#i’ll have you know i’ve thought in detail about the exact type of eyelids that every character has. in every danmei book i’ve ever read

[yea-baiyi]

does anyone else have extremely strong visual/sensory imagination and therefore have a ton of highly specific individual headcanons for every character in every piece of media you consume that you can’t justify and can’t talk about without sounding utterly insane

[katsuki-creativewriting]

Kōyō Yamamoto - IT1

My current progress so far... I feel optimistic and I think we may finally have a lead. I want to build up our progress and do whatever possible to prevent falling back to square one.

The time is 6:35 pm. I am currently driving at 60km per/hour, no sign of anyone driving past me. It almost seems odd. I usually see the same brand and the same bland colours of cars zooming past me like lightning every minute I drive. And believe me, it doesn't take long.

I am making my way to a workshop on the outskirts of the city. The man I'm about to present myself to is, Kenzou Hibiki. He's age seventy-one, not married, and no children based on his information according to Maro. If I were, to be frank, my mind and body aren't looking forward to visiting a stranger. I'm not sure if I can call him a 'stranger' with all the details we've gathered. Although he doesn't know us, and we've never met properly in person. Maybe? You know what? strangers will do. I haven't been too keen on the idea of visiting him. I should be asking myself why. Well... it is due to his compulsive addiction with... pills.

I forgot to mention that the man lives in his workshop and apparently, fixes and sells clocks and watches? I'm surprised he can make a profit out of by just making CLOCKS all day. Nowadays most people use sci-fi tech watches or just use their phones to look at the time or even search for the weather. While I prepared myself before this trip, I decided to bring my broken watch along to see if he can fix it for me. Perhaps I could get on his good side and hopefully, I can get his consent to question him (let's hope he hasn't taken any of his "sweet, saviour" pills). I could wish myself luck on this venture through a thunderstorm, but I don't know if I CERTAINLY need it.

It's just questioning. It can't be that challenging, right?

- Signing off, Kōyō

• • •

Kōyō could not even describe the emotions of the small droplets of tears falling from the sky. Could he imagine them as petals? No, they seem too harsh; they cannot even describe as a feather! The raindrops fall almost like hailstones knocking at his window in an attempt to enter through the front. The journey was not too far, but it seems longer just by peering into the distance. It felt like a continuous circle going on the same roundabout over once and over twice; it never ends. The same strip of trees, the same patterns on the road. The only time Kōyō could tell he was making progress was when he notices carcasses on the side of the glossy road and plastic bags floating along to the sound of the gushing wind.

He likes the sound and feel of the engine vibrating. For some reason, it puts him at ease like he is trying to escape or take his time away from his office. Stuck to the chair like glue nearly all-day having to tap away on a junk of technology while he hears the reverbed buzzing going off in his brain whenever it is quiet. Whenever the noise occurs, he feels desolate on the inside.

In the boot of the car, he brought along with him a handful of files given to him by the police centred on the drugs and its current effects it has caused on the people who have by far taken them. Since the man has bought a plentiful of these exact pills, he must know something about the one in control or at least the company producing them. Kōyō does not seem intimidating like the police in their act, dressed in their navy, blended blue uniforms. Thus, he would like to see if he can coerce him to disclose information.

• • •

Kōyō reached his destination and stops around the end of a construction site. The shop is that close to a site? he thought. Was it truthfully okay for Hibiki-san to be living near here now? It doesn't seem safe anymore.

Kōyō exhales as he releases the wheel from his grip and opens the door to elevate himself out. "So... This is the workshop?" He ponders to himself. This must be a prank, right? The house is practically ready to collapse! There were the few patches here and there but Kōyō could not even comprehend the idea of someone ESSENTIALLY living here. Kōyō calls Maro again to ensure he was at the right building. A voice echoes at a high yet low pitch on the phone. "Yeah? what's up?"

"Umm... Hinata, are you sure this really is the place? It really looks knackered for someone to live here..."

"I'm certain this is actually the place. Unless you didn't check the address correctly."

Before Kōyō responds, he checks the address once more picking it out of his battered coat pocket. He was in the right area. But is it really...?

"Oh!" Maro bellows from the phone. "I forgot to mention about the construction site next to the house. It's honestly a tad bit appalling to see a man stay in one spot for most of his life. It could be he's close to broke with all the pills he's purchasing, or he's just a clingy dude who makes his living off clocks. Anyways, good luck trying to communicate with him!" And the call ends. It only left Kōyō biting his lips.

This really IS the place. Maro was not lying after all...

Kōyō carries out the heavy files piled up behind the backside of the car. It was too much of a load for him in the end and decides to only take out the ones that are most needed for the questioning. Locking the car behind him, he made his way up the steps and knocks on the door with one exhausted hand struggling to carry the files.

No answer...

This wasn't exactly the plan. I'm not supposed to be here to look like a fool! He argues to himself. With the files in his left and his right free, he can describe himself as a hunched man than a straight man. He knocks on the door once more before kicking the files with his kneecap to thwart them from slipping out of his arms.

No answer again...

This was odd. Was he home? According to Hinata, this guy rarely leaves his house. So, it would seem peculiar to think that NOW of all days and hours he decides to pack up and leave so unexpectedly. Unless... he knew Kōyō was coming to question him. He stands in front of the door, observing everywhere but the door, waiting for the door to open. A few minutes later...

It did...

Kōyō tentatively pushes the door open, to see that no one was there to open the door for him. Has he been standing near the door for almost five minutes and it turns out to be unlocked the entire time? To say the least, he has made far worst moments for himself. He studies the house. The uninviting wallpaper covered up by old wooden clocks hanging on the walls. You can barely see the flowery patterns. The only thing visible was the plain, white ceiling. He has planted way too many samples of his hand-made clocks. The sound of the loud and agitating ticking from the clocks drew Kōyō insane. He wanted to get in and out as soon as he can; he has already heard enough ticking in his brain in his office. A few would have done the trick. The desk was dusty, and the carpet was ragged. It looks like he has not replaced the carpet for a couple of years now. At least it smells pleasant. Smells like the aroma of flowers, not sure what type.

His arm and hands were dying from the files that he carried alongside him. All the blood from his arm to hand left his grip fragile. He plonks the files onto the desk to give his left a break.

"Hibiki- san! Are you there?" Kōyō calls out. But there was no answer; just like with the door. Hibiki-san probably could not hear him from all the ticking in the room. He shouts for the second time, but still... no answer. He rummages around each room he could find, skimming through it with just a quick peek. No person in sight. With no one around the office, there was only one other room left. His bedroom.

I'm really sorry, Sir. But you're not leaving me with any choice...

He gradually but steadily saunters his way up the stairs. It seems so soundless as he was climbing up like the clocks never exist in that one room. And the smell of flowers... was fading away. Replaced with something more... repulsive. What is that horrendous smell? Is it coming from the room? Kōyō clutches his nose as he steps up the last two rigid stairs. This is the only room he can imagine where Hibiki-san could be hiding. He holds onto the door handle and pauses for a moment to think about what he was doing.

Was this an innovative idea? It definitely isn't my best. Guessing if this was the best idea to commit to was not going to reward him with the information he desperately needed. His eyelids tenderly knit together; he opens the door. He unravels his eyes only to feel his heart leap and body tumble back. He automatically grips onto the frame of the door. He just went... pale. There he was, Hibiki-san on his bed with saliva leaking out of his mouth like he recently vomited. His eyes were rolled back. Bloodshot.

Not.

Moving.

A muscle...

He could not get his words out. Just... stutters. From downstairs, he could hear a 'ding', then a 'dong'. Kōyō tries to avert his eyes away to see the time on his phone. It was 7:00 pm sharp. He glances at the man again. He still was not moving. Kōyō crept up to the man and checks his pulse.

No beat...

Oh shit, oh fu- Shit! No, no, no this can't be!

Kōyō calls Maro in a state of panic. This cannot be true. Did the pills really do this to him?!

He could not even think straight, his hands were stuttering as much as HE was stuttering.

Maro picks up. "Hey, Kōyō, what's up? Any luck?"

"H-Hinata, Hinata... I-I, uh..."

"Dude, what's wrong? Why are you stuttering?"

"You know the man I was supposed to question, Kenzou Hibiki?"

"Yeah?"

"Well... you didn't tell me he'd be DEAD!"

"What?! How?"

"I'm not sure. My gut's telling me it's got to do with the pills or... just an overdose."

"I'll call the police to let them handle this unpredicted mess. What are you going to do?"

"I... think I'll go back to the office and rehash this. I'll let the police take care of this."

"Alright, but you NEED to come back to the house to observe more of the area if the police allow you to do such."

"I promise I'll come back and give you the juicy info you yearn when I've been given permission."

"...Perfect." And the called ended with a click.

Kōyō suppresses the urge to vomit as he rushes out of the house, lifting the files in both hands. The files were useless in this situation. A situation he could not match against. He places the files in the front seat instead and clicks in the seatbelt for the pile as well as himself.

Let's get out of here and let the police handle this...

• • •

The pellets of the thunderstorm only grew heavier and more vicious as he makes his way back to his apartment. The gloaming sky made him assume it was nine rather than seven.

Back on the journey.

In his mind, he could not unwind or think about the road. He only thought about what he saw back there. The sight of the man, the state he was in... Decaying flesh and receding hair. The poor guy was lost and confused on his path, and it was obvious from the doorway he was masked with wrinkles. The only question he could ask himself is: Why did he choose that path? The path to escape, to the point of death? or did he really take the "easy" way out?

In fact, why do people choose this, knowing it will one day kill them?

Kōyō heard another car approaching his direction. On the contrary side, he was making progress. But the worrisome side, the car sounds like it was going much faster than him. They were in a sixty per/hour zone. Were they going past the limit?

The car was moving up closer in the dark. Kōyō was waiting for the car to appear through the headlights like something you would expect out of a horror movie. All of a sudden, there they were, driving away. The driving seemed somewhat sluggish, and that was troubling. In just one steer, the driver turns to his right.

Right in front of him!

Kōyō could do nothing. He could not steer to his right; he could not turn backwards. The only action he could take was to hold himself tight like a shield, and that is what he did when the car collided into him and hurtled into the trunk of his car. It shatters the windows and Kōyō's head bashes against the steering wheel.

He fell unconscious once the two cars started bleeping like crazy. His mind grew silent, his sight went blank...

…and the ticking stopped in his brain.

• • •

"If I may ask, who are you? Give me some details about you. And tell me, why did you decide to take this job up?"

"My name is Kōyō Yamamoto. I am twenty-one years old and graduated from Sakagami high school in Tokyo. I chose this job as a private journalist because I wish to take over my Father's job and... avenge someone who seemed to be connected to this case."

I don't plan to stop until I've reached the top of the path of malice.

[adventuresloane]

hurloane “I won’t forget this moment.” 👀👀

((“These are going to be very short fics!” I said. You know, like a liar.))

“It’s like sex. You do it often enough and eventually the thrill wears off.”

“Pfft.” The noise might have been derisive or might have been amused or both. It was hard to tell, muffled as it was under layers of polystyrene and fiberglass. “I seriously doubt it. Just because you’re above it all doesn’t mean I have to be.”

Sloane shrugged and did not respond immediately. The late sun’s rays splintered into spikes as they hit the edge of the steel garage door. They pricked the corners of her vision and made her eyes sting until they watered. She turned away from it to look at the small woman whose head rested in her lap. Her raven mask created blind spots at the edges of her vision, a black frame encircling the world, so that she could not see all of the halfling at once. Not that she would’ve gotten a good look regardless. The Ram still wore the bone-white visage of her namesake over her face. Horns curved backwards from the top of the glaring skull to curl around her slightly pointed ears. 

This level of contact would not have been feasible months ago, when they had only just begun to race together. In the beginning, Sloane had tensed even at the accidental brush of their greasy knuckles as the Ram passed her a wrench. But she had been forced to get used to it. There had been enough of holding ice packs against one another’s bruises and burns, enough all-nighters when they fell asleep slumped against each other while working on the wagon, enough celebratory embraces after they had flown over the finish line both smelling of blood and sweat and dust. Touching between the two of them was, by now, nothing out of the ordinary and nothing especially meaningful.

At least, Sloane told herself that. She could even believe it up until the moment when they actually touched. Somehow, she always forgot just how it set her off tingling whenever they made contact.

“I’m just saying,” Sloane went on, “winning races is always great and all, but the adrenaline rush isn’t always there after awhile. You won’t always have the novelty of it.”

The Ram shook her head. “I don’t believe it,” she said softly. “Not for me at least. You can never quite remember just what it’s like until you’re there in the thick of it, you know? The way the wind feels in your hair and the way the cheering drowns out everything else. You just can’t replicate it. I don’t think so, anyway.”

Maybe, for the Ram, that would indeed be true. She was hungry for life, in a way that Sloane had seldom seen in other people. (Maybe because the Ram still believed there was a lot that life could offer her.) Her racing moniker–although not befitting the unified goth corvid aesthetic that Sloane had so carefully cultivated–was well chosen. She didn’t race against their competitors. She charged toward the western sun and tried to outpace it so that it would never set on her. The other racers were just in her way. 

Sloane’s eyes had started to drift down to the Ram’s toned arms, where freckles dusted the skin like snowflakes that had yet to melt. She caught herself trying to trace their pattern, trying to memorize the exact curvature of the muscles, and viciously chastised herself. That would only lead to self-torment. She had tried, in the past, to scan crowds for the Ram, searching for halflings with the same body type and slightly springy gait. But she had never found any quite like her, and there was no point anyway, and she didn’t know why she even bothered. Both had agreed to the utmost discretion from the very beginning. They would not acknowledge each other outside of the track and the garage. Personal lives were to be discussed in only the vaguest of terms. And no taking off the masks.  

“And hey,” said the Ram, “your experiences are not universal. Maybe you’ve just been having bad sex.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Sloane shot back, hoping she could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll have you know I have fantastic sex on a very regular basis.”

“Right. That’s why you’re in here with me almost every night working on the wagon.”

Sloane snorted. “Well, there’s the pot calling the kettle black. If I’m not getting any, you’re not either, are you?”

“We’ve both been busy, I guess,” she murmured, drumming her fingers lightly against Sloane’s thigh. She felt almost unbearably sensitive, all of a sudden, nearly ticklish. 

“Yeah.” Sloane swallowed. “Yeah, we have.”

The Ram’s chest expanded as she inhaled and seemed to just keep inhaling. She held the breath for a long time, as though waiting for some sort of cue to release. For her own part, Sloane’s muscles were knotting as she waited in the hot silence. 

“Raven,” the Ram breathed at last. 

“Yeah, Lamb Chop?”

She snickered, and for an instant the tension ebbed. “I’ve told you that’s the dumbest fucking nickname possible.”

“I think it’s fun.” Sloane hoped her nervousness did not leak through her teeth. “You know, like the little sheep puppet? You ever see that thing? Everyone loves–”

“Can I kiss you?”

The words came out so fast and sudden that Sloane had to take several moments to process their meaning, then several moments longer to try to convince herself that she had simply misheard. But no. The Ram was sitting up, now, and turned toward her, fixed on her. 

Sloane stared, and considered it lucky that her face was covered, because she undoubtedly would have looked like a complete fucking moron otherwise. After a time, she was able to pick up her jaw and use it for speech. “Uh. No?” She shook her head quickly. “I mean–we can’t, you know?”

“No one kisses with their eyes open anyway,” the Ram murmured. There was something strained in her voice. “We could just close our eyes while we had the masks off. There’s no catch here, I swear on whatever god you like, there isn’t. Just this once, just for a second, I…I just want to know what it’d be like. But…fuck, I can’t believe how stupid this is. I’m sorry. If you don’t want to, I–”

“Wait, no, I…” Sloane thought, or rather did as much thinking as she could with her mind buzzing. It was, in fact, a stupid idea to expose herself like that. Idiotic, in fact. A completely pointless risk. And nothing, nothing, not the diamond necklaces tucked away in the aristocrats’ safes nor the finish line near the cliff had ever tempted her more. Nothing had ever seemed more worth it. 

Sloane grabbed the beak of her mask. “On three?” And the Ram nodded. 

She squeezed her eyes shut before she pulled the mask off, then reached out, blindly, carefully. Her palm settled on a strikingly warm, soft cheek. She felt the gentle breath of a contented sigh blow against her, just brushing her neck. She tried to take a note of every sensation, document every detail in her mind. She wanted to grab these few moments out of time and hoard them for herself, relive them again and again, have them even in the privacy and darkness of her own room. 

Her thumb ran over the Ram’s cheekbone. Then, after a moment’s wondering, she moved her finger up to brush, as lightly as possible, over the eye. She made contact with the delicate closed eyelid. 

The Ram chuckled, and it sounded the way a steaming cup of coffee felt. “You don’t trust me after all this time? I’m not going to peek.” She took Sloane’s hand and placed it, carefully, over her own forehead. Sloane could feel the featheriness of the Ram’s eyelashes and the slight movement of her eyes against her palm. Everything about her was hot and close and real. 

Sloane tasted her and knew that she would never forget this moment. 

((Hi this like barely followed the prompt and is three hours late but I hope you like it anyway!!! Thanks for asking as always ily.))

[rosegardentwilight]

A Moment in Time

Adrien's jaw dropped from slight bewilderment at why such a gorgeous girl would randomly sit down at his table and start talking away. The only problem? His name wasn't Adam.

AU- Alya sets Marinette up on a blind date with a guy named Adam, but after a phone incident and the time change, she ends up crashing at a different table thinking it's her date.

Chapter 1/1 ( for now? Read the Author’s Note at the end)

A.n.- Two one-shots in one day, what? ( If you haven't read Birds of a Feather and you like Nathalie's character then go read it ). I've actually been working on this story on and off since last week? Finally finished and posting today because tomorrow is daylight savings time so it seemed fitting. ( Although this takes place in the spring time change). Make sure you read the end author's note if you want to see more of this story after reading it, it's very important. Other than that not much for you, this is AU, no superpowers but I do find a way to incorporate our two favorite Kwamis ( just not this chapter).

Edit*- This story was inspired by a movie called An Hour Behind. And although inspired, it will have several major changes from the movie.

2. You all rock. Will definitely expand this story. Heard you loud and clear I’ll figure plot lines for this tomorrow.

"Come on Marinette, it's one date," Marinette couldn't help but roll her eyes at her friend's excessive begging and slid a new batch of cakes in the oven. "I didn't even pick him this time, he's Nino's old college friend. What's the worst that could happen?" Alya continued as she swiped a chocolate chip cookie from the display.

"My best friend eats all my product, and then I won't have any left for paying customers," Marinette shot a look at her best friend who responded with a sheepish smile.

"If you bring some of your cookies to your date with Adam, you'll bag him for sure."

"How many people do you know that bring baked goods on a blind date Alya?" Her best friend's intentions were pure, Alya only wanted to see her happy, but a blind date- that was a disaster waiting to happen.

"You're showing all of your assets to prove you are the whole package." Marinette couldn't hold back a snort filled laugh.

"I'm starting to wonder what you think will happen on this date."

"You'll love him Marinette, he's a lawyer, but he handles most of the pro bono cases in his firm. He's a cat person; which I know is in the plus column for you. He's drop dead gorgeous and has the greenest eyes."

"I hope those weren't Nino's exact words because otherwise you two have other things to discuss," Marinette teased.

"Please, just one date. You know I only want you to be happy, and you can't say you had the best love life over the past couple years; between Kim, Nathan"-

"I get it," Marinette snapped. She knew exactly how those dates went, no need to rub salt in the wound.

"Marinette, I'm convinced you try and find something wrong with every person interested in you."

"I've been busy with the bakery, opening a second store is within my grasp. I can't give up now."

"No one is saying give up. It's one date tomorrow night," her best friend offered.

"You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

"I learned my stubbornness from one of my best friends." Alya beamed in response.

"Fine. One date, but in the morning. That way I can route back to the bakery if things don't go well and bake a couple of batches and not waste the day."

"You won't regret this!" Alya threw her arm around in a tight hug. "I'm going to go tell Nino to set it up and have the details for you tonight. Promise me you won't be late. We both know how you are in the mornings. Don't forget to change your clock tonight." She called over her shoulder as the last reminder. Marinette rolled her eyes once more, Alya was as subtle as a truck. As much as she appreciated it, the level of faith in her was almost insulting. Her phone would automatically switch to the new time, there wasn't any need to adjust anything. The oven's timer caught her attention, and she rushed so her cakes wouldn't burn.

Nerves kicked in as she realized what she's done. What was she thinking to agree to a blind date? The regular dates that she set up ended with disaster.

She only made it through one date with Kim. He tried to carry the conversation the best he could, but with her limited knowledge of sports, the topics circled back around to himself. Marinette always wanted to look on the bright side, so even though she wouldn't go on another date, at least she learned more about him.

Nathanaël lasted to date number 5. They enjoyed each other's company, but things became stagnant when he confessed that seeing an old flame caused previous feelings to bubble up again. Marinette appreciated his honesty, but it was clear that he wanted to try again. She couldn't stand in the way of that.

Marinette applied some strawberry frosting to the cooled lemon cake and cut herself a small slice. The flavors melded together on her tongue, a hopeful reminder of what spring could be once the cold weather melted. But despite how it tasted, it still lacked whatever she was looking for to submit for the contest. Frustration groaned inside her, but at least she was another step closer. Her eyes ticked to the clock on the wall; 9:30 pm. She could easily make another batch, especially without Alya distracting her. She pulled out the ingredients needed once more, one more attempt couldn't hurt.

By the time Marinette stumble through her apartment door exhaustion had inched its way to every part of her body. She was lucky to remember to turn the oven off before she left her bakery because she created four more batches before giving up for the evening. An unread message from Alya kept lighting up her phone, no doubt the information to the blind date she had agreed to in a temporary moment of insanity.

Ayla: Tomorrow, at the Hollybelly 5 at 9 am. He's going to wear a light blue scarf. If you need moral support, I'm only a phone call away. Knock him dead!

Suddenly this idea seemed even more insane, but to avoid her best friend's nagging at her for the next month straight; she decided to follow through with her word. She set her alarm for 8:30 to give herself enough time to prepare in the morning. She became acutely aware of how the sweet scent stuck to her skin, as tired as she was, the shower called to her.

She let out a gasp as she stepped into the wall of warm water and the relaxation it provided. Four more batches of "almost there" was the product of her night along with a messy kitchen she had to clean before she came home. It wouldn't have been fair to leave that to the staff when she had been the one to cause the mess in the first place. Her fingers itched to run through her hair, and she released a long exhale. This contest was of vital importance if she desired to open a second store, a dream of hers since her parents put her in charge of the original. She had sacrificed so much to oversee the store and she wanted to do was to make her parents proud.

The shower ended quicker than she would like, but she could barely keep her eyes open. She grabbed a glass of water on the way to bed in case she woke up in the middle of the night. Sleep slowly caused her eyelids to grow heavy, not allowing her thoughts to wander far. Marinette adjusted her arm under the pillow and contorted it until comfortable. The act of her shifting her body caused another pillow to knock some items on the nightstand, including the cup of water. It tipped, and the water contents spilled all over her phone; not that Marinette noticed because sleep already claimed her.

8:45 am

The hostess turned wearing a dazzling smile when she heard the bell above the door ring. "Good Morning, do you have reservations?"

"Yes, last name Chapin, Adam." He returned the smile before loosening the light blue scarf Alya told him to wear. Excitement stirred in his stomach, Alya had raved non-stop about her friend, and by the sounds of it, she was exactly the type of women he was looking for. He hadn't necessarily thought he would stoop to a blind date to find love, but he trusted Nino and therefore, Alya.

Adam followed a waitress to his table and took his seat and glanced at his watch. He was always early to everything in his life, to be late screamed distasteful and unprofessional; both words he couldn't associate with in his profession. He hoped that Marinette didn't keep him waiting for long.

9:30 am

Adam had heard of being a little late, but this boarded on ridiculous. The waitressed eyed him like an injured puppy when she brought him a drink after twenty minutes. He could feel people staring at him, but he kept his gaze locked to his phone. Thankfully work kept him preoccupied, but 45 minutes had elapsed since he arrived. His fingers dialed Marinette's number which Alya had provided but met a voicemail.

Her eye burst open as light burst through the room. Why did it feel so late, why didn't her phone's alarm go off? A quick glance told her all she needed to know. A spilled cup with no liquid in it whatsoever, and a phone whose screen would not lite up no matter what she did to it. Marinette cursed under her breath as she shoved the blankets off her bed and made a mad dash for the kitchen. 8:30 am. She wouldn't be skinned alive by Alya after all. She jolted back to the room and grabbed a pink dress off its hanger and threw it on. Not wanting to deal with the hassle of styling her hair, a messy bun offered her the solution that she craved. There was no need to eat breakfast at the apartment since they had a morning date, so that left brushing her teeth and applying just enough makeup to be presentable on a date. She didn't want to scare the poor guy off before anything before giving him a chance.

9:45 am

He waited long enough. Every second he waited for her, it drew attention to the face he was still alone after an hour. Everyone paying attention to their surroundings knew that he had been stood up. He wished that Marinette at least had the decency to inform him that she changed her mind, but out of the worst possible scenarios, this one seemed less cruel. Whenever he looked back on this failure of a date, he wouldn't be plagued with one-sided feeling but instead the what-ifs of what could have been. He slid payment for his drink on the table and stood up. The office wouldn't mind a couple extra hours especially with the huge case he was working on.

Marinette rushed down the street, the restaurant was only a couple blocks further, and she would make it on time. She hated being late, a probably she usually dealt with due to exhaustion with the bakery. Luck could be the only word to describe how she woke up in time. With no phone, it wasn't like she could call anyone, it would take days before she could find the time to go get a replacement. But with the little distance, she had left to cover, her bad luck with being late would end today.

10:00 am

She stumbled through the door only two minutes late, a new personal record for her. The hostess didn't seem that impressed with her "graceful" entrance.

"May I help you?" She asked, but Marinette could sense the smallest sense of annoyance in her voice. 

"I-" A light blush dusted her cheeks as she realized she forgot to ask Adam's last name. "I'm meeting someone." She allowed her eyes to wander over the hostess' shoulder until they landed on a blonde sitting at the table and around his neck …was a blue scarf. Her breath hitched as she watched his piercing green eyes study the menu. Alya wasn't kidding, he could charm her in a courtroom anytime. "He's right over there." She rushed past the hostess not wanting to keep Adam waiting any longer than necessary. "Hi, I'm Marinette," she introduced herself wrapping her coat around the chair. It was a good thing that she gripped the chair the second his green eyes jumped up to meet her all feeling gave out in her leg. She would have to thank Alya for setting her up with the more gorgeous man she ever met.

"Um, hi," he replied. Either she caught him off guard, or he didn't have a way with words, neither was a deal breaker. This was a blind date, he had to be just as nervous as she was.

"Adam, I'm sorry I'm a couple minutes late, my phone got fried last night." The explanation sounded lamer coming out of her mouth, but she couldn't backpedal now, that would only creep him out. She needed to stand her ground and resist the word vomit of oversharing. "But none of that matters because you're still here." A man like him could have any girl that he wanted, and yet he stayed despite her lateness, maybe they could make it to date number two after all. "Have you ordered yet?" She asked looking over the menu for the first time she got there.

"Not yet." She cocked her head to the side and tried to focus on what food they had to offer. Not a lot had been said and this already beat out her date with Kim.

"Everything looks so good, what do you recommend?" Adam had picked a restaurant she had never been to before, but he must have liked it enough to recommend it.

"I usually get an omelet," he replied. Marinette fought the blush forming on her cheeks as he gave her a once-over glance before his gaze returned to the menu.

Adrien's jaw dropped from slight bewilderment at why such a gorgeous girl would randomly sit down at his table and start talking away. She approached as if she knew him but called him Adam; she seemed so warm and personal he didn't want to correct her and risk her leaving. He would correct her eventually, or she would figure out that he wasn't this Adam character and the natural course would have its way.

She motioned towards the waiter and started to order without a care in the world. His father had wanted him to visit that afternoon, no doubt his latest attempt to convince him to leave his current job and join him in the fashion industry. An hour or two with this beautiful mystery girl in front of him wouldn't be the end of the world.

"Adam?" At her second call, Adrien realized that she called him- or rather, thought she had. "Are you okay?" The way she was so concerned for his well-being spread warmth through every limb on his body.

"Yeah," his lips pushed back into a smile reflecting the emotions flowing through him. "Everything is perfect."

AN- So. Here's the deal. Right now, this is only a one-shot, but you can change that if you want. I have so many miraculous story idea that I can't expand on every one shot in my head, but I am willing to do it on the stories that you all are interested in. If you want more, like, reblog, comment, dm me, whatever you want to do and let me know. Here's what to expect if this story to continue, the rest of the Adrienette date, Marinette finding out that Adrien is not Adam (and will actually meet Adam). More backstory of the characters in this world and Adrien shamelessly pursuing Marinette in like 10 chapters of fluff. Sound good? Leave a comment. Otherwise, you can enjoy the potential story in your imagination. Let me know.

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (19)

There’s this video I was absolutely dying watching the other day, which I’m now obsessed with, which turned into inspiration for this chapter. I don’t even know how many times I’ve watched it. There was also this picture that I came across probably the same day that I saved immediately becauae the look on his face I can’t.

<I need to lesson plan for March still>

In this part, Alexander seeks advice from a friend, which leads to a night out...

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   I   13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I

              Alexander finds himself at Angelica’s door early the next morning-5 A.M, to be exact. He hasn’t slept; no, the night had been surrounded with too many feelings-too much to consider. He and Eliza had sat in the swinging chair at Benny’s for hours, until the sun had come down. She’d taken a nap curled into his chest while he watched the traffic, one hand wrapped securely around her while the other stroked her hair. He thought.

              He tried not to imagine the situations she’d laid out in front of him; even with her timid voice and her lack of detail the images continued to flash through him in sporadic bursts of pain. He’d hold her tighter. And then, looking down at her-lips slightly parted, eyes moving underneath shut eyelids, hand still on top of his-he wonders how somebody could do the things that had been done to her.

              She’s kind-so kind, and loving…she’s been spending time with Laurens while he’s been in class, making friends with him and cheering him up during his long shifts. She’s become friends with Herc’s Julia-a more shy, subtle type. She’s spent time with just her, taking her having lunch with her and sitting with her during the game nights she’s been to. She’s been patient with Laff’s raucous, unfiltered jokes, and to him…She’s been so good to Alexander. Too good, he thinks; she’s been patient, and understanding…he’s well aware of the fact that he rambles on too much for his own good. But Eliza listens. She doesn’t do the fake kind of listening either, where there’s just head nods and ‘yes, mhm.’ No, Elizabeth Schuyler genuinely listens to every word he has to say, no matter how much of a tirade he may seem to go on. And it’s amazing, to have somebody respond so fully and truly when he’s exhausted himself from talking again; to feel like he doesn’t have to filter himself for her.

And then Eliza just has this way about things; this warm, gentle kindness that spreads evenly throughout the people she’s met. Alexander is sure she’s never hurt a single soul. He’s frustrated that somebody would hurt her.

              And there’s a part of him-a piece of him that feels responsible.  He knows that he hadn’t even known her when this was happening; that the events of her trauma connect in no way to where or who he was at that point in his own life. But that pang is still there; he’s always seemed to be too late-not quick enough, or smart enough. And in this moment, he wishes he could have just known her that fraction of time more; long enough to protect her. Long enough to kick James Reynold’s ass. Long enough to let her know that he’d be there for her.

              Which brought him to sunset; Eliza stretching against him, yawning as she untangled her contorted body from the swing they’ve been set in for a few hours. And then he’d looked down at her, concerned, to receive a slight smile in return. And she’d bent her head up to him, letting her lips linger on his-warm lips, gentle hands resting on the side of his face as she runs her thumb across newly formed stubble.  

              “Thank you,” she’d rested her head against his-her words a breath of air; a sigh of relief against his skin. The anger he had felt before she had woken up dissipates with the feeling of her skin on his. He is relaxed by it. He is better. “For being here.”

              They’d ended up eating dinner with Benny, who’d made enough for a small army when he’d realized they were still there. They have fresh pasta, and garden-grown tomato sauce. Alex holds her hand over the table. Benny grins, his eyes twinkling, as he looks on at the couple. Eliza has been chatting animatedly, asking questions about business and about Benny’s personal life-his own daughter, older and married with three children-spends most of her time in Australia now. He hasn’t seen his grandchildren in a while, not since his wife has passed. She’s apologetic, saddened. He shakes his head.

              “You, piccolo, spread love enough to brighten my days. And now this,” He gestures to Alex’s hand, still holding hers over the table. He’s been looking on at her all night, joining conversation sporadically while only taking brief moments with his eyes away from hers. The old Italian man has noticed; the way this young man has been so attentive, so sure…it’s a mannerism that reminds him a lot of himself; of his wife that has passed. This young man looks at Elizabeth with as much certainty as he’d been able to look at his wife for all the time they’d had together.

              “Bella Tesoro,” He sighs the words as he leads them out of the shop front and onto the busy streets, flipping the open sign to closed behind them.

              It isn’t until they’ve gotten back to Eliza’s, and he’s kissed her at her door, that Alex has remembered the words.

              “What did Benny mean, when we were walking out tonight?” Eliza smiles at him, one hand on his, lingering.

              “Bella Tesoro…beautiful treasure.” She pulls herself into him for one last moment, a brush of her lips on his cheek before she opens the door to her suite. “I think he’s on to something.”

              But despite the seemingly resolved ending to their night he still tosses and turns, unable to find comfort in the quiet of his room or the loneliness of it all. It’s not as if he’s alone, in fact Alexander’s apartment is very much full-Herc has Julia over, John and Laff are busy with a days-long Lord of the Rings marathon...there are walls of noise-echoes of chaos that he’d normally find comfort in. But the noises are muted to Alexander, who lays on his side-his stomach-his back, restless and with a clogged mind.

              Which brings him to 5 A.M, knocking feverishly on Angelica Schuyler’s door. When she answers she looks ticked off-it’s Monday morning, a day where early classes are non-existent for either of the friends. And she’s still in her pajamas-reasonably so-pulling her hair into a ponytail as she looks at him with disbelief written all over her features.

              “Angelica, I just need someone to talk to.” She rolls her eyes, taking in his appearance. He’s dressed in old jeans and a hoodie, hair looking haphazardly combed and shoved underneath a red beanie. His eyes have the same dark bags she’s taken as his a trademark of his anxiety. She opens the door wide, stepping aside so he can make his way in.

              “Give me a minute, I need to make sure John knows we have company so he’s not completely freaked by the panicked elf sitting on our couch at…5 in the morning,” As she trails down the hallway he can just hear the diction in the words that follow behind her, including Ungodly hour and good lord, Alex. When she returns she’s being followed by a man dressed in a black-collared shirt and khakis. He looks Alex over carefully, regarding him skeptically before looking back at Angelica.

              “Alex Hamilton-usually rambling, frantic hot mess who’s dating Betsey.” He almost takes offense to her introduction but she’s grinning-teasing-so he simply stands and extends a hand to the man.

              “John Church-put-together mess, also dating a Schuyler sister.” Alex nods; he knows the name, putting a face to it finally seems a bit strange-as if John Church had been a legend come to life. “Almost 9 years now, too. They’re good, the Schuylers.”

              “They are.”

              “You’re right we are.” Angelica interjects, once again opening the door. John smiles, recognizing his cue and making his way to her. “Go to work so I can calm him down, please?”

              “I’ll grab a coffee on the way. It was nice to meet you, Alex.” When she’s shut the door she takes a moment, moving to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. She’s sure he doesn’t need it-Alex is jittery enough as it is-but she offers him a cup when she returns, sitting on the sofa in front of him. And once she sits, it’s like the floodgates have opened once more. He takes not even half a breath before beginning.

              “Angelica, I need…I was just-Eliza…I’m not sure how to approach this conversation, and,”

              “You guys had a conversation?”

              “We did, and it-I just-I want to help her. Okay, that came out wrong. I promise, I don’t want to change her-I love her, I wouldn’t change her for anything, I just,”

              “You love her?”

              Alex’s face flushes bright red but he relents, straightening his posture and making deliberate, serious eye contact with Angelica. Her lips are turned up in a knowing smirk, head tilted and eyebrows raised. He thinks about every moment; every second he’s been able to spend with her sister. And it’s just the thought of her, her name gliding through his subconscious, which has the power to sooth him. To warm him from the inside out. He’s sure.

              “I do.”

“Okay it’s been what, 2 months?”

“Almost 3.”

“Okay.” Angelica takes a moment, looking Alex up and down as if she doesn’t know quite what to make of him. He’s standing tall, putting on this incredible façade of cool confidence. But Angelica knows him better; he’s an easy read. While he stands with planted feet and gives her eye contact, his hands remain by his side-familiar fidget cube finding its way to them. He clicks the soundless button back and forth, taking in deep and calculated breaths. Angelica’s glad she’s making him nervous.

“Okay?” Alex answers her with a question, unsure of exactly what she means. She hasn’t broken her expression since he’d let the three words slip; trademark smirk still finding its way to make him incredibly nervous.  “Angelica I know it hasn’t been long but when you know, you know. And I love Eliza.”

              “Okay. I meant okay….it’s alright. You’re a good person, Alex.” She can see his sigh of relief, the way his chest expands and falls as he has trouble containing the smile that spreads rapidly across his face. She hides her own smile, suddenly hardening her stare on him.

              “But I swear to god Alex Hamilton if you so much as think about hurting her,”

              “I won’t. I couldn’t.”

              “Good.” She rises from the couch then, nodding at him with closed eyes-her own sort of blessing. Angelica takes his empty coffee cup to refill, speaking to him from the kitchen. “So you said you  need help with something?”

…

              Eliza lays on her bed, feet up in the air and head propped on her hands. Angelica flies around the room, pulling random items from her closet with an agenda-driven flurry of movement. She watches her older sister, sighing and pulling her blanket closer to her body. The quiet Tuesday night wasn’t going quite to the plan she’d set out.

First, she’d sent Alexander a text while she was in her 7am class. He hadn’t replied. Which was fine, really, until it grew to be noon and she’d become antsy about the entire situation. What if he’d changed his mind after hearing her story? What if all of their talking has just been a moment-what if he’d gone home and realized that things weren’t actually going to work out? What if she really was too damaged for him?

But he’d reassured her with a text back around 12:30, putting a rain check on their plans because of a group project he’d been roped into doing the most of. She’d understood-of course, because it was Alexander and group projects were his most hated aspect of school. But her understanding of his need to work wouldn’t just make him appear. So she’d decided to stay in.

Usually, she’d be all over the night. The old Eliza would have jumped on the chance; the old Eliza would have been the one dragging Angie out. And as she watched her older sister put together an outfit she didn’t particularly care for, she wished she could just be the old Eliza again. There hadn’t been a moment where she’d deny plans with her sisters, or with new friends. She’d always jumped at the opportunity to have fun-to feel that carefree feeling that came along with a good group of friends and a night out. But tonight, part of her just can’t pull herself back.

Angelica stops in her flurry to reach down to her sister, putting a hand on her shoulder before helping her up, much to Eliza’s dismay. There’s a glow in Angelica’s eyes-a mischief-that pulls her along. And before she can hesitate she’s moving to her closet to pick out something different, blinking back the tightened feeling in her chest and the numbness in her body. She was determined to have a good time, if not for Angelica’s sake.

When they got to her favorite Hibachi place, tucked between a small grocery store and a Law firm, Eliza already felt better. There was something about the atmosphere-giant koi pond in the lobby, cheap decorations with fading color placed haphazardly around the room-that made her instantly excited. And then, their waitress leads them to a high table, roped off with blue streamers. Angelica smirks. Eliza stares.

“Oh, and happy birthday!” Her eyebrows raise in question, and she’s just about to open her mouth to protest when a gaggle of other voices chime in to the well wishes. Five bodies pop up from behind the table, the first catching her eye sporting a collared shirt and khakis along with his usual ponytail. He has this grin on this face-his teeth aren’t showing but his lips are turned up so much that his cheeks are very visibly raised by them. They make immediate eye contact and she shakes her head, closing the distance between them with haste.

“What’s this?”

“Just a party. Happy fake birthday!” She smacks Alexander’s arm then, looking between him and his friends-their friends-in disbelief.

“We can’t just pretend it’s my birthday! There’s something that’s just so morally wrong about that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little party. Besides, there’s still one more surprise.”

“Another one? Alex, there’s no way-,”

“-But to get your surprise you have to stay, and let us pretend it’s your birthday and share our scorpion bowls.” Everyone’s looking at her, waiting for her response. Eliza lets her eyes scan the room once more; there’s blue helium balloons and white lace garland. There are even tiny plastic cats at every seat, their place-markers. The sight of it all nearly makes her cry.

“Did you plan all of this?”

“Angelica helped a lot with the ideas of it. And then everyone got on board-John bought the little cats, Herc and Laff got the balloons…”

“It’s amazing. Thank you.” She looks to everyone first, grinning, before wrapping her arms around Alexander. The embrace is tight-she doesn’t let go until Peggy coughs, drumming on the hibachi table.

“If we don’t sit down they’ll never come and feed us!”

Eliza’s enjoying herself-John catches the most green beans the chef throws, bragging about it until their meals come. Alex gets hit in the face with his and it lands on his plate with a resounding thunk that sounds twice as funny from the other side of his scorpion bowl. She sips her drink; there’s no need to get it all in at once. There’s nothing to hide from here, no reason to forget the memory that’s being created.

That’s not saying that she and Alex don’t completely finish their own drink before their meals are served. But she’s happy, laughing at Laff’s antics in struggling through the words on the menu through his thick French accent. And suddenly, very easily, she feels as though she’s back in her element again. She’s cracking jokes, effortlessly making her way through four conversations at once…it’s all beautifully intimidating, in a way that makes him comfortable to sit back while she works the room.

And then he’s gone, leaving her with only a squeeze of her hand while he maneuvers his way to the entrance once more. Eliza’s upset, looking back to where he’d gone with a pout while Angelica attempts to bring her back into the conversation.

And it works-right until the sound of microphone feedback interrupts them again.

“Oh god, sorry, I need to just-okay, that’s better.” Alexander maneuvers his way around their little corner of the restaurant, chorded microphone in hand as he trips over wires in attempts to stop the awful noise. Once he’s settled his eyes find their way back to Eliza again. He flashes her another trademark grin as she looks back at him with wrinkled nose and narrowed eyes-a silent ‘what the hell’ that moves her lips. “Alright, here’s surprise #2.”

He shrugs before moving to a silver rectangular box, pressing a button before holding the microphone with both hands. An old, familiar R&B melody starts and Eliza can’t contain her yelp of excitement.

“Get out of here, he is not about to do karaoke this is not happening!” She turns to Peggy, who’s swiftly taken out her phone to record the moment. Alex is in a rare form, showboating and loosening up, and as the song continues his stage presence intensifies. He’s added dance moves, swaying with the microphone and wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She’s never laughed so hard in her life. A few of the people seated by them have their heads turned their way, but nothing seems to shake the confidence Alex has. He points to her while he sings, getting into the song and using voices that only make her laughter intensify. She covers her face with her hands in mock embarrassment.

When the final notes of the song play out she’s the first out of her chair, hollering and clapping wildly. But he refuses to leave the stage; he saves his place before dragging her out there as well, giving her a second microphone and flipping through their song options on the screen. She hangs over his shoulder, face pressed against his as she tries to get a peek at what he might be choosing.

When the first few notes of the song play through the speakers she hops up, laughing, before assuming the character of Sandy from Grease. It’s a strange mixture of pineapple rum and the hype of their small crowd that leads them through their performance, and by the time it’s Eliza’s turn to sing they’ve both begun dancing and moving as far as their microphones will let them travel. When the first chorus comes around they’re trailing each other around their little corner. Eliza’s grinning ear-to-ear, and there, in her slightly dilated eyes, is the same shining warmth he’d been witness to so many days before-the happiness he’d been hoping to give her.

Her happiness only fuels his need to perform-to make her laugh-even more.

Alex picks up the karaoke machine, making his way to the table before hopping up. Eliza follows until he stands, shoes on, atop the countertop. But it’s only a moment’s hesitation-he’s still singing, one hand extended out to her as he bops on the balls of his feet. Then they’re in a full-blown dance routine, one of her hands on his chest leading him back, him following her like a lost puppy. They maneuver around the countertop with carefree, dainty, shoe-clad feet, and Eliza’s sure it’s the most fun she’s had in years.

              Even though they’re kicked out of the restaurant.

              Her laughter trails through the bustling nighttime streets of Manhattan as they crowd around Peggy’s phone, watching the impromptu performance again. It’s a chilly November night, her fake birthday. Eliza wraps her arm around him, head on his chest, and whispers thanks into his ears one thousand times over. He shakes his head; although his cheeks are still slightly red from the initial embarrassment of the karaoke, Eliza’s presence warms everything up once more. She is happy. His goal is complete.