#ex​cuse me if I got their dynamic wrong

[crazy4reallll]

Yue Qingyuan: Hello Ming Fan, could you tell me where your shizun is? ☺️

Ming Fan: shizun told me to tell you to eat shit and die.

Binghe: *handing rocks to nyy* are you sure this will make shizun like me?

Ning Yingying: *pelting liu qingge with rocks* I’m sure.

[absentlyabbie]

 The Narrative Mechanics of Kissing

booklovers au

@storiesofimagination​ prompted me for this au and “first kiss” and got, well, 10 pages of... this. enjoy :)

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Tommy hunched over the keyboard, brow furrowed and fingers flying, deep in the zone as he drafted the next scene of his current manuscript. Perhaps it was the creative influx of innovating a new corner of the genre, but he felt like a live wire, harnessed, all intensity and electric force funneled to a purpose.

He was focus distilled, passion refined, a towering inferno of zeal and concentration—

Behind him, stifled laughter exploded inelegantly against a suppressing palm, and Tommy blinked hard, sitting up with a sharp and startled breath.

Snapped abruptly out of the escalator of flowery synonyms that had  been running in the back of his head, Tommy looked at the screen and frowned hard. 

“Wha…? That can’t be right,” he muttered, incredulous at the three slim paragraphs gracing an otherwise blank page. He would have sworn he’d written thousands, pages of words.

Another muffled laugh ended with a snort, and Tommy rolled his eyes heavenward and swiveled his chair to direct his frown at the blonde lying on his couch. Felicity had her bare feet propped against the armrest, hair spread golden and curling across the cushion. Pink lips pressed in a bitten grin, cheeks red as she swallowed another giggle, eyes focused on the several stapled pages she held over her head.

“Okay,” he drawled dryly, “I know I’m a master of wit and all, but I know for a fact nothing that funny happens in that chapter.”

Felicity jolted like she’d forgotten about him, to his stifled annoyance, and she lifted herself on one elbow and lay the pages on her stomach. “Um.” She snuck a finger under her glasses to wipe dampness from her lashes. “Not intentionally funny, no.”

His head pulled back, brows jumping high in affront. “Excuse me?”

“Oh,” Felicity winced, but there was still a smile in it. “Do you want me to lie and massage your ego?”

Tommy’s mouth worked and cheeks burned, speechless for a moment with equal parts embarrassment and wounded pride. He swallowed it manfully and cleared his throat. “Of course not. You are here as an editor, and I am a fully grown man.” He made a wheeling motion with his hand. “Spit it out. What’s so funny?”

She pushed herself up and swung her legs around to fold them on the cushions, propping her elbows on her knees and leaning forward. She lifted the pages in front of her and cleared her throat before dramatically reading out, “‘Annie melted against the hard planes of the vigilante’s leather-clad body as his lips crushed against hers. Her skin was electric under his touch, the commanding press of his mouth intoxicating. Her lips parted on a gasp, and his tongue swept into her mouth, battling her own for domination.’” She looked up at him over her glasses, one eyebrow sharply arched. “Do you need me to go on?”

Arms folding defensively, Tommy leaned back in his chair, one leg sticking out long. “What’s wrong with it? That scene is barely even starting.”

Felicity scoffed, eyes rolling and lips curved sardonically. “Oh trust me, I know, it gets worse from here.”

His shoulders hunched and he would be lying if he said that didn’t sting, a little. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

She sighed longsufferingly, her posture deflating and back collapsing into the couch. “It’s so…” her hand wheeled in the air, nose wrinkling as she chose her word. “Cheesy .”

Tommy’s jaw set, irritation and surprise tightening his shoulders and the fists tucked under his elbows. “You’re aware that this is romance. I know that’s not your preferred genre for personal reading, but cheesy is kind of part of the landscape. I’ve put up with plenty of condescending criticism about the lack of literary merits to my chosen field, but I have to say I didn’t expect it from you.”

Felicity’s brows raised, the look she gave him cool. “Are you done? Because that is not what I meant. This isn’t romance-genre-hallmark cheesy, it’s just… not good kissing.”

His reflexive genre-defensiveness dropped at that astounding pronouncement and he leaned forward, hands gripping his armrests, face incredulous. “What? What’s wrong with it! You usually like my kissing, you have specifically noted how hot my sexy scenes are.”

Felicity sat up again primly. “And most of the time they are, especially when you’re not falling back on outdated phrasing and boring gender tropes from the eighties and nineties.”

“Outdated…?” Tommy repeated, affronted. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose, pushing down his temper. “Okay. Break it down for me. Tell me exactly what’s so wrong about it.”

“Gladly,” Felicity chirped, raising the pages again. “I mean, firstly, the whole thing where all of a sudden Cris is super dominating and aggressive, it kinda really threw me. Especially since Annie is just, like, totally into it? Makes no sense for who you’ve been establishing them to be. It’s just totally cut-and-paste lead-couple dynamics. I’m not trying to say you phoned this one in, but I know damn well you can do better by them.”

Tommy worked his jaw back and forth, trying to mull over her points and not just be annoyed at them. “So… you think their attitudes should be different.”

“Yes ,” Felicity enthused, eyes alight. “Cris has all this trauma and these hangups about his self worth and, like, smoldering-but-wounded intensity, right? So why is he this hypermasculine dominator all of a sudden? And how is that a thing that gets Annie off? Everything you’ve done with her so far, even with you being all deliberately obscure about her personal history, I would have expected her to instantly and firmly rebuff this kind of aggression, not…” her nose wrinkled again, “melt .”

Tommy propped his chin on his interlaced fingers, squinting thoughtfully over her argument. He exhaled heavily, nodding. “Okay, I get where you’re coming from. I guess I was just trying to give the reader what I thought would excite them in a sexy-superhero-romance first kiss, and I sidelined the actual characters in that. So… I guess Cris would be less looming and more…”

He bit at his bottom lip, groping blindly in his head for the word he wanted.

“Sensual?” Felicity offered.

“Sensual,” Tommy agreed. “And maybe even kind of tentative. Not sure if she was feeling what he was feeling.”

“Right.” Felicity nodded excitedly. “Absolutely. Especially since she doesn’t even know who he is under the hood yet, and honestly I wasn’t gonna bring it up now, but it seems way too early for the first kiss to me, like the dynamic should grow more and be more push-pull for a bit?” She lifted her hands and shook her head, cutting off her runaway train of thought. “But that’s a different, plot-and-pacing conversation, and we are discussing the narrative mechanics of kissing.”

Tommy watched her flip through the pages, mentally shelving his questions about her issues with the pacing to focus on one thing at a time. “Speaking of, you said it was bad kissing. The gender dynamics and out of character stuff I get, but how is the actual kissing bad?”

The face Felicity pulled was almost pitying. “When was the last time you enjoyed someone trying to ‘battle’ your tongue for dominance?” She even made air quotes.

Tommy opened his mouth, tilted his head. Directed his eyes towards the ceiling and memory.

“Exactly,” Felicity supplied smugly. “Bad kissing. I mean, literally think about it. Are they surrendering to physical chemistry and an unspoken connection, or are they fighting over possession of a peppermint?”

Tommy grimaced. “Point taken.” Then, skeptically, “Is that all, though?”

The scrunch of her mouth was almost apologetic.

Tommy flopped back in his chair, head rolling as he released a groan. “What else?”

“Their staging is kinda weird?”

He lifted his head and squinted at her. “Staging?”

“You know, the positions they’re in.” She shifted her torso to one side, hands raised in some configuration she seemed to think was a demonstration. “Like, how they’re standing, the ways they’re touching.”

Tommy squinted more squintily, this time at the wall to his left. He tried to reconstruct the scene in question in his head. “But what’s wrong with it? It’s a classic up-against-a-wall scenario. It’s sexy and intense and it has been turning people on in books and movies and TV for...” he gestured vaguely at the air, “ever.”

“Eh,” Felicity shrugged one shoulder, instantly dismissing a staple of steamy kisses everywhere. “They’re in a chilly alley in the middle of the night, and earlier in the chapter you said it rained. And I mean, maybe a nice, plaster-and-paint indoors wall isn’t so bad, but bricks or cement or whatever? Ew, and also ow.”

“Fair,” Tommy conceded. He wheeled his hand at her. “I know you’ve got more, so hit me.”

The lip-tucked smile she shot him was attempting apology and utterly failing. “The standing thing. Like. Cris is what? Six feet tall? And how tall is Annie?”

“Like five-foot-five.”

Felicity stared at the carpet and poked the tip of her tongue out, thinking. “So roughly my height.” Her gaze pulled to the side, the purse of her lips following it. “That’s a really awkward height difference for that position, right? My neck hurts imagining it.”

Tommy frowned, humming. “I don’t know, I think it would work fine.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Is he bending at the knees or something? Is she standing on a box?”

“Okay, I think we’re getting too bogged down in the practical details nobody is reading this for.” He sighed at her arched brows. “Except you.”

“It can’t only be me,” she drawled, unconvinced. “Stuff like that totally takes me out of the story because I do end up bogged down in practical details that aren’t working. I’m trying to imagine the scene, I want to picture it in my head. Like, I should be caught up in envisioning the sexiness, right? Except I’m trying to block it on my mental stage, and all I can picture is his neck at a ninety degree angle and her head tilted straight back like a baby bird receiving a worm.”

“Gross,” Tommy belted, laughing. “Ah, god, you ruined it for me. We have to change it.”

“Well,” she offered, trying to compromise, “she could be wearing very tall heels?”

Tommy narrowed his eyes, another hum dragging out in his throat. “This feels like a trap. She was just running before this and I feel like you’ll give me hell if I make her do that in giant-ass stilettos.”

She gave him a corny wink and finger guns, at which he scoffed a laugh. “That’s an excellent point, and you thought of it all on your own.”

“I wrote before you, you know,” he warned playfully. “Whole novels. Many, many novels.”

She sighed theatrically. “It’s truly a wonder how you managed that before being graced with my genius.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and teased, “Ugh, shut up. Back on topic, genius.”

She rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. “Yes, the weird kissing pose. Stand up.”

“Why?” He dragged the word out suspiciously.

She stood herself, wiggling her hands at him in a “get up” motion. “Because I’m definitely right, but we should still be sure. You’re how tall?”

He slouched deeper into his chair, but reluctantly admitted, “Five-ten.”

She rolled her eyes at his petulance and waved a hand dismissively. “Close enough. Up.”

He heaved an aggrieved sigh and sat up, which was apparently signal enough for Felicity to take hold of his wrists and drag at his arms as if she could haul all 170 pounds of him out of the chair on her own. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

She grinned cheekily as he stood. “Save it for the manuscript.”

“Har,” he deadpanned, lips twitching with the smile he refused to give in to. “Har har.”

“I’ll be here all night,” she shot back in a hokey comedian style.

Tommy snapped his mouth closed at the terrible, terrible sex pun that leapt immediately to mind, keeping it on the inside of his head by sheer willpower as she turned to look at the wall.

She held her hands up as if framing a picture, then turned and put her back against it. “Okay, come here.”

“This is getting a little weird,” he muttered, but did as he was bid.

Frowning like she was trying to solve a puzzle, Felicity took his hands and put them on her waist, then looked down at the inches of carpet between their toes. “Okay, you’re gonna have to step closer.”

He sighed. Shuffled his feet until they were awkwardly close. Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she tipped her head this way and that, looking at the angles of her elbows, measuring the tilt of her chin with her hand.

“Okay, bring your head down.” She frowned up at him, but her eyes were on his neck and not at all on his face.

“This is the least sexy kiss positioning I have ever, and I mean ever, been involved in,” he complained.

“Poor baby,” she crooned mockingly, curling her hand around the back of his neck and applying pressure until he lowered his head.

He stopped when he was close enough he could have brushed noses with her if he were being careless. Her eyes were distractingly close, but still not looking at his face. “My eyes are up here.”

“Huh?” She finally met his gaze, and her mouth—wow, so close—twitched with amusement. “So sorry to make you feel objectified.”

“I do,” he insisted teasingly. “Like a literal object. You want me to have a dressmaker’s dummy delivered for you? Might be even more useful.”

“Certainly less sassy,” she laughed, and adjusted his grip on her waist.

“Sassy,” he drawled. “Yes, the adjective that has dogged me all my life.”

Felicity just shook her head, tucking away the left corner of her grin and making a dimple stand out on the right. She looked down at their feet and examined every angle of their position, ending with tipping her head back as she kept her hand on the back of his.

His breath caught as the tip of her nose bumped against his, only briefly. Butterflies erupted stupidly in his stomach.

“See, this is fine,” she murmured, making him blink. “But it’s only five inches.”

Tommy choked, jerking his head to the side and bracing one hand on the wall. Laughter strangled in his throat, sending heat into his cheeks. “Only five inches,” he wheezed.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, humor tingeing it as she let her head fall back with a thump against the wall. “You are—you are the worst, you know what I meant!”

He snickered, straightening a little and smiling down at the flush in her cheeks. “Good to know this is the optimum height difference,” he enunciated with a wink, “for up-against-a-wall kissing.”

She shrugged with her mouth, humming uncertainly. “I’m still not convinced it’s comfortable enough to not be distracting from the sexy.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to smirk at her. “It’s been plenty comfortable in my experience.”

“In your—” she narrowed her eyes. “So you’ve done this?”

He chuckled, shrugging one shoulder. “Not especially recently, but enough for a decent sample size, and with people of varying heights.”

She huffed, instantly slumping against the wall. “Why didn’t you just say that instead of going through this whole exercise with me?”

“Well,” he answered, light and airy, “I’ve never been the one against the wall. You still might be onto something. I mean, I’ve never had any complaints, but…”

His grin was half leer, and she made an exaggerated face at him. “Maybe because it’s just five inches,” she replied tartly.

“Oh,” he laughed, raising his head. “Oh, really.”

For a second, the response poised on his tongue was an offer to call Oliver for a demonstration, since he was who Tommy had physically modeled his archer vigilante on. But then the image of it, of Felicity against the wall and Oliver crowded up against her, head bent over her and hers tilted up, soured the words in his mouth. He swallowed them.

With a little cough, he straightened and pulled his hand, forgotten and warmed from the heat of her, from her waist. “So I think the results of this experiment are ambiguous enough to go ahead with nixing the wall kiss.”

Felicity blinked at him as he stepped back, hands rubbing against his jeans pockets. She pushed herself off the wall and quickly past him, back to the couch and the abandoned and much maligned pages. “Right. Yes. So something else there, I think.”

She sat down, focused back on the words he had written, flipping from one page to another. “Okay, but come here. Look at this.”

Breathing in deeply, Tommy sat on the couch beside her, leaning to see the print. “What am I looking at?”

“I mean, you did it before too on the part I read out loud, when the kiss starts, but it happens again here. The whole ‘crushing’ or ‘bruising’ kiss thing. It just doesn’t sound sexy. It sounds ow.”

“Hmm.” His eyes traced the lines til he found the words she had mentioned, and now that he read them over again, he had to admit they weren’t especially stirring. “It was supposed to be kind of a heat of the moment kiss, so it seemed like, I don’t know, the right level of intensity?”

She clicked her tongue. “I could see that for a hard, quick ‘oh my god we almost died’ kind of kiss, but it just goes on like that. And that does not read as hot to me.”

He tapped his fingers against his lips in contemplation, brow furrowed. “Sensual,” he murmured, recalling their earlier discussion about Cris’s character. “So, instead kind of a slow, steamy sort of kiss.”

Felicity hummed, but it was a very different hum from the ones before it. “You are definitely good at those,” she said under her breath. Abruptly, her head came up and she turned a defensive look on him. “Writing. At writing those.”

He exhaled a short laugh, tongue curling over his teeth in a helpless grin. “Trust me, I’m good at both.”

She cleared her throat and looked at him over her glasses. “Well, you could stand to prove it here.” She tapped a finger against the paper.

“Well, I intend to,” he responded archly. “So break it down with me. They’ve just run for their lives and swung into this alley, kind of hiding but also finally pretty sure they’re at a safe distance. She backs up against the wall, he stands close in front of her to, like, human shield or whatever—”

“Didn’t we just say no up-against-the-wall?” Felicity interrupted.

Tommy pursed his lips. “Roll with me here.” He waited til she waved her hand in a magnanimous go on gesture. “So they’re up against the wall, breathing hard, and really close. They stop looking over their shoulders and then look at each other.” He waggled his eyebrows just to make her roll her eyes and do that smile-hiding thing. “The chemistry sky rockets. Heat, sparks, bolts of lightning and tingles in their bits, etceteras, etceteras.”

She smothered a laugh with her hand.

“But,” he bit the t off sharply, “instead of a bruisy-ouch battle of the faces, he leans in, drawn in, like a magnet.” 

He leaned in closer, to illustrate. Lifting a hand, he let the fingertips hover just by Felicity’s cheek, not touching, just building the suspense. “They’re close enough to feel each other’s breath on their faces, hot, hurried. The surrender is slow, torturous.”

He bent over Felicity, her breath warm on his chin, her eyes fixed—finally—on his. “This way, the first, slightest brush of their lips is so built up it is itself almost orgasmic. An ecstatic explosion when the brush becomes a press, hot and wet and soft as a promise.”

His voice had lowered to a near-whisper, his chest on fire with the thrill of the tease, the unexpected delight of crafting each word and watching them hit his audience in real time, watching her cheeks flush and eyes darken, hearing her breath catch.

They were closer now even than they had been against the wall, his body curved over her, hand hovering by her face, strands of her hair tickling his knuckles. For a second—too many seconds, both more and less than he could count—the words evaporated from his mouth like water under a scorching sun, and they just held like that, no sound replacing his voice in the absence of the room except the push and pull of their breathing.

His gaze dropped to her lips, parted and temptingly cherry-pink.

The desire to close the gap was followed by a mental bucket of water and he stiffened.

This was Felicity. His beta reader and copy editor. His friend, even. She was here as part of her job, not to be coaxed into—into—into whatever in the hell he thought he was doing here.

He swallowed hard and willed his eyes to move from her mouth. “Um.” His voice had dropped into a gravel pit, ragged on his breath. “So how does that s—”

Felicity’s hands snatched at his t-shirt collar and she surged forward, and it was, ironically, a crash as her mouth met his.

But only for a second.

Her lips softened against his immediately and his self-restraint snapped like thread, his own mouth an eager press in return.

She sighed. Her lips parted under his, inviting.

He couldn’t have written it better.

And then she was gone.

She pulled away so abruptly Tommy was left gasping, blinking stupidly with his hands raised and empty.

She scooted backwards like her ass was on wheels, eyes wide and face flushed. They stared at each other, him stunned and confused, her looking almost… guilty as she tucked her lips between her teeth.

“Sorry,” she said finally. “Um. That was just because you are a very good writer and and, um, whew, very , way too good, uh, with words and…” she trailed off, looking away and fanning herself with one hand. “It’s not nice to tease a girl who has only gotten to enjoy,” her hand waved back and forth between them now, “ that vicariously through that very, very good writing for a really, stupidly long time. So. Uh.”

Tommy dropped his hands in his lap, still speechless.

Cringing, Felicity tucked her chin and looked up at him like she was bracing for a blow. “Am I like, super extra fired?”

Sitting up slowly, Tommy swallowed thickly and groped around for his voice. “You don’t actually work for me, you know.”

“Well, okay, technically we kind of both work for the publisher, which I guess makes us more like colleagues, but of the two of us, one of us is very valuable and the other is a highly disposable word-weed-whacker and I am pretty sure your editor would not hesitate to feed me to actual live snakes if the alternative was losing your contract, so…” Felicity frowned at her hands, seeming to suddenly realize that she had been embroidering her nervous run-on in obscure, twisting gestures.

She tucked her hands between her knees and took a fortifying breath before meeting his gaze directly. “I would like to repeat that I am very sorry.”

Tommy blew out an explosive exhale, running a hand over his hair and down his neck, his skin feeling both too hot and too cold. “I have to say this is a first for me. I don’t think anybody has ever kissed me before and then apologized for it like it was a murder.”

Felicity’s nose crinkled. “Do murderers apologize…? Right, totally not the point.”

“Okay, so, first of all,” Tommy started, desperately trying to rally. “You are very not fired. You still don’t work for me and one very nice if very unexpected kiss is absolutely not worth the fines I would have to pay for ending my contract. Which I don’t want to, before you go running away with that one.” He summoned a smile, only slightly stiff around the edges and hung just a little awkwardly. “And you’re still the absolute best sounding board and shit-caller I’ve met in my entire writing career, so please don’t leave me.”

“Really?” Felicity asked, tentative and almost hopeful.

Tommy drove a brutal spike through his ridiculously fluttering heart and softened his smile. “Really. I’m just gonna think of it as really excellent sketch work for a problem scene. Sometimes ‘write what you know’ is bullshit, but sometimes it’s good to get a little practical foundation.”

“Okay.” Felicity released a little nervous laugh. Or maybe it was relieved. “Sketch work. We’ll go with that, then. Considering the alternative is a sexual harassment lawsuit and I don’t actually look that good in orange.”

“I don’t believe that,” Tommy countered, a finger raised, “and I’m pretty sure sexual harassment lawsuits don’t end in federal prison sentences anyway.”

“Well that’s a relief,” she joked. “So, since we solved the problem with, um, the mechanics, should we move on to arguing about pacing, or should we call it a night here?”

He glanced at his watch, more to give him another beat to recover than for any concern about the time. “It’s pretty early yet, so if you’re up for another round of callously deflating my ego, I am prepared to hold back my tears and soldier on.”

“If you’re sure.” Felicity picked up the pages that had at some point dropped to the floor and smiled shyly at him.

It was devastatingly endearing.

With a flourish, he twisted at the waist to snatch a box of Kleenex from the end table and placed it precisely in his lap. “I’m sure. Hit me.”

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and a grateful shoutout to @andyouweremine and @relevanttosomeone! for reasons ;)

[ununniliad]

Burst Beetle Tweseveny #7: “2007: The Translation of Desire and the Satisfaction of the Fire!”

 Content warning: Unreality, second-person narration.

<<<*>>>

     Tweseveny reaches out to one of the narrative threads, the one that

     tastes like Time-Waster Lad, and starts reading...

"...so yeah," says Mother Time. "We usually freeze time in some restaurant and steal the plates right off of people's tables. Man do they kick up a fuss! But by then we're gone."

Time-Waster Lad smiles and nods, pulling a pan out of the oven and setting it on the rack. He's dabbled in cooking before, usually making some monstrosity out of whatever could be pulled out of the back of the freezer, tossed together and heated until done. But this time, he's keeping it simple - flatbread, barbecue sauce, cheese, pizza. No matter how strong the itch to dive deep into the cupboards and try all the spices one at a time is. "I've never tried that. I guess I should some time, mwahaha." His 'net.villain' persona isn't very good, but that doesn't really seem to matter - Mother Time is mostly paying attention to herself.

"Yeah, don't worry about being original, we've basically done all the cool stuff first." She swings the Hourglass thru the air and turns a stack of protein bars into a mountain of nuts, dates, and chocolate chips. She picks out a chip and nibbles on it daintily.

Right. Waste her time! Keep her talking! It's his strength! "So, Mother Time--"

"Hey, hey." She holds up a finger. "Call me Tamela. But not Tammy, capiche?"

"Ri-- capiche." Time-Waster lad slides the pan into the oven to reset his conversational momentum. "But uh, the Time Crapper. I don't really know the guy! What do you like about him?"

"Hmmmmmm..." Mother, uh, Tamela leans back against the kitchen counter, setting the hourglass on it and the scythe against it-- whew, that's a little less nerve-wracking. "Well, for one thing, he's real powerful. I find guys who can destroy the Looniverse in a fit of rage, then repair it when they get hungry, incredibly sexy."

Time-Waster Lad took a moment to think about Kid Kirby. "Yeah, that's hot."

"Right?" Tamela grinned lewdly, then rolled her head back and sighed. "Even tho he's so powerful, tho, I've always got to be the one telling him what to do. It's like he doesn't want anything. Except me, of course, which is nice I do admit~"

Time-Waster Lad nods thoughtfully. "You know, that reminds me of someone I used to work with. Miss Translation. Or, well... you remind me of her, and the Time Crapper reminds me of me, there." He giggles awkwardly, oh dear.

"Reeeeeally." Tamela goes back to grinning. "Was she hot?"

"Er, well, it, we didn't really have that kind of relationship!" Time-Waster Lad flushes. "...but yeah, she was. And she was super dynamic - going for what she wanted, leaping without looking."

"Fuck yeah. That's what I'm talking about." Tamela snaps her fingers and spins around in place. "You gotta have things you want and you gotta go for them."

Time-Waster Lad smiles. "Yeah. Really, I've never been great at wanting things... or, like, I'll want something really hard for a week and then forget why I wanted it in the first place. But she had these big heroic goals... um, you know, back when I was a net.hero was when this all was," he clarifies.

Tamela shrugs. "Hero goals, villain goals, whatever. We all want something, right? Hey, is that pizza done?"

"Oh, just a sec..." Time-Waster Lad grabs the oven mitts (patterned with little cheesecakes and hearts) and pulls the pizzas out, sliding them onto the plates, grabbing the pizza cutter, and making four precise slices. "Ta-da~"

Tamela grabs a slice and takes a big messy bite. "Mmmm! You're good at this shit."

Time-Waster Lad smiles, a little bit of pride rising in his breast despite the multilayered stress of the situation. "Yeah, well, I mess around in the kitchen a lot."

"Noice. You know, I bet you'd make a great henchman," says Tamela, and Time-Waster Lad notices her eyeing him very speculatively...

"Ahaha, well!" Time-Waster Lad blushingly steps behind the counter and engages Distracting Ramble Mode. "That's kind of how I feel I was for Miss Translation. She had the big goals and the loud voice and I was happy translating for her and keeping the violence pointed in the right direction."

"But it wasn't that kinda relationship, huh." Tamela wiggles her eyebrows.

"Heh, well..." Time-Waster Lad bites his lip. "I mighta had a bit of a crush... But also, like... it felt like I was really helping. Like I was making a difference in the lives of people I cared about." He shakes his head. "Haven't felt like that in a while, t'be honest."

"Mmmmmm..." Tamela crosses her arms. "Me either... but like, you're a net.villain now! You can just make whatever you want happen, by force!"

"Er, yeah." Time-Waster Lad licks his lips. Let's be honestish... "But, well, so far that hasn't been all that satisfying either."

"...yeah, for me either." Tamela is looking into Time-Waster Lad's face. She seems to be taking him seriously. Should he... I mean, they're friendshipping the villains, right? What would he tell a friend in this situation?

He'd... okay, he wouldn't put down what a friend was doing. "Like... don't get me wrong, I bet Acton Lord wouldn't be Acton Lord if he didn't like being a net.villain. And Manga Man always seemed like he was having fun."

Mother Time looks off into the distance. Her face, lines smoothed, calm, thoughtful, is... nice. "...actually, didn't both of them retire or something?"

"...oh, well, fair." Time-Waster Lad rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "I hear Manga Man's back, tho... er, well, anyway. The point is..." His chest fills with breath, and confidence suddenly flows back into his secret places. "I wouldn't be Time-Waster Lad if I didn't like to kick back and hang out, watch some TV, play a board game, heck, just shoot the breeze. Y'know? That's all me."

"...damn, y'know, I didn't think someone could be passionate about doing jack shit~" She reaches out, and the hairs on the back of Time-Waster Lad's neck stand up, but she just ruffles his hair affectionately. It seems like it should feel weird, condescending, but instead it's just kinda nice.

So he gives her a nice smile. "So yeah... but uh, if this hasn't been satisfying for you, maybe you need to..." He pushes that confidence back in. "Maybe you need to look at your net.villain name and go, hey, should I pick out another one?" He shrugs~ "I mean, no offense, but you don't seem like you'd really wanna have kids?"

"...hah! Yeah, that's true. I picked it to fit with loverboy in there, but..." She frowns. "Maybe I should've just picked out one for myself..."

Yes! Good! "Like what?" Time-Waster Lad says, encouragingly. There's a sound behind him - someone's pushing the doors of the cafeteria open - is Tweseveny back? But he tries to concentrate on Tamela's words.

"...mmmm... Maybe--"

"Excuse me." Time-waster Lad turns his head in shock - that's not Tweseveny's voice!

The doors swing closed behind a new figure. She wears a suit of armor, with panels of what looks like lacquered mahogany in curves reminiscent of the shells of insects. There's gold trim at the wrists, ankles, and neck, and along each joint, with ivory inlays running the length of each panel. She wears a helmet with a faceted yellow visor, shaped to resemble a pair of eyes squinting with supercilious superiority, and a pair of ornate clock hands in a V on her forehead. At her waist, she wears a golden belt, with a buckle that looks like an analog clock face, hands at 7:20.

Oh shoot. Time-Waster Lad doesn't recognize the outfit - is she a newbie LNHer, another net.villain, something else? "Uhhhhh, hello, fellow net.villain, I was just chatting with my fellow net.villain Mother Time here--"

"Right." The figure pushes past him and stands in front of Mother Time, arms crossed. "Why haven't you gone to get the Rung?"

"The LNHQ was undefended like you said," oh shoot thinks Time-Waster Lad that's who this is "but there's a Cosmic Bear blocking the way, so Time-Waster Lad and his henchlady offered to help us until it's taken care of."

The unfamiliar person who's definitely a net.villain of some sort just stares at Mother Time for a moment. She raises two fingers and rubs the little circle on her forehead, between the clock hands. "I said it would be almost undefended. As in very few net.heroes there. As in two."

"..." Mother Time stares off into space. Time-Waster Lad can see her face tightening, and his stomach drops out as he understands what she understands, as the peppy energy and the gentle words he sent to her erode away like a sandcastle in the tide. He takes a step backwards, then another, his chest tensing.

Without looking, Mother Time reaches out and picks up her scythe. The moment her hand closes around the handle, the blade blazes with the unearthly blue of Cherenkov radiation. "You know what. I'm picking a new name. I'll be..." She turns and brandishes the scythe! "KILLER OF STUPID JERK TIME-WASTER LAD... WOMAN!"

"eeeeeeeengh FRICK!" Time-Waster Lad throws himself backwards, heaviness in his belly spinning sickeningly, and bolts out the swinging doors. Mother Time grabs the Hourglass and gives chase!

The unfamiliar person watches them go, leaning on the counter, shaking her head and muttering to herself. "'There's a bear'? Come on! That's the oldest excuse in the book, next to the old cat-ate-the-ocarina gag!"

She straightens and turns, towards the reader, lenses looking through the words that you're reading to meet your gaze. "And as for you..."

     Tweseveny, lulled into the reverie of being a reader, startles out!

     The shape of the narrative is changing, turning, someone pushing her

     way out! Tweseveny pulls her perspective back, pulls herself back to being a character experiencing the story from within - but suddenly she's staggering back from an unfamiliar figure - no, she's very familiar - she's staggering back from Burst Beetle M-Plot!

"What--" says Tweseveny, back hitting the wall, hand going to her belt buckle. "How!?"

"A little messing with narrative framing shouldn't be that complicated for a writer." M-Plot spits the word like it's made of phenylthiocarbamide. "Time Crapper." She that focused gaze on  him. "She's lying, distracting you from getting the Rung. She's hoping for the LNH to return and stop you."

The Time Crapper stills. His faceless gaze turns to Tweseveny, and in a voice that's consciously held steady, but has a certain husky sadness to it nevertheless, he says, "Is this true?"

"...I..." Tweseveny bites her lip. She feels like dirt. She's failed to make a new friend, failed to support someone in trouble... now all she can do is fight another iteration of the same old battle.

Enough - she owes him an answer. She presses the pink gem on her belt buckle, and long sheets of old-style printer paper appear from nowhere to wrap her in a cocoon. The cocoon bursts to reveal black armor with amber trim, a helmet with a visor shaped like wide green eyes, shoulderpads shaped like a stylized 2 and 7, and a crest on her forehead in the shape of a V. She faces him, and slides into a defensive pose, fists up.

"...I see. Well." The Time Crapper smooths out his robe, stands up, and nods, solemnly, to Tweseveny. "Thank you, anyway, for listening to me. But net.villains do betray each other, and..." He spreads his hands. The plants on either side of the couch begin to wilt, and the lights seem to dim around them. "I think this is the part where I kill you and take what I want."

<<<*>>>

Drew "wanted to do even more reader-Tweseveny stuff but couldn't fit it in" Nilium

[insanitysscribblings]

Ninette Week: Day 4 - Ladybug and Miraculous!Nino

So, yeah, remember that thing I mentioned about ret-conning a scene with Ladybug and Emerald Shell?

Here it is, from Chapter 18. (Is this cheating? This might be cheating. Oh well.)

Enjoy! <3

“You know, you probably made him fall in love with you just then,” Shell remarked as Ladybug approached. She snorted softly, something that amused and frustrated him, as if she was doubtful that anyone would fall in love with her just like that.

“He’s a kid; he can’t even spell ‘love’.”

“Don’t underestimate him because he’s young,” Shell warned her in a dire tone that was ruined by his grin. “He nearly conquered Paris in one night in his very short reign as king.”

“Hmm. Well, I have always wanted my own kingdom,” Ladybug mused as she and Shell scampered off before press or protesters could catch them unaware. “You know, big castle, moat, drawbridge—”

“I know someone who’s rich enough to pull that off,” Shell teased, grinning when Ladybug’s face flushed red to match her mask. She was so cute. “So when is that going to start being a thing again?”

“How many times do I have to say that ship has sailed before you’ll actually believe me?” Ladybug huffed, scowling at him with her fists on her hips. “And mind your own business. You’re almost as bad as Alya.”

Shell’s grin died at the mention of his friend/ex-girlfriend.

“Speaking of…she’s pissed at me, isn’t she?”

Ladybug side-eyed him as they ran through the streets of Paris.

“You did skip out on us for lunch yesterday. And I doubt it helps that we were both too busy to join her at Francoise’s today.”

Shell sighed as they paused to climb onto his favorite rooftop, the sight of the Seine gorgeous at this height. He kept his eyes focused on the river as he grumbled.

“Recording ran over yesterday. There was nothing I could do about it. Couple that with meeting Master Fu today when we were supposed to meet her for ice cream—” He gave a sigh, scratching the back of his hooded head. “This is hard, LB.”

Ladybug laid a brief, understanding hand on his shoulder as they leapt from the rooftop and raced off to complete their patrol.

“I know, Shell. I wish there was another way, too. But we’re still doing her birthday thing next week, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” Shell agreed, pacing his breath as they ran. “At this point, it’s not about just wanting to do it anymore: if we don’t do something to make things up to her soon, she’ll curse us both into toads.”

“Are you calling Alya a witch?”

“God no, especially not if there’s a chance it’ll get back to her. I’m just saying—”

Ladybug’s Miraculous gave a beep, and they paused, her hand going to it.

“How many dots?”

“Three,” Shell replied, counting quickly. Ladybug gave a shrug.

“Then we have time.”

“Yeah.”

He eyed her for a moment as they paused to survey the area yet again, frowning to himself. He didn’t…particularly want to have this conversation with her, mostly because he didn’t want to tear open old wounds…and partially because he wasn’t sure he could stand to hear what she would have to say about the matter. But on the other hand, just how long could he stand to see that forlorn look that crossed her face every time they were out and about doing moonlight hero work? It was an expression Ladybug should never have to make, an expression that made Emerald Shell ache deep inside every time she made it…though she probably wasn’t aware of the effect it had on him…

Taking a deep breath and reminding himself to focus, Shell gave this potentially unpleasant conversation a shot.

“So…since we have time, I gotta ask you: you miss Chat Noir, don’t you?”

Ladybug froze, her gaze turned away from him.

“Didn’t I say you should mind your own business, Shelly?”

Shell frowned. So it was as he thought…

“Aren’t we teammates, Dots?”

Ladybug turned, giving him an incredulous look. Shell grinned at her.

“What? You’re not the only one who can come up with stupid nicknames.” His smile faded after a second. “Seriously, LB, talk to me.”

Ladybug regarded him for a long moment. Shell kept her gaze, feeling himself straighten, as if he wanted to physically prove to her that he was worthy of her trust, waiting as a low rumble of tension rolled through him...

Finally, she seemed to give up, and she sank down on their current rooftop with a sigh, drawing her legs up to her chest, her arms folded under them. She waited until Shell sat down too, an arm draped over a bent knee, before she spoke.

“Yes, I miss him. It’s stupid, I know. And I can’t really explain it right…but when he’s not here…things don’t feel the same.”

Shell, for his part, didn’t know what to say. Just as Ladybug couldn’t explain it, he didn’t really get it, and it made him frown. After everything the guy had done, how could she still want him around? Wasn’t Shell himself doing a pretty good job? Or did it not matter because he would never be Chat Noir?

Immediately, he hated himself for his reaction. What was he, a jealous ex-boyfriend, covetous of every other relationship Ladybug had? That was so stupid. Yes, they had gotten closer ever since he had been Chosen, and yes, he cared about Ladybug’s happiness, and yes, he found that with every passing day he spent in her company, things shifted in a way that was both strangely new and horribly familiar, god help him, but—

As if she could feel him doubting himself—or maybe his feelings were obvious on his face—Ladybug bumped his shoulder with hers. Shell felt a jolt go through him that had nothing to do with the jostling movement.

“This isn’t to say I think any less of you, Shell,” she told him seriously. “You’ve been a godsend, honestly. If it weren’t for you when Poseidon showed up last month, I’d be dead. You’ve had only a short time to adapt, but you’ve been so amazing, and I’m proud of you.” She smiled. “Thank you, Shell.”

Oh jeez.

Shell could feel himself warm, and he laughed to distract from the fact that he was melting into a pile of goo, rubbing the back of his hooded head with a sheepish grin.

“Well, I think you’re really great too, LB,” he replied with a grin, but to his embarrassment, his words came out a bit too ardent.

Ladybug blinked for a moment, staring at him. Before Shell could rush to do damage control, his inner self-flogging was put on pause as red painted Ladybug’s cheeks once again. He stared. Oh…had he embarrassed her…?

Abruptly, her smile widened, as if to distract from the blush.

“Well…thank you,” she answered, ducking her head…almost shyly.

Emerald Shell swallowed.

‘Get a grip,’ he reminded himself fiercely before he could return to the topic at hand.

“I just worry sometimes…” He said slowly, leaning over to meet Ladybug’s gaze again so she could see how earnest he was. “I can tell you’re missing him by the look on your face when we beat an akuma. I just wish you didn’t have to.” For more reasons than one…

Ladybug laughed softly at that, and Shell’s heart nearly broke at the note of sadness in her voice.

“Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to, either. Stupid rogue cat.” She sighed, straightening her legs before she got up, standing tall, her silhouette striking an impressive figure against the moon and stars of the nighttime scenery. Standing there like that, if Shell didn’t know any better, he would claim that this was, without a doubt, an incredible woman who needed no support, who could stand on her own and be the hero Paris needed, and then some.

…But because he did have the privilege of knowing her so well, Shell knew what the height of such a pedestal did to Ladybug. And because he hated to see her alone up there, he stood with her, giving her back a pat, his hand maybe lingering a little longer than it should have.

“Well, I don’t get it…but I’ll leave it alone,” he promised her with a solemn nod. “You can’t help who you care about, right?”

Just then, something strange happened: instead of scoffing or rolling her eyes with a sarcastic twist of her lips or sardonic words, like Emerald Shell was half-expecting from her…she just stared at him. He blinked down at her, confused. Had he said something wrong?

He was about to ask…but something in her eyes made him stop, made him forget how to breathe as she stared up at him, the stars reflected in her eyes, red glossing her cheeks once again as they stood, suspended in this strange moment that made him anxious…and hopeful.

Slowly, after…however long they had stood there, Shell couldn’t remember, he had lost count—Ladybug’s lips parted, and she spoke.

“…I guess not,” she said softly, the look in her eyes evolving into something that made Shell’s heart jump into his throat.

Oh god. Oh god, he was so screwed, he had been trying to be good, trying not to complicate this new dynamic of their friendship, but now she was looking at him like that, and holy shit, he blew it—

His inner panic was mercifully interrupted by the beeping of her Miraculous once again. Their trance broke, and Ladybug looked away, biting her lip. Shell looked away too, clearing his throat and working to get his heartbeat back under control before he did something stupid.

“Come on. Let’s finish up our patrol before you turn back,” Shell insisted, hopping onto his hover board to glide back down to the ground. He heard Ladybug huff behind him as she touched down onto the street, releasing her yo-yo from the roof.

“It is so unfair that you don’t have a time limit like I do.”

Ah, there it was—the lifeline he could seize to make this situation return to normal. Thank god.

“Excuse me, but all I have is a shield that can hover and generate force fields. You can make things out of thin air. It wouldn’t be fair if you could be Ladybug indefinitely.”

Ladybug laughed at that, and Shell let himself watch as the movement crinkled her eyes, her lips curving in mirth. He only let himself look for a moment, though, swiftly looking away afterwards.

“Point taken, I guess…though I think your powers are still pretty cool.”

Such small praise, and yet it still made him glow. Dear lord, he was so incredibly screwed…

“Me too, but I didn’t wanna be the first one to say it,” he teased, and Ladybug laughed again, the sound echoing around them and sending Emerald Shell’s heart soaring as they disappeared into the night.

...This worked way too well and I am upset.

is it too late to make BTU an OT4 fic?

Hope you enjoyed! <3

~Reyna