record when it comes to reading their moods and can always tell when one of them is too “spooky” to be in the public eye that day. His job obviously brings him into frequent contact with Roman, and while the two usually get along, they clash whenever Virgil has to veto Roman's horse selection. (It's no trivial thing—Roman got thrown once when he insisted upon taking a horse out despite Virgil's insistence that it was nervous. He wasn't badly hurt, but they had to cancel the joust and people demanded refunds.)

On weekdays, since they don't work the horses, Virgil isn't usually needed to care for them. Sometimes he pitches in at the petting pens—he was the one who told Patton about the animal handling certification he would need to be transferred there—and sometimes, when he feels up to it, he wanders the grounds in a cloaked costume that Faire regulars have nicknamed “the Black Rogue.” There is mad speculation about what this rarely-seen character signifies, but most people agree that he is up to no good. Some fans have started asking Roman what he plans to do about the “villain,” and sooner or later they'll have to sit down and decide where they want to take the kayfabe.

That's all I have for now. I can add more if there's any interest, but I'm also open to outside ideas!

[lovemesomesurveys]

ONE - HI THERE ! It’s an intro !

What do most people call you? Stephanie/Steph. In what month is your birthday? July. What country were you born in? US. Do you have siblings? How many, if you do? I have 2 brothers. Who do you live with? My parents, younger brother, and our doggo.

Are you in a relationship? No. Do you go to school? No. What mood are you in right now? At this current moment I’m hungry and in serious need of coffee. What does your shirt look like? It’s a long-sleeved Star Wars shirt that looks like a comic book cover. The main part of the shirt is white and the sleeves are gray. What’s your zodiac sign? Leo. TWO - Your Appearance If you could have plastic surgery on any one body part, what would it be? I wouldn’t. Are you satisfied with your hair? Ugh, no. It really needs to be dyed again and trimmed. Do you have a hitchhikers or a straight thumb? More on the hitchhikers side. What colour are your eyes? Brown. Do you have any tan lines? No. How old do people usually think you are? Early 20s.

What about your appearance do you get complimented on the most? My hair after it’s been recently dyed and the color looks good and my roots aren’t showing. Are you comfortable with your weight? No. I’m too thin right now. Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Where? I only have my earlobes pierced. How tall are you? 5′4ish. THREE - True or False. I love winter. I have eaten meat in the past five days. I have painted a room in a house. I can whistle. My keyboard is black. I have never bought something off an infomercial. I own a snuggie / would like to own a snuggie. I bite my pens / pencils. I wear glasses / contacts. My nails are painted right now. FOUR - Childhood Memories ! What was your all time favourite movie as a kid? Hmm. I’m not sure about movie. I had a lot of favorite tv shows, though. Do you still have your first pair of shoes somewhere? Yes, my mom kept them.

Did you have anything you always dragged around the house, like a blanket? No. What toy did you play with the most? Barbies. Did you ever bring your favourite toys in the bathtub? Yeah, sometimes. Did you used to take baths with siblings/cousins? When we were babies. Are you still friends with your best friends from long ago? No. Do your parents ever tell you stories about how cute/silly you were? Yeah. Did you go to the park often? No. What was a typical outfit for the 5-year-old you? Something cute, I don’t know. FIVE - FAVOURITES ! (Yes, I spell it with a ‘u’) Actor/Actress. Alexander Skarsgard. Singer/Band/Both. Linkin Park will always be one of them. Chocolate. White. Toothpaste. Sensodyne fresh mint. <<<< Picture of yourself. Look at my avatar. Pair of sunglasses. I don’t wear them. Vegetable. Broccoli and spinach. Sandwich. Turkey with provolone cheese, mayo, and pesto on sourdough or wheat bread. Aspect of nature. Ocean. Word to say. I don’t know. SIX - Love Life ;) Who was the first person to ever ask you out? My first boyfriend, Derek. What does your ideal date consist of? Going out to eat or for coffee. What’s one thing your partner must be able to accept about you? My health problems. Does your ideal person have any special talents? Such as…? It would be cool if they could play piano or guitar. And/or sing. Do your parents like the person you’re with? (Or the last person) I wasn’t with him, but they really liked Ty and they thought we would end up together. Do you like pet names? Not really. What is one attribute that your ideal partner must have? Patience. When was the last time someone seriously said “I love you.” to you? A few days ago. Have you ever been in more than one relationship at a time? No. SEVEN - The wonderful world of the Internet ! What is your most used website? Tumblr. Do you play any online games? Nope. Which chat program do you use most often? None. Facebook vs Myspace- which is better? I only use Facebook out of the 2. Myspace died years ago. Is there someone you met online that you’d like to meet in person? I’d be too nervous and awkward. Have you ever sold something on Ebay or Craigslist? No. Have you ever gone on Chatroulette? Or Omegle video? Yeah. Are there any videos of yourself on Youtube? Yes, but they’ll never see the light of day again. Mac or PC? Mac. Have you ever Googled your name? Yeah. EIGHT - This or That? Twilight or Harry Potter? French fries or potato wedges? Liquid or tape white out? Digital or film camera? Nail clippers or nail scissors? Rock, paper, or scissors? Beard or mustache? Knee high or ankle socks? Hockey or basketball? Mr Clean or sponge and 'the other leading cleaning product’? NINE - Be cool, stay in school! What subject are/were you best at? English. How old will you be when you graduate high school / how old were you? I was 18. Isn’t there that point in the year when you stop caring so much? Like in school? There’s that point where you start to experience “senioritis.” Do/did you have any really cool teachers? Yeah, I had a few. Who is/was your most strict teacher? A couple math professors in college. Where do/did you sit at lunch? Different places. What do/did you do at recess? I just hung out with friends and ate my snack. There’s always that one kid who no one really knows, right? Uhhh. Is/was your cafeterias food actually any good? Some things were. In elementary I actually liked the pizzas and burritos. I very rarely ate school lunch in high school, but what I had was okay. Oh, but they did sell pizza at these little pizza stands on campus that were good. Do/did you have a stereotypical school, with all those cliques and such? I mean I guess, but it’s not like how you see it in the movies. TEN - Randomly Platypus. Do you like your toothbrush really wet when you’re brushing your teeth? Yeah. What song are you currently obsessed with? I don’t have one right now. What was the stupidest dare you’ve ever done? I always said truth, so. Do you enjoy playing with tape? No. What’s one word/phrase you say too much? I don’t know. Wait, actually “I don’t know” is a pretty good answer. <<<< Haha same. When was the last time you went trick-or-treating? Back in high school sometime. What did you last use a knife for? I used a knife and fork when I was eating boneless wings the other day. When you open a pack of gum, why is everyone your best friend? I always felt like I had to be secretive about it, ha. What has been on your mind way too much?/ Health stuff. Did you actually enjoy my survey? Sure.

[a-nonymousgirl]

2018 School Supplies

I have decided to create a generalized list of  supplies with how I use them that can be used in all the way from middle school to college.I will put in some tips that will be more helpful for college student than others, but I hope you all enjoy. Feel free to message me with any questions or for further explanations :)

I will try to have the tips section up by tomorrow, the original intention was to have the supplies and tips together, but many of the tips go hand in hand with the time management post I was asked to make. As such, I have decided to combine them.

School Supplies; Pencils;

I have tried quite a few types over the years but my favorite ended up being the Bic sparkly mechanical pencils, they weren’t overly thick and they lasted me a long time.

Not really a pencil, but I was unsure of where else to put this. I am huge fan of having clic erasers compared to those on the back of mechanical pencils or the square ones.

Pens/Markers;

I use quite a few types of pens, each one I have a favorite use for. I like to use the Bic pens for everyday things, note cards and for writing in the monthly view of my planner. I like how smooth these pens write as well as how they are not overly expensive and easier to find.

The product I swear by are Staedtler pens. I got my first pack my sophomore year and I fell in love. I still use some of the markers from my first pack to this day and I am in college. They have a vibrant pigment that never leaves you struggling to read notes later and come in a variety of packs that make it easy to get as many(or few) as you wish. I use these for almost everything, especially notes.

I am a big fan of the paper mate flair pens. I like how nicely they write as well as the quality of pigment they have. I use these for note headers, writing in the weekly section of my planner and other small things. I borrowed one of my sisters pens my eighth grade year and have used them for school since.

Last but not least, I like expos brand of thin tip dry erase markers. I like the variety of colors and how long they can last me. I get these for a little bit of an unusual use, I don’t usually use them on an actual whiteboard, but more often on sheet protectors(or my dorm room window) I keep in the back of my chemistry binder for solving problems and drawing out structures when I can’t find a free whiteboard or don’t want to waste paper. These were a lifesaver last year and I used them almost everyday.

Planner;

I cannot emphasize how important having a planner is. I take my syllabus given in the first week of class and write every date in my planner as soon as possible. I also write due dates, important dates,appointments, school events, my work schedule, study dates, important items to bring to class on certain days, and little reminders. A planner helps you stay so much more organized and helps ensure little forgetful mishaps don’t lead to a zero on an assignment or a missed appointment.

Note cards;

I don’t have a specific brand of note card I recommend as all are about the same. I do recommend starting with a white pack and if you like using them then trying a colored pack to help organize. I used colored note cards in my medical terminology class to separate suffixes, prefixes, terms and drawings. If you are a heavily visual person using this system can help memorization using color association.

Highlighters;

This is one of those products where any brand works, the pack you get simply depends on the use and how many colors you desire. I have used simple packs in the past with the four basic colors and it worked well for me. I got the zebra brand this year after a friend recommended them to me as I use them for highlighting notes, highlighting important information in my planner, and as part of color coding. I haven’t gotten to use them much, but I highly recommend them for those who want multiple colors in a thin size as regular.

Folders;

I have a love for five stars plastic folders. I have used them since my freshman year of high school and never went back. They last me a lot longer than paper ones or other brands. I use these for loose papers from my classes as well as a special one that holds my tests for review. I usually match them to a notebook with a different color for each subject. I am trying something different this year with a more patterned notebook however.

With my classes I don’t have a huge need for multiple binders and I really don't want to carry them around campus either. With that said I get an inch binder to hold chemistry and biology notes. I like to use binder dividers with little pockets in them to keep the subjects separate and it has worked well so far. For subjects that require their own binder, i use the tabs to divide general class papers, handouts, notes, assignments and blank paper from each other. It makes finding papers much easier and the pockets hold papers which can’t be hole punched.

[shtcablogs]

All The Times I Lost My Sh*t While Watching ‘thank u, next’

Our Heavenly Father Ariana Grande has blessed us mortals with first musical and now visual perfection via ‘thank u, next’. If you haven’t seen the music video yet, then what the hell are you doing reading my blog? Go watch something that’s actually worth your time. 

If you lived in a bunker Kimmy Schmidt style for all of the early 2000s, I’ll quickly break down the parodies in this video for you. We start with “Mean Girls” - the gossip montage, the Plastics, and the winter talent show scene - more on that later. Then we hit “Bring It On” - the flirty toothbrush scene and the Toros cheerleaders. Then we’ve got “13 Going on 30″ - the part where Jennifer Garner crashes her childhood best friend’s wedding and cries into her old dollhouse. Lastly, my personal favorite of the bunch, “Legally Blonde”. Ari pulls up with Bruiser, gets her nails done, sunbathes on the lawn, etc. The entire video is a mash-up recreating scenes from those four movies. Now what you came here for, the 20 moments from the TUN video where I straight up lost my shit, chronologically. Here we go.

1. AARON SAMUELS

You give us Aaron Samuels within the first 20 seconds? Right then and there I knew this music video would change my life. I hope Ari tapped that.

2. WIDE SET VAGINA GIRL

You know this chick from “Mean Girls”, or you at least know her famous quotes from the film.  “I saw Cady Heron wearing army pants and flip flops. So I bought army pants and flip flops.” “I can’t help it if I’ve got a heavy flow and a wide set vagina.” This girl isn’t even named in the movie but her quotes are still relevant 15 years later.

3. MEAN GIRLS FONT

Damn this font gets me hype. What a f*cking mash-up.

4. THE BURN BOOK

Literally all I want to do on a Friday night is scrapbook with Ariana Grande about our ex-boyfriends. Her burn book would be a lot thicker and more attractive than mine, but that’s another story.

5. SEAN’S PAGE

Hello, this is the shit I live for. This is Big Sean’s page, Ariana’s first real famous boyfriend. It reads “Sean [heart] / so cute / so sweet / (could still get it)”. COULD STILL GET IT!!! OKAY ARI!!!!! But yeah I don’t blame you, he could get it from me, too. 

6. “SRY I DIPPED”

We’re now onto Pete Davidson’s page. On the top, Ari writes “sry I dipped”. SORRY I DIPPED. I noticed this blurb the very first time I watched the video with my friend Lardia. “HOLY SHIT DID YOU SEE WHAT SHE WROTE ON PETE’S PAGE? REWIND IT!” and then we laughed for a solid minute. Such a savage and nonchalant thing to say. You were engaged to this dude, for crying out loud. I love it.

7. HUUUUGE

Also on Pete’s page, “HUUUUGE” with four U’s. She broke the dude’s heart, but I think this kind of makes up for it. She just informed the entire world that her ex is packing major heat. Good for you, Pete Davidson. Cash in on this attention.

8. KAREN CHECKING THE WEATHER

“It’s like I have ESPN or something. My breasts can always tell when it’s going to rain.” 

9. THE JINGLE BELL ROCK

Definitely one of the most memorable scenes from “Mean Girls”, the winter talent show where the Plastics dance to “Jingle Bell Rock”. I love twerking to Christmas music.

10. YOU’RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE

I’M NOT CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING. I screamed so loud when I first saw this that I woke my neighbor’s baby. Having Kris Jenner parody Amy Poehler’s role of Regina’s mom in “Mean Girls” is the most genius idea of the 21st century. Kris is often compared to Regina’s mom, mostly for an early episode of KUWTK where Kim poses for Playboy and Kris films her from the sidelines with a camera phone. And that’s where “You’re doing amazing, sweetie” was born. 

11. I’M A COOL MOM

This KJ dancing GIF is everything to me. The hoop earrings, velour tracksuit, old school camcorder, it’s a f*cking look and she pulls it off like no other. My only dream in life is to become famous enough that Kris Jenner will agree to make a cameo in one of my projects. And then we become best friends and spend our days drinking dry martinis and handling crises. She then decides that the family has gotten too large for her to manage alone. We become business partners. I manage all of the grandkids. I constantly pit them against one another so they’ll work harder and maintain that competitive edge. They call me Aunt CA. Kris becomes older and starts forgetting things like how to work the ice machine and the names of Kim’s ex-husbands. She doesn’t trust anyone but me to take care of her, so I move in. I legally change my last name to Kardashian. Kris passes at the age of 96. I grieve for months but finally find the strength to go on. Business must resume, that’s what Kris would want. I continue her legacy and the grandkids become even more famous than their parents. The Kardashians/Jenners/Disicks/Wests/Thompsons/Websters/whoever the fuck else they decide to have kids with are a multi-generational dynasty thanks to Kris and her apprentice, me. I wear a “What Would Kris Jenner Do” gold diamond bracelet and look at it every day and think fondly of the great times we had together. She may be gone, but she will never be forgotten. 

Jesus Christ. Talk about a rabbit hole. Back to the music video.

12. THE TOROS

“I’m sexy, I’m cute. I’m popular to boot! I’m bitchin’, great hair. The boys all love to stare!” Classic film. Extra points for the pregnant cheerleader. That shit’s hilarious. Also I’ve never seen anything cuter than tiny ass Ariana Grande in a cheer uniform.

13. SUNBATHING AT HARVARD

ICONIC. Legally Blonde is one of my all time favorite movies, mainly for Elle’s wardrobe and hilarious antics like laying out/studying in the middle of campus and going to buy a Macbook wearing a bunny costume. This is definitely one of the best shots in the music video. 

14. PAULETTE

HOLY SHIT IT’S THE REAL PAULETTE. Jennifer Coolidge is freaking hilarious and masterfully played one of the funniest characters of all time IMO. The mid-music video convo with Ari and Paulette in the nail salon had me rolling. “Well, I’ve only gone out with one guy that had a big front tooth, and I liked it cause he never got anything stuck in the front teeth. Have you ever gone out with someone that had no teeth at all?” So silly but in the best way. 

15. THE DOLLHOUSE

Ah, the good ol’ dollhouse from 13 Going On 30. Ariana looks so simple and innocent in this costume, it’s so unlike the rest of the video. I loved the single tear rolling down her cheek.

16. BRUISER ON A POOL FLOAT

Of course they needed a Bruiser. I will say, that’s a big fuckin’ chihuahua. It’s gotta be someone related to this video’s dog, because surely they could’ve cast a more normal sized chihuahua?  

17. THE BEND AND SNAP

YASSSSSS. Ari’s got the best bend and snap I’ve ever seen, other than maybe Elle Woods herself. Also I just noticed that lady in the purple jumpsuit and beaded braids looks identical to the woman in the movie from this scene. It’s all recreated to perfection.

18. THE UPS GUY

Zamnnnn get it, Paulette. UPS guy is a smokeshow. “I’ve got a package.” “He’s got a package.”

19. F*CK YOU

Mood always. Just me in my dorm room, working on my fitness, studying for my Torts final, wearing a crop top, flicking off the haters. 

20. THANK U NEXT, BITCH

BEST PART OF THE VIDEO. NOTHING WILL EVER COMPARE. MY NEW RINGTONE. HISTORIANS GET OUT YOUR PENS. KRIS JENNER JUST WON 2018.

THANK U NEXT, BITCH!

In the name of breaking the internet,

CA

[officialleehadan]

Wolf Moon

Seath walked into the base beside his father, and reminded himself not to show any of the rage he was feeling. It had taken weeks of fighting to get the man to let him into the secret military compound, and he didn’t dare blow it now.

The group had been hunting for the supernatural elements in Beacon Hills for a while now, and one of the people they had captured was Cassidy. Seath’s stepfather, Cass’s father, had told them how they had come for Cass, armed to the teeth and loaded with every supernatural deterrent they could think of.

In a way, Seath was proud. According to his father, not that the man knew he had given away so much but Seath had asked him questions while listening to his heart- they still didn’t know what Cass actually was, only that he was something.

Alpha of their little pack, brother, and best friend before anything else, Seath did know, and he would bet his ears that his fox-brother had been causing havoc, all without ever leaving whatever cell they had thrown him into.

Seath was the good one. No one ever pretended that Cass wouldn’t kill to protect himself or his own.

“He’s been quiet this week. That’s the only reason you’re getting in,” Frank told him, and Seath nodded absently, ears perked to gather as much information as he possibly could while he was here. Everything from the electricity in the walls, to the number of men in the base would be valuable to his pack, and their contacts.

“Cass is human. I don’t know what you’re expecting him to do, Dad,” Seath told him reasonably. Cass was anything but human, but they would have a hell of a time proving it, and as far as Seath knew, he wasn’t even under suspicion yet.

“You think that?” Frank said, with just a hint of smugness in his voice. “You really think that? Just wait. He’s killed four of our guys since we brought him in.”

Cass had probably gotten more of them than that. Seath would ask him when he got in.

“Why has he been so quiet?” he asked his father. “Cass is never quiet, especially when he’s mad.”

“We got that,” Frank muttered, and his heart fluttered nervously. If Seath had to guess, his fox-brother had been raising hell. Good for him. “And we don’t know, kid. Maybe it’s because we’re coming up on half-moon or something. We still haven’t seen him do anything, but our wards are holding, so it’s hard to tell what he’s capable of.”

Seath hid a smile. Cass had gone quiet because Seath had gone up on their ridge and howled a pack-call for him. Had promised he was coming for him to get him out. At that distance, it would be impossible to tell a werewolf howl from any of the local Alaskan packs that lived in the woods. Of course, it was a different matter if the listener had shifter hearing. They had tested that, in the early days before they knew what either of them were. He knew exactly how far away Cass could hear him.

They walked past rows of doors, each with a faintly glowing shield that was probably invisible to human eyes. Wards to keep a shifter in or out of somewhere. There was a druid on base. Seath had expected that, and he had every protective charm their own druid could come up with to help him and Cass get off the base safely.

He would- was- betting his life that she was better than whatever hack the military dug up. Druids didn’t usually run with the military, thought it was unethical given their respect for life, and Lydia was unseelee.

“You’ll be staying here tonight.” Frank said when they came up on a room that echoed empty to Seath’s ears, and never inhabited to his nose. “We try to keep the hours when they get visited random. Less likely for one of them to plan an escape that way.”

His hear thumped scared and Seath smiled for real this time, though not for the reason his father thought. “I’ll be fine here. Are there wards on the doors? In case something does get out?”

“They’ll activate when you close your door. Nothing inhuman can get through as long as that door is closed. If we have to do a room check, we’ll open it from the outside. The hostiles can’t even touch our wards.”

Seath could. He had tried as they went past one. It felt like static on his fingers. Sharp and stinging, but hardly unbearable, and he could go right through Lydia’s wards in an emergency. There were perks to being an alpha that most people didn’t know about, and others for having a talented druid in their pack, who had taught them all about wards and how to get around them.

Cass wasn’t bad at it himself, and Seath wondered what it was that was actually keeping the fox imprisoned. If he had to guess, he would bet on a threat against their family, and he had already gotten a plan in motion to keep them safe.

“Can I see Cass tonight?” he asked instead. “I told your goons that I was bringing him some stuff from home, since we didn’t know how long you would have him here.”

Frank eyed the backpack Seath pointed to with abrupt concern. “Not tonight. We noticed he’s more trouble after sunset. Did they already search you?” he demanded, and Seath took a step back, pretending to be nervous at his father’s sudden outburst. Cass really must have done some damage, if they were that afraid of him.

“Before I came in, and again right before you met me.” He promised. “But it’s okay if you want to, I mean they seemed pretty thorough but I don’t know what he can or can’t have.”

“That would be best.” Frank said. There was relief in his voice. Probably glad he didn’t have to insist on it himself.

Seath agreeably emptied his backpack onto the bed to let his father search first the bag, and then the contents.

It was nothing special to human eyes.

Cassidy’s favorite hoodie. A blank sketchbook and a carton of colored pastels. The old Gameboy they had shared as kids, and the games for it, and a small kit of plastic toiletries that included a comb and a brush.

Frank picked over it cautiously as Seath sat on the edge of the bed and watched him. It didn’t matter what he took, or didn’t take out of the pile. It was the backpack that mattered. Lydia was a master of thread magic. Tiny spells tied up in a single knot on a strand of thread. There were dozens of them tied into the backpack that would activate when Scott broke one of the triggering spells that was tied around his wrist almost invisibly fine.

All spells that wove into two purposes. To make the backpack look and feel empty even if it wasn’t, and to protect the contents from all detection- magical or otherwise. Cass’s escape pod. He had other spells with him too, to deal with the cameras and everything else they could think of.

“Nothing else in the backpack?” Frank asked when he was done, and Seath handed over the empty backpack with a shrug.

“It’s just my old school backpack. There was too much to carry.” He said casually. “Your guys outside took the colored pencils I brought, and the pens. Glad I didn’t bring his good ones.”

“Not allowed to have anything that might be made into a weapon.” Frank confirmed darkly. “We learned that when one of the other ones killed a soldier with nothing but a pen. Stabbed him thirty-six times and almost made it outside before we brought it down.”

“How many do you have in here, anyway? Of them I mean?” It was a risky question but he had to know. His pack worked closely with the one from the next town over, and they had two members go missing recently.

“About thirty.” Frank said after a brief mental debate with himself. “I’m sure there’s more- a lot more- that we haven’t found. They’re great at hiding in plain sight. Sub- Cassidy is a good example. You had no idea he was a hostile until we picked him up.”

“I still don’t know he’s a hostile, Dad.” Seath protested innocently, inwardly raging. They were calling his brother subject now, and he would burn their compound to the ground for it. “I mean, come on. We shared a room until we were fifteen. We graduated high-school the same year, went to the same college, and now we live together. I’m pretty sure I would know if he was- I dunno- a vampire or something.”

“They’re tricky, son.” Was all Frank would say about it as he got to his feet and headed for the door. “All that looks okay for him to have, for now anyway. Pack up. I’ll let you see him in the morning, kid. Fair warning, he’s been acting pretty crazy for the last few hours. Mumbling math to himself.”

Seath packed everything but the hoodie, which he pulled on over his head, back into his backpack and set it on the desk. He could faintly hear Cass now, whispering to himself in what probably sounded like nonsense to anyone else.

To Seath, the litany of math equations was a code they had come up with as a game long ago for getting around their parents.

“Not/safe-not/good/magic/human-run/safe”

It wasn’t the most detailed thing, but he got the picture. Cass wanted him to get out before the military druid figured out he was there. Seath broke the first strand of spell-thread off his wrist, one of a number, and wrapped it around his finger. Immediately, he felt the faint buzz of Lydia’s magic whisper through his hand. They had an hour until the speakers in his room could hear him again.

Seath rolled over and his face in the pillow. It wouldn’t do any good to hide his voice if they could see him talking.

“family/safe-packmate/magic/human-packmate/run/safe” he answered in the same code. It was hard to get a truly nuanced message, but they had a long history. Stiles paused, listening.

“packmate/not/safe-bad/humans/magic/weapon-packmate/injury/question”

Seath smiled into his pillow. Of course Cassidy’s first question was to check on him. If Cass was worrying about him, he was fine.

“Packmate/not/injured,” he said back. “packmate/injury/question”

“Packmate/not/injured-bad/humans/injured,” Cass said, and there was a hint of smugness in his voice. Seath had been right, and he doubted that the humans had any idea what they had caught, and how bad it would be if Cass didn’t have a pack to worry about. “Time/ready/run/question”

“morning/ready-run/safe-magic/packmate/help” Seath answered, glad that Cass wasn’t going to argue with him about getting out of here. Of course that did tell him just how bad it had been. The reassurance that Lydia had helped to plan the escape would help Cass stay calm.

“ready/ready-run/safe-time/magic/listen/question” Cass said.

“time/1/hour/safe” Seath answered, and settled in. No matter how clumsy their code was, it was a relief to hear his brother’s voice and get some real reassurance that he was alright.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. Getting in had always been the easy part. Getting out with Seath, now that would be harder, but these soldiers had no idea what they were about to face.

***

Seath was awake as soon as the soldiers in the rooms around his started to move. He could hear that Cass, two floors down, was also awake, and had started his equations again. He cocked an ear, in case Cass was actually saying something, but it was just gibberish to throw the guards off.

As Seath changed his shirt, getting into a baggy hoodie of his own that matched the one he brought for Cass, he muttered “time/morning-ready/ready/question” and smiled when he heard Cass confirm a moment later.

Time to go.

By the time his father knocked on the door, Seath was ready, backpack slung over his shoulder, and braided strand of spells knotted around his wrist, looking for all the world like a friendship bracelet.

“Ready to go, kid?” he asked, clearly in a good mood despite allowing Seath into a room with one of his so-called hostiles.

“Looking forward to seeing my brother.” Seath confirmed. It was hard to keep his face blank, and just project the dumb college grad his father was expecting to see. “When he disappeared, we were all really worried.”

And that was the thing that he would never forgive his father for. Six days of frantic searching, before they found Stiles, thanks to the fox’s quick thinking, when he somehow managed to scent-mark Seath’s father. When the man appeared in town- ostensibly for a visit- Seath had caught the scent on him.

After that, it was just a matter of tracking Frank back to the base, and then figuring out how to talk the man into letting Seath come for a visit.

Cassidy’s father was with government information analytics, and had faced off with Frank, and refused to divulge his sources, no matter how angry Frank got. At the end of the day, it had been enough. Add to that, Seath’s own near-frantic pleas to see his brother, and he finally got cleared for a single visit.

One visit was all they needed. They had done more on less time before, when they were a new pack, and had no idea what they were doing. Things had changed, since then.

Two floors down, and the stark, but comfortable base shifted into a dark, tightly contained prison that hummed with magic, and Seath could finally tell how they had gotten the wards so strong. Their magic-user was building the wards using the blood of the imprisoned supernaturals. He could smell the lingering blood woven through the magic-scent. That was powerful stuff, and Seath could only hope that Lydia was better.

The cell they had Cass in, was a complex system of a door that led into a tiny box of a room, and a second door into the actual cell.

“If he tries to attack you, get through that first door.” Frank advised Seath seriously. “The wards on the door have held against him before. If he manages to get through, we’ll pipe a quick-acting knockout gas into the room. It won’t harm either of you, but it’ll drop him and give us a chance to get you out.”

“Cass would never hurt me.” Seath said firmly. “Ever. I trust him completely.”

“Well I don’t, and I’ve seen him kill four people.” Frank growled. “So do as I say.”

Seath glared at his father but didn’t raise a fuss. Today wasn’t about fighting the good fight, it was about getting Cass out of here.

Cass was on his feet and waiting when Seath stepped into the room, and he barely let Seath drop his bag before he lunged forward and for a crushing hug.

Cass buried his face against Seath’s shoulder and breathed in, deeply, as Seath rubbed his own face against Cass’, renewing the pack-scent that had faded in the weeks Cass had been imprisoned. The scent of harsh soap and chemical lingered around the fox.

“You okay?” he whispered, one arm around his brother’s back, and the other over his shoulders.

“Not hurt.” Cass responded, huffing into his shirt softly. “You smell worried.”

“My brother got kidnapped.” Seath chuckled, a little dry and a little desperate. Cass was his pack-second, and best friend. “Of course I’ve been worried. You smell like chemicals.”

“They hose me down.” Cass muttered, pressing his nose against Seath’s collarbone with an almost-inaudible whine. “I was good this week, after I heard you, and I got a real shower.”

“They said you killed four guys.” Seath murmured back, loud enough for the microphones he could hear planted throughout the room to pick up. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t four, it was seven.” Cass growled. “They tried to beat me up, or fuck me, two tried to steal my blood- probably for the wards- I almost got the druid. He hasn’t been back.”

“They tried to rape you?” Seath said, a low, dangerous growl building in his throat. Cass nuzzled him with a little hum.

“I’m fine, they didn’t think I could be dangerous.” He reassured his alpha-brother. “Mom and dad?”

“Safe. Everyone else too.” Seath promised, and coaxed Cass over to the narrow cot that served him as a bed. “Lydia sent a present for you. Look in the backpack.”

Cass didn’t show his surprise, if he felt any, when the scent of magic wafted up from the backpack as he pulled out the drawing supplies. When he got to his well-worn hoodie, he made a small, happy noise and buried his face in it. Seath had slept in it the night before, and all of their pack had marked it until it smelled like safe and home.

Cass immediately shrugged it on, and relaxed. Lydia had made hoodies for everyone, and they all had spells worked in. When Cass had picked up magic as well, he had added his own. It was better than armor.

As Cass investigated the backpack, Seath snapped another of the spells off his bracelet. One to create a simple cover of their voices. When it went up, Cass sauntered over and flopped down on the cot, snuggling into his hoodie, and against Seath in equal measure.

“What’s the plan?” he asked softly when the spell was firm, filling the space around them like a bubble of protection.

“You shift, get into the pack, and we walk out.” Seath said. “Simple enough. Lydia did the spells, once you’re in the pack, you’re invisible to magic, scenting, scans- it’ll be like you don’t exist.”

“Am I doing the charm to keep them thinking I’m here?” Cass wanted to know. He was good at illusions.

“Yeah, but she sent in four boosting spells for you to tie it into, so it lasts longer.”

“I can work with that.” Cass said softly. “It’ll hold until they try to get me, and usually they only come in once a day. They know I’ll be difficult to manage after you’ve been here. Might buy us as much as a day.”

“Gives us a day to hide you.” Seath agreed. “They don’t know you’re a shifter, right?”

“No,” Seath assured him. “They tried to make me shift- it didn’t work- but they don’t have any idea what I can do. All they know is that I can’t get through some of the wards.”

“Is it true?” That would be important.

The smile Cass gave him wasn’t a nice one. “With the goodies Lydia sent me, their druid couldn’t keep a goblin inside this place.”

Seath answered his smile with one of his own. The brush that Lydia had included in the toiletries set was filled with hairs- looking just like a normal, used brush. Of course, nothing Lydia did was normal. Every hair in the brush had a set of spells knotted into it, and Cass would be able to smell the difference between them thanks to the different perfumes she had dabbed on each spell.

“We’ll make the switch at the end of the visit.” He murmured. “They told me I have an hour here- I raised a fuss because they expected me to. Right before they come, we’ll make our move.”

Cass nodded into his neck and huffed softly, before his body relaxed into sleep. Seath could tell by the dark bags under his eyes that Cass hadn’t been sleeping, but if the guards had tried to rape him, the fox probably wasn’t sleeping at night. Now with his alpha here to watch over him, Cass was taking the chance to nap before they made good their escape.

Seath let him sleep, and hated to wake him, but he could hear his father just outside. It was time to make their move.

“Time to wake up, Foxy.” He murmured to Cass. Always one to sleep lightly, Cass blinked once as he came fully awake, and nodded slightly, before rolling off the pallet and casually strolled over to the little pile of items, most notably the vanity set and the spell-laden hairbrush.

With an almost indecipherable gesture, Cass’ form blurred, and then doubled. The first version of him quickly stuffed the brush into the bag and ducked under the bed, before darting out and into the waiting pack, with the hairbrush in his mouth. As always, his clothes shifted with him. No evidence left behind.

The second version of Cass, an illusion so complete that it could be touched- though not for long- shuffled around and looked at the art supplies, before dropping into the chair, the picture of a rebellion and unhappy teen. Anyone could recognize that the fox had trouble brewing, and Seath hoped the veiled threat of violence would keep the guard away long enough to get Cass hidden.

Seath stayed on the pallet when his father came in, with two armed guards behind him. This would be the hardest part. Getting out of the base without being caught. In the pack, Cass would be activating the magic Lydia sent him to finish hiding himself and to defeat the wards before they ever reached them.

People who were new to magic always went for the big stuff. Throwing fireballs, healing the wounded, and they always forgot that the high magics had a weakness for the low. With preparation, most hedgemages could walk right through a powerful ward, with nothing more than a strand of the right beads and a drop or two of blood from something supernatural.

With his backpack over his shoulder, Seath walked for the door, and the safety of their home and pack.

[haydenstudiesblog-blog]

I decided today would be a good day to clean out my book bag (or am I just procrastinating editing a paper that’s due tomorrow?), so if you’re into it...

What’s In My Bag Challenge!

I’ve never done this before. I took pictures of everything I found in my bag, so I’m just going to include, like, literally everything I found. Since I’ve actually never cleaned out this book bag in the 3 years I’ve used it for college. PS I’m organizing this post by the different pockets of my bag (there are 5), I’ll explain what I found, and provide pictures below each description with the appropriate items in the picture. Let the fun begin!

Laptop Sleeve: My laptop is the only thing in my laptop sleeve, unless I need my charger for it then I’ll shove that in there as well. It’s a MacBook Air, and I got the case for it off of Amazon. It’s a hardcover case, not a sleeve type of thing. I’m just now realizing that’s kind of a crappy picture, so apologies.

Tiny Pocket (a random shallow pocket probably meant as a built-in pencil case or something (now that I think about it maybe I should use that as a pencil case omg)): This is where I’ve started keeping my post-it notes, since the pocket is shallow and not much else fits in there (something money) so the post-its don’t get crushed or bent or something. I tried to buy pastel colored post-its at Target, and this is as close as I could get. Part of me was really into the studyblr aesthetic of Pastel Everything, but another part of me just prefers the pale colors because it’s easier to read the writing on them. Also I love pastels.

Main Pocket: This is the magical place where I keep all of my books, notebooks, homework, etc. First, I pulled out this scene v. summary exercise I had to do for my nonfiction writing class today.

Then I pulled out my grey dotted Leuchtturm writing journal (which I’m LOVING by the way).

After that are 3 of my textbooks, one for my nonfiction writing class and 2 for my critical writing about literature course. I won’t go into the long titles of each textbook here, but if you’re super curious about what books these are feel free to shoot me an ask or private message me.

And finally (from this pocket) we have my super basic 3 subject black spiral notebook for notes in 3/4 of my classes (my nonfiction class consists of me taking notes in my writing journal and scribbling notes inside my textbook), and we have a course packet for my critical writing about literature course. This just contains a bunch of readings we have to do that require us to annotate the heck out of, so our professor developed her own course packet with the readings inside so we don’t have to run around finding a printer every other day of the week.

4th Pocket (because I can’t think of an identifying name for it): In this pocket we have four things. First, we have a tiny little coin purse that actually has change in it and I’m a little shook (yes it’s my money but I’m a broke college student and it’s money I didn’t know I had so win). Below that, yes, that is a flask. No, it does not have anything in it. No, I do not have it in my bag for those stressful days full of classes where I feel like I just need a drink. I actually purchased this last November(?) when I was visiting my boyfriend and we wanted to go tailgating before the football game and...yeah. I’ll let you fill in the blanks. Or just ask me about it if you’re curious, hopefully I won’t get in trouble LOL. Anyway, to take it back home with me I stuffed it in this pocket of my bag and forgot about it. It’s chrome and changes color in the sun between green purple and blue and I love it a lot. The notebook is full of letters to my boyfriend. Last year I started writing to him in a notebook because it would calm me down. My boyfriend has a habit of trying to fix all of my problems, even if he can’t (cough cough depression and anxiety) so I made it a habit to write to him when I really needed to talk about something at length and knew he would just want to fix it or not know what to say. The plan was to fill it, but I haven’t written in it since before last summer, which I consider a good thing actually. Lastly we have that book, which I just found at home and brought back to school with me. We talked about both of these stories in a class last week and I remembered reading them and wanted to read them again, and I didn’t even realize I owned the book until last weekend! So I packed it and I want to read and annotate it when I find time.

Front and Final Pocket: Honestly this pocket just has a bunch of crap in it. But I’ll go through it all anyway. Here, we have my cheaters. I’m convinced I need glasses, but the last time I got my eyes checked they told me I don’t need glasses (and couldn’t help me with the problem I’ve been having, which is so irritating). I got cheaters and without going into full-on detail and making this post longer than it already is, they helped me a lot.

Here we have a tiny little binder clip that says “Reminder” and an old receipt from when I bought some books at the bookstore. There’s a folded post-it note with a shopping list on it, 3 business cards from people I worked with last summer at my internship, melt-aways for headaches because I can’t take pills, some tissues (not used I swear), some random little tiny black plastic things that came with my wireless earbuds I think, and my iPhone earbuds with the adapter plugged into it since I have the 7.

Here you can see my cheaters peaking in at the top corner haha sorry. I have an old receipt at the top, and MORE of those little black plastic things (WTF). A crushed box full of band-aids, a pair of gloves, a foldable ruler, and the bottom handle part of an umbrella (the rest of the umbrella is missing).

A bunch of pens and a pencil and a highlighter, blank notecards I didn’t know I had and another thing of post-its! The deal with these colored pens is that last semester I bought them and they worked great in the beginning. Flawlessly. I tried using them this semester, and they’re jumpy now. I’m not sure if I just used them all up, but I don’t think I did because I only used a couple of the colors and this semester I tried using the ones I hadn’t used as much last semester and they were acting jumpy. So idk what that’s about, I’ll be throwing those away though. Maybe I’ll try a new pack. That black pen is my favorite, I use that to write in my writing journal and sometimes to annotate and to take notes in class. That purple pen (with the cap) is what I use to annotate along with that purple highlighter. I like my highlighters to match my pens when I annotate, and all my other highlighters were too bright or too dark. This purple is pale enough to not be overwhelming on the eyes and the purple pen matches great. And I just found that pencil, I’ve been wondering where it was, so now yay I have a pencil. Great timing since I have an exam next Friday.

Lastly, we have these 3 things. The bottom left corner are 2 notecards I used to test pens for you guys last semester, some of the pens above actually. These last two items are pretty special to me. First, the card on the top is the thank-you card my boyfriend wrote my family after his graduation from high school. We gave him some pretty awesome gifts (ask if you’re curious, won’t go into it now) and he sent that thank-you. We had it hanging up on our fridge for a year and finally I decided to take it and keep it with me all the time because I think it’s really sweet. If you can’t read it here, feel free to ask what it says I’m more than happy to share. The blank square of paper on the bottom right is a birthday letter he wrote me last year. I kept it folded up because I’d like to keep it as a special thing between the two of us for now, but he’s just really special and I like to keep some of these things with me all the time.

So there you have it! Sorry that this is so long, I tend to ramble a lot. Aside from the obvious trash, I’m probably going to keep most of the stuff in this post, just maybe now in my book bag. If you have questions about anything you see feel free to ask, I’m a pretty open book and I like my followers to feel like they can get to know me. Now I guess I should stop procrastinating and start editing that paper...

Hayden

[cutiecrates]

Cutie Reviews: Kawaii Box July 19

Here we are guys, the Kawaii Box I’ll be reviewing tonight. I’ve had these pictures ready since Sunday but I blame my birthday and the delivery issues for the Lucky Treat as to why it took me almost a week...

Let’s hope the next one is quicker :D

Word of the month: Ryokou - Trip

“Create the best summer vacation ever with this month’s selection of kawaii goodies!“

Happy Day Pill Organizer & Kawaii Candy Wrapper Hairclips

For a summer holiday it can come in handy to have some little necessities with you, especially if they’re really cute ones. Both items are available in other designs/colors on Blippo.com.

First up is this little pill box, featuring a ball chain you can attach to a bag or purse, or even pants or belt loops for easy access to your vitamins or essential medication. I think you could even pack other tiny items, like a handy place to hold small jewelry, ear/nose plugs, contacts (maybe), little hair accessories, etc.

I’ve gotten a few other pill box containers, but they really do come in handy. Not only can I pack the above items, but I’ve also started taking vitamins these past two years, I also have an antibiotic I’m on right now, and I try to keep ibuprofen and stomach medicines on hand for me or others. Because I have a couple it also saves me room in my bed-side table.

So yeah, I’ve been making good use of them. 

-------

Hair care and accessories can also be a necessity, clips provide an easy and quick method of getting hair out of the face. They also look adorable~

These clips are made to resemble wrapped candies or sweets, with a clear resin or plastic on front decorated with various items and a painted back, along with a vibrant semi-translucent clip. The clip quality is nice with little spiked pieces to weave through the hair and securely hold it, and the charm itself isn’t loose or flimsy.

I love their original hair clips (except for those neon nightmare ribbons from a few months ago), and these are very sweet and fun. The candy theme and colorful mix of vibrant and pastels makes them perfect not only for summer, but any occasion!

Aiko Headphone Case

Next up is this adorable Aiko-chan case for... I assume earbuds? It says headphone but I don’t think they would fit in there. Anyway, it features a double-sided image and an attachable pink metal piece so that you can connect this to various items, or you could even loop something else through the strap if you wanted.

The inside is a basic black, with a half-mesh piece on one of the sides. It’s compact but you could definitely fit some decent things in here besides earbuds; like everything I listed above, a hand sanitizier, small makeup items, toothpicks or ear cleaners, mints, candy, a mini notepad or sticky note set, etc.

This is really cute, but I kinda wish the design was more... summery? Like using the one from the booklet cover, which is what they usually do.

Hello Kitty Mermaid Plushie

Now this is what I’m talking about- although... this would have been a better match for the previous months box, with the mermaid items don’t you agree?

This is from a brand or company called Nakajima, and is part of a Sanrio Characters line. It’s officially worth or costs 20 Sanrio points, and I’m pretty sure its based on the much larger Hello Kitty mermaid plushies. I’ve seen a handful of them though so this could just be another catfish in the sea ;3 She has a light pink piece of tulle on her head adorned by a glittery felt star, with the same tulle around the top of the chest, and her tail is light purple with a shimmery, glittery hot pink semi-translucent fin. By the corner of her eye are two stitched stars in matching colors.

The plush is soft in the paws, but the head is more firm, with the tail just slightly softer. She’s well made and she even has a ball chain, so I could attach her to things as well if I wanted and bring her with me~

Icy Pastel Popsicle Pen

As usual we got a fun pen, and these never fail to please when it comes to fun, cuteness, and theme matching. So this month we have a multicolored pastel popsicle-shaped piece attached to the nubbin’ of a pen lid. The pen itself is a plain, thin white tube and there is a fine tip; and as usual it’s available in a few other colors. I love popsicles too, so I made sure to add it to the other pens I enjoy using. 

There isn’t really much to say about the pen quality wise, other than the fact it needs a few minutes to dry. The pen can hold a line for a long time (as in, you don’t need to force flowage) and it can dot and write very easy and smooth.

Tiny Party Sparkly Stickers

As usual we also get adorable stickers, and this month we have a set of adorable, glittery, pastel items perfect for not only a fun party during summer or a get-together with friends, but also add a sweet touch to various items- like letters, notes, photo albums, picture frames, etc.

The stickers are “barely puffy“ to give them a 3D look, and what I think is adorable is on the upper corner, where it lists this:

Calories: ???

Enjoyment: 110%

Happiness: 100%

I really like all of the stickers but I think my most favorite are the candy containers, the unicorn cupcake or ice cream, and the jelly desserts.

Happy Nikukyu Polar Bear Gummies

We’ve gotten gummies like these before from Kawaii Box, and in a few other boxes, but usually they are cat or dog themed. To cool down from the warm summer weather, we’re invited to enjoy these chilling polar bear paw gummies, which as you can see are filled with a creamy gel. The bag is re-sealable and the entire bag is 102 calories- which I don’t really think is too bad. If you ate the whole bag it’d be a nice little snack.

I usually like these gummies, and they’ve never been filled before so this was a fun change. I also love soda flavors, and these are very yummy. The cooling effect lasts for a few minutes and is very soothing, it isn’t harsh or minty at all.

Korean DIY Kawaii Bracelet Set

Fun for a rainy day or just a bout of boredom or some time to yourself, we have this cute and colorful jewelry set. It consists of several colorful charms in various shapes and sizes, and it has a long bundled up stretchy string.

I pulled out the more “random charms“ to show you guys, and there was several that I only had one of, like that heart, the flower, the big, that big rose. I had multiple of the heels, but I thought they were so random and cute I couldn’t help but include them. I also noticed a lot of spare little bits of plastic I can’t do anything with, and there was one or two pieces with extra plastic I’ll need to remove before use.

However... I actually kind of like how they look in the little jar, I’m a bit hesitant about using them. I might just leave them as is. But I’ll probably use a couple pieces.

Korean DIY Kawaii Cupcake Set

I’ve done a couple of kits like this before, they’re a lot of fun and I love to see how different they are between each one. I do wish we could have a little more variety kit wise, but because they differ it’s not that bad. Plus there are color variations so you can have a lot of fun making these, then re-using them for re-ment or dolls, or just cutesy displays later.

So as you can see we have two frostings, along with 3 cupcake liners and 3 glasses, and four bottles of deco bits: Styrofoam balls, glittery green stars, fruits and random other canes, and various glittery bits.

Here are 3 I did, including 1 cupcake and 2 drinks. I’ve gone ahead and did another cupcake sometime after this pic, but I still have 2 pieces left over and a little bit of the “frosting“, which is a lot like glue in terms of consistency and feel. When you finish, it has a smooth and puffy texture, but it hardens over time and loses the squishiness.

I believe there would be enough to finish the last 2 pieces, but I’m unsure. The cupcake isn’t entirely frosting, I used spare bits to fill the bottom, a squirt of blue frosting, then filled it in white.

It’s very fun, but I will warn you, from the experience I’ve had with these types of things you definitely want tweezers to use. It will make the job loads easier and less-messy.

♥ Cutie Ranking ♥

Content - 5 out of 5: The items are well-made and really sweet, I like them all.

Theme - 2.5 out of 5: I felt like this could have been a lot better, I want to say at least half of the box was summery vacation themed

Total Rank: 8 out of 10 Cuties. I liked the items a lot, but I didn’t feel excited or super-thrilled with the box either. It was just good, not great or fantastic though, but you can’t please everyone and I still really liked it. The items are cute and colorful, and fun and practical. I can’t help but wonder what Augusts’ box will be like though, since both this one and the June one are both falling short on summer expectations. We’ll just have to wait to find out!

♥Cutie Scale ♥

1. Polar Bear Paw Gummies - These were delicious, I’d recommend them if you ever see them

2. Kawaii Hairclips - As I said above, I love the unique hair accessories we get from Blippo/Kawaii Box, I especially love these ones inspired by food items :3 I’ve worn them a couple of times and I really, really like them.

3. Popsicle Pen - It’s so cute, I just wish the pens tube wasn’t so plain. It’s a little boring, but I can understand the design choice.

4. Sparkly Stickers - I probably won’t use these because of how much I like them. Unless I just find the perfect place for them that is~

5. Pill Organizer - It’s very fun and I love the use of black as a pop of color to the soft pastels. It’s been easy to use and it came in handy freeing up space.

6. Hello Kitty Mermaid - It’s very cute and I’m obsessed with Hello Kitty, I don’t have a mermaid hello kitty, unless you count the large dress-up hello kitty doll I have, who was mermaid themed when I bought her.

7. DIY Bracelet Kit - Same as below, but I’m less-likely to actually touch it right now. I love looking at all the pieces~

8. DIY Cupcake Set - It’s very cute and fun, and relaxing too. But I’ve been there done that. 

9. Aiko Case - It’s very cute and small, I won’t be using them for earbuds or headphones but I know I can find a use for it in my bed-side table or purse. I still wish they used the design from the front though...

[rabbitindisguise]

Watercolors for Beginners (on a budget)

All these watercolor artists on YouTube have their favorite “expensive” brushes, meanwhile Jay Lee, who is an incredible artist, uses $4-5 dollar brushes. I’m not a fan of the cheapest ones still, like the $7 packs, because it’s hard for them to retain shape. The best brush for you- like writing software- is a brush you know well over a brush some artist in a fancy studio says Will Get Results. I think this is something that should have been obvious to me after learning photography equipment is more about skill than dollars once you get a DSLR or mirrorless, but enough about that. If you want to get into watercolor, here’s my advice a year in.

Materials

A standard round brush really is the most important brush- unless it isn’t. You can exclusively use flats, and it can add an interesting stylistic aspect to you work. But a round can do pretty much anything you ask from it. Generally, this brush is a size #8, #10, or a #12. If you splurge on anything at all, it should be your base brush, who will be with you for a very long time. Paint and paper are “consumables” so eventually they get used up, but a brush, even a ratty old one, is basically forever. Treat it well.

Some kind of large wash brush, like an oval brush, dagger brush, quill brush, or large flat brush. Or even thick, four inch wide, and slightly terrifying ones for wall sized large surfaces. Whichever one you pick, a large brush really does help give the smoothest washes and gradients for large areas.

Either a rigger brush, small round brush, small/medium flat brush, or even a fan brush. Riggers are good for detail and natural lines, fans for cool effects and lines, and flats for thick or thin lines. That said, these brushes do help certain styles. Riggers are excellent for naturalistic painters who like trees, and they’re also good for painting, well … rigging on ships. The fan is good for abstract, and the flat for geometric shapes specifically, but both of them have many more uses than just those. Rounds are the most multipurpose due to their influence on watercolor in the United States is, and a smaller size can be useful for detail work. All these different brushes fit into one category because they can do each other’s most important job, which is to make super thin lines.

Pans or tubes Don’t worry about cost because they’re about the same. Student grade is okay. I swear. If you’re not displaying your physical paper copies yet, relax. Lightfastness doesn’t exist on the internet. (Tip: learn Photoshop so that your watercolors will look good online, it will make a world of a difference.) If it helps to use the cheapest 7 pan set made by a crayon company so you actually paint, so be it. You’ll have to overcome your fear of using expensive materials eventually though, so student grade is a good medium between the two. Try and pick a brand that has both artist and student quality if you can afford it, so you can reuse pans if you pick that option.

Fluid, Canson, Arches, etc are some good name brands but explore your local art store or online options available cheaply (if you like goulash you can even use regular cardboard). Cold press is good for naturalistic subjects, absorbency, and texture. Hot press is smooth, less absorbent, and allows for re-wetting. Most people use coldpress, it has that classic watercolor look. There are also two main weights for paper, 140 lb which is often cheaper, and 300 lb which comes in higher qualities, often in large sheets. 140lb is best held down or in blocks, 300lb can be painted on its own, which is good for painting outdoors. You can also use the backside of both weights, 140 lb and 300 lb. Remember, this is LB as in pound. Some will say “300 series” or whatever. What’s really important is the weight, not the arbitrary classification by a company.

Fun stuff. Brushes that look weird. Metallic paints. Salt, water brush pens, saran wrap, natural sponges, and masking fluid. Water based ink. Complex mixing pallettes and jar systems to avoid having to get up mid-painting. Paint is supposed to be fun, or intellectually stimulating, or expressive, or whatever reasons you have for doing it in the first place. If making glorious paintings with three primaries in the woods using creek water in a cup sounds like a good time: ignore this next bit, and I respect you. If you’re trying to force yourself to do boring things because of online advice telling you to hammer the basics into your very soul before having fun, here’s the contradicting advice: have fun. It makes for better art, if nothing else.

TL;DR: moderately cheap paper is okay, to a point, which is the 140 lb minimum. Student grade paints are good for work you won’t display. You need three brushes, including a basic brush (#8 round is what I use), a detail brush (#4 rigger for me), and a wash brush (I have lots, even though I paint postcards, so definitely try to plan ahead for your standard paper size).

Extra information: having lots of brushes is really very fun- especially when you have some that you can mistreat. I don’t regret buying the other brushes at all. Go the cheap pack route if you haven’t figured out what “snappy” means, or shedding, or other qualities that makes good brushes good. Going cheap helps you appreciate the nuance of a better brush and gives you a good base, like downloading a basic texture pack for digital art, and something to scrub paint off pans with when they wear out.

I haven’t recommended any brands for a reason, which is there is a lot of brand loyalty among watercolor artists. Plus, I think you should do your own technical (lightfastness, qualities) and experiential (how does it Feel) judging. This is true of brushes, paper, and paint. If you’re totally lost on brushes, watch this video by witty gritty paper co, and this video by Liron, and this other video by Liron. For more research, there’s lots of science behind the quality of brushes, especially water uptake. ProArte is the only brand I know of using prolene synthetic material, which has better water uptake than standard synthetic, and you can find some packs online. I recommend the set with the rigger brush, because large wash brushes naturally hold a lot anyway. Oh, and synthetic is far cheaper than natural hair brushes. With paint and paper, sticking to name brands is a good guideline.

Again, one more time for emphasis. Take care of your brushes. Wet them a little while (Brush Experts™ recommend 30 minutes, I just do it at the same time I wet my pans) before you begin. Clean them thoroughly. Shape them to a point after use. Masking fluid can gunk up your brush, so be careful. Most importantly, don’t press too hard! Watercolor brushes are soft so that they can use the specific properties of water to carry pigment, and bending the bristles can disrupt that. Don’t drag them on the bottom of your water cups, don’t dig them down to the ferrules (the shiny metal or plastic bit) into your paper, and don’t scrape them along the paper unintentionally without enough water. Doing even a couple of these will drastically increase the lifespan of your brush.

Cost breakdown

About $15-20 on brushes, $35ish on paints, and as little as $7 on reasonably sized paper. It’s usually about .50¢ to $1 a sheet, and a pan set or set of tubes will last you a very, very long time. Many artists start using artist grade paints before they run out of student grade. This is about $62, which is a lot of money! So don’t be afraid of the absolute cheapest watercolors, but it’s important to fund your passions, too. You can absolutely start with one quality brush ($5 vs $20), tiny paper ($5), and decent student grade ($35) for $45 and still have everything you really need. Karia on YouTube should be coming out with more reviews, in addition to the ones already posted, on different cheaper materials that could help you save costs, too. Going to a store to avoid shipping helps on top of that, and gives you a chance to compare brush size vs your paper, and to see the different paint options next to each other.

A lot of this post was just me synthesizing information, so definitely check out the people below. These are free excellent watercolor tutorials, material reviews, advanced techniques, and more. I’m just starting in watercolor, but I remember being disappointed there wasn’t any guide on Tumblr on where to spend money and where you can save and still learn something. I hope this guide helps, in some way, to fill that gap, and it wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t had access to videos like these online.

Channel Recommendations

Jay Lee has fantastic tutorials at many levels of skill, mostly works with flowers and brighter colors. This channel is a good option for visual learners, and combines basic exercises with complex brushwork well. Also, this artist freehands, which means no outlining beforehand.

Liron Yanconsky doesn’t traditionally work in watercolor so there are fewer videos than than other content. Still, there are a lot of material and technical discussion, which was incredibly helpful when I was just starting. Liron mostly works with a natural pallette with landscapes. A special aspect of Liron’s paintings are the use of perspective. On top of that, there are multiple speedpaints to help with figuring out how light to dark works. This channel in particular is good for auditory learners, because he talks about everything from technique to mental blocks common to artists. Very interesting stuff, definitely subscribe.

Karia has a similar background to Liron, and the channel is much more low key. I especially like the cat visitors during the videos. The channel doesn’t really discuss much art wise, but still offers good content. Also, you can donate directly to Karia from the links in the description! Definitely consider it, based off all the hard to find comparison videos of paints.

TheWittyGrittyPaperCo is actually a company channel, run by Meredith, who is a self taught (through YouTube) watercolor artist. The channel has a fantastic overview of the basics, including materials, exercises, and other tips. A few specialized aspects are portraits and lettering. It’s also the kind of channel that talks about things that even google has a hard time answering- how much water, how to use new watercolor materials, legal things like reference photos, etc. I have used these videos the most I think, especially small tips buried in the longer videos, to improve my work. Like Jay Lee’s channel, there are tutorials for visual learners. I almost don’t need to subscribe because I revisit the videos so often.

Susan Harrison-Tustain is a watercolor artist from New Zealand who has some incredible instructional videos. Many of them discuss techniques that just aren’t that common on youtube. Susan even has her own brush series. Considering the information is usually found on DVDs, it’s worth at least one watch to learn terms and see specific effects.

Ekaterina Smirnova is another incredible artist. This channel includes tutorials, techniques, materials, and more. Many of these tutorials are freehand, and include both auditory information and visual information. There’s also videos in Russian. The channel updates regularly, but not often, so it would beneficial to subscribe if you like he videos.

That’s it! My inbox is open for anyone that needs help, there’s so much info I just couldn’t include because it was getting long enough already.

EDIT: I waaay over estimated the money for the paints. Cotman watercolors (a half decent beginner 12 color set) is only $13, making the basics cost only $23! I also forgot to mention a hand towel and ceramic plate to sacrifice to the pigments. The hand towel is for drying your brush to control water flow, and the plate is for mixing and diluting. Bought new, it would only be around $5 at most, but I'm assuming you might already have them.

[tripstations]

The 11 best laptop backpacks to travel with in 2019

School is back in full swing, which means that for anyone who doesn’t have kids or isn’t in college, it’s a great time to travel, too. Whether you’re after the best laptop backpack to carry around campus or a bag that’s a good fit for getting you through the work week and then through a weekend away, you’ll find it here. If you’re not traveling or a student, or a traveling student, and need to carry a backpack for work or a daily commute, there are options here for those, too.

I’ve spent countless hours walking city streets, commuting and traveling with these backpacks to see how they hold up and how useful their individual designs and features are. And if you don’t find the best laptop backpack for you in this list, hit the gallery at the end for more options. I will continue to test out new bags, so if you’ve got a favorite that belongs on this list, let me know in the comments. And note that CNET may get a share of revenue from the sale of some of the products in this guide.

Sarah Tew/CNET

The Icon backpack is a favorite for its understated style and huge carry capacity (and well-padded shoulder straps to carry it all comfortably). Incase updated the bag with a weather- and abrasion-resistant fabric called Woolenex. It feels somewhat like cotton, but it’s lightweight and has the high-tensile strength of ballistic nylon.

The bag is otherwise the same as the original. Four separate sections give you space for up to a 15.6-inch laptop and a tablet, plus one for flat files and another loaded with pockets for all your accessories. While water bottle/umbrella storage is absent on the outside, there is certainly room inside. 

One of my favorite features, besides the shoulder straps, are the zippered pockets at the base of each strap. The right side has a charging cable pass-through so you can keep a power bank in there to charge your cell phone while you’re wearing the stylish bag. 

Sarah Tew/CNET

As a commuter going between New York and New Jersey, my carry needs can change daily. There are also essentials that rarely change — keys, transit tickets, headphones, etc. — that I need fast access to as well as being able to get to my business laptop in the cramped confines of a train seat. The Scope is the best laptop backpack that nails these needs. 

The water-resistant backpack is broken into three main storage compartments: A small organizational section in front, a side-loading waterproof 15-inch laptop compartment in the back and a spacious storage space in between. But that center section can be expanded by releasing magnetic side compression straps and opening a zippered gusset on top. The extra space gives you enough room to carry a change of clothes and a pair of shoes or even a bike helmet. Don’t need the space? Zip up the gusset and fasten down the compression straps and you’re done. 

Dual stretch side pockets give you room to carry an umbrella and a water bottle, and Timbuk2 even put a bottle opener on the shoulder strap for when you’re extra thirsty. A front zippered compartment with an internal mesh pocket and key leash rounds things out.  

Sarah Tew/CNET

It doesn’t get much more simple than Ogio’s smallest Alpha Convoy bag. Lightweight, durable and made from water-resistant material, it has just a zipper pocket in front and one large compartment. There is a large laptop pocket inside as well as a single drop pocket and pen holder, but that’s it. However, if you do need more storage there are a couple MOLLE straps on front to attach things to or consider stepping up to the Convoy 320, which gives you a lot more organization inside and out.  

Sarah Tew/CNET

Can’t decide between a shoulder bag and backpack? Hybrids like the Duane solve this with a design that works as both. Detachable backpack straps stash in a pocket on back when you want to attach its removable shoulder strap. There’s enough room for books, your lunch and whatever else you need to get through the day including up to a 15.6-inch laptop. Plus, despite a price as low as $20, it carries Solo NY’s five-year warranty.  

Sarah Tew/CNET

No matter how nice-looking a backpack is, it can still make you look like a 12-year-old at the office. With a clean design and a combination of 1050 denier ballistic nylon and leather accents, the Pro Executive is a stylish laptop case and office-friendly adult backpack. 

Four external pockets keep your everyday essentials organized while two large main compartments give you room for everything from a change of clothes to a 15-inch laptop (though a newer slim 17-inch laptop will fit). The golden interior works like a light to help you find what you’re looking for fast. And like Waterfield’s Air Porter shoulder bag, the nylon and leather Pro Exec stays upright when you put it down. 

The stylish laptop backpack can be paired with Waterfield’s Executive Folio, which is like a slim briefcase to take you from meeting to meeting. Or consider the company’s Bolt backpack instead, which is a slimmer, streamlined pack that’s better for a daily commute.  

Solgaard

Hate it when your phone runs low on power? The $165 Lifepack Solar 2.0 has a removable front panel that houses a 10,000mAh power bank good for up to five phone charges. A cable routed through the bag runs from the battery to a USB port in an external zippered side pocket, so your phone is still handy even while you charge. 

You can choose between a 10,000mAh power bank that comes with or without a built-in Bluetooth speaker. Each has a small solar panel that slowly tops off its charge when not in use or can charge your phone in about four hours. The solar charging is far from the only feature, though. 

Though much of the bag’s design remains the same as the original one launched on Kickstarter in 2016, the solar batteries and bag components have all been improved. There are two main storage compartments: One for your tech, which includes a suspended padded sleeve to protect it from drops, and other bulky items and a slightly smaller organizational section at the front. 

There are hidden pockets on the fronts of the shoulder straps as well as in the bottom of the back padding. The straps are comfortable, too, although there’s no sternum strap to help with weight. To keep your stuff safe — whether it’s on or off your back — this anti-theft backpack has an upgraded integrated retractable cable combination lock. 

And one last detail about this bag and Solgaard: The interior lining is made from recycled plastic bottles, and with every bag purchased the company helps remove 5 pounds of plastic from oceans. 

Sarah Tew/CNET

If you like clean, streamlined designs and bags that can shrink or grow depending on your needs on any given day, you’ll appreciate the Everyday Backpack. Peak Design got its start making camera accessories, which shows in the bags design and features like its origami-inspired removable dividers, but the stylish backpack is great even if you’re not a photographer. 

Large zippered side panels give you easy access to everything inside regardless of where it is in the bag. Each side panel has separate zippered storage areas for accessories and a slim padded laptop compartment is accessible through a zipper at the top. It will snugly hold up to a 15-inch MacBook Pro. 

All the zippers are weather-sealed and the fabric is water-repellent, and a magnetic latch system lets you expand or shrink the top of the bag, so you can fill it to the top and still secure everything inside. External side pockets and hidden straps give you more storage on the outside. 

All of those features and the quality construction will cost you, though: The smaller 20L-size bag I tested costs $260, while a larger 30L version is $290.

Sarah Tew/CNET

Part suitcase, part daypack, the Setout Laptop Backpack holds all the tech you travel with plus a day or two of clothes. This travel backpack fits under most airplane seats, so if you like to take advantage of cheap basic economy flights where you don’t get overhead space for your carry-on luggage, this is a solid pick. 

It’s a lightweight, but durable bag, too. Once you get where you’re going, you can unpack your clothes and easily use it as a daypack. The shoulder straps are comfortable enough for all-day use and if you’d rather carry it like a suitcase, the straps unclip from the bottom of the bag and tuck behind the padding on back (the clips are a pain to use though, especially one-handed). Thick padded laptop backpack handles on top and the side make it comfortable to carry. 

Plenty of pockets and dividers in the front and rear compartments help keep your cables and accessories organized and in reach. It’s a lot of bag for $125. 

Sarah Tew/CNET

Deceivingly large when it comes to storage, the Weekender’s top front compartment has a bunch of organizational pockets while a bottom front compartment holds an included 3-1-1 pouch to make getting through security easier. The durable bag opens wide, splitting in half, with the front section made to hold your clothes and the back section for your laptop. Packed correctly, you can open it and leave your laptop in the bag when put through a scanner. 

Hidden in the lower back, underneath the lumbar padding, is a crush-proof garage for accessories or an AC adapter. And although it’s designed as a backpack, the shoulder straps can be stashed in a pocket under the back panel padding so you can carry it like a suitcase.

Priced at $150, the Weekender can regularly be found for less direct from eBags or on Amazon. 

Sarah Tew/CNET

Mobile Edge makes gaming backpacks for Alienware and Razer, but the $130 Core bag is all its own. It can hold up to 17.3-inch laptops (though superthick ones are snug) and it’s TSA checkpoint-friendly, so you don’t have to unload your system into a bin. Extra padding on the straps and back keep things as comfortable as possible. 

There are places to fit all your cables, headphones and a keyboard. There’s a dedicated pocket for a large battery pack, too, with a quick-charge USB 3.0 cable that runs to the outside of the bag to charge a phone or tablet without cracking the bag open.

Pockets on the sides let you stash anything from a mouse and cables to a water bottle and umbrella. The bag is also available in two styles: One with a molded front and another with a Velcro panel to display your team badges or other patches. And, they’re both covered with a lifetime warranty. 

Sarah Tew/CNET

Can’t decide what your storage and travel needs are? Here’s your bag. Made to order in Portland, Oregon from tear- and abrasion-resistant Cordura with weatherproof zippers, the bag can be everything from a slim laptop backpack to a 28-liter carry-on. 

Velcro rails inside the bag let you customize the internal storage with removable organizer pockets. North St. also makes packing cubes to fit the bag and compression straps inside and out keep everything as slim and secure as possible. 

Plus, while the backpack has a suspended 15-inch laptop sleeve built in, you can also get the company’s Meeting Bag — a simple briefcase that converts into a backpack — which can be attached to the front of the backpack. 

Quality and customization isn’t cheap, though. The Backpack is $290 and it’s another $100 for the Meeting Bag.

The post The 11 best laptop backpacks to travel with in 2019 appeared first on Tripstations.

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[morrisbrokaw]

The Truth About What’s in My Bag

I love those cutesy magazine articles, ‘What’s in Her Bag?!” Each person the magazine interviews always seem to carry cute trinkets and expensive beauty products that are completely unreasonable. Elsa Hosk, Swedish Victoria’s Secret model, carries $36 Shiseido lip sheen, a $100 de-puffing eye mask, and a bottle of $96 Bergdorf Goodman “Sleep Food” pills in her bag. Yes! Completely practical! While reading through these, it’s easy to fall under the allure that all women have their lives figured out. And, in the interim, I’m left feeling a little lost, unorganized, and poor (Writer’s Note: for tough audiences, I understand these articles may be fabricated and it’s not totally crazy that some people carry $30 lipgloss in their purse, simply trying to make a cute point).

Firstly, I carry a beat up and soft Duluth Pack the size of my head and it’s heavy. I think it weighs fifteen pounds on a good day. Second of all, everything in my purse is random, repetitive, and excruciatingly…dirty? I honestly have no idea where all the dirt came from. It is heinous. If I have to dig to the basement of my purse, my fingernails look like I scaled a mountain.

Which brings me to my point! On the outside, I think I look put together. At least how I like to imagine myself appearing put together: wearing pants that are clean, paying my rent on time, feeding my cat before he decides to suffocate me during a studious Netflix binge, and working on not over-nurturing my succulents. I have a good job. I do my very best to take care of my friends and family, and I’m learning how to budget, save money, and workout on a regular basis.

But that’s just the thing. We’re all lying to each other. On the outside, we can look put together, but it’s what’s within our insides that makes us who we are. Thus why I thought it would be appropriate to share with you the inner workings of my purse. It’s not fair to say I have it together. Because I don’t. And the proof is in the purse lining.

What’s in my bag:

An old coach wallet. Its insides hold just about every credit card + punch card I’ve ever owned, business cards from random networking events where I blind myself from my anxiety with bad Pinot Grigio, three MetroCards, a Fauntleroy – Vashon Washington State Ferry ticket, a hopeful ‘Buy One Get One Free Quarter Pounder’ receipt I kept after a sad trip to McDonald’s, and a half-eaten caramel.

Yes, the half-eaten caramel was re-wrapped and put back into my wallet.

Sour Heart, a glorious book (and the current one I’m reading) by Jenny Zhang. I’m super glad it’s currently in my bag because I should plug it anyway.

Giant purple Minnesota Super Bowl LII mittens that I never wear when I need to sweep the snow off my car. Instead, they smell faintly of stale coffee because I split an entire mug on my computer keyboard and wiped it up with them.

A can opener keychain with a mysterious beer logo on both sides.

A bottle of SPF 30 Ultra Sheer sunscreen that I’ve been putting on my hands in replacement of lotion for months now and the expiration date was sometime in 2016.

Two bottles of essential oils, one for Mental Clarity and one for Stress Recovery. Their directions: “Rub 1-2 drops on palms, cup over nose and inhale deeply 5 times. Sweep remaining oil over clothing or hair” (I find this charming).

A rock from the west coast that is slightly shaped like a heart, more so shaped like a rock from the west coast.

A screw and 18 bobby pins.

Brainspin, a game my fiance and I picked up during our road trip down the west coast. We had purchased it for $5 at Powell Books in Portland and played it in a jet lag haze during dinner. This card game has been in my purse since last May.

A birthday card still in its plastic wrapping for my mother. Her birthday was in November. Mom, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry.

Two gift cards to Joe & Stan’s for $20. Joe & Stan’s is a dive bar my friends and I frequent regularly every Tuesday. We play trivia with against four other teams (on a good night) and the $20 gift card is the second place prize.

A Minnesota Craft Notes guidebook with one stamp within: Flat Earth Brewing (one of our favorites).

A Wings Financial Credit Union letter with my pin number and, on the back, detailed instructions by my fiance about how to make a balance transfer. It’s one thing I’m embarrassed to admit, but I deal very badly with money. And dammit this is bad for the patriarchy but I’m happy I am engaged to a finance guy, okay!!?

One…mitten. Not including the pair before.

A taco bell receipt that is longer than your average CVS receipt. No comment on what is within.

A hot pink doorknob (I wish I were kidding).

A set of NYPD playing cards.

Some Hot Hands hand warmers from when I worked the Super Bowl in February.

A tube of expired toothpaste.

A silicone beauty applicator.

Pennies, so many pennies. I have access to so much change. It’s all dirty. Why are all of these pennies so ridiculously disgusting??

A hair clip.

THREE MORE BOTTLE OPENERS. I really need to start considering if I have that high of a need for opening liquor in urgent circumstances.

TEN LIPSTICKS.

TEN PENS.

We can learn a lot about each other if we just take a minute to remember we all have a purse and a linen closet and a heart where nothing makes sense. We are all a little messy, unsure, and trying to get by with the simple movements of the day. Most importantly, no matter the show we’re flaunting on the outside, we all have a few dirty pennies, half-eaten caramels, and a hot pink doorknob hiding somewhere.

Brittany Chaffee is an avid storyteller, professional empath, and author. On the daily, she gets paid to strategize and create content for brands. Off work hours, it’s all about a well-lit place, warm bread, and good company. She lives in St.Paul with her 80-year-old cat, Butch. Read more about her latest book, Borderline, and go hug your mother.

    The post The Truth About What’s in My Bag appeared first on Wit & Delight.

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