#its so fucking mean! damn i just got mad at paris again

[paingoes]

whumper pushing whumpee to the ground, ordering them to get back up, and kicking them back down each time they try. repeat as many times as you like. especially w whumper getting more snippy each time.

“i said get up” while they’re making it physically impossible

physically and mentally exhausting them in addition to hurting them. forcing whumpee to participate in their own abuse.

[prettyflyshyguy]

We do a little live posting. You know the drill.

Abridged and way more rough and tumble for anyone following along at home, cause I'm skipping scenes and ignoring all the Heaven sub (sorry. I can't watch it. I want to see my awful boys be awful without Heaven related activity)

We're kicking off this speedrun sesh with S5E2 - Good God, Y'all!

I am REELING AND LAMENTING that Sam's demon blood arc ended the way it did.

ESPECIALLY WHEN WE GET SCENES LIKE THIS - this man wants to lick this shit so fucking bad to see if he can tell if its Demon blood or if he just shanked two normal humans

and now he's GASLIGHT, GATEKEEP, GIRLBOSSING Dean lmfaooo

Oh my god I love seeing Sam just flip spots with Dean this is the best oh my god its so good - this is a great and fun way to play with these two archetypes and I'm living for it but at the same time I just know it's gonna frustrate me more then it will entertain me in the long run.

OK ANON WAS RIGHT IT WAS WORTH IT JUST FOR THIS

ok it was worth it just for this scene this is GOOD SHIT GOOD SHIT

aaaaaaaaaaaand it lasted about 0.5 seconds nice. I'm fine. I'm fine about this. I'm not mad. I'm not mad that like one 15th of this episode scratched a very specific itch and the rest was "eh"

I also love that the worlds most fucked up co-dependent "only family I have left" brothers just shake hands and go "yeah guess we should just fucking separate from one an other! Bye!" at the end of episode 2 of season 5 LMFAO bye Sam see you next time

AAAAAAAND WE'RE SKIPPING STRAIGHT TO S5E5 - Fallen Idols

Based off anons recommendations, hilariously, is when Sam returns.

Bye Sam, hi Sam!

Anyway this episode has been fun because A) the boys are shit flinging again and B) Dean thought a car was going to crush him

I also love that they're setting things on fire in a wax museum and there are no automatic sprinklers

PARIS HILTON????

Damn Sam fans are having it good this season huh

AS I SAID: SAM FANS ARE HAVING IT GOOD THIS SEASON

Ok Ya girl got frustrated and I don't think I have the mental capacity to handle more comedy episodes (despite some of the S5 ones looking fun. I need grit. I need pain. I need nasty.)

I'm regrettably dumpster diving into S6.......

Oh dear.

I fucking lied I'm reading the episode synopsises and none of them grip me untill Lisa was mentioned fucking F in the chat

anyway I think I'm gonna stop here.

Cannot believe Dean went back to Lisa and Ben's house and he didnt fucking tell either of them "Sorry I hurt you both its cause I was a vampire for a day"

un fucking believable

I mean I'd take it if either actually brought up the fact he shoved them both

But at least Ben chewed him the fuck out.

anyway I'm not emotional about this YOU'RE emotional about this

[batmasterson]

HOLIDAY GIFT GUIDE FOR THOSE LOST IN TIME

Always the way, innit? I meant to get this for you earlier but here it comes next year. Still, what can you do? You can get a more reliable narrator, is what. Lemme tell you… hold up.

I started out trying to make a list of the projects I’m finding in this amazing wreckage of a writing life, ones that can still be propped up and pushed in the direction of an unsuspecting public down below. Then I got all me, and now it’s this. Sort of. I don’t know. Hold up.

The party welcomes you, pal. Look what we brought!

Paris in the Robot

I like tea. Loose leaf, bagged, flavored, iced. All of it. Even herbal, because I sleep these days. Didn’t always. Like tea, I mean. Although also the sleep thing. As with beer and coffee, tea wasn’t so much an acquired taste, more the sort of thing I tolerated until I found the samples that actually grooved with my taste buds. It bloomed in my mouth. Still does. Then I couldn’t get enough. There’s probably a sexual development metaphor there. La Romance!

Shooting Keys with Chico Starrdust

Like this? I’m back at my old, loud, tactile, mechanical keyboard. I’ve got a couple others waiting in the wings for when I travel and want to impress lonely pigeons. I mean, not with the wings. The wings are satchels and briefcases, wherein I keep my new, shiny… uh, you know what? Hold up.

Point is. I’m typing again. Send me your P.O. Box address if you want something from the fountain pens.

The 8th Anger of Shaolin

The thing I fucking hate is that you get to the point where you’re no longer trying to escape your feelings or drown them and you’re finally able to just let it out and allow the rage and fury and sadness to take form and explain its red rabid reasoning, able to express and address rather than repress, and then they tell you, well. Hold up.

Let’s do this in a healthy way.

Mad Fall (redux)

it happens every year you dream that you are drowning and so you struggle to wake up and you do you do wake but the bedroom is on fire and this is the insomnia so you fight to sleep and you’re drowning and the ocean is everywhere you can’t breathe unless you wake up in the fire and this happens now it happens again hold up

Red Devil Dance, Gold Cat Wave

I take care of plants these days. I drink tea, I greet the sun, these birds and squirrels hop about, it’s a damn waterfall of haiku every day. Got a little black book to keep ‘em all in, too. While they’re cooking.

The Skully Redemption

I’ve been writing scripts for people in, from, and around Arizona for more than 25 years. That’s got to mean something, surely. Hold up.

Never mind..

No point in stopping now, he said, looking over his shoulder at Mesa Tiempo. Get ready for the new monsoon of desert comedy crime comics.

The House of Final Adventure

This is a hold up.

[specialagentsergio]

wish i were

summary: Emily’s back where she belongs, but she’s learning that you can’t come back from the dead the same as you were before. Spencer’s reeling from betrayal and broken trust. Then there’s you—their safe port in the storm. But you’re not okay either, and you have a choice to make.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: lots of swearing, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, bittersweet ending

a/n: it’s finally here. thank you all for your patience. i wasn’t planning on posting angst and unrequited love on valentine’s day, but i don’t want to wait another day to post this; i’m kinda sick of looking at it tbh. anyways, i hope you enjoy it and it lives up to your expectations. sorry it’s so long. apparently i have a lot to say.

word count: 8.7k

series masterlist || masterlist

Ten weeks ago.

“Absolutely not,” Emily croaks out. Her voice is rough and broken from the breathing tube, and it hurts her throat to speak, but she ignores it. “No. I won’t do it.”

She can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She’s only been awake for a few hours and she’s already fed up with the bullshit the world is throwing at her. Right now, it’s in the form of her boss asking her to fake her own death. “You can’t seriously think this is an acceptable solution.”

Hotch is unreadable, his unit chief face firmly in place. “It’s for your own safety.”

Emily scoffs, then immediately winces at the pain that shoots through her midsection. But she continues. “So put me in a safe house or something. I’m not making my friends bury me.”

“It’s for their safety as well,” he replies. “Doyle’s still out there. He’s targeted them before. You know he’ll do it again to get to you if he finds out you’re alive.”

“Then let them in on this,” she argues. “They can keep a secret.”

His expression slips—just a little bit, but she sees it. It’s hesitance.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” she asks, a feeling of dread settling over her. “I want to see her. I’m not making a decision like this without her.”

Hotch folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not your decision to make, Emily,” he says quietly. “It’s already done.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She looks him up and down, searching desperately for any sign that he’s lying, that this is all just some cruel joke, that any second now you’ll be walking through the door, a smile on your face—

There are none.

Her lungs burn and she’s forced to take in a breath. “You son of a bitch,” she whispers. “You... son of a bitch. How dare you? How dare you.”

He doesn’t so much as flinch as her voice increases in volume, which only serves to make her angrier.

“How fucking dare you! You let me see (Y/N) right now, you bastard!”

The door opens—her heart leaps—

It’s JJ, who, if Hotch is to be believed, is the only other one to know about this. JJ hurries to her side and reaches out, but Emily yanks her arm away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarls. “You—” Her eyes land on the water pitcher on the table in front of her and she lunges forward, the searing pain it causes barely registering. She seizes it and throws it with all the force she can muster.

Hotch doesn’t move out of the way, letting it hit his chest and soak the front of his clothing. Its accompanying cup follows, then the TV remote. It’s not until she grabs the vase of flowers that he ducks out of the way. The glass shatters on the floor. All the while, she’s screaming obscenities at him.

JJ tries in vain to calm her down, holding up her hands placatingly. “Emily, please—”

“Don’t talk to me!” she yells. “You have the audacity to come in here and speak to me when you know I’m alive and my girlfriend doesn’t!”

“Emily!” Her voice is stern. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Don’t use your fucking mom voice on me, Jennifer, I’m not a fucking child—”

“What’s going on in here?” A pair of nurses enter the room, no doubt drawn by the commotion.

“She’s bleeding,” JJ answers immediately. “I think she might have aggravated something when she sat up.”

“She’s not supposed to be sitting up at all. What did you two do?” one of the nurses scolds.

“She just got some bad news—”

“Well, isn’t that a nice way to put it!” The nurses are trying to coax her into laying back down, but Emily resists it. “A really great way to describe the two of you trying to force me into letting my family and girlfriend think I’m dead!”

“I think some of the stitches tore,” the second nurse says.

“Go get the doctor,” the first one instructs an orderly standing in the doorway.

Movement catches Emily’s eye and she looks towards it to see Hotch taking a step backwards.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams. “I’m not done with you, you motherf—”

“Agent, please, you need to lie back.”

“And you two need to leave,” the older of the nurses says.

Then there’s a third person at her side. Judging by the white coat, it’s the doctor. “What’s the problem?” he asks them.

“She’s agitated and we think some stitches might have burst.”

“Damn right I’m agitated!” Emily cries. “They’re trying to—I—” She looks past the doctor to find that JJ and Hotch are gone.

“Emily, we’re going to give you something to help you relax,” he tells her.

Her vision goes blurry and she can’t figure out why until she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks. She lets the nurses push her back now and her head thumps against the pillow. “Please—” she chokes on a sob. “Please, I want to see my girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?” the doctor asks kindly.

“(Y/N). We’ve been together for almost a year. I need…” Her limbs are starting to feel heavy. “I need to call her, or—or something. She thinks… she thinks….”

“Shh, you’re okay,” one of the nurses soothes. “You’re going to be okay.”

Emily blinks slowly and shakes her head. “But she won’t be. She…”

The world fades to black.

---

There are tear stains on your pillowcase.

That’s the first thing Emily notices when she walks into your bedroom. She recognizes them so quickly because similar ones were on her pillows in Paris.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to run the sheets through the wash,” you say when you notice her looking.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She sets her bag on the bedside table, careful to jostle Sergio as little as possible. He’s in her arms, pressed against her chest and purring loudly. He definitely remembers her—she’d been a little worried that he wouldn’t.

Emily is absolutely exhausted. It has been a very long day. Doyle is dead, Declan is safe, and now all she wants to do is take a nice, hot shower and curl up in bed with you. But you haven’t been able to keep eye contact with her for more than a few moments at a time.

She expected something like this to happen. She knew once the relief of seeing her alive wore off, there was going to be a heap of more, uglier emotions surfacing.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

You glance up at her just briefly, busying yourself with stripping off the pillowcases and replacing them with a clean set. “I don’t know what to say, Emily,” you sigh. “I just… I don’t.”

She strokes Sergio’s back a couple of times to calm herself before replying. “You can say anything. You’ve been through so much, and I… I’m not going to hold what you’re feeling against you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

It confirms her suspicions. “(Y/N), you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she says. “Hell, you could even yell at me if you wanted to and I’d be okay with it.”

You snort. “I don’t want to yell at you. But, um, could I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. Well…” You shuffle from one foot to the other. “I’m… not really sure how to ask this, but, how… how did this happen?”

Your voice is hesitant. You’re holding back, but Emily can read between the lines. “You mean, how could I let you think I was dead?” she corrects softly.

You breathe in sharply and wrap your arms around yourself. Your eyes are wet when you look up at her and nod.

Emily tries not to let her next words come out too fast, lest it seem like she’s dismissing your feelings or making excuses. “I didn’t get a choice.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. “When I came to after surgery, the funeral had already been held.”

Your mouth drops open. You stare at her for a few seconds, then blink several times. Your eyes move around, focused on nothing in particular as you try to process what she’s just told you. Eventually, they settle on the bedroom door behind her. “I’m gonna punch his face,” you whisper.

Emily can’t stop the genuine laugh that bubbles out of her. “Yeah, Hotch heard similar things from me.”

“Oh my god, Em,” you breathe out, and her heart skips a beat at the nickname. “That must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” she admits. “But at least I knew you were alive and that I’d see you again someday. It can’t come close to what you went through.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t the suffering Olympics. It was harder for you in some ways than it was for me, I’m sure. Like, if I was waking up after being stabbed, I’d want my girlfriend there holding my hand.”

Emily’s eyes prick with tears as she listens to you, remembering how it felt to be at the hospital without you there to hold her hand through all the scary bits. But you? You had buried her, and now you’re here considering how Emily had felt throughout all this. She’s not sure if you’re actively trying to make her fall even more in love with you, but if you are, you’re succeeding.

“I can’t promise to never be mad at you about this,” you continue, “but I’ll take being mad at you for actually being alive rather than being mad at you for dying.”

“That’s… really mature of you,” she observes.

“I started seeing a therapist a few days after the funeral,” you say with a shrug. “Can you put Sergio down and help me change the bed sheets?”

She nods and places him gently on the floor. She’s about to ask why you’re wanting to change them right now, when you’re clearly just as exhausted as she is, when she finds a tie wedged between the top and fitted sheets at the foot of the bed. She frowns as she lifts it up—it’s not one she recognizes as yours or hers, but she does think she’s seen it before.

“Oh, so that’s where that went,” you say.

“I don’t remember you having a tie like this. Is it new?”

“It’s Spencer’s,” you clarify.

“Oh. What… what’s it doing in your bed?” she asks hesitantly.

“He would stay over sometimes when I couldn’t sleep and he’s too long—“ you spread your hands apart “—for either of the couches.”

“I see.” Emily smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric and crosses the room to put it on top of the dresser, trying to tamp down the sting of jealousy. The other side of your bed is supposed to be hers.

“Nothing happened,” you say and she realizes she’s frowning.

“I know,” she replies, and she does—she just wishes it had been her in the bed with you. But you’ve at least given her a good lead-in for her surprise. “Anyways, you wouldn’t have even had the time with the amount of online Scrabble you were playing.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “How do you know about that?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “I was there for every game, sergio2010.”

It takes you a moment to put it together. “You’re cheetobreath?” you ask. “I thought that was JJ.”

“It was her idea,” Emily says. “And that’s what you were supposed to think.”

Your reaction delights her—you start laughing. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I had to stick it to Hotch somehow,” she defends, barely holding back her own laughter.

You shake your head fondly as you finish tucking in the fresh sheets. Emily helps you spread the comforter back over the bed and return the pillows to their spots. She isn’t sure what to do after that, though, and nervously clasps her hands in front of her. You’re silent for a few seconds, watching her from across the bed.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” you say eventually.

“Um, okay,” she replies. “But you know, I could go stay at a hotel instead if you’d prefer.”

You shake your head. “You’re gonna join me.”

“Ah.” Emily swallows, part nervous, part thrilled. “That’s… I mean, yeah. Okay.”

You hold out your hand in invitation; she circles the bed and takes it.

After, when you’re both clean and settled into bed, she pulls you as close to her as she can. “This is so nice,” you sigh into her skin. “You’re so soft, Em.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Um, thank you?”

“Spencer’s bony,” you explain.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, I know. I fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet a few years ago and it was painful.”

You giggle. “Did you know he talks in his sleep?”

“Morgan’s mentioned it. You learn anything else when you were snuggled up with him?” she teases, running her fingers through your damp hair.

“It wasn’t like that,” you protest. “We didn’t snuggle. I’d just kind of… press my forehead on his arm and one leg against his.” Your voice lowers as you continue, “I just really missed being close to someone.”

“I did, too,” she whispers back. “I wish it had been me, but I’m glad you had him.”

You nod against her in agreement. “I love you, Emily,” you say, briefly tightening your grip on her.

“I love you, too,” she replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So much.”

You drift off to sleep quickly, and she’s not far behind.

It’s the best sleep she’s had in months.

---

Spencer’s barely heard from you since the hearing last week.

He’d gotten plenty of texts from Jennifer (all of which he ignored), but only a few from you. That’s probably normal for most adult friends, but not for you two, especially so when the fact that you were the only two people not to apply for reinstatement to the BAU is taken into consideration. He thought that he’d be able to seriously talk about it with you, to share his feelings and maybe work it out together. But all he had gotten was a brief message:

Emily was reinstated, so I’m going back, too.

It left him frustrated, but when it came down to it, he understood—he was the same. Since you were going back, so was he.

On Monday morning, everyone’s first day back together, he gets off the elevator and is immediately confronted with the last person he wants to see.

“Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend,” Jennifer says.

Spencer barely resists rolling his eyes, instead keeping them fixed on the file he’s holding. “I had to deal with some stuff with my mom.” It’s not a lie—he did have to check in with his mom. It just didn’t take as long as he’s implying. “Have you seen Garcia?”

“Uh, she’s with Rossi,” Jennifer answers, and she sounds startled by his behavior, but he doesn’t care. You’re at your desk, and as he passes by, he takes your arm.

“Wha—Spencer?” You’re taken aback, but you let him pull you along and into a file room.

“What?” you repeat when he turns to you after closing the door.

He tucks the file into his bag, the folds his arms over his chest. “I barely heard from you last week.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Well, yeah, I’ve been busy,” you say. “Emily’s moving in with me so we’ve been taking her things out of storage and to my apartment to unpack.”

Spencer glances away, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy in his chest. Just two weeks ago, he was in your bed and he’s quickly been replaced. And sure, he knows you don’t feel that way about him, but it was easy to pretend you did when you were asleep right next to him. “Not busy enough to make a decision about work,” he points out.

“So?”

“You’re the only other one who didn’t apply for reinstatement to the unit,” he replies. “You’d think that would be something for us to talk about.”

“You never said you wanted to,” you say, giving him a little shrug.

He doesn’t resist the eye roll this time. Does Spencer know he’s being a bit unfair? Yes. Does he care? Not particularly. No one bothered to seriously check in with him last week. He wasn’t expecting everyone to, but he was expecting it from you. He’s only been at work for five minutes, but his emotions are already running high, and he doesn’t care to reign them in. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

“You should’ve. I can’t read your mind.” Now you’re getting defensive. “And what does it matter, anyways? You’re not my boyfriend; I don’t have to run my decisions past you.”

“I know that,” he snaps. He really could have done without hearing you say that. “I’m just there to warm up your bed when you’re lonely is all, huh?”

You’re shocked for only a moment before pivoting to anger. “I didn’t make you do anything. You could’ve said no. And I certainly don’t owe you anything from it.”

“Clearly,” he mutters.

You heave an angry sigh. “Look, I know you’re mad about the whole thing, but don’t take it out on me. I don’t know why you’re so surprised that I wanted to spend the past week catching up with my girlfriend after thinking she was dead for ten weeks. If you wanted to talk, you should’ve said so. Stop being such an ass.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. You’re right, and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. He just looks down at the floor, avoiding your glare.

When it becomes clear to you that he has no intention of responding, you mutter, “whatever” under your breath and duck behind him, walking out of the door and leaving him alone again.

---

The case has been miserable.

In rural Oklahoma, their unsub is burning his victims with acid. Not the worst they’ve seen, but not pleasant, either—this job never is.

You’re still mad at him, which is bad enough, but he’s also had to watch you be far more… touchy with Emily than you ever were before. It’s not super apparent—you still keep it professional at the local P.D. and when you’re out on work assignments, but you’re going out of your way to find any excuse to touch her that you can outside of that.

Then there’s the motel they’re staying at and its thin walls. He heard a few things last night from your room next door. It was quickly followed by shushes, but he heard enough to infer what was going on. So he’d dug his noise-canceling headphones out of his bag. It had been a good solution at the time, but then he’d fallen asleep with them on. As a result, he’d slept with his neck at an odd angle. It’s midday now and it’s still aching.

To top it all off, there’s Jennifer. He’s been trying to keep his distance from her, and had thought the snide remarks he hadn’t been able to hold back might encourage her to stay away. But she keeps pressing the issue, and when she tells him she thinks he’s mad about micro-expressions, he can’t hold it back anymore.

“You think it’s about my profiling skills? Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

She protests, so he brings up Dilaudid. He knows it’s a low blow, and that she still feels guilty about them splitting up all those years ago, leading to his abduction and subsequent problem, but he doesn’t care. He just wants her to hurt like he is.

The team is staring and Emily says his name, but he just tells Jennifer that it’s too late to be sorry and leaves without another word.

Outside, he sits on the curb in front of one of the SUVs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He’s not alone for long, though. Just a few minutes later, he hears footsteps coming from behind him. The sound that involuntarily comes out of his throat can only be described as a growl.

“God, Jennifer, what do I have to do to get you to understand that I want you to leave me the fuck alone!” he nearly yells.

But it’s not Jennifer that answers. “It’s me,” you say softly.

Spencer sighs. He drops his hands from his face but doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“Can I sit?”

He’s not sure he wants to be around anyone, but it’s hard for him to say no to you. “Sure,” he says dully.

You join him on the curb, but keep a few feet of space between you. You don’t say anything, though, just sit quietly, letting him make the first move.

“How are you okay?” he asks eventually.

“What?” You sound incredulous. “I’m not sure where you got that idea. I’m so mad at Hotch that I can barely breathe when I’m in the same room as him.”

Spencer considers this for a moment, recalling when everyone’s been in the same room during this case. He realizes that since he’s been preoccupied with you touching Emily and trying to avoid Jennifer, he’s missed how you tense up whenever you see Hotch, and that you keep him out of your eyesight whenever possible.

“But you’re fine with Emily,” he observes. That does honestly confuse him, because he’s mad at Emily as well. And if it had been you in her place? He’s not sure he’d ever be able to forgive you, even without you knowing the way he feels about you.

“For the most part,” you say. “I still feel a little mad at her sometimes, but it helps me to remember that it wasn’t her fault.”

He finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being alive in Paris and not telling you isn’t her fault?”

“She didn’t really get a choice. When she woke up after surgery, the funeral had already happened,” you explain. “Hotch made the decision without her.”

“Hmm.” He files that information away to think over later. “And Jennifer?”

You shrug. “I can’t be too mad at her, since she did so much for me during those weeks.”

He snorts. “Yeah, out of guilt.”

“Probably, yes,” you concede. “But not having to pack up Emily’s things and take them to storage myself, feeding Sergio and bringing him to stay with me, bringing me hot meals when I was surviving off of cereal alone because I could barely get out of bed, let alone cook for myself… it went a long way.”

On the one hand, it’s a bit comforting for him to hear how Jennifer helped the woman he loves. On the other, she could have ended your pain with three words—Emily is alive—but she didn’t. She let the woman he loves suffer the pain of the loss of a partner.

And she sure didn’t bring him hot meals.

This shouldn’t surprise you, Spencer. You’ve always been the afterthought. The burden. You should be used to this by now.

He clenches the fabric of his pants in his hands. “That doesn’t make me any less angry,” he mutters.

“That’s fine.”

“You can’t expect me to just—wait, what?”

“That’s fine,” you repeat. “I’m not trying to tell you to just get over it or whatever because she was nice to me. Like Em told me, you’re allowed to be mad.”

Spencer bites his lip, resisting the urge to ask you to stop calling her Em. You’re the only one that calls her that—or rather, is allowed to call her that, and it’s obvious why. It’s also similar enough to you calling him Spence that he’ll always start comparing himself to Emily when he hears it, and he’s been trying to stop doing that for months.

“Maybe you just, I don’t know,” you continue, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You could just try to be a little less passive aggressive with JJ?”

He opens his mouth, about to flat-out refuse, but before he can, you tack on, “For me? Just a little bit?”

God damn it.

“Only if she stops bothering me,” he says bluntly.

“Yeah, she, um… she was crying when I left, so I think she’s got the message now,” you say quietly.

He feels a bit guilty upon hearing that, but not enough to apologize, or even really regret it. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, he rationalizes to himself. She’s the one who decided to push it anyways.

After a few moments of silence, you reach out and pat his knee. “I love you, you know.”

He knows what you mean, knows that you don’t mean it like that, but his heart still skips a beat. He responds to you with a nod.

You push yourself to your feet, tell him to take all the time he needs, and you’ll see him when he’s ready to come back in, then walk away.

When he’s certain you’re out of earshot, he whispers back, “I love you, too.”

---

Emily sits down across from him on the plane, and Spencer is immediately reminded of the morning after he caught you and her together. That time, Emily had folded her hands in front of her on the table. This time, she slides something across it to him. He looks up from his book and sees his missing tie, wrinkles ironed out and folded neatly.

“It was in her bed,” she explains when his brow furrows.

Spencer wonders if that made Emily jealous.

He’s not a good enough person to not hope it did.

“Thanks,” he mutters, putting it away in his bag.

Emily’s quiet, but she doesn’t leave. She must have something else to say. He sighs. “What is it?”  

“Are you going to Rossi’s house tomorrow night?” she asks.

He looks back down to his book. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure I can make it.”

“Okay. Well, Reid, you can be mad at me for as long as you need to. I’m okay with that.”

Spencer frowns. He kind of wishes she wasn’t being so nice and understanding. It makes it harder to be upset with her, and he wants to be upset with her.

“I’d like to say something to you, though, if that’s okay,” she says.

He reluctantly looks back up. “What?”

Emily holds his gaze. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

He blinks. “Uh, for what?”

Her voice wavers slightly with emotion as she speaks. “For looking out for her when I couldn’t.”

His eyes drift away from Emily and to the couch where you’re sleeping. “My pleasure,” he replies quietly. When he looks back at Emily, she has a curious look on her face.

For the first time, instead of panicking over keeping his secret, instead of shying away, Spencer looks right back at her. A few seconds later, he thinks he sees a flash of realization in her eyes, but it’s so quick he can’t be sure.

“Well, thank you,” she repeats, and takes her leave. He watches as she leans down and tucks the blanket closer around you. He closes his eyes, leans back in his seat, and imagines a world where he was the one adjusting it instead.

---

“You’re gonna go weeks, months even, feeling fine. And then you’re gonna have a bad day.”

Emily can barely get the hotel room door open, her hands are shaking so much. A bad day. What Hotch called it, she thinks, was a bit of an understatement.

She’s just come back from taking a witness statement to help wrap up the piano man case—or rather, she was trying to take one.

“I was told that you would only give your statement to me.”

“Why didn’t you let me pull the trigger?” Regina asks.

“Because you would be in prison.” Emily understands why Regina is mad at her, and she’s fine with taking the brunt of it. Lying to her to stop her from shooting the unsub was the right thing to do. “I know it’s hard--”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like…” Regina pauses briefly, anger radiating off of her. “When the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.”

Emily breaks eye contact and looks down. She knows exactly what that’s like.

Regina recognizes it. “Wait--”

Redirect, redirect, redirect. “Look, I’m here as a courtesy--”

“Something happened to you.”

“So do you want to give me your statement or not?”

But Regina is relentless. “What did you do to him, huh? Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?”

Emily sits down heavily on the spare bed, drawing your attention away from packing up your things for the flight home. “Em?”

She just shakes her head, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and closing her eyes. “It was the right thing,” she whispers to herself. “It was the right thing. I did the right thing.”

You sit down next to her and place your hand on her back. “What happened?”

Emily swallows hard, feeling sick to her stomach. Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck; she tilts her head to try and dislodge it. You catch on and pull it to the side for her.

“Talk to me, baby,” you urge gently. “Just something, anything I can do to help.”

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. “I—I think,” she stutters. “I th—think I just ruined a woman’s pe—peace of m—mind for good.”

You start rubbing circles on her back and ask, “How?”

“You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you.”

Emily shudders involuntarily. “I… you know how we found the unsub with a—a victim?”

Slowly, in sentences fractured by gasping breaths, swallows to hold back the nausea, and even a few sobs, she recounts what Regina said to her.

You murmur something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, then, ever so gently, you pull her into your arms.

Emily Prentiss isn’t one to break down, not in her own home and especially not in front of others. She controls any “negative” emotions as best as she can, her feelings only displayed through a trembling voice, misty eyes, or run-down nails. Screaming, tears, and nervous gestures were not befitting of an ambassador’s daughter, after all, and those habits formed in childhood have stayed with her until this day.

But there’s one person who’s the exception. There’s one person with whom those walls just don’t seem to exist. That person, of course, is you.

You pull her into your arms, and Emily Prentiss breaks down, because she can. She can because she knows you’ll be there to help put her back together again.

“You never had a chance to mourn your own death, did you?”

She hadn’t understood what her therapist meant when she said it yesterday morning, but Emily thinks she does now. This time last year, what Regina said would have unsettled her, and she would have felt sorry for her, but she probably wouldn’t have dwelt on it much. It’s not last year, though. It’s this year, and she’s coming undone in your embrace over Regina’s words, words she knows will never leave her.

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Still… your monster’s dead. I have to live with mine. That’s my statement.”

Emily has a promise to keep, so she boards the jet early. A few minutes later, Hotch slides into the seat across from her and waits. It still takes her a few moments to collect herself enough to say the words.

“I’m having a bad day.”

---

Spencer’s not sure if you’re going to be able to keep doing this job. He became very familiar with your nervous tics and outward signs of stress during those weeks, and now he can notice them almost immediately.

You seemed okay for the first few months. A few habits cropped up now and then—biting your lip, tapping each fingertip to your thumb in turn—but that was fairly normal. It’s a stressful job.

But then your bottom lip starts getting chapped again, and during conversions with anyone other than Emily, you’re quiet; you often have to be prompted to share your thoughts.

He tries to find out what’s wrong, but when he asks, you shut it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “But, um, you probably should talk to… somebody, you know?”

You barely look up from your paperwork as you respond. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been seeing a therapist since this whole shitshow started. I’ve got Emily, too. If anything, I should be telling you to go talk to a professional.”

Spencer just says “okay” again, then a few minutes later he excuses himself to go hide in the bathroom and nurse his hurt feelings. He knows you weren’t trying to be mean. Flipping around the suggestion to him most certainly came from a place of love. But he’s not interested in receiving any kind of psychiatric care—he’s actively opposed to it. So being told anything of that sort upsets him and often makes him angry.

Today it’s just salt in the wound, though. The wound itself is Emily. And god, does he ever feel guilty about the resentment that crops up every time her name is in your mouth. She was dead, and every day she was gone, he wished she weren’t. He cried countless tears over her and would’ve given anything to at least be able to say goodbye.

Then the impossible happened—she came back. He didn’t have to say goodbye at all. And sure, there was the initial relief and happiness, and the warmest hug ever, but now he finds himself resenting her. He’d never wish for her to be gone again, but he can’t stop the jealousy, no matter how hard he tries.

Recently, when Emily was shot during a case in California, he held back your hair as you leaned out of the door of the SUV and threw up upon receiving the news. Spencer Reid would never deny that he’s a germaphobe, but he wants that. He wants to be the one taking care of you, the one whose shoulder you fall asleep on, the one going home with you at the end of the day.

He doesn’t want Emily gone, never, ever again, but he wants you back. Those ten weeks, as awful as they were, weren’t the worst he’s had, because during that time, you were always seeking him out. He knows you didn’t want him that way, but if Emily had really been gone, he thinks one day, that might have changed. The thought always brings tears to his eyes.

Still, he would settle for having you the way he did during the years before he fell for you. Things just haven’t been the same since Emily came back. You don’t stay up late talking anymore. You haven’t a movie night in months. You don’t ask about the books he’s reading or what he did over the weekend. This is it: this is exactly what he was afraid of happening when he found you with Emily.

Spencer doesn’t think it’s personal. He thinks it’s because you’re barely hanging on these days, and just don’t have the energy anymore to do things like you used to.

It still hurts, though. He wonders if it’ll ever stop hurting.

---

Respite can come at the strangest of times and in the oddest of ways. Today, it comes to Emily in the middle of a hostage situation at a bank, in the form of a job offer.

The team is trying to find the I.D. of the Queen of Hearts, one of the robbers, when she gets a surprise call from Clyde Easter, her old Interpol Unit Chief, who gives her the information he knows about the unsub. He doesn’t know her name, but he reminds her that she’s seen the unsub before, at a robbery in Paris while she was living there. Then when the team learns that their unsubs want to fly out to Chad, she calls him back.

“Well, unfortunately Interpol doesn’t have many assets in that particular region in Africa. Maybe that’s something you could help me with when this is over.”

Emily scoffs. “Work for Interpol again? That’ll be the day.”

“Not work, darling. Run,” he corrects. “You see, I’ve been promoted. So, the team’s yours whenever you want it.”

“It’s a hell of a time to bring that up,” she says, ignoring the questioning glances she’s getting from you, Reid, and JJ.

Clyde asks her to think about it, but there’s no time to do that now. She pushes it to the back of her mind and goes back to work.

By the time the day is over, she’s tired. Just tired. You both narrowly survive the explosion in the bank thanks to the alcove you were in, trying to help two elderly patrons. Then a mere hour later, you scare the shit out of her by finding Will strapped to an active bomb and deactivating it yourself. So Clyde’s offer doesn’t come up again until the next morning, when light is spilling through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with a soft, warm glow.

You face each other in bed, legs twined together under the covers. “What was that about working for Interpol again?” you ask softly, tucking your arm under your head.

“Clyde was promoted,” she replies just as quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful morning feeling. “He offered me his old job. He wants me to run the London office.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

Emily blows out a breath. “I’d like to at least… consider it.”

You reach out, finding her hand in the sheets and lacing your fingers between hers. “What’s stopping you?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” she replies, squeezing your hand back.

“Well, then I think you’re more than just considering it,” you say. “You wouldn’t bring it to me if you didn’t want to take the job.”

Emily thinks for a moment, then admits, “I… I do want to take it. But I have to know what you think, honestly.” She was already robbed out of making one life-changing decision without you in this past year. She has no interest in that happening again.

“Honestly?” you repeat, shifting a little. At her nod, you continue, “I think it’s a good option for us.”

“Us?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, us,” you affirm. “What, you think I’m just going to stay here if you move away?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. This is the first time we’ve talked about something like this.”

“Fair point,” you say, then sigh. “We’re… both struggling here in D.C., Em. I know it and you know it. This place, this team. It used to be my home, but now, I just… it’s not like it was before.”

“You don’t trust Hotch anymore,” Emily says quietly.

You let out a small, broken chuckle. “I’ve tried. I’ve been trying so hard. I know he did what he thought he had to, but I just… I can’t.”

“It’s okay to feel that way,” she points out. She lets go of your hand to reach up and wipe away a tear that breaks your lash line. “In fact, I’d say it’s reasonable, with what you went through.”

You close your eyes and nod, putting your hand on top of hers to keep it on your cheek. “I know it’s been hard for you, too.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I wanted to come back, and at first, I felt like I was home. But I just can’t go back to my old life and pretend that nothing happened. The only time I feel at home now is… well, it’s when I’m alone with you, just like this.”

“Emily Prentiss, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” you say, cracking a smile.

“Oh, stop,” she says, but she’s blushing. When your giggles subside, she speaks again. “I would love for you to come to London with me. But I don’t want you to forget what you’d be leaving. There’s still a lot of good here.”

You nod. “There is. I’m just not sure it’s enough anymore,” you say softly.

“I understand. You can think about it. I don’t need an answer now.”

So you don’t give her one, not right away. But you do a few hours later. So Emily picks up her phone and dials Clyde’s number.

---

JJ’s a beautiful bride, but Spencer’s eyes keep drifting over to you. The dress you’re wearing tonight is wonderful; from the cut to the color, it suits you perfectly. But that’s not what’s really got his attention. It’s the way you’re carrying yourself. You’re smiling, and you seem truly happy, without any reservations. But there’s also a bit of sadness clinging to you, and he can’t tell what’s causing it.

The party has been going on for a while by the time he finds himself dancing with you. You’d asked him, and now you’ve steered him a little ways away from everyone else. “There’s something I have to tell you,” you say just as he’s about to ask what’s going on.

To his dismay, he doesn’t have a clue what it’s going to be. He doesn’t like not having at least an idea. He swallows, then says, “Okay.”

You can’t meet his eyes; you look down to the floor instead and watch your feet move in time together. So whatever it is, I’m not going to like it, he thinks, and his anxiety spikes. “What is it?” he asks, tightening his grip on you without really meaning to.

You take a deep breath, then look up. “Emily and I are leaving.”

His heart drops and he stops in his tracks, causing you to stumble a little over his feet. “Oh, shi—sorry,” he says. “I just—you’re leaving the BAU? But you’re still going to be in D.C., right?”

You sigh, then guide him off the dance floor and to a quiet spot not too far away. “You remember what Emily said about working for Interpol again yesterday?”

“Interpol?” he repeats, his voice pitching upwards. “You mean, like, overseas?”

“London, to be specific.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say. Things were a little rocky between you and him when Emily came back, and for a little while afterwards, sure, but recently he’d started to feel like he had his best friend back.

Apparently he couldn’t be more wrong.

Spencer’s used to people leaving. First it was his dad, then Ethan. Elle was next, quickly followed by Gideon. JJ was forced out, and although she ended up coming back, it didn’t erase the pain he felt in her absence. And then there was everything that happened with Emily.

So, Spencer’s used to people leaving. In a way, he almost expects it.

He just wishes it would stop hurting so damn much.

What is it about me? he wonders. What is it that makes people run away? There’s clearly something wrong with--

“Hey!”

He jumps, startled out of his introspection. When his eyes refocus on you, you put your hands on your hips.

“I don’t appreciate people being mean to my best friend, you know,” you tell him seriously.

“Uh…” He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“That includes him being mean to himself,” you continue. “I know what you were thinking.”

“What? No, you don’t,” he protests.

“Don’t I?” You put the tip of your finger on your chin. “Was it or was it not something along the lines of, people always leave me, why do they do that, there must be something wrong with me?”

He hates that you’re right, so he doesn’t answer, just scowls and looks away.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“Sure,” he mutters. Sure it isn’t. You’ve only just added your name to the list.

“I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look at me.”

Spencer doesn’t, and your resulting sigh sounds so frustrated, and then he thinks, Oh, great work, Reid. (Y/N) tells you she’s leaving and what do you do? You piss her off. Honestly, it’s no wonder--

And then your hands are on his face, cradling his cheeks, and he’s too surprised to resist your gaze anymore.

“It’s not your fault, Spencer,” you say, your voice equal parts firm and gentle. “You didn’t drive me away. Not even close. There’s nothing inherently wrong with you, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He sniffs, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotions you’ve just caused. “Well, I could have gone without picking a fight with you on our first day back at work,” he says, sniffling again.

“What’re you tal—Spencer, that was almost a year ago.”

“Nine months.”

“Whatever. The point still stands. You’re not why I’m leaving, okay? You’re…” you trail off and he’s alarmed to see your eyes grow wet. “You’re the opposite, actually. You were the only thing keeping me here when Emily was gone. And now, you’re why it’s so hard to leave.”

“I am?” he whispers before he can think better of it.

“You are,” you affirm. “I think Emily’s actually a little worried you’re gonna talk me out of it.”

It gets a laugh out of him, but right after a little sob escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut. When you hug him, he immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your middle tightly.

“Hey, this isn’t the end, okay?” you say, and he can tell from the way your voice is trembling that you’re crying, too. “I know you like to ignore it, but we do live in the digital age, and I’ll be hounding you to talk to me at least once a week. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I’d certainly hope not,” he murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other, trying not to cry too much. Eventually, you pull away. “Besides, it’s not like I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Our flight isn’t for another ten days. I’m gonna be around.”

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, then swipe at your face, clearing away the tears. “Um, we should head back. You still owe me a dance.”

And dance with you he does, swaying gently from side to side with his hand resting on your waist. A look over your shoulder shows Emily and Derek dancing in a similar manner; judging by the way he’s holding her, she told him the news as well.

He has an eidetic memory, but Spencer makes the effort to commit this moment to his brain all the same. He wants to remember the way you’re holding him, resting your head on his chest and running your thumb over the back of his hand every so often. He wants to remember how your skin feels against his, the texture of your hair. The lighting in the backyard and the way it makes you glow. The words that you said, telling him that it’s not his fault, that nothing’s wrong with him. He’s not quite sure he believes it, but you’ve never lied to him before, so he’ll try to accept it.

The song ends, and tears threaten to fall again when you pick up your head and take a step back.

“Hey, no more crying tonight,” you say. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying, and I don’t want to cry any more tonight. Save it for my grand exit at the airport terminal.”

That makes him break into a smile and he’s able to blink back the tears. “Okay.”

“Do you mind if I take this dance?” It’s Emily, and she’s looking at him, head tilted in your direction.

“Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “No, um, go—go ahead.”

He passes your hand to her, and what he feels is silly. You’re not some prize to be won; you don’t belong to anyone other than yourself. But he feels like he’s passing you off to Emily, almost… entrusting you to her. The look Emily gives him makes him think she understands this.

“Wait,” you say before she can properly take you into her arms. You lean towards him and press a kiss to his cheek.

Spencer doesn’t stay around to watch you two dance. He retreats back into the house, fingertips on the spot you kissed. He lets them sit there for a moment, then forces himself to drop his hand. It’s far past time for him to try and move on. He doesn’t want you to leave, but it might be what he needs.

Maybe, just maybe, with some distance, he can begin to heal.

---

On the first day at work without you, Spencer finds a small frame on his desk. He immediately recognizes the picture inside of it—it’s the one you’d kept as your lockscreen for months, much to his dismay.

It’s a picture from the relatively early days of your friendship, well before he felt anything that wasn’t platonic towards you. You’d dragged him out on a weekend off to a nearby amusement park, because, “you can’t die without having ridden a roller coaster at least once, Spence.” He had no desire to do so, but he didn’t have any other plans, so he went along with it.

The roller coaster ended up making him vomit, and the picture is from shortly after that. You’re holding up the camera with one hand and making a peace sign with the other, smiling from ear to ear. He still looks a little queasy, only managing a small smile, but he still looks somewhat happy. And he was, that day. Other than the nausea, he’d had a lot of fun with you.

He picks up the frame and feels something on the back of it. He flips it over and finds one of his lilac colored post-it notes, displaying your handwriting.

“When it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”

Tears blur his vision. Doctor Who. Of course you picked Doctor Who. And you’ve written something else, too, in smaller letters:

If you don’t answer my calls at least twice a month, I’ll tell JJ you’ve been stealing from her Cheetos stash for eight years. Love ya.

He laughs out loud, a little wet giggle that he has to follow up with a sniffle. He slips the note under the frame’s felt backing to keep it safe, then rearranges his things until he settles on the perfect spot for it to sit on his desk. He retrieves a fresh sticky note and scribbles down a reminder to himself to call you when he gets home, sticking it the cover of one of his books. After all, he can’t have JJ knowing about his thievery. The team’s good at what they do, but he doesn’t think anyone would be able to find his body once JJ’s done with him.

His eyes drift back to the photograph, coming to a stop on your face. He misses you already. He even misses the ugly bits, when you’d snapped at each other, when you were crying on his shoulder. When he saw you with Emily that first time. It’s an odd mix of emotions. Longing, nostalgia, grief, happiness, safety. Belonging.

Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.

Spencer couldn’t agree more.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

oh my god, i can hardly believe it’s over. there’s still going to be a small epilogue, but it’s optional. thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who read and supported this series and your enthusiasm for it. you’ve made me so very happy. and if you relate to spencer in this, i want you to know you’re gonna find your someone someday. if that’s what you want, i believe you’ll find it eventually. much love to all of you. 💖

series taglist: @sobereinstein , @zizzlekwum , @goldensatine , @closetedreidstan , @afuckingshituniverse , @uswntxx , @johnmulaneyslut , @90spumkin , @mcntsee , @zhuzhubii , @shadyladyperfection , @mggbler , @eva-cadeau , @esmesisle , @anothergayinthelife , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @zozoleesi , @calm-and-doctor , i think that’s everyone?? so sorry if i missed you.

[falling-pages]

Fight for me: Hikaru x Renge

Renge tends to Hikaru's wounds after he gets in a fight to defend her.

-

Renge Houshakuji x Hikaru Hitachiin

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, first kiss

Warnings: None

-

Hikaru knew how to throw a punch, but holding his own against three men was above even his own skill level.

It was amazing he had lasted so long in the fight until Mori spotted him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, tossing him from the circle and finishing the fight himself. Those three upperclassmen didn’t stand a chance--yet he felt his blood run hot at the thought that he had to be saved when he was trying to save someone else.

Toui Kendarishi and his dumb fucking mouth just had to get under his skin, again.

A sharp scrub against his cheekbone jerked him back to reality. He hissed, going to swat at it, before the girl grabbed his wrist and pushed it back down.

“Don’t get mad at me, I’m just trying to help you,” Renge grumbled.

Yeah, some help she was. With every dab of the cotton ball and slab of ointment he relived every moment of the fight, every right hook and gut punch and kick he had endured for her, and she had no idea. The only soothing thing about this therapy appointment was her nails scratching his scalp, but only to distract him from a bad bout of pain.

He only rolled his eyes, jerking away as she moved on to his mouth. “I know you didn’t just roll your eyes at me,” she said, tugging at his bottom lip. His top lip had taken the brunt of Kendarishi’s fists, and all he tasted was his own blood in the back of his throat. He was sure he was a monster to look at, blood staining his teeth and tongue. As it dried against his skin, Renge thumbed it away, smearing it against her hand before she took a washcloth to it.

“So observant,” he hissed, resisting the urge to spit at the taste clouding his senses. Sarcasm was his trusted defense mechanism, and he relied on it heavily now to distract himself from the feeling of her fingers playing with his lips.

A harsh scrub against the wound was her own way of backtalk. “Sass me again, and I’ll stop, and you can explain to Kaoru why you look like a fucking Picasso,” she said.

“Tch.”

But he listened. The blood and spit and pain rendered him essentially mute, much to her amusement, as she worked. His eyes wandered around her bathroom, impossibly pink and frilly for a college apartment. Like the rest of her place, it was like Paris had vomited itself inside, the chunk of the concoction muddled in the bathroom. A pink fuzzy rug was below him as he was perched on her gilded toilet, a gaudy shower curtain boasting images of the Eiffel Tower, and even her mirror was embossed with rhinestones. Everything, from the toilet paper pile to the cosmetics cases, were perfectly stacked and organized, with not a speck of dust or dirt to be found.

Geez. And he thought her shrill demands of perfection in high school were bad. Their host room was spotless thanks to her dictatorship, but this was on another level.

“Admiring the bathroom, I see,” she said, sucking in her cheek as she fiddled with opening a band-aid. Her nails, long and purple, couldn’t quite find the purchase to pinch the covering from the adhesive side.

His life and health were quite literally in her hands, but Hikaru couldn’t hold back the snicker from his bleeding lips. “It’s mental,” he said, reaching up to help her with the band-aid.

Renge ripped it away from him, glowering down her nose at him in the most egregious French expression she could muster. He hadn’t known her in France, but he imagined that was the look she gave every servant, every waiter, every busboy who didn’t fit her exact demands. “I’ve got it,” she spat, turning her back to him. Her shoulders shook, but because of the effort of unpeeling the band-aid or some unknown emotion, he didn’t know.

“Here,” she resumed, turning to face him, and Hikaru’s heart cracked at the tears welling up in her pretty brown eyes, the heaviness in her voice. It sounded so heavy, despite its usual nasal tone, and exhausted, defeated. What had she gone through when her back was turned?

He made her cry. He knew he could take the teasing too far sometimes, but bringing a girl to tears was childish, a middle school prank he had sworn to leave far behind him. But he had done it again, not even to a nobody, but to the girl who was fixing him up, his friend, whom he had grown up with and bruised two ribs defending.

As she leaned down to apply the bandage to his cheek, he tried to meet eyes, to apologize without aggravating his poor lips, but she evaded his glance, pursing her lips and focusing on her work. Her hands shook, lightly grazing his temple.

“Renge, hey, I’m--” he grabbed her wrist, and she jerked away, stepping back until she hit the wall. His voice forced more tears from her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands as she sobbed, massive pink bow bobbing with every movement.

“Just stop, Hikaru, stop!” she yelled, muffled by her closing throat. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep stitching you back up when you snap, I can’t take how mean you are. We aren’t in school anymore, we’re adults, we’re in college, and you’re just puffing your chest like you’re invincible, picking fights and losing them.” She finally showed her face, anger and fear and… something he couldn’t place etched into the lines beneath her eyes. “You want to know what’s mental?” She gestured to him, waving her hand up and down his whole form. “This is mental. You getting into fight after fight and not learning a damn thing from them, that’s what. It’s amazing you didn’t break your nose.”

Blood and anger coiled in the back of his throat. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm again, firmer this time, and yelled out, “I did this for you! I got in this fight for you!”

Renge pressed further against the wall, but she stopped fighting. Her hands shook in his tight grasp. Eyes as big as a silver dollar gazed up at him, heart thrumming wildly in her chest. “What?”

“I got in a fight with Kendarishi, right?”

“Yes.”

“And who is he to you?”

Renge blushed, letting her eyes drift to his chest. She spotted a new bruise mottling on his collarbone. “My ex-boyfriend.”

“Exactly.”

Hikaru released her wrists and watched as they fell to her side, like all the resistance had been sucked out of her. “Every time I fight with him, it’s because he said something bad about you. And then he started saying stuff about me fighting for you, so I just can’t win. I just have a lot of motivation and a lot of anger.”

“Why do you care so much what he says about me?” she asked, still not meeting his eyes.

“Because it was some bad stuff, Ren,” he said. “And I know we haven’t always gotten along, but you’re my friend, and I’m not gonna stand there and while he calls you a ‘fucking French whore who screws every guy she meets.’”

She swung at him, but he blocked, whining, “Hey, he said it, not me!”

When he put his hands down, she was shaking, with rage and sadness and something that looked an awful lot like determination in her eyes. “Bold of him to call me a whore when he’s the one who cheated.” Her hands ball into fists, and her eyes scanned him again--with a less medical glare, this time, and more of a vengeance. “And he did this to you?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be back.”

“Wait!”

Hikaru grabbed her by the back of her shirt and suddenly realized exactly how Mori must have felt watching him fight it out on the academic lawn. Renge’s feet scrambled on the tile, but he held her in place, dragged her back in front of him to block her path. “What, so you’re going to go fight him now since he fought me?”

“That’s not a good enough reason?” she pouted.

“No, but…” Hikaru rubbed the back of his neck. “You were just lecturing me about fighting him. Seems a little hypocritical to me, Ren.”

“Don’t use words you don’t understand,” she huffed, leaning back against the wall. She didn’t fight him when he leaned in closer, securely caging in her body. “You were just defending my honor. Let me do the same.”

“Mori dragged me out of the fight, so I’d say he fucked them up good enough,” Hikaru said, and his heart thumped especially hard when she laughed. Oh God, it was like the tinkling of a bell, cool and clear and exactly what he imagined confectioner’s sugar to sound like. He felt himself dragged with a current, down the slope of a well, but he didn’t mind; he looked into her eyes and allowed the feeling to bouy him along. If he weren’t bleeding, he might have just kissed her, but he didn’t need her slap adding to his injuries.

Renge’s breath hitched when he leaned closer, resting his forearm parallel above her head. She was so busy in high school that she never noticed how soft his eyes were, almost golden, like the rising sun over a field of wheat. It reminded her of mornings on her family’s country estate, when she would meditate and do yoga and drink tea while the world quietly joined her in consciousness, when everything was soft and drowsy. Such beautiful eyes, bruised and marred and bloodied for her.

“Renge, I--”

“Don’t,” she whispered, lacking her usual venom. “Let’s enjoy what we have right now.”

Hikaru bit his lip, immediately regretting it as the pain surged back through him. When Renge laughed again, he couldn’t help it; he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, drinking in that sweet, drawled perfume that he so often used to make fun of her for wearing. She smelled like a doll, but she was anything but--smart, outspoken, a firecracker all wrapped up in that pretty pink bow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his hand to her hair without thinking. He caressed the silky locks, trailing his fingers down to touch her temple, tucking the stray hairs behind her ear. “And so soft.”

“You know I’m anything but soft,” she grumbled, but his touch was warm, and like a moth to a flame, she went to him, brushed her knuckles against the bruises on his collarbone. If it hurt him, he gave no indication; from the way he was looking at her, an asteroid could have hit earth and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Sound pretty soft right now.”

Renge rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Gonna make me?”

Never one to turn down a challenge, Renge pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed him, as gently as she could manage. In an attempt to avoid his wound, her mouth only landed on half of his, but he could still taste the cinnamon on her breath, the stickiness of her lip gloss on his skin. Some hell of a first kiss, but at least it was a kiss, so he didn’t mind.

He ran his hands up her sides, tickling her ribs above her shirt. She broke the kiss with a giggle, bumping his nose with his as she threw her head back in laughter. What a beautiful sight he had there, all at the expense of a busted lip and a bruised eye.

“Remind me to get in a fight more often, if this is the payoff I get,” he whispered, grinning at her pointed glare.

“Don’t you dare,” she ordered. “You need to let this lip heal so I can give you a proper kiss.”

Hikaru raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a proper kiss?”

“No.” Renge lowered her eyes back to his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back in. “Once you’re healed, I’ll show you how the French really kiss.”

-

Kofi & Commission

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 08

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mentions of violence

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The weather was chilly as they landed in mid French night. Y/N was the first one out the plane, feeling the wind hit her naked arms due to the short sleeved dress. Sebastian, on the other hand, was the first one out of the airport, excusing himself due to business which Gwen gave little care to. In all honesty, Y/N thought she was particularly fine with the idea of the only person powerful enough to order her around being as far as possible. After all, Paris is the city of love, endless possibilities in Gwen’s mindset.

They were driven to the hotel, the landscape from the nightly Paris making Y/N want to rush out the moving car and just sit down in the grass looking at the night sky. However, Gwen was tired and Y/N knew better not to argue. She would never win in an argument with Gwen, besides, she knew exactly how the heiress acted whenever she got her way. Thinking about it, maybe only once in their whole life had Y/N won an argument with her and that had been when she was 5 and not really understanding of her role in the family. Y/N was a handmaid, the literal definition of handmaid is a female servant so why should she put in danger her own survival? If Gwen really got mad at her and disposed of her or fired her, Y/N wasn’t entirely sure how to begin a new life. Sure, she had a degree, a perfect CV but other than working as a handmaid for the mob, she had never worked before and only know was she getting paid for it. She’d rather be silent about it than put her own stability at risk.

They arrived at the hotel at around 2 AM and were quickly checked into their bedrooms. As per usual, Y/N’s bedroom was always next to Gwen’s and normally on the top floor for safety reasons. Y/N rolled her suitcase into her bedroom, bidding Gwen goodnight as she went to sleep. She threw her bag onto the bed and rushed over to the window, opening it so the night air come could in. 

She huffed, leaning against the railing of the balcony, looking up to the full moon that light the dark night sky.  Her mind flew to Sebastian and his teasing comments at the plane. In any other occasion, maybe one where he wasn’t that angry at his associates, she would’ve fought him on her idea of dreaming. Dreaming. What did he even have to dream about? Like Gwen, he was filthy rich, heck even more than her. He had power, control ... if he had a dream, he could probably have it in a snap of his fingers. She guessed that at least she was in Paris and that was good, that was fantastic. 

Frankly, her mind was just wandering around the Sebastian Stan subject because, well, it didn’t want to leave the subject. The casual and messy styles she had caught him on both in sweatpants and with his dress shirt unbuttoned had glued to a psyche. Half her brain was telling her stop thinking about your friend’s future husband and the other half was telling her to go right ahead, not like Gwen would worry about it. 

Meanwhile, Sebastian was trying to handle a deal gone wrong. The most he could do was scream at them and threaten to have their head on a plate. Even with that, his associates would rather cry about spilled milk than go and try to fix it. His father was a great man but giving leadership of his French sector to Thompson Williams had been and would forever be the worse thing ever. It wasn’t like Sebastian could just demote him, it would make most of his supporters go against him and if he just killed everyone, who would do the dirty work after? 

       - It’s the second time this year. - Sebastian poured himself a glass of whiskey, trying to whisk away the fact that he’d much rather be in his hotel room, or probably Y/N’s, than dealing with a minor man’s mistake. - I’m starting to think Mr. Williams that we might have an issue here. 

       - The shipment was faulty, it is not my f ...

       - I told you the shipment was much too cheap for its value. I remember fucking telling you not to buy it and you still bought it behind my back and lost me over three million. I will have your fucking head on a stick if this isn’t solved by you, by tomorrow. - he spat at the much lower ranked mobster who was sat down on his guest office chair, except on his own office chair. - And not a single cut of the deal will fly your way. 

       - It was a good bet, I had to take it.

       - My fucking family is not fucking based on bets, it’s based on organised deals with serious fucking people who give a damn they’re part of it. - he slammed the glass hard enough against the desk to give way to a crack. - Fix it or I’ll cut your fucking hand off. 

He grabbed his jacket’s from the hanger, slung it over his shoulder and walked outside the lesser man’s office followed by his swarms of bodyguards. Did he need the bodyguards? No, it was mostly a show of power and someone who could do the dirty job if it was necessary. However, at this point, his brain was still processing at Upper East Side times and not Paris. In simpler words, he could feel his lids heavy and his temples hurt but his mind was going haywire. He should’ve fired him, god all he wanted to do was diminish him to serving drinks at his engagements. 

He reached the Hotel Montaigne closer to 4 AM and took off to his normally reserved suite. The hotel was his, or at least in the paperworks, his father’s therefore he had certain privileges such as being able to have his own room free from pesky guests, with the best view. A view of the Tower Eiffel. A view Y/N would probably enjoy.

      - Sebastian? - his head swiftly turned to the source of the noise. He noticed Y/N standing there with sleep filled eyes in a white set of pyjamas. - You banged the door a bit too loud.

      - Did I wake you up? - he tried to soften up his tone but, sadly, the business troubles were still very much present on his mind therefore his angry facade was still very much present too.

      - I’m a light sleeper. Besides, you looked worried and I thought you might want to talk about it. - she leaned against the door frame. 

      - Is that what you do when Gwen’s upset? - he pulled on the knot of his tie, successfully loosening it up and throwing it to the side.

      - No, when Gwen’s upset I lock myself in a bunker and hope she doesn’t come find me for stress relief. - Y/N closed the door behind her, trudging up to him who had now thrown his tie and jacket to the side, unbuttoning the top first buttons of his dress shirt. - I’m guessing the meeting didn’t go well.

     - Catastrophic would be underrated. 

     - You did all you could. - she gave him a soft smile, the type of smile a partner would give you when you came back from a long day. The type of smile that wrapped you in the false idea of a comfortable home life, at least, to him. Nevertheless, Y/N seemed to embody that warmth specially when she gave him that traditional signature smile of hers. His hand, mindlessly, laid upon her elbow as to which her gaze immediately lingered upon. Once again, that typical heat that made itself present when she was around him made itself known and she shifted from side to side, teeth coming to pull at the skin of her own bottom lip. - I feel like you’re upset because have an issue relinquishing control. 

Sebastian took a step back at her sentence, lips slightly open at her statement as he found it hard to reply to her. He wondered if there was something more to her ingenue environment or if that same ingenue atmosphere had given her the unknown courage of telling that to a mob boss. Of course he had to constantly have control, that was his job. 

     - You can’t control everything in your life, Sebastian. - she sat on top of his much comfortable looking duvet. Unlike her room which was decorated in shades of white, his bedroom was decorated in dark rich shades of scarlet red and light beiges. - It goes against the laws of nature itself doesn’t it?

    - Well ... - he took to sitting by her side, leaving not much of two inches between the beginning of both their hips. - I believe that humans are really good at controlling even the laws of nature. We decide when plants bloom, when and how animals should procreate and even their genetics ... why shouldn’t I believe I can control everything?

    - Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. If you worry about every single time you lose control over your business, it’s more like punishing yourself than punishing the ones you’re meant to. 

    - I’m really grateful for your concern, Y/N, but you’re not my handmaid, you don’t have to worry about me. 

   - Don’t tell me you even wish to control who worries about you and who doesn’t. - she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him but he merely chuckled at her. 

Y/N gaze moved from his inspections one to the window, eyes agape as she came in contact with the most beautiful view she could ever picture. Mindlessly, the young woman rushed over to the balcony, only stopping once the rails hit her stomach. The night air and the look at the Tower Eiffel looked exactly like what one of her very good dreams would entail. Her eye sparkle and wondrous look did not go unnoticed by the mob boss who paced over to her side, gaze fixed on her soft complexion and how the smallest things just seemed to have the largest effect on her. Maybe owning the hotel had made him forgot how breathtaking the view really was or maybe it was because she was over there in white pyjama shorts and shirt with the most striking look in her eyes. 

    - Woah, angel. - he put his hand on her abdomen, slightly pushing her back before she could cross over the railing. - We don’t want you to fall, do we?

    - It’s just marvellous. How can you even sleep with a view like this? - well, he would very much enjoy to fall asleep in that balcony if she were by his side. 

    - I’ve been seeing this since I was a kid, Y/N. It loses its charm. 

    - No, I don’t believe that. You just have no taste.

    - I have no taste? - he furrowed his eyebrows at her. - Angel, I’ve had people’s head for less.

    - Oh ... I’m sorry. - she took a step backward, playing with her hair. 

    - I was just playing. - his hand rested on her forearm, caressing the skin with the pad of his thumb. - Look, if you wa...

    - Mr. Stan? - the bodyguard knocked on the suite’s door, making Y/N take a few steps back becoming void of his touch. 

    - WHAT?! - Sebastian barked at the man, turning around, hand on top of his silver revolver just in case. Not that he was gonna shot the man in front of Y/N, he would probably traumatise her and Gwen would sue him. The man cowered in front of him, eyes settled on the young woman by his side knowing she was the only reason he wasn’t dodging a bullet.

   - There’s a call for you from Mr. Williams. 

   - You should go. - Y/N smiled, tired. - I should probably return to bed. 

   - Wait, angel, will you join me for breakfast tomorrow morning? I can get some room service, have it by the balcony.

   - I’m sorry, Sebastian. I already promised Gwen I would go shopping with her in the early morning. - sure, she’d rather be having breakfast with the Tower Eiffel in sight than having to go to the Champs-Élysées with Gwen for some high spending shopping. Yet, on the other hand, it felt odd to have breakfast with her friend’s fiancé. She shouldn’t.

Without giving too much of a look to Sebastian whose traits probably included persuasion, she returned to her bedroom, locked the door behind her and tucked herself into the comfortable sheets. Her eyes were set in the darkness of the bedroom, heart beating like a drum as his touch seemed to linger on her skin, almost like a ghost feeling. 

Y/N didn’t remember falling asleep, however it felt like she didn’t slept for long once her alarm went off. With a tiring motion, she lifted from her torso from the bed, rubbing the sleep off her eyes. She placed her feet on the floor and meandered around her room, hoping the cardio-like walk would wake her up a bit more. After sleep disappeared from her eyes she grabbed her clothing and walked off her bedroom, knocking on Gwen’s door. Much to her surprise, she was already prepared to go, sunglasses on and a dark velvet green dress on matched with brown boots.

     - Aren’t you excited? Paris shopping. - Gwen pushed her handmaid by the arm, followed by the bodyguards onto the lift. However, all Y/N could think of was Sebastian. She felt bad for denying his request, mostly because she really did enjoy the request but being on his company all the time would probably hurt his image or even worse hurt Gwen’s feelings. 

Maybe it had been her willingness to overthink a simple suggestion, but once her brain took her back to reality she was standing at the very long Champs-Élysées where Gwen was rushing around like a mad-men. Y/N always found the Champs-Élysées rather more accessible than the Upper East Side, mostly due to the existence of more low end shops and known banks than the New York district, yet, the overwhelming amount of high class shops like Marcs Jacobs and Channel made it look like a rich person’s playground. It definitely was that, but Y/N was most interested in the stores’ architecture and Paris’ landscape. However, she was not immune to some materialistic stuff, specially once the two stopped by the brilliantly built Ladurée. The shades of light turquoise like green made it look like something straight off a fairytale book and the sweets on the window display made everyone crave sugar.

    - You look very lost today. - Gwen commented, entering the shop along with her handmaid. - I haven’t seen you look this lost since you finished reading Gone Girl.

   - I’m just tired. - Y/N smiled tightly, dismissing her friend’s concerns, however, Gwen was much too curious to just let it go. - Couldn’t really sleep.

   - Alexander told me you were in Sebastian’s room last night. Is there something happening that you haven’t told me? Is it about me?

   - He just wanted to know how to get closer to you, Gwen. You know I wouldn’t tell him anything you didn’t want me to.

   - I don’t know, Y/N ... - she pointed at a pink box of what looked like macaroons on the display, handing the cashier her card. - You are very ... righteous sometimes. Pretty sure you can’t lie even without a gun to your head. 

   - You know I’m loyal to the Forrest family, I wouldn’t tell Mr. Stan anything that you didn’t allow me to. 

   - Good. I heard he was pissed about Thompson. I don’t know why he wasn’t placed a bullet in the middle of his eyes, I would. - the cashier handed her the pink box and the two women followed by the bodyguards walked back outside onto the street. 

   - You can’t just shot everyone you hate, Gwen. Who would you rule over then?

   - Newer, smarter people. 

They were out on the street until late afternoon when Gwen decided it was time to return to the hotel, which Y/N’s feet were eternally grateful for. As per usual, she had ended up carrying her fair share of bags along with the bodyguards and the weight plus all the walking had left her wanting nothing but to lay down and perish for a few seconds. 

After all the bags were in the heiress’ room and she had sneakingly, yet not that unnoticeably to Y/N, walked to the hotel bar with one of the bodyguards she was particularly found of, Y/N was finally free to return to her bedroom. Happily. she tapped her card against the bedroom door, a click indicating the door was ready to be open. Pushing her door open, her heart skipped a beat as a very familiar figure stood in the middle of her room. She let out a gasp, holding onto the handle of the door, ready to bolt off.

   - Please don’t be scared, Miss Y/N. - Mr. Williams prowled to her, a bit to close for comfort. - I just needed to have a word with you.

   - Mr. Stan and Ms. Forrest are not available, right now. Please leave my bedroom. - her knuckles held forcefully onto the handle of the door, hoping a bodyguard would notice the slightly creaked door. 

   - I wish to speak for you, please Miss. You must speak with Mr. Stan about me, try to get me in his good graces please.

   - I think you should speak with Ms. Forrest about that not me. - well good luck, she liked him even less than Sebastian and unlike the mob boss was rather reckless in her decisions.

   - I don’t think she is as influential as you are, Miss. With all due respect, I believe you’re the only one who can help me and maybe gain me some forgiveness. - his voice was honeyed, yet his words registered like nails on chalkboards on her brain. - Please, Miss Y/N, I’m sure if you ask him he won’t be as harsh. 

   - I think you misjudged my relationship towards Mr. Stan. I’m his employee, I would love to help but I don’t think he would care much for my opinion. 

   - You certainly have noticed you’re highly in his favour, Miss Y/N. Please, I’ll make it worth your while. - he grinned at her almost as if he was mocking her words, but that wasn’t what really was bothering Y/N. His presence bothered her, specially once his hand went over hers to pull the handle completely. - I would be grateful. 

 He opened the door completely, walking off and shutting it on the young woman. Almost out of memory, she locked the door and rushed over to her balcony to do the same thing. Y/N didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten in her bedroom, he clearly wasn’t in any of Sebastian’s favourite books and definitely not in Gwen’s. 

   - M’am? - her body trembled at the knock of the door but the voice soothed her. Thankfully, it was her bodyguard - It’s me, m’am. We can’t have the doors locked with you inside the room for safety measures.

   - I’m sorry. - Y/N’s hands shivered as she unlocked the door, opening it slightly to stare at the bodyguard. - I’m sorry, Elias. I was just not feeling very well. 

   - Oh, would you like me to notice Mr. Stan or Ms. Forrest?

   - No, it’s fine. It’s fine. - she gave him an understanding smile before closing the door again. Without much thought, she stripped off her clothes and jumped into the shower allowing the hot water to drip down her body. In his favour, she wasn’t in his favour. She was just his employee and his fiancée’s handmaid, meaning he shouldn’t really be rude to her.

It wasn’t like Y/N could just go on and tell him to go easy on one of his associates, she just couldn’t unless she wanted to be screamed at. Being screamed at is not something she really wanted but on the other hand, she didn’t want Gwen or Sebastian to shot him for no reason or for at least an unreasonable one. Besides, Mr. Williams looked scared. With that in her mind, she walked off the shower, putting on one of her sweater-like fabric dresses.

   - Y/N? - she hunched her shoulders, hand on top of her chest as the knocks reverberated within her room. God, why does everyone want to speak with her today?

   - Come in. - Sebastian came into the bedroom, back in his very business formal which somehow disappointed her. She definitely preferred the more relaxed style, at least on him. - Gwen is at the bar right now, if you’re looking for her. 

   - I own this hotel, angel. I know exactly where everyone is. I’m here because Elias told me you weren’t feeling well. - that little back stabber. - Was the shopping trip that bad?

   - I’m just a bit ... I think overwhelmed fits. 

   - Too overwhelmed for a surprise? 

   - I think I’ve had my fair share of surprises today, but I wouldn’t mind seeing what you have in store.

   - Well, c’mon then. - we checked his watch. - We have a few minutes.

She shrugged, getting up from the bed and following him into his bedroom, looking around to make sure Gwen wasn’t around to ask many questions. Her major issue was that her friend thought that she was feeding Sebastian information about her love life and maybe she would, if she remembered the last guy she was with. 

Sebastian pulled her until his balcony, setting her so that her sight laid on the sunset landscape and the Tower Eiffel. 

   - What am I looking at? - not that she didn’t love the sunset, she absolutely did, she just thought it wouldn’t be something Sebastian would be particular excited to show her. Not that he should be excited to show her anything. 

   - Just wait. - he checked his watch once again, ensuring her gaze didn’t leave the iron lady. As Y/N readied herself to ask him what he wanted her to see, the Tower Eiffel lit up and like the building so did her eyes as she gasped at the sight in front of her. If she thought the view from last night was stunning, she did absolutely thought this thing was merely out of this world. - It lights up at sunset. 

   - This is just beautiful. Thank you so much. - she wrapped her arms around him for a few seconds before returning to look at the lit up building. - Ugh, I could just live here forever.

   - You’re certainly easy to please. - he leaned against the railings, looking at her with the look of utter most adoration. How could someone in her field still enjoy the little things was always interesting. 

   - I ... I need to speak you. - she played with her nails, looking up to his eyes.

   - Should I be concerned?

   - It’s about Mr. Williams.

tag list: @sideeffectsofyou​ @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom​ 

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 16

oh gosh, i'm so sorry for the late update!! i promise i'm still working on this, little by little. i am on vacation next week, so maybe i'll get the chance to really put some work in.

in any case, enjoy today's update c:

okay, so who the hell was gonna tell me that CBG’s designed a whole-ass album cover for my favorite artist of all time?

scratch that. who was gonna tell me she designed my FAVORITE album cover for my FAVORITE artist of all time?

Bubbles, as it turns out, has known Marinette Dupain-Cheng since he was four years old. Went to school with her and everything. So that’s another scoop to the shit Luka’s landed himself in. He still isn’t sure what gave him greater whiplash: finding out about that connection, or finding her name in the fine print of Jagged stone’s album credits. He also isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing that Nino mentions little else, and especially dodges the question of if it’s even cool to actually admit to having a gigantic crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or whether he’s just wasting his time.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

(Luka is most definitely not cool.)

Especially for those freeze-frames of time that he wonders, to his own horror, if Bubbles has been Adrien Agreste all this time.

It takes him the better part of an hour of pacing and fidgeting with his guitar pick to realize that no, he hasn’t been casually messaging a fashion mogul’s son who also just so happened to be Marinette’s own gigantic crush. He doesn’t seem like the type to use “dude” in everyday conversation, and for another thing, it didn't exactly like up with what Marinette had said about them knowing each other in middle school.

One day, Luka swears, he’s going to take this anxiety thing out back and have it meet its maker.

Even if, maybe, he sort of is its maker.

(Okay, maybe he's going to take his brain out back, because he's definitely not responsible for that.)

But he figures, once that initial panic and urge to scream into his pillow wear off, that it might be a cool talking point between him and Marinette. One that, for once, doesn’t have much to do with either of their jobs. Or with how tongue-tied he gets around her because she just won’t stop being so pretty. Not that that’s a problem; both his sister and his mother would have his head for ever thinking that way, and even then, Rose would tell them to get in line. Something about how they didn’t raise him this way, even if two of them didn’t even raise him at all.

Luka waits a couple of days before stopping by the bakery again; it gives them both some breathing room and the time for those postcards to be finished and printed. He thinks about it a lot. The postcards. The effort. Marinette, too, but in his quietly flustered opinion, he thinks that’s a given. He doesn’t get the chance to come until close to closing time again because of his delivery shift; he just hopes they don’t mind too much. He braces himself the whole ride over for whatever may be coming: another friendly crack about napoleons and pear tarts, the beauty of the postcards, maybe even another offer of kindness if Marinette’s pattern is anything to go by.

The one thing Luka doesn’t brace himself for—which, of course, is the one thing that ends up happening—is the door propped open, and the music drifting out through the crack. And he can’t even revel in the fact that it’s one of his favorite songs playing, because…

Because Marinette is dancing. Rag in one hand, spray bottle in the other. No, it’s not like, a flawlessly choreographed routine or anything. It’s more like a mix of what Rose does during their down time when she has too much energy and nowhere to put it, and what Juleka does when she’s trying to find the rhythm of a new song. It’s blissfully unaware, and beautiful, and it feels like home, and Luka can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t mean to. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s just… he can’t remember ever seeing a moment when she was simply “Marinette, “instead of “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Friend to Practically Everybody.” or “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Daughter of the Owners of The Best Bakery In Paris.” or even “Marinette, the Girl Behind the Counter with the Sketchbook Full of Secrets and the connections to Jagged Fucking Stone.”

Okay, maybe he’s been watching a couple too many fantasy movies lately.

And he definitely needs to look away, like, right now, because she does this thing with her hips that makes his brain forget how to function for a second, and he needs his brain to function in every sense of the phrase, and God fucking damn it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is hot and he’s not supposed to think that she’s hot—

And she’s looking at him. Frozen. right as he’s about to get off his bike and knock.

And, like the total idiot he can only manage to be at the worst possible times, he trips. Over his bike. And faceplants, right in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He’s somewhere between waiting for death to take him, and thanking his Ma for always getting on him about wearing a helmet, and wondering if he really was so stupid that his first instinct was to run, when the bell over the bakery door rings like mad. Someone cries out his name, and the music cuts, and there’s a skitter of footsteps on concrete. When he comes to himself and starts to sit up, he finds himself face-to-face with Marinette, who's kneeling beside him and already scanning him for any injuries.

The first thing she says, with her hand in her hair, is, “Oh, God. She’s gonna kill me.”

The first thing he says, with a wince, is, “Yikes.”

It’s then that the pain sinks in, dull and searing and throbbing all at once, as if punishing him for choosing to say that, of all things. He sits up a bit more, pain chasing up his spine and stinging his palms; his knee is badly scraped and starting to swell, he realizes once he gets a good look at the rest of him. He can’t tell yet, whether Juleka would call this karma or kismet. All he can think is that at least his jeans were already ripped.

“Can…” Marinette swallows hard, but otherwise she’s entirely unfazed. “Can you stand? Put weight on it? Oh God, oh my God, she’s actually gonna kill me.”

“I…” Cautiously, Luka tries to get to his feet, and Marinette makes space for him. All it takes is one step for a jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, and he staggers and clutches the closest streetlamp, nearly tripping over his bike again in the process. “Shit,” is all he can bite out after drawing his breath in through his teeth and holding onto it for too long. He lets it out, little by little, and his grip on the lamppost loosens. “It’s okay, I’m—I can just walk my bike to the metro station, and—”

It’s like she isn’t even listening to him; she’s looking around the bike, evidently searching for something. Finally, she finds it—his bike lock—and after it and the bakery door are secure, she coaxes his arm around her shoulder. It’s almost comical, because he’s got a good thirty centimeters on her, but it hurts too much to laugh. Or, apparently, to stammer in protest when she leads him through the side door and up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seeing her in her pajamas was enough of an invasion of her privacy. But seeing the inside of her literal, actual home? Oh, no. No way.

“You’re hurt,” she says simply, as if she’s read his mind; her voice is trembling, the way voices do when they know they shouldn’t. “It’d be against like, everything I am as a person if I just let you leave.” She only lets go of him to unlock the door, and only then does it occur to him that, for a few moments that should have been blissful, they were side-by-side, and in some places skin-to-skin.

Mr. Dupain gives them a funny, almost unreadable look when Marinette opens the door. One look at Luka’s leg seems to answer any questions he might have had, and effortlessly he helps Luka to the couch while Marinette disappears into the bathroom. “You know,” he jokes under his breath, “When I imagined someone falling for my daughter, I didn’t mean literally.”

Luka’s face goes hot. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Whatever he wants to say falls on deaf ears, and Mr. Dupain makes himself scarce as soon as Marinette emerges from the bathroom. Even as she lifts his leg onto the coffee table, Luka swears he can feel those kind, quietly insistent eyes burning holes into him all the way from the kitchen. He doesn’t get to think much more about what Mr. Dupain might have meant, or what he would have said to refute it, because Marinette is pressing an alcohol pad to the scrapes, and it stings like a motherfucker—which is probably a good thing for more reasons than one.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says weakly, because somewhere along the way, I don’t deserve it got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Marinette gives him a look. He can’t quite figure out what it means. “Yeah. I do.”

“Nah.” He readjusts, braces himself for the second sting of the ointment and the bandages. “I kinda deserved it. Jules would call it karma, I guess.”

There she goes again, wincing at the mere mention of Juleka. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else. Without a word, she gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and he spends her whole absence wondering what he said or did. He’s only relieved when she returns with a bag of frozen corn and a shrug as if to say, It’s all we had. She presses the bag to his knee, breathing deep in time with him, or maybe in hopes that his breathing will start to match hers. Then she speaks, and her voice wavers.

“Why would you ever think,” she murmurs, “that you deserve any pain?”

Luka opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens and shuts again. This time, at least for a while, the words don’t even make it to his throat. Eventually, all he can spit out is, “I was. Watching. You.”

“I know,” Marinette says, turning as pink as her shorts. “I saw.”

That’s the one thing he can appreciate: she doesn’t try to downplay it or say it was dumb. Even now, she’s unapologetic, and direct, and God, maybe he’s just fallen a little more. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I was gonna knock, I was…” He shifts again, his knee still in her gentle grasp, and flinches. “I just… wanted to see your postcards.”

I just wanted to see you.

“Marinette.” His lips tingle just from saying her name, and his stomach is churning. “Who… who’s gonna kill you?”

This time, Marinette goes scarlet; it would look about as pretty as literally every other color and pattern she wears if she didn’t seem so… mortified. “I’ll go get one of—the postcards,” she says—stammers, more like—and as she’s heading upstairs she calls out, “Papa, he can’t walk. Can we drive him home?”

From the kitchen, Mr. Dupain winks.

1 Photo Attached

RIP lol

and no, i’m not talking about my jeans. those were already like that.

but also. 😬 oh boy.

[jennrypan]

Part 2

Why is marinette there again?? WAit this is career day! I remembered.

And oh Ice cream man lore, neatio, more lore than we'll get off the miraculous' HA-

Also Luka you seriel killer mf- it woulda be hilarious if she flipped him like she did chat- like a gag of dont sneak up on Marinette cuz you'll get the big yeet-

But bruh he mad scary tf but hes so bright blue. Am i seein shrimp colors now??

Also chocolate chips!!! Chat noir idc. She loves him as chat bye

As Luka terrifies me his eyes will haunt me until I die. Save me. Also. Making ..of string instruments?? Isnt there a w o r d for that?? Luka himbo supremacy confirmed??

And aight he goes to another school but. I liked him being a year older idk. Also marinettes preetty.

And alec why tf- dont bully children- and are people just gonna read alec and make him rethink his life choices?? I woulda slapped tf outta his hand if he started roastin my job tbh. Good on paris for bein nonviolent people

Also what Luka what? What the fuck is with the wind. Is god giving him the power to play any music?? Apollo? No hes not the god of music, ..i forgot who is. Anyways!

What the fuck Luka, are you a god? Also. Push him in the water marinette itll be funny, but dont cuz hes also a good friend!

And ADRIEN BOY I LOVE YOU PLEASE ILL KICK GABRIELS FUCKING ASS. Hes a loser. Hes ugly and hes a loser and he sucks and he has no purpose and hes a big bitch ass hoe.

Also they spoke at the same time that means theyre soulmates. Adrien has TWO hands. They alll have two hands

Also Luka please get eyeliner..or eyelashes also STRING INSTRUMENT MAKER?? THERES A WORD ISNT THERE?!

Also. Marinette chatting with Adrien!!!! Normally and relating!! Amd Luka is a really good therapist. Hes a god- hes magically-

Also he just said "Adrien i can hear the depression inside you bruh but youre still kind but you and Marinette are blind as shit."

Also. Yall can date each other.

Also. Butler Jean?? He has ambitions? That sounds terrible-

Also awe. Alec now 😭 i love your long hair!! Why is this makin me mad emotional. Alec im sorry for callin you baald.

Also. "A man who made bad choices because of the pressure of others" sounds uh..kinda..uh. Foreshadowy for my cat son?? Or like. A hit. A hint to what not to do. I have several points but i cant make them

Also. Gabriel lookin ugly as shit today and why is it..orange- are the colors Saturday? Saturated, thats why everyones bright?

Also. Wishmaker is the prettiest akuma, idc. No one can change my mind and also cuz i dont remember what the akumas looked like

Also lmao hi Santa also hi deadbeat british man! Youre a Scalie. Its okay Jagged,also. Does Luka already know?? Cuz god damn he came in clutch for coincidentally- nevermind- hes just really smart-

Also why is robot man tryna kill everyone what the hell-

And awesome ok they got lucaaa

And haha "savin the world with a stuffed animal" i like you

Also. "I didnt have any" GABRIEL POST UP RIGHT NOW. I JUST WANNA TALK 🔪 YOU BITCH

Also. Hhhh bad bad bad-

Also. Marinette looks cute and weird as thebfairy nitter

Also. Lukas close ups scare me-

Also. Lukas basically Flash- ALSO. WHY ARE THE PARENTS DIFFERENT?? PLEASE.

Gabriel close up feels me with rage. Hes fucking ugly as shit. Kill him, he doesnt pass the vibe check

Also. Ladybug didnt hear or see adrien?- huh-

Also. He looks traumatized- and lmao he gets hugged and defeated- thats so cute-

Hawkmoth how you feel knowin you were defeated by a dino stuffie? You LOSER.

And Banana man was the cucumber. I know he was, banana man was your lore? Banana man I wanna know you-

[josiecarioca]

Waiting (one-shot)

Requested by @artisticreptilequeen and @latitsoso

Summary: Soren Snape has chosen a lonely path for himself that not even his closest friend can help him walk. 

(Soren Snape x Audrey Blake, characters mentioned: Severus Snape,Evelyn Black and Eloise Snape)

Also available on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010311

Tagging:  @snapescapades  @mafagafobebum  @marvelschriss @codename-thedoctor @zealouspickleeggdragon @green-oasis @drawnfromthedead @snapescapadesafterdark @serosvit @snapecentric @hayalee8 @oliverlandomens @sleepysnapesnake @lily-themadqueen-andpinky @paracosim @the-witches-son @aikersen @violet-knox @viper-official @be-zoar @thepomegranatejuice @alwyssnpe @siriuslysircadogan @hbprincealice

     …

“Soren, are you alive?”

Soren opened his eyes and looked around, searching for that familiar voice. He didn't know the place around him. It looked nice enough, though. A small livingroom, with teal colored walls covered in classic movie posters and a moon themed tapestry hanging next to a tall bookcase, loads of colorful cushions and, in front of him, a square coffe table with food and cooking themed hardcovers and a notebook filled with a round and small handwritting he knew all too well. He found himself laying on a soft white couch, “Golden Girls” was playning on the TV in front of him.

He sat up, feeling as if the room was moving around him like a ship in open sea. His clothes were sticking to him, tight and uncomfortable and his mouth was so dry he felt a bitter taste in his tongue. He didn´t remember drinking any water since right after curtain call.

Soren heard the sound of something frying, before the smell hit him. His stomach growled. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten anything that day.

“You´re getting glitter all over my couch.” that voice...Soren shook his head, suddenly angry at himself. How had he ended up here of all places? Idiot!

“Audrey, I...” he called out but his head felt like it just about split in two when he raised his voice. “I mean...how did I...”

“Here...” the voice approached. He looked up and there she was. Audrey, in a dusty pink turtleneck wool dress that hugged her plump figure, black leggings and boots, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, with thick bangs framing her roud, dollish face. She looked like she was either going to a date or  coming back home from one when he, at least he assumed, crashed-landed at her door.

She held a plate in front of his face and it smelled something like heaven is supposed to smell.

“This is what you eat when you're flat on your arse drunk, if I recall correctly. Rashers, eggs benedict and your mother's cheddar, chive and potato pancakes. Right?”

“You...know how to make mam´s pancakes? ” he smiled, hoping foolishly that small talk would delay the earfull he was about to get. “She never gave anybody this recipe. Not even my cousins.”

“I lived with your parents for a whole year remember? I've seen auntie Lyn make this more times than I can count.”

Even though he felt like somebody had taken an axe to his skull and split it clean in two, Soren had to smile.

“Thank you. You didn't have to.”

“I sort of did have to, though” she let out, sounding tired “I found you laying on my doorstep, looking healf dead. Trust me, I was tempted to just walk around you and leave you there, but then what would I say next time I visit your parents? Besides, my landlord and neighbours wouldn't be too happy. Here, you´re going to need this. You must be dehydrated.”

She put a gallon of water on the table in fronto of him. Soren shugged nearly half of it before he could even begin to think about eating.

“Now, pray tell...what has gotten into you?” she crossed her arms and stood before him, looking far taller than her 5 feet, maybe 5'3 including the boots. Soren looked at her, pleased to notice she had put on weight. She looked like her normal self again, he thought. Last time he'd seen her she looked gaunt, almost.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Is it a normal occurence for you to prance about town drunk off you mind and pass out in front of people´s doors dressed like Beetlejuice and Dr. Frank'n'Furter's lovechild?”

“Oh, this!” Soren looked down at himself, finally remembering...

The effin' costume. Yeah, she was right. Her neighbours wouldn't be none too pleased to see a 6´2  man in full make-up wearing a leather corset-garter combo with stockings and high heels under a stripped trenchcoat passed out drunk in the hallway.

“I was...working.”

“Working? Is this an honest-to-God opera costume, or the Ministry for Magic had you go undercover in a fetish brothel?”

“Costume. The Ministry doesn´t usually have me dress up nice and sexy  when they want to get me fucked. Hardly pay me as well as they should for it either.”

“What opera are you in this time around?”

“Orphée aux enfers...Our director decided to give the  Kosky version a run for its money, so of course genderfuck drag was the way to go. Because why the fuck not? ”

“We're just going to pretend like you didn't love the idea...” she smirked. That was good...he hoped.

“Well, yeah, we decided to have a few drinks after the performance, and Henri thought it would be hilarious to just go out partying in full costume.”

“Who?”

“Henri Fournier...he played Orpheus”

“Of course...” Audrey, sighed, no longer amused.

“He's a riot, you should meet him.” Stop digging, Soren. She´s already mad at you, no need to act like a bufoon.

“And you should shower and change.”

“I´m afraid I don't have anything to change into...Unless, what's his name, your...”

“Ethan, his name is Ethan.”

“Yeah, him, unless he doesn´t mind me borrowing his things...”

“I´ll see if he left something here...”

“Left...I thought you two were...”

“He moved out.”

“When was that? Last we talked you we...”

“Come on, finish eating go have a shower, I'll find something for you to wear.”

“Hey, Shortcake, I...” He let out without even thinking. It had been so long since he last called her that, years maybe, but somehow it just poured from his lips.

“Don't...call me that.”

“I'm sorry...I really am. About this whole thing as well, I really don't know how I ended up at your door, I would never...”

“You don't have to apologize. Just eat, take your shower and...” she sighed “...we´ll see.”

…

Soren was tripping over himself so badly Audrey had half a mind to offer help. But eventually he got himself to the bathroom. She glued her ear to the door, half expecting to hear him collapse inside. The sound of the water running reassured her enough to step away and try to find something for him to wear, hoping Ethan had forgotten at least a pair of shorts or something.

Typical Soren to put her in this situation without even thinking. He never did think, did he?  Just did whatever he wanted to do and everything else be damned. Nevermind that his parents were constantly worried sick about him, that his sister had to keep calling him to remind him he had a family and he should go see them sometime. Audrey was almost sure neither his father nor his mother knew what he was up to.

That he was spying for the. ministry.

His father would never allow it.

Audrey had been only a spectator, entirely foreign to their world of magic and wars no one of her kind was supposed to know, but she knew well enough, apparently even better than Soren, that it was a disastrous idea for the son of Severus Snape to be a spy. To collect inteligence about the very same criminals who still had a reward out for his father's head. Soren was born with a target on his back. Even as a child, Death Eaters had tried to get to him, the same with his sister, Eloise. And why wouldn't they? What better revenge on the man who brought down their leader than to harm his children? Audrey knew from hearing whispers and bits and pieces of conversations when she had lived with his parents in Glencoe, right after deciding to go no contact with her mother. She knew from what Eloise told her, in a vain, desperate attempt to get her to help knock some sense into her brother.

But Audrey also knew there was nobody on earth who could keep Soren from doing what he wanted. Sometimes she was tempted to tell Severus and Evelyn what he was doing behind their back. If they knew...They thought Soren was travelling around the world singing. A successful baritone, touring Salzburg, Paris, New York, Lord knew where else. Surely that shouldn´t prevent him from coming home now and then, however...But he would go months without showing up, so his parents, maybe, just thought that if he didn´t show up for Christmas or Easter it was because he was somewhere in a nightclub or a bar, partying. And sometimes that was true, but not always. At times, she wondered how and when they would find out, and hoped it wasn´t through some tragedy.

But...sometimes she also wondered if they didn't already know. If they were just waiting for him to finally be honest with them. Maybe neither Severus nor Evelyn could bring themselves to believe Soren would do that to them, so they acted like they didn't suspect, when in reality, they knew. Maybe they were just hoping he'd show himself worthy of their trust. Just waiting for him to come around.

So Audrey said nothing. It wasn't her place to, after all. If Eloise hadn´t, then she certainly had no right.

She finally found something. And old t-shirt and some pajama pants. Good thing Ethan was tall, she thought. This would do for Soren to at least make it back home, or wherever he was staying in London. Come to think of it...She shook her head and left the clothes on the bed where he could find once he was done showering.

“Soren?”  She called once the water stopped running and she could hear him in her bedroom.

“Yeah?” he sounded a bit more sober.

“I'll call your sister, do you have her girlfriend's number? Maybe they can pick you up.”

Soren didn't answer answer immediately. Instead he took his time to get dressed and came back to the livingroom, sat on the couch and took another swig of water from the bottle.

“So, should I call her?”

“I would literally rather you hand me over to a dementor.”

“Maybe if I knew how. Eloise is my next best choice.”

“Eloise will never let me hear the end of it.”

“She wouldn'r be wrong, now would she?”

He didn't answer. He just made that face. That face he put on when he knew he was wrong, when he knew he had no good excuse. The corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards in an odd, clumsy smile, and his nostril flared slightly as he breathed out, then he looked away. Thinking of the next joke, of the charming comment that would deflect questioning, the next change of subject.  Had been that way since he was a boy. Soren always knew when to leave an argument well enough alone. This way he wouldn't have to admit he was wrong.

“As soon as my head doesn´t feel like the the 1812 overture is playing on surround sound inside my skull, I can see myself out.” she shrugged with that devil may care grin that could get him whatever he wanted.

Audrey sighed. She didn´t have the energy to argue, And true to be told, if she hadn't found him passed out drunk at her door after nearly a year of no contact whatsoever, she would be happy he was there. Wasn´t this what they used to do, back when things were different? Staying up at night, huddled up on the couch, watching old TV programmes reruns till the wee hours of the night? She missed that. She missed having Soren around, she missed his stupid jokes, his impromptu performances. She missed him singing “Largo al factotum” early in the morning as he shaved, his voice filling her bathroom till the upstairs neighbours complained.

But she didn´t miss what came with it. She didn´t miss the disappearances, the weeks and months without a single phone call, the excuses, the worry, the panic...

“You already ruined my couch with all that sodding makeup” she sighed, sitting next to him “Might as well spend the night. But you´ll have to be out before noon. I´m working the lunch shift this week.”

“How's that going? Mam told me you made it to sous-chef.”

“Yeah, which sounds impressive until you realize it just means I'm the first in line to be verbally abused when Bastianinni wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“I worked with a Bastianinni once...It was for the best sharp knives are not part of our line of work, or the whole cast would have used him for target practice, down to the children's choir. When a tenor decides to be a diva, oof...”

“So, you´ve been talking to your mother?”

“Yeah, I called her and dad last week from Salzburg...to apologize for not showing up for Christmas again. She told me you were there.”

“I was. I assume that's how you got my address...”

“I...I mean...is not like she” Soren stammered like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

“Did you really think your mother would give you my address if I didn't tell her it was ok?” Audrey smiled “I´m just surprised you asked.”

“Why wouldn't I ask?”

“You tell me...For the past four years I´ve seen more of your parents and your sister than I´ve seen you. And you don't call anybody, just go off for months on end...”

“You know why that is...”

“I do. That´s why I don't wait for you anymore. It's pointless. But then when I give up waiting, you decide to show up.”

“Is not like I planned to just...”

“You never do.”

“Audrey, I...”

“I´ll get you a pillow and some covers, it's getting late.” She couldn't let him speak. If he started he'd take her in again. And before she knew it, she would be waiting again...for a phone call, a message, waiting for that moment she'd finally be fully a part of his world. A moment that would never come, no matter how long she waited. Not for her and not for anybody else. Soren had chosen a rocky path that only fit the steps of one person: himself. She couldn´t walk with him, and it would be fooolish to wait for him to come back any time soon.

“You said you were working lunch shift tomorrow.” the sweetness on his voice reached her as she got up from the couch, disarming. “Can´t you stay a little while longer?”

[thoughts-of-the-unheard]

oh nothing in a book has ever made me as angry as fucking pissed off as i am now about the end of chain of iron and i have a lot to say on it (i have more to say on the last few chapters of chain of iron than i did on the entirety of the folk of the air series)

ill start with being glad lucie was able to raise jesse but definite reylo vibes there and im ignoring the end of that so watch me ignore if lucie dies ill be like yea ya know shes just,,, somewhere else but i hated how many secrets she kept from fucking everyone i mean she didnt tell a single person the whole truth of anything shes got secrets on top of secrets and thats not good but hey matthews drinking isnt good either and no one but the lucie and cordelia ever really say anything about that so theres that and im not counting james’ you dont love anyone as much as you love that bottle or w/e he said bc that wasnt talking to him to try to help and get him to stop drinking that was just a hit bc they were fighting and i hate that i hate that they were fighting bc they wouldnt have been if it wasnt for that fucking bracelet and which has caused so many fucking problems that i could cry in indignation bc its not its not fucking fair james spent the last what three years of his life in a fog not being able to feel and not being able to notice his parabatai slowly spiraling into a drunken depression from something thats not his fault at all i mean yes it is his fault that his mother took the potion but it is not his fault that the baby died thats no ones fault but whoever sold him the potion and yea he shouldnt have bought it in the first place but he was kid and he thought that was the only way he could get the truth and its unfair its fucking unfair and alistair god alistair he knows what he did in school was wrong but he saw it as the only way and now hes trying to make up for it and apologise and be a better fucking person and thomas sees that and thomas loves him for that and alistair wont let himself be loved and its not fair and anna oh anna talk about not letting yourself be loved she put on such a good front she did but she shouldnt have ariadne loves her and wants to be with her fully with her but anna has to understand the stigma of that and why ariadne cant come out yet hell thats still a problem today but we wont get into that because anna clearly loves ariadne but shes too afraid of getting hurt again and frankly she should just go for it i mean so what if you get hurt again at least youll finally feel something because i know she feels nothing for all those other girls i know theyre just replacements for ariadne and it isnt fair and speaking    of   replacements    fucking grace fuck grace but fucking grace just casually destroying james life listen i dont give a shit how she grew up i couldnt care less about how tatiana treated her and how scared she was of her because if shed just fucking helped then she wouldnt have to worry about a damn thing from tatiana i mean theres a number of things grace couldve done she couldve told the merry thieves everything and they couldve defeated belial like they are now and then no one would be around to help tatiana and grace couldve told anyone in the clave about all of tatianas shit and then they wouldnt have underestimated her and she wouldve been in a proper prison and thus unable to escape so damn easily and thus not fucking able to get to grace okay shes a fucking idiot and i hate her and i hate reading about her and im fucking disappointed in her for not taking the damn bracelet off okay i had very fucking low standards for her but i hoped she would take the bracelet off and at the very least i thought she could fucking not manipulate him further like god damn girl james is a much nicer and understanding person than i am and he would try to protect her from tatiana if he knew that grace was being threatened by her if grace took the bracelet off and told him the truth he would help her i fully believe that but since he had to find out on his own he was furious as he should be but i dont think he had to be nice to her when she showed up at the end there i mean i wouldve just yanked her in the house and started yelling at her right there fuck pretending his still under that enchantment fuck talking to her in private okay id chew her out in the entryway its not like cordelia doesnt need to know she fucking does and i think her finding out by overhearing james arguing with grace is actually a fantastic way to find out because she gets to hear everything all of what james feels and all of what grace did completely unfiltered not that james would try to hide it from her but hed definitely try to soften the blow and i just think she needs to hear the whole truth and AND i really fucking hate when characters overhear only part of something and assume the worst and run away its so common and i hate it so much and i hate how she ran to matthews because i knew it was going to happen and i knew matthew was in love with her and that it was already straining their bond because no one fucking realised that james was madly fucking in love with cordelia because of that fucking bracelet have i mentioned have i mentioned how much that bracelet pisses me off i dont think i have lets get into it so how james was unable to feel properly for three years and how his head was so foggy he was unable to think properly too and how because of that he missed matthew becoming a drunk and how the merry thieves look to james as their leader so if james isnt saying anything about it then there must not be anything to say and how james was already in love with cordelia before the bracelet and thats part of why grace couldnt control him and how he loved her for years how he was in love with her for years how no one knew this not even him because everyone thought he was in love with grace how cordelia was in love with him but thought he was in love with grace how cordelia got married to him knowing she was in love with him and thinking he was in love with someone else how she could tell he wanted her but thinking he just wanted her body and that he was still in love with grace how she’d rather have some of him than none of him at all how he picked out everything in their house with cordelia in mind how he remembered that she loves chess and she never thought he would how he learned a whole other language for her how he immediately checks on her after every battle how everyone, especially cordelia, just writes all this off as who knows what because he cant be in love with cordelia if hes in love with grace and hes obviously in love with grace how no one could ever notice there was something wrong because they were feeling the effects too how james was so in love with cordelia that that love unintentionally broke an enchantment made specifically for james by a Prince Of Hell one of the most powerful beings the entire species will ever meet and i think that covers the gracelet situation but i keep thinking of the scene where the bracelet cracks when grace first went to curzon street and kissed james and james’ mind literally thinking it was cordelia because who else would he be kissing and afterward grace saying ‘i dont know who you think you were kissing, james herondale, but it wasnt me’ and im like damn right bitch get fucked but back to cordelia running to matthews okay i know she didnt know matthew was in love with her so she wasnt doing anything wrong going to him but i kept thinking they were going to kiss or something because we all know matthews in love with her and there were a bunch of hints that cordelia might be attracted to matthew and she was upset about james and i just kept thinking something bad would happen and i was right but shit i didnt think id be like that i had no idea matthew was leaving for paris and even less of an idea that cordelia would join him and the thing is i cant even be mad i cant blame her i would probably do the same thing hell id probably ask to go with and im very proud of her for saying she’d go If matthew stops drinking i really appreicate that and i hope he gets better but the all those misses how james left the house only minutes after cordelia and arrived at matthews only minutes after they left and how he could see them at the train station could see them getting on the train and leaving and leaving him behind because his sister is missing and he shouldve ran and caught them and begged them to stay if not just to help find lucie because they both think of lucie as a sister and they absolutely wouldve stayed to help her and then there would be the chance for james to explain the gracelet situation and everything would be fine it would fine eventually and everything would be okay but NO and ive said a lot but i havent even mentioned cordelia being a paladin for fucking lilith yet where did that come from i was not expecting that ill tell ya see i thought it was odd that wayland the smith would still be alive and that it wasnt mentioned in any of the other books and i thought it was odd that some apparently god-like blacksmith would be wearing such an elegant jeweled necklace and i thought it was odd that magnus would be back from the spiral labyrinth for just a day and would be staying with hypatia instead of ya know his own place but shit id never have put it together as one person let alone lilith and i cant say it came out of nowhere because it said that edom used to be liliths so it would make sense that she would want belial gone so she could have it back but still that was unexpected but im not disappointed i mean im obviously upset that cordelia is now pledged to the mother of demons and feels like she cant even touch a weapon speaking of which what did she do with cortana where did she put it she said she dealt with it which makes me nervous but we know she couldnt have broken it or anything a) because i dont think she physically can and b) emma has cortana later but i think cordelia should keep cortana close since its the only thing that can mortally would belial and apparently he only needs one more before something happens im guessing before hes like gone gone so she definitely needs cortana and lilith wants her to kill belial so i think she should and if shes stuck as liliths paladin after that and never wants to touch a weapon again so be it but get rid of belial first ya know anyway i think there was something else i wanted to say but i cant remember so if you read all of this holy shit im sorry thats a lot i hope it was entertaining at least and i hope i didnt also get you pissed off

[springfieldblues]

my long ass review for S32E03 Now Museum, Now You Don’t

warning: LONG because i rambled about history more than i thought i would

id been looking forward to this one because i like art history, especially after seeing how they tried their best to stick to historical accuracy in the previous episode I, Carumbus. this time however….they didnt try that hard. i dont know why i thought theyd go through that sort of trouble again LMAO

but its okay, i dont really expect the simpsons to be the paragon of historical accuracy or anything. especially in anthology episodes told through a particular character's lens (in this case, lisa, whos already feverish so whatever)

first i just wanna say that this is, i guess, less of a review and more of an accidental list of history fun facts. so im just gonna get my general thoughts out of the way first.

the episode was fun! to me at least haha. i mean it got me to think and do a lot of research on my own so that must count for something. besides a couple of really weird ones, the jokes were good. anthology episodes tend to be….not that good but i thought this one was one of the better ones so far. idk.

anyway on to lisanardo da vinky its the renaissance! jesus christ the italian accents in the beginning of this segment were annoying as hell but i also feel like that was the joke lmao. ill be real i kind of tuned out for a second there when grampa started rambling so idk what he said.

i told myself i wouldnt get nitpicky with historical accuracy if the jokes were funny (final edit: so that was a lie) but this meh bit with the pizza guys and mascots was really not worth ignoring the fact that its impossible for italy to have any tomato-based food in the 15th century (tomatoes were brought to europe from the americas in the 16th century, and pizza as we know it today—flatbread, cheese, tomato—originated in the late 18th century)

oh this next part was kind of legit tho. lisanardo, like the real leonardo, became andrea del verrochio's apprentice at his workshop. i loved this next bit:

"Whoever paints the sweetest cherub will have the honor of having MY name signed on their work. That's what great artists do!"

SO YEAH as it turns out, lisanardo painted the sweetest cherubs. the painting here is called The Baptism of Christ, and the real leonardo assisted verrochio in finishing it. specifically, he painted the cherubs in the corner.

this causes verrochio to quit and go someplace with less talented people: a music school (yes, verrochio did quit painting after getting owned by young leo and his mad angel painting skills. he never did anything with music tho, he was more of a sculptor)

alongside lisanardo, in mr largo-verrochio's workshop we have barticelli (botticelli bart), dolphatello (donatello dolph), ralphael (raphael...ralph) and mediocrito (no one that i know of. sorry milhouse) (and kearney i guess but they dont refer to him by name). botticelli and donatello are said to have also been apprentices at verrochio's workshop, but raphael came a couple of decades later so he couldnt have been there. and donatello was too old so that claim is a bit questionable. but anyway

it IS true that leonardo's peers envied him, to the point where he was anonymously and purposefully accused of being gay (a major crime punishable by death in 15th century florence) while he was still working at verrochio's workshop

we are then treated by what im pretty sure is the fourth time the show has used 'at seventeen' by janis ian, this time sung by a dejected lisanardo (man they really do keep making yeardley sing these days huh) who only wishes to be appreciated and not envied.

"I'll show them all! I'll show them all in a secret diary that no one will decipher for 400 years!"

some of lisanardo's future inventions. who wouldve known

so after barticelli, for some reason (revenge??? or something?? what was his plan here idgi) steals lisanardo's diaries full of blueprints of her inventions and takes them to mr burns who i have to assume is pope alexander VI here, they decide to use her inventions for war.

"With these, we can kill the most evil people in the world!! ....Slightly different Christians."

leo actually did this of his own accord. im surprised this is what they decided to do with lisanardo instead of talking about leo's love of nature and vegetarianism (not a single mention of that in this episode? come on...) then again, trying to do good only to end up indirectly making things worse is a very standard lisa storyline. i guess they didnt want to miss the chance to have evil pope burns (very fitting, especially for that era since they were all about money and controlling the people)

so lisanardo decides to leave for france, unlike the real leonardo who was more or less persuaded by his ultimate fanboy king francis I to move to france.

"Lisanardo, I have many questions. Why are you hitting yourself? A nerd says 'what'? And how is it possible that I am rubber and you are glue? Et cetera, et cetera."

that line may seem a little random, like hes just nelson saying nelson things (and i mean, obviously he is) but the real francis also "had an unquenchable thirst for learning, and Leonardo was the world’s best source of experimental knowledge. He could teach the king about almost any subject there was to know, from how the eye works to why the moon shines." so yeah, he did have many questions and lisanardo, finally being appreciated for her intellect, was happy to answer them all. its very interesting how lisa assigned this role to nelson in her retelling of da vinci’s life :^)

and so she lived the rest of her days in france, nat king cole's 'mona lisa' plays because duh, and they make a da vinci code reference because duh. and the segment ends. and not a single time did they show the actual mona lisa painting. the fuck?

(ngl i was fully expecting bart to say 'leonardo da vinky' for a second here)

so this next segment is about french impressionist painters, most likely the batignolles group, a name adopted by the early representatives of impressionism. its much more vague than the lisanardo segment since no one here is referred to by name (except moe, more on him in a sec) but i dont feel like it really matters in this case. bart is prrrrooobably claude monet but its hard to say, this segment is kind of a mish-mash of a lot of things. also i gotta say i really liked how lisa introduced the story to bart with an 'if you hate the formal study of art' and not 'if you hate art' because thats exactly my headcanon. i LOVE the concept of artist bart and whenever its referenced it just makes perfect sense to me.

anyway the segment opens in 1863 at the école des beaux-arts (back then it was actually known as the académie des beaux-arts), preserver of traditional french art styles. skinner reviews his students’ paintings one by one. praises the plain, unimaginative paintings depicting your typical european countryside landscapes. very run-of-the-mill (haha get it...cuz theres….a windmill) (although the real académie didnt approve of such basic stuff, they wanted artists to draw epic historical and mythological scenes) then he gets to barts painting and he gives him an F- because the painting made him think.

(the paintings in this scene arent real famous paintings as far as i know but they are inspired by real paintings enough to get the point across)

in comes barney dressed as bacchus as a model for the students to sketch, which i just loved:

barney: “You prefer robe open or robe off?” skinner: “Just cover your privates with this walnut shell.” barney: “Whoa!!! So roomy!”

skinner gasps in horror at bart’s sketch, which “looks nothing like him” and bart explains that “it shouldn’t; we’re making the art that we feel because we can’t compete with a camera.” damn, you go bart. take that, realism. draw what you feel!!

(also no, you didnt need to hold still for 17 hours for a daguerreotype. 30 min tops.)

nelson haw-haw of the week: FOIE-gras!

so here they are at the moulin rouge (“enjoy it before baz luhrmann ruins it” hey shut up. i love that movie), which wouldnt be built for another 26 years, but it is the most widely known gathering place for bohemians in the public consciousness so i can understand why they went with the moulin. nelson delivers this anachronistic line:

“This époque keeps getting beller and beller!”

which alludes to la belle époque, the golden age of france usually dated from 1880 to 1914. made me snort so ill let that slide

and heres moe! as henri de toulouse-lautrec, who was actually born a year after the year this segment is set in. yo moe szyslak he was just 1

toulouse-moetrec introduces himself as the chronicler of the demimonde (not an actual job). an iconic figure associated with the moulin rouge (largely due to his affinity for alcohol and prostitutes), toulouse-lautrec was also a painter, having illustrated a series of posters for the moulin himself. he simply had to be in this segment, anachronisms be damned, just because they decided to include the moulin. cant have one without the other.

and yes he did have a walking cane where he kept his liquor.

i love how everyone drinks absinthe in this place. theyre bohemians what else would they drink

toulouse-moetrec points out that barts paintings are the greatest thing hes ever seen (and hes seen like five things!) and that hes a genius. milhouse realizes that they should stop doing what the teacher says and use their own minds to instead...start doing what bart says lmao. to the easels!

next we have skinner hyping up chalmers about the art his students made for the salon de paris, an art exhibition that the emperor of france will attend. he assures him that none of these paintings will encourage debate, provoke thought or be out of place at a dentist’s office. when they unveil the art, theyre both SHOCKED at how scandalous the paintings actually are.

this reaction was kind of accurate. impressionism was severely rejected at the salon de paris, due to paintings not looking finished enough to them, they thought they were ugly and vulgar for depicting nudity in a contemporary setting (historical and mythological nudity was fine). these impressionist paintings were sent to the salon de refusés, which is. yeah. the place where they sent the rejects. the salon de refusés does not make an appearance but this scene makes a reference to it when the artists get expelled from the royal salon. also:

“What about our student loans?” “Oh they’ll be refunded. We are not barbarians, I mean, come on.”

(god if only)

so the painters are down because they want the emperor to actually see their paintings. toulouse-moetrec pipes in once again with an idea.

“There is one thing the emperor loves more than anything.” “France?” “No, he hates France.”

apparently the emperor really loves cheese, which makes sense since its napoleon III (who loved cheese) and homer (who loves cheese.) so the painters roll into the salon inside a giant wheel of cheese (obviously.) as lenny said, “Eh, you know French cheese. Very runny.” napoleon III chases after the wheel into a room, where the wheel falls apart after getting chomped on by the emperor. now that they got his attention, the painters proudly show the emperor their impressionist art, which he couldnt be more indifferent about because he just wants to eat his cheese dammit, and he awards them with the royal medallion just to kind of get them out of his way. skinner immediately starts kissing ass (as he does) until marge’s like ‘hey wait a minute. you expelled these students from the royal salon’ and an executioner immediately starts ominously measuring skinners neck.

“Uh, sir...is your tongue sticking out because you’re dead or because you’re mad at me?”

and thats the end of that lmao (gore in this episode, gore in the last episode, and next week we’re getting gore too cuz its THOH, what the hell is goin on)

we get a short intermission with maggie, who wants a story for her too! lisa tells her that renaissance artists loved to put babies in their paintings, especially baby angels.

here she is showing her The Triumph Of Galatea by raphael:

King David Playing The Harp by peter paul reubens:

and a very simplified version of pretty much any depiction of hell by hyeronimus bosch lmao:

not much else to say about this one, really. but i really liked that sky!

the last segment is about frida kahlo and diego rivera. or as bart puts it ‘the one about a fat guy whos wife is too good for him.’ i was REALLY looking forward to this one because i love frida and i thought itd be a cool opportunity for animators to go bonkers and do really cool shit with her art as inspiration…..but the segment is not about frida, its about diego and his selling out to capitalism. and its also yet another story with homer and marge drama. no funky cool animation here. sigh i guess i’ll take it

the story begins in 1929 at la casa azul, frida’s home (now museum dedicated to her life and work.) frida and diego are getting married. this courtyard definitely did not look this way yet back in 1929. also theres something very cringy yet funny about lovejoy saying spanish words the way he does, i honestly cant decide how i feel about that one

the writers know theyre being cringy with their gringoness so they go along with it.

moe: “Spanish for ‘best wishes’!” mel: “Spanish for ‘congratulations’!” bumblebee man: “Spanish for ‘muy bueno’!”

OH YEAH BUMBLEBEE MAN this is his new voice actor, eric lopez! hes not mexican but its still great to finally have a latino actor voicing a latino character and hes very excited to be part of the show so i hope to hear more of him!! im rooting for him

el barto/zorro makes an appearance which i am very confused about. he has jack shit to do with frida and diego and mexico in the 20s-30s. el zorro was set in the spanish california of the early 19th century. their use of the original theme song makes me think they just wanted to flex their disney privileges tbh

lets not talk about that that whole scene was bad

anyway diego announces he and frida are going to new york, without even asking her first. frida is obviously pissed.

“Don’t worry, as a woman, you’ll be treated with much more respect in America.”

so in new york, diego is having a bit of a business meeting with mr burns as one of the members of the rockefellers, who is commissioning him to draw a mural for the rockefeller center. its kinda funny how he refers to him and frida as socialists even though they were very much communists lmao its okay you can say it. ok so far, but then frida says ‘yes, we hate the capitalists! right now, a young socialist is being born who will take them down! mr. bernie sanders. i hope hes quick about it’ and that was a simple enough joke and couldve been left at that but then its immediately followed by this weird as fuck family guy-esque cutaway gag to bernie as a baby:

“Getting a cootie shot should not cost your lunch money. And if you don’t listen to me, listen to the Bernie Babies! What? Everybody’s got goons.” *larger babies start beating up this other baby* “I disavow that, and welcome it.”

this confused me so much that i had to ask one of my american friends to help me understand, but even she was like ‘uhhh yeah thats a weird joke,’ especially now that hes been out of the race for months (then again these episodes take almost a year to produce. i guess they couldnt be bothered to replace it with something more relevant.) whatever that was weird and confusing and unfunny moving on

frida is pretty irked that diego is going through with this deal. after all, it goes against everything they believe in. im not sure how the real frida felt about diego doing the mural, but she did feel a bit of rage during her visit to the united states, especially the obvious disparity between rich and poor. she hated having to interact with capitalists and found americans very boring. in this segment, frida seems to be acting more like the american communist party, which diego got kicked out of for accepting commissions from wealthy patrons. in any case, frida is pretty upset about this whole thing.

and finally we get the first and only kind of surreal frida moment. kinda. maybe. its more cartoonish than anything but im desperate ok

interesting how they felt like they had to add a “don’t smoke” in big letters after showing patty and selma flying away on their giant cigarettes. i wonder if this is something theyre making them do now? i remember hearing something about them toning down patty and selma’s smoking

diego comes home to frida, drunk as hell, followed by the marx brothers. i cant believe they didnt make a marxism joke come on it was RIGHT THERE. THE MARX BROTHERS. KARL MARX. COME ON

frida paints her feelings.

this makes diego realize that frida is a genius and he is not half the artist she is. he proclaims he will now show his awe of her by sleeping with other women, starting “an hour ago.” to which frida replies, “and i will start sleeping with other women, starting two hours ago.” yes this was pretty much their relationship. though im just wondering how the hell did diego not know frida was this kind of artist until now? i know homers an idiot but jeez. art was how frida and diego met, diego knew from the get-go that frida was an incredible artist. i guess the fame got to his head or something. again, homer just being stupid.

“well enough already, while the art is still deco, okay?”

its time for the mural diego painted, Man At The Crossroads, to be unveiled:

rockefeller examines it. good and great so far, and then...uh oh

“Who’s that fellow…? With the beard, and the bolshevik smile…” “That’s the founder of Soviet Russia, Lenin!”

“B-b-but he’s a communist!” “Oh he just attended a couple of meetings.”

rockefeller will not have this communist in the temple to capitalism that is the rockefeller center, so he orders diego to paint over it. diego stands his ground and refuses. despite rockefeller’s threats, diego says that theres only one person he wants to be proud of him no matter what and in true homer & marge fashion, frida is touched by this. they happily leave the rockefeller center.

now, the real story of Man At The Crossroads and the rockefeller center was actually not that different. as soon as the rockefellers found out diego had snuck in a portrait of lenin into the mural, they ordered him to paint over it, to which he refused. diego even offered to include abraham lincoln and even american abolitionists in the mural as a compromise, but the rockefellers simply did not want any references to communism whatsoever. they did not complain about the hammer and sickle, though. yes, they did know diego was a communist and hired him anyway. what did they expect? lmao. diego said:

"Rather than mutilate the conception [of the mural], I shall prefer the physical destruction of the conception in its entirety, but preserving, at least, its integrity."

so they decided to destroy the mural before it was even finished and they never talked to each other again.

diego then repainted the mural at the palacio de bellas artes back in mexico, this time known as Man, Controller of the Universe. this new version included even more communist leaders and a depiction of john d. rockefeller jr. drinking at a nightclub, right underneath a depiction of syphilis bacteria. cue nelson haw-haw:

this was the version they used in the episode also, since the original was, well, never finished and also destroyed. only a black and white photograph of it exists, taken by diego before it was destroyed so he could remake it.

right so, homer!diego then pulls a Barthood and finishes the episode with a large mural summarizing the entire episode. he says some rick and morty thing i didnt get because i dont watch the show idk idc

the end

ALRIGHT NOW ITS TIME FOR THE STORY OF VINCENT VAN MOE

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

thoughts on starry after multiple listens

(dated July 8, 2020 because i might make another one)

Edit: I SHOULD FACT CHECK MORE

the Starry soundtrack is as impressionist as the painters it invokes by energy alone, which is impressive given the style of music used (of which i’m fine with, but not partial to)

the Prologue does this right off the bat

the people of Monmartre are very critical of the rest of France and I adore it

i can feel theo’s overwhelment in Impress Me

Impress Me does a wonderful job at introducing the setting of the show

that song is a ball of pulsating yearning—no wait that’s the whole show

Theo got so stressed he walked blindly into Madame Segatori’s cafe

learning that the Le Tambourin was named as such due to its tambourine aesthetic via Vincent’s portrait of Segatori is just incredible to me; the table is shaped like a tambourine

“If Paris is the world, Monmartre is Bethlehem; and art is our Amen” sounds so powerful

A New Horizon is so warm

i expect Theo and Vincent to be very cuddly with each other everytime they interact

“dream with me, dear brother” is the energy of this song

french wheat fields will forever haunt me because of this damn musical

*insert Do You Like the Color of the Sky? post here*

like, so much emphasis to the sky

Vincent’s dreaming leaking into Theo’s trading practice surely must be a sight to see

chain imagery hits hard after hearing Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo

in this yellow house, we dream of freedom

“should I really take this giant risk?” “brother, I took a giant risk coming here—fuck yeah do it!”

United in Distaste reeks of Vincent’s intimidation—it has new kid in school energy and I am living for it

Vincent coming to Monmartre (and when he arrives in Arles) like “Hey, I’m new in town, and it gets worse,”

Bernard has apparently spent enough time with Theo to be able to identify Vincent by frowning alone

Rude of Gauguin to yoink Vincent’s painting like that; Segatori immediately hangs it tho—

Gauguin sounds like he’s going to corrupt anyone who approaches him—dude announces his horny nature during his introduction

Gauguin IS a savage and a whore and the best thing about that is that he knows it; even better knowing the vision of his costume

Segatori’s displeasure throughout the song implies that the artists that frequent her cafe also argue amongst themselves frequently

“keep in mind that we’re academic rejects, Vincent”

with the way Degas, Pissarro, and Morisot tease at Gauguin (noting that Gauguin, Bernard, and Toulouse-Lautrec are together in a later song), it sounds like they’re are hurling insults from a separate tambourine table

Toulouse-Lautrec sounds dramatic; Bernard sounds like he’s not sure where he is artistically—both are a mood

Of the post-impressionist table, the only one retaliating with genuine insults is Toulouse-Lautrec; Bernard and Gauguin only end up defending themselves while Toulouse was ready to tear down Degas and Morisot

Pissarro IS old (at this period in time in the musical) damn

Morisot is unyielding with her insults, “speaking of size—“ holy shit oh no

i reiterate—why is Toulouse-Lautrec the only one actually speaking in a French accent; almost everyone there is French

since I’m aggressively referring to him, I think Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec merits a musical of his own, and that’s based on what first learned about him when I first listened to Starry

by extension, also Berthe Morisot

Monmartre’s artists be like “We’re very critical of ourselves and each other, and while that’s worth being intimidated by, don’t be intimidated by us! What do you have to bring to the table, foreign painter?”

Something poetic about how what Vincent wants being what all the artists want hereby making him a member of their squad is so warm to me—galleries are gravity INDEED

“We will embrace the madness we design, or lose our mind,” IS THIS FORSHADOWING BECAUSE IT FUCKING SOUNDS LIKE IT

“i am loving this! YES, GET ANGRY!” if only i can identify who said this

Something After All is directed towards Vincent, right? It better be, I lack context

Theo’s yearning is so relatable and I fear not being able to fulfill it

bless Kelly and Matt for giving Jo so much depth in Enlightenment

apparently she deadass learned English for the purpose of translating the letters she had compiled??? yo i love that

poetic how Jo invokes making a legacy since she’s the one who actually preserves her brother-in-law’s legacy (and by extension, herself and her husband’s legacies)

at first listen, i immediately drew a comparison to Hamilton’s Eliza; Jo is better both musically and literally, given that Vincent van Gogh is far more relevant than Alexander Hamilton will ever be, even with LMM’s musical

not trying to start beef, just an observation

Jo’s yearning is also such a mood

fire, light, and road imagery being invoked huh

it is by this point i’ve to the realization that the reasons one goes to Monmartre that was cited in Impress Me tie in very well to the individual characters’ desires in this show

Where Are We Going? goes so hard ugh yes

“I need a stronger strategy to seize my immortality!” Gauguin’s incredible ambition is the root of his dissatisfaction; doesn’t help that he’s impulsive both in the musical and IRL

Toulouse prioritizes integrity and Bernard prioritizes progression—I wonder what this means for their characters in the show

Toulouse and Bernard calling Gauguin out on his known shitty behaviors feels like they’ll be problems Vincent will have to deal with in Act 2, when they live together

this is where Gauguin leaves for Martinique, right???

which one is the act 1 closer, really??? The Sower or The Road??? help me please

everyone in town is really concerned for Vincent

it wams me how much Segatori believes in him

Bernard’s right, Vincent van Gogh’s artstyle IS a melting pot

learning that Toulouse-Lautrec capitalized on his art during the peak of his career really adds weight to his concerns on Vincent’s inability to sell

i like to imagine the everyone’s in the gallery during The Sower

Theo and Jo’s relationship progressing as Vincent’s works don’t sell hits upon realization

Theo falling hard when he learns that he and Jo yearn for the same thing tho

recontextualizing the imagery that Vincent found beauty in into imagery that demonstrates his person is just mighty good of Kelly and Matt

then again, so much of his person is in the artwork to begin with

“and everyone knows your reap what you sow.” w o a h!!!

The Road starts like a dramatization of one of Vincent’s breakdowns and how he copes with them, or perhaps this starts after one??? The opening verses suggest a lot

also ties his road to his dream of freedom with what i believe is his travel to Arles

“North, South, East, West—navigate from inside you,” = “With conscience as my compass,”

“i am guided towards the night” this Vincent knows the answer but is so clearly far from its reach and is desperately trying to figure out how to

soul of fire, crystal heart and blizzard-like brain; the man is passionate and everyone knows it

“Fascinating, but maybe just a little too soon,” sounds like that at this point, Toulouse-Lautrec and Bernard genuinely recognize and admire Vincent’s talents, but also understand that the world is still against him and that they have the experience to prove it

the “sunlight and storms” imagery always concern Theo, Jo, and Vincent’s relationship with each other

Gauguin popping up in this song with the compass imagery implies the show’s going to make him a pretty interesting foil to Vincent; this sounds like him traveling back to Paris, or at least him attempting to vibe in Martinique

this hurts when you remember what happens to Vincent

“curse of the gifted” is a phrase i am too afraid to understand

DYLAN SAUNDERS CAN SLAY ME WITH HIS VOICE

The Yellow House sounds yellow somehow

who clears their throat before writing a letter???

Gauguin’s frustration’s against Vincent’s admiration of him is amusing

sounds like Gauguin hasn’t found his “freedom” yet

Theo is one generous fellow

this arrangement lasts for only 2 months; given the apparent span of this musical, The Yellow House is a very “calm before the storm” song

wait a minute—

apparently, Vincent REALLY admired Gauguin and was so excited for his arrival at the yellow house

i fear the dramatization of their disagreements

“Don’t tell Theo I said that,” it amuses me how the van Gogh brothers’ relationship is so well-known to these painters

based on the gifs lurking, the ear incident WILL be dramatized and I am terrified for my heart on how it will be depicted

Sunlight and Storms quotes the original letter from Jo to Vincent surprisingly well (i attempted to read some—there’s so many! this was one of the first ones i came across)

this song hurts when it hits how little time Jo and Theo had together as a married couple

I am convinced a lot happened between Sunlight and Storms and On the Threshold of Eternity

this definitely was after a breakdown

i skip this song just so i don’t think about the obvious implications, i must confess

the meaning of “sunlight and storms” hits the hardest here

“we will not let your illness keep you from finding your freedom”

The Red Vinyard is so full of a brother’s love

this hits me, and i speak as an only child

“You’ve carried me more than you’ll ever know,” AH—

when Theo finally sees the new horizon, Vincent is seeing it too

and what Vincent saw he put on a fucking canvas

“i can see it—a new horizon” = “the sight of the starry night”

they say that at the time, not much was thought of the iconic painting

i could only wonder what might’ve happened between The Starry Night and Wheat Fields

all the piano motifs coming together in Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo, just like that

“I’m ready for harvest time” is melodically similar to “The road is bright”, particularly when it’s just Vincent singing the line alone

despite the obvious, I don’t think I’ll grasp the meaning of the final song; i also skip this one so i don’t think about it

[oliviastan17]

Just a dream (4/7)

Warnings: 18+, fluff, shit ton of angst (it’s no fun when everything goes smoothly), smut, language, 

Length: 3.4k

A/N: This starts off when you get back from being in New York with Seb in Part 3. Two dreams combined into one story because I’m not mean and didn’t want to leave you with a cliff hanger. You’re welcome. DO NOT POST ON ANY OTHER WEBSITE! Feel free to reblog.

“Hey!” Chris said as you walked into the office building of the company producing his next project.

“Woah, what happened to you?” he asked after taking in your appearance. You were wearing black leggings with a baggy sweatshirt and running shoes. Your hair was up in a pony tail on top of your head and there were bags under your eyes.

“Long night. Can we make this quick?” you asked as you rubbed your temple with your hand.

He nodded looking concerned. He walked you down the hall and into a room with large rectangle table and 15 or so people looking through piles of paper.

Production meetings are the worst. This was the one thing you hated about your job. Why can’t you just be given a script so you can start ordering and searching for props? If you have questions, you’ll call and ask. Instead you are going to be stuck in this room with these people for hours going on almost no sleep.

You start mindlessly reading through the script as you drown out the voices in the room. After making small notations in the script whenever you did hear anything of value, which was few and far between, you checked the time and quietly cursed to yourself. It’s only been 30 minutes. Shit.

“Y/n?” Chris’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I…uh…I should have everything ready in about 2 weeks,” you offered. You had no idea what the question was but everyone seemed pleased with your answer so that was lucky.

Two hours later and you were finally free. You snuck out while Chris was busy talking with the director. All you wanted to do was just go home.

When you walked into your house you dropped your bag and binder with the script down on the floor, kicked your shoes off and shuffled into your bedroom. You crawled into bed so grateful you were able to finally close your eyes.

Your doorbell rings 10 minutes later. Who the fuck is at my door? I’m not answering. Whatever it is it can wait.

A minute goes by and the bell rings again. Nope. I’m not home.

Then you heard the loud knocking that didn’t seem like it would go away on its own so you begrudgingly got up to answer it.

Before you even got to the door you heard Chris say “Come on Y/n. I know you’re in there.”

“Why are you always trying to ruin my life?” were the first words he heard when you opened the door. You tilted your head back and turned around walking over to your couch.

“Um…hi?” Chris responded as he closed your front door. “What did I do now?”

“I came home 2 weeks ago from New York so I could come here and work on your movie and then you kept pushing the meeting back a couple of days. And then another couple of days. And then another couple of days!”

“It wasn’t my fault Y/n! I tried…”

“Oh I’m not done!” you interrupted him. “Then you post some pictures of when we went out to dinner with Morgan and now Seb is acting like a complete moron. Has been for 2 days.”

“What’s his problem?”

“Our problem…” you corrected, “is this long distance thing. It’s been 2 weeks and we’re falling apart.” You collapsed on your couch and leaned your head back.

“I’m gonna need the whole story,” he said as he sat down with you resting his arm on the back of the couch and facing you. So you told him. You had talked to Sebastian 3 nights ago telling him that you just got back from dinner with Chris, Morgan and a few other friends. The next day he had happened upon Chris’s pictures. One where your friend Morgan had his arm around you. Sebastian somehow thought since you didn’t mention that Morgan was a man that you were being a little shady.

“Oh I see where this is going.”

“Yeah, so when he asked how I knew Morgan I said we dated for in high school but that we stayed in touch and he helped get me my first job because his dad is a set designer. Blah, blah, blah. God, should I have left out the dating part? It’s been 10 fucking years! I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Don’t tell him I said this but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t know. I thought he was overreacting so I said if I was going to cheat I would be smart enough to make damn sure you didn’t take any pictures. He didn’t appreciate that answer. And he wasn’t listening to anything I said so I hung up on him. It’s just been angry texts and one long ass phone call all last night.”

“Man Y/n. I’m sorry. How did you leave things?”

“I said I had to go to work and I would call him later.”

“So what are you going to say?”

“I’m honestly too tired to even think about it right now.”

“You really do look like shit.”

 “Thanks so much. I’ve been awake for over 24 hours. What’s your excuse?”

“Alright, I’m going. I just wanted to check on you. Let me know if you need anything.”

______

 After he left you finally collapse in your bed and get some much needed sleep. You wake up at 6pm, take a shower and make some dinner. You call Sebastian but it goes straight to voicemail. That’s not reassuring. You turn the tv on for some background noise and start to go through the script making a list of items you need to order, find, or somehow build.  An hour and a half goes by and then there’s a knock at your door. You look through the peephole to see Sebastian is at your door.

“Hey,” you said when you opened the door. He pulls you in for a hug. “I called you.”

“I was on the plane.” You pulled away and he kisses you. “I needed to see you. We need to talk.”

You gestured for him to come in and you both sat on the couch.

“Listen, I overreacted and I know that. I’m sorry. I went a little crazy at the thought of being without you. It’s just…I let my mind wander and all these negative thoughts came in and I couldn’t stop them fast enough. Then you hung up and I…I just…I love you and I had temporary insanity or something. I’m so sorry. But I need to know if you meant what you said.”

“Meant what?”

“That you couldn’t handle doing long distance for a while.”

“Oh…I mean I guess it kind of depends on your definition of a while.”

He was picking at his fingernails and looked down when he replied, “3 months?”

“You got the part.”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath before meeting your eyes.

You scooted over to be sitting closer to him and grabbed his face as you said, “I’m really happy for you.” 

You leaned in to kiss his lips so he’d know you meant it. He had been talking about this story he fell in love with since you first got together. But you also knew the filming was in Paris. It would be an intense shoot. He could probably only make it back to you 2-3 times a month if that. One day off wasn’t enough time to fly here and back.

He didn’t say anything. He just searched your eyes looking for your answer.

“Well, we didn’t handle being apart for 2 weeks very well, did we?”

He dropped his head and nodded slowly.

“So maybe we can learn from our mistakes,” you offered. “I’m sorry too. I could have handled things better.”

He felt relief at your answer.

“When do you have to be there?”

“My flight back to New York leaves in 2 days. I have a day to pack and then I leave for Paris.”

“Okay, we have 2 days to figure our shit out,” you said as you stood up, grabbed his hand and led him into your bedroom where you spent hours trying to make up for the time you were about to spend apart.

 ______

That time had come. You were taking him to the airport. You weren’t sure when you would see him again.  He would let you know the schedule when he figured out what it was. So this was goodbye for right now.

Standing on the curb you had your arms over his shoulders and around his neck while you stood on your tip toes. You were trying to commit to memory how it felt to have his stubble against your cheek. As you loosened your grip you let out an unsteady breath. He took your face in his hands and kissed you as you brought your hands up around his wrists to keep them there.

“Love you,” you said barely breaking the kiss.

“I love you. We can do this,” he said doing the same.

When the kiss ended for real you looked up into his furiously gorgeous eyes and nodded. “We can do this,” you agreed.

Several kisses later he finally had to force himself to step away.

“Call me when you land.”

“I will,” he said as he kissed your cheek, turned and walked into the airport. You watched him walk away until you couldn’t see him anymore and then you turned around, got in your car and let the tears fall.

 ______

Things were good for the first 2 visits. He flew home once for a grand total of 18 hours. You flew out there once for 36 hours. It was better than nothing right?

Then there was the 6 hour time difference. Calls went missed due to work or need to sleep.

Then the assistant you hired to help with Chris’s movie stopped showing up. You hired another one but truth be told she wasn’t all that bright. You were single handedly doing the work of 2 people. You were doing your best to not let Chris down. He had vouched for you so you felt like you owed him something. You saw that you could have 3 days off (thanks to finally hiring an assistant you trusted to fill in for you for one day) and so you booked the first flight out.

Then the jet lag hit. And it hit hard.

You weren’t getting a lot of sleep at home because you were so busy. Flying out there meant losing 6 hours and you underestimated how exhausted you actually were. Jet lag always made Sebastian loopy, almost drunk. It made you mean.

“It’s like you’re not even trying!” His voice was raised in frustration.

“What do you mean I’m not trying? I’m here aren’t I?”

“And you started picking fights as soon as you got here!”

“That’s not true. You’re just mad because I don’t want to go out with your friends.”

“No, I said it was an option. God forbid they want to meet the ‘wonderful woman’ I’ve been talking about. Do you know when she’s going to make an appearance?”

Twenty four hours later you both reached your limit.

“We said we would do this until it stopped working. It’s not working anymore Seb.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at you for a minute. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t ask you to stay either. So you left.

That was 2 months ago. Chris had told you that Sebastian was back in New York as of a week ago. He gently suggested you call him to which you replied, “Stay the fuck out of it Chris.” You were serious and he could tell by the look of your face.

You had finished working with Chris and the wrap party was the next day. You were obviously going to go but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him if he invited Sebastian or not. You’d be a nervous wreck if you knew he was coming and disappointed if you found out he wasn’t. It might as well be a surprise.

You were meeting your Mom for dinner and she could tell something was bothering you.

“There may be a possibility that I might see Seb tomorrow night,” you awkwardly said.

“You might?”

“Chris might have invited him to the wrap party. I feel like it’s best if I don’t know until I get there.”

“Honey you never told me exactly what happened with you two.”

“I don’t know…we…we lived in 2 different states. The distance thing wasn’t working.”

“So he couldn’t live here because…”

“Most of his work, auditions, interviews or whatever were in New York. That’s where he has the best opportunity to work. I wasn’t going to ask him to give that up.”

“And you couldn’t move to New York because…”

“Because your dumbass son can’t take care of his kids without me!”

“What?”

“He calls me at least 3 times a week asking for help. The kids stay with me at least once a week. He’s been completely lost since Jen left.”

She had a shocked look on her face.

“I had no idea he was that bad. Why doesn’t he call me?”

“He always makes some excuse that you live too far away.”

“Oh please! Fourty five minutes is not that far! Was that the only thing keeping you from moving?”

“Basically yes. It is the main reason. I know I could find work in New York so yeah.”

“Honey, when are you going to realize that you deserve to be happy? You need to start living your life for you, not for what other people want you for.”

You took a minute to think about what she just said.

“Holy shit,” you exclaimed. “Why the hell couldn’t you tell me that months ago?”

“Well I didn’t think it was something you needed to be told! Looks like I may have 2 dumbass kids!”

“Oh my god.”

“You let me deal with your brother. Just figure out what you want.”

 ___________

The next day you did your best to keep busy. You even cleaned your house which is way out of character because someone comes once a week to do that for you. You only clean when something is wrong.

You got ready for the party and tried to take deep breaths to calm your anxiety on the drive there. You spent two hours at the party not because it was fun but because you were hoping Sebastian would come. Your anxiety started getting the best of you though so you decided you just needed to leave. He probably wasn’t coming anyway.

Once you got home you searched for your vaping pen for 30 minutes. You had gotten a medical marijuana card a while ago to see if it helped with migraines. It didn’t but you thought maybe it would help your anxiety. You couldn’t find it so you settled for a cigarette and sat outside on a bench near your front door lost in your thoughts. You watched as a car pulled up in your driveway and then Sebastian stepped out. You were relieved and terrified at the same time.

 “That’s a bad habit,” he said walking up your walkway.

“I’m aware,” you said as you offered it to him. He sat down next to you and took a drag.

“I saw your car leaving as I was walking in.”

“Oh. You didn’t stay long.”

He shook his head and shrugged.

“Uh…how was Paris?” you asked awkwardly.

“Uh, it was good. Glad to be home though, you know?”

“You want to come in?”

He nodded and you walked in your house. You grabbed a couple of waters out of your fridge and brought one to him.

“Seb, I’m…”

“I shouldn’t have let you leave Y/n.”

His words shocked you. You had shown him and side of yourself that was normally hidden and not attractive. You wouldn’t have blamed him for wanting you to leave.

“No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been such a bitch. I’m so sorry I fucked everything up.”

“Not you. We fucked everything up,” he said looking at the ground.

“I guess it’s too late for me to decide I want to move to New York isn’t it.”

His head shot up. He didn’t expect those words to ever come out of your mouth. He knew how much you helped with your niece and nephew. Without thinking he closed the distance between you in two steps, brought his hand up to the back of your neck and kissed you. It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was kiss he had been wanting for 2 months. He was hungry for it and so were you.

As he came up for air he asked, “What changed?”

“My mom helped me realize some things. I’m so sorry it took me so long.”

“Remind me to buy her a car or something.”

It was so good to feel his beard on your skin again. It was a little longer than what he normally wears but you didn’t mind. You both stumbled your way into your bedroom. Between him taking your shirt off as he was kicking off his shoes while your hands were undoing his belt you almost fell. He caught you and walked you forward until your back was against the wall. As he buried his face in your neck he smelt your perfume. He had missed it so much. He could smell it on his sheets for a week after you left.

His hands trailed down the sides of your body until he had picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. With his lips never leaving yours he shuffled over to the bed and fell on top of you. He stepped out of his jeans as he was undoing yours and slid yours off.  It felt so amazing to have you lying naked under him again. He missed your hands on his body but he missed touching you even more.

You knew he liked to be in control and would rather give pleasure than receive so you let him. He brought his hand between your legs checking to see how ready you were. You were more than ready and he decided not to tease you so he slipped two fingers inside you and started making a ‘come here’ motion. You broke the kiss to take in a deep breath as your neck arched your head back. He brought his lips to your ear and told you he loved you.

“Oh shit,” you moaned as you took his face in your hands and brought his lips to yours. He massaged your tongue with his in a deep kiss while his hand continued to do magical things to your body. Without removing his fingers he kissed his way down your body until he was gently sucking on your clit.

“Oh god, Seb” you cried as your back arched and you came. He was used to hearing you pant and moan to let him know you liked what he was doing but tonight was just a series of expletives you cried out when he did something you liked. Hearing you made him need to be in you right now.

He started to slowly move in and out of you knowing you were probably still sensitive from his previous act. Your bodies were made for each other. You fit together so perfectly. You held on to him so tightly because you needed to make sure this was real. You needed to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

You were both breathing hard as he was thrusting himself deep in you. He grabbed your leg and brought it up so that the back of your knee was over his shoulder which put him at the perfect angle to hit every spot he needed to. As he sped up he felt you tighten around him as your back arched again and the sound you made had him coming right after you.

He brought his face to yours and kissed you so sweetly you wished it would never end. When it did and he slid out of you he collapsed on the bed next to you. You rolled on your side to face him as he turned his head to smile at you.

“I can’t lose you again,” he spoke softly.

“I’m afraid I’m going to wake up any time now,” you said as your hand graced his beard.

“I’m here. And I’m not leaving. I love you.”

“Love you back,” you smiled.

Next Chapter

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[sinkingwmyships]

I’ve noticed a terrible lack of Cherik on Tumblr (why???), so here ya go ;)

Prompt list | Wattpad | AO3

This contains spoilers for “X-Men: Days of Future Past”!

          * * *

Prompt: “Did you do this to yourself?”

Character(s): Erik Lehnsherr; Charles Xavier; Raven Darkholme/Mystique (mentioned); Logan/Wolverine (mentioned); Hank McCoy/Beast (mentioned); Moira MacTaggert (mentioned)

Pairing(s): Cherik

Word count: 1,314

This is kinda set in the flight-to-Paris scene in “X-Men: Days of Future Past,” but you don’t have to remember/know the scene to read this.

         * * *

"Did you do this to yourself?"

Charles looked up from the chessboard, slightly startled by the question. Outside, the sky was pitch-black, to the point where even clouds could not be seen. Although the plane has not yet rocked, the brunet feared that a storm might be brewing — one as turbulent as the blue of Erik's eyes at the moment.

He decided to ignore the obvious implication of Erik's question, as he did with most other events in his life nowadays:

"Do what?"

"Get rid of your telepathy." Of course. Erik was never one to hold back. Charles could hear it in his voice just now: the slight reproach, the disappointment, the regret framing the edges. What do you know about regret. He shrugged, gave a simple answer:

"I did."

"Why?"

Charles cast his gaze down to the chessboard. He thought for a moment, then pushed one of his pawns forward before sitting back and reaching for his glass. He downed the rest of the alcohol, but somehow Erik's frown burned still more than the amber liquid did.

"Charles, why?"

"Why not?" The brunet answered curtly, glaring now at the metal-bender over the rim of his glass. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"And it isn't?" Erik snapped quietly, cognizant of Logan who was fast asleep a few seats away from them. "Charles, you destroyed a part of yourself. For what?"

"Your move."

"What?"

"Your move." His frown deepening, Erik glanced down at one of his knights. The chess piece shuddered, before sliding across the board right into the path of Charles's rook. The telepath smirked before snatching it up, but the rook he was holding slipped out from between his fingers as Erik's bishop moved to take its place. There was no humor on the blond's face when he set the rook down with an audible clack, among the pawns and knight he had collected from Charles. Damn, I'm losing.

"So what if I got rid of my mutation?" The brunet sat back, arms now crossed defensively in front of his chest. "Nothing about that was a part of me, anyway."

"What?"

"Nothing about that was a part of me." Charles repeated, his tone becoming harsh. "It was always about other people. And honestly? That's fine. I tried, you know. I really did. I cared and I loved and I thought if I did enough of that, maybe it will finally mean something."

"And it does."

Something about that response made him mad. "How do you know? Because I did that and I still lost everything, Erik. Everything! And I know you don't need me to tell you about loss, but goddamnit, I fought and I gave and I trusted and in the end it didn't amount to anything! Now the future is all fucked up and I've got to fix it and I have no idea how. I'm not even the version of Charles everyone wants! So how can you say that it meant anything?"

It was only when he was finished did Charles realize that the chessboard was hovering in midair, and that he himself was the one who had unconsciously pushed it off the table. A wave of shame washed over him, but Erik only rearranged the board before standing up and grabbing him by the wrist:

"Come on."

"Let me go." Charles tried to pull away, but Erik's grip was steady. "Erik, please. I can't—"

"It's fine if you can't. I'll do the talking instead, if you don't want to." The unexpected gentleness in the blond's voice made him falter. "Besides, Logan really looks like he needs his sleep."

His hand was positively stuck in Erik's, and he didn't want to wake a grumpy man with killer bone-claws, so Charles mumbled:

"Where are you taking me?"

"Just to the back of the plane." Erik did tell the truth, but Charles didn't really care. Hell, even if Erik had said he was going to kick him off the plane right then, Charles didn't think he would've noticed either. He was so exhausted, inside and out, that he allowed Erik to lead him into the small dark space and even lock the door behind them, without any further protests or questions as to what the blond was about to do.

"What do I mean to you, Charles?" Erik suddenly turned around to face him. In the tight space, Charles noticed the blue of his eyes seemed luminous. He stuttered:

"W-what?"

"What do I mean to you?" The blond leaned closer, forcing the brunet to step back. "I hope your answer isn't "nothing"."

"Wha- no!" Charles stuttered again, entirely uncharacteristic of himself. Is the alcohol finally kicking in? He took another step backwards, but his heel struck the cold metal wall. There was no more space, yet Erik kept coming in closer and closer, until they were only about an arm's length apart... maybe even less. "No, of course not."

A moment of silence. Charles almost jolted when Erik spoke, in that quiet, low whisper he could never quite get used to:

"Good. Because you mean a lot to me, Charles. A lot."

There was no need for telepathy to see how serious the blond was — and that scared Charles, just a little bit. "When I thought I was all alone, you made me realize I wasn't. When I thought I had no allies, you showed me you were one. When I thought the path I was going down was set, you taught me how to use a whole new kind of strength."

Erik paused again, contemplative. Charles was about to offer up some sarcastic remark about how he might've lost his mutation but not his memory, when suddenly he saw the blond raise a hand. The defensive part of him flared a warning, but all Erik did was brush away a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

"You're right, I can't tell you what to do with your ability." The metal-bender continued, his voice kept to a quiet murmur — barely enough to drown out the thumping of Charles's heart. "But I won't stand for you treating yourself like this. Even if you think you've failed Raven, even if you think you've abandoned your students and your school... you saved me, Charles. You still have me. Your efforts do mean something. So, please, don't ever think of yourself as worthless. Because you aren't."

Something warm fell down his cheek. Startled, Charles brought a hand up to wipe it away. Crying? Why was he crying? He hadn't done it in years — not for Raven, not for Moira, not even for Erik. So why, how, how could he cry for himself now, the most undeserving of them all, the most guilty, the most pathetic, the most—

"It's alright." The trembling of his hands halted first, when Erik grabbed hold of them despite their cold wet messiness — and then the trembling of Charles's whole body, when the blond pulled him into a tight embrace. "Nobody's going to judge you here, so you can cry as much as you want."

Face buried in Erik's chest, Charles expected to feel something — the roughness of his shirt, the sound of his breathing, even just the faintest whiff of the alcohol they both drank. Instead, all he could sense was warmth. So he cried. He cried for all the nights he spent awake, even with Hank's serum coursing through his veins. He cried for all the days he spent drinking, even when his head felt like it was going to split apart. He cried for all the anger, the hate, the lies he gave to himself, because drowning in them felt still easier than facing the truth. He cried for it all — and also, for the thought that maybe, his efforts do mean something after all.

Maybe, what Erik had told him was really the truth.

[yuhimananimegurl]

Sebastian Meets Ceil’s New Yorker Cousin

Oh my lord, I’m watching black butler and i just had this vision! What if Ceil had a cousin from New York, and Sebastian is so confused when she comes in using our little New York lingo lol

You were on your plane to London to visit your cousin Ceil Phantomhive in his mansion. It had been a long trip but you were so excited to go there. As a child you always wanted to go London, or at least Paris. So when you heard from your mother that you could visit him, you screamed “YASS!! LETS GOOOOOO!!!!” So you can imagine the smile plastered on your face. If anything some people you saw, were a little freaked out at how big you were smiling. You were a very likable person, so you made small talk with people next to you, in front of you, and even behind you. You even had this particular flight attendant who would always cater to you. And yes, the people in your isle noticed it too.

When you arrived you were in awe. It was so beautiful! You had never imagined such beauty in just one place. New York was nothing like this. But you still missed it regardless, after you were greeted by a man a little too formal for your liking when getting off the plane. Even though it had been 4 years since then, when he offered to hold your hand ‘for the steps are gravely steep madam’ you swatted his hand and said “Don’t touch me! cOrOnA vIrUs!!” He was very confused while you silently laughed at your own joke.

When you were down from the plane, and out of their somewhat of an airport, you were so confused on how the hell you would get to the manner. So of course, even as people still wondered what the hell your doing, you asked Siri for google maps. Some people were confused, and some were scared, when your little ‘thingimabob’ started talking back to you!

When you finally reached the manor you were like “BITCH?! HE IS ONLY THIRTEEN! NOT EVEN MY CONDO IS HALF AS BIG AS THIS! WHAT THE HELL?!” And of course saying it the weird way New York taught you to say it, your pronounced it as ‘hail’.

You kicked the door open and screamed “I’m here bitches!!” You saw Ceil and this strange tall ass man, standing right next to him. Before you even greeted Ceil, you turned to this man with a visible WTF face, and you said “Oh HELL NO! Who is you?!” And of course Sebastian was so confused he didn’t even answer. Instead he whispered to Ceil “Is this even our guest?” Ceil sighed. “Welcome cousin! I see you are very bright today! And for clarification, this is my humble butler Sebastian.” “BITCHYOUGOTABUTLER?!” You blurted out. Sebastian had no idea why you were talking like this, so out of plain curiosity he asked “Excuse me, I do not mean to intrude, so my apologies, but why do you speak like.. well... that?” “Oh my lord. It’s cause I’m from New York. teehee.” ‘Interesting’ he thought. He was in so much confusion it hurt when you said, taking this weird thing out of your pockets “Yo my cousin got a fuckin BUTLER! Bish I am poor as hell, like money went YEET. I’m done I can’t even.”

“What is a yeet?!” he almost sobbed. “Again I’m from New York. That’s just how we speak.”

He was hurting, from the confusion he had throughout the whole day. Between you say this “Um chile anyways so” to you looking at the tea’s he made and replying with “What the hell? Oh uh uh. This is why I brought Taki’s and some Pepsi.” he almost cried when you pronounced hell, as ‘Hail’. “Young Master, i really do not understand, this so called ‘Modern Lingo’ that your beloved cousin is using.” When he looked at you, you were on your phone screaming at it saying “YUHHH GETT INTO IT OIKAWA!!!! AHHHHH KAGEYAMA!! OH MY GOD ITS THE GIANT SALT SHAKER!!!!!!” You were practically screeching.

Over the next few months you were staying there, he learned to love that about you. The fact you didn’t care what they thought, the fact you payed no mind to those who stared. You weren’t as enthusiastic as you were on your first day here, but he definitely wouldn’t say you changed at all.

He always greeted you in the mornings by your preference, ‘The My Hero Academia intro’. He caught on pretty fast, what a ‘Weeb’ was, and that you were a major one.

This particular night, you were sleeping and he came to check on you. He knocked but you hadn’t answered, so he assumed you had been sleeping. As he walked in, he saw you on your bed balling your eyes out, with your knees to your face. He was the most worried he had been in quite a while, although he hadn’t a clue as to why. After all, you were only his Young master’s cousin. Correct?

“Mistress? Why are you crying?” he asked in concern. You were to busy crying to realize he had walked in, so as you lifted your face up you jumped before, wiping your tears and assuring him you were fine. Of course he didn’t believe you, he wasn’t blind, you know? You know? More like Yuno Gasai! Ok I’m gone. He walked over to your bed. and sat down beside you. since he had no idea what was happening he assured you “If you do not wish to tell me, you can keep it to yourself. I shall respect that.” You and the Black Butler grew close over the few months you stayed in the manner. “So please, trust me when I say, it is okay to cry. Do not allow me to stop you. Please, let it all out.” And with those final words you were sobbing, in his arms while you both lay on the bed, while he was gently rubbing little circles into your back. Needless to say, you both fell asleep in each others arms. Something Sebastian rarely does, is sleep, so this was something that never happens.

When you woke up, you were cuddled into his chest, while his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a slight hug. A tint of red crept upon your face, as you lay there silently cuddling into his embrace.

Although you would have loved to stay in the butlers arms, you had checked the time and it was 8:15... Which meant... “I only have fifteen minutes to get ready for class.” You whispered quite annoyed. You had gotten up as quietly as you could, and slipped on your slippers. the black butler must have been EXTREMELY ULTIMATELY ULTRA SUPER ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLY tired, if he didn’t even budge. Honestly you were lowkey surprised, he didn’t wake up yet. So you made your way to the bathroom to get ready, and you quickly did your hair, and put on a white shirt with the prospect I think that’s what it’s called of Isaiah in the back, and the words written in rainbow “GOD GOT ME”.

As you walked out of the bathroom, you heard Sebastian groan, to soon realize how ‘late’ it was. i don’t know, he just has that sense okrr?

“Oh my goodness! Why the hell am I up this late? What if the young master needs me?” So to tease him you said, “Yeah you are pretty late. If i hadn’t woke up I would’ve been mad late to online class Sebby...” You said with a disappointed duck face. He learnt what it meant when you used ‘mad’ in a sentence. Disappointed in himself he said “Mistress! My deepest apologies! I have gravely failed as a Butler. I am immensely disappointed in myself..” Sebby I was kidding. I don’t give a damn if i’m late to class anyways. I hate them, they mad annoying.” Even so! How could the young master forgive him! He slept in and had failed his duties as a butler, he cannot explain how sorry he is an- “Oh my god Seb it’s not that big a deal! If he gets mad, i’ll shut him up. I feel like smackin him on the head today anyway.” You interrupted his rant.

“Even so, please accept my apology.” He bowed. “Yeah yeah, i accept. Now get the table ready I gotta show my face on camera. It’s the least you can do. And i’ll ask Mey-Rin if the little ass is sleeping. If he isn’t i’ll take care of him. If he is.. I got a little surprise for him...” You stated mischievously. “Gladly mistress.” And with that he was off, to get everything ready for you in the living room you spent most of your time in.

When it was around 8:20 you had already been informed of Ceil. And as you thought... He was sleeping... You had already set up a Bluetooth system in his room, so he could listen to pre-recorded music, like a normal person. So of course you went in, set it to the highest volume, and connected your phone. And on the speaker you OBVIOUSLY played the... Monsters Inc. Ear Rape...>:)

As the music blasted you heard Ceil scream “OH MY GOD Y/N!!! LEAVE ME ALONE YOU LITTLE WITCH! UGH!! TURN IT OFF YOU IDIOT!” You were bawling your eyes out, literally CRYING from the fun you were having. While Sebastian ran over to see what was happening. When he saw you laughing and heard his young master scream at you to turn it off, he knew it was one of those ‘prank’ things you do.

After that situation, you were on google meet talking shit about your corny ass teacher Mr. Y/T/N, to your friend Y/F/N. When Sebastian saw this, he was ever so bold as to whisper in your ear “You shouldn’t talk about people behind their backs..” You blushed so hard. “Um.. well.. I mean I was..” And then you realized. “SEBASTIAN MY CAMERA IS ONN!!!!!!” You rushed to turn it off feeling extremely embarrassed. He chuckled “Oh I know darling...” Realizing what he said, he worried he over stepped a boundary. “So.. I’m your darling now?” He came to a conclusion he actually had over stepped your boundary. As he was about to apologize you said “Tonight, I don’t give a fuck if Ceil needs you. I want you in my room by 8:00.” Shocked, now he was the one who was blushing now. “But-” He was cut off. “That... Is an order.”

“Why yes Milady. What kind of butler would i be to disobey an order? For I am merely one hell of a butler.”

[rena-rain]

The Shortcut Home ch. 10

Chatper 9

For the first time in four years, Gabriel Agreste picked up the box that contained his miraculous. He didn’t open it, but closed the portrait in his office and journeyed underground. He found his wife looking exactly the same as she had since she’d fallen asleep. It was only dedicated work and a miracle that kept her alive.

Gabriel placed his palm on the glass, sighing deeply with longing. Remembering her voice was hard these days. He missed the way she’d quirk an eyebrow at him and laugh like she knew something he didn’t. He needed her to be his stubborn, stubborn anchor again.

“Our son is getting married, Emilie.” The words were soft. “He’s having a baby. I wish you could see him now.”

The way her face looked smooth as stone disconcerted him.

“I was ready to give you up. Adrien has come too close to the line of fire too many times. But now I have more reason than ever to bring you back. I swear to you, you’ll meet your grandchild.”

Gabriel gave himself another moment with Emilie. Then he straightened, opened the box, and watched Nooroo flash into existence.

“Master?”

Gabriel fastened the brooch to his shirt. “It is time that you serve me again, Nooroo.”

--

Adrien leapt out of bed and threw on a pair of pants.

“What are you doing?” Marinette sat up.

“I’m going downstairs to make sure Nino and Alya are okay.” He hated how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. It steeled his resolve to tell Marinette who he was. Just not now.

“Adrien,” Marinette pleaded, catching his arm and pulling him back towards her. “Stay with me, please. It’s dangerous out there.”

He looked anguished. “Mari…” Gentle fingers brushed her hair behind her ears. “I want to explain, but now’s a very, very bad time and I have to go. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Just don’t go.”

“Trust me.” Adrien regretfully let go of her face and turned to leave only to be pulled back again. He thought he’d have to keep making his case – which he did not have enough brain power to do just now – but Marinette sealed their lips together and gripped him tight. He kissed her back, trying to reassure her. They pulled away slowly, and as soon as they parted, Adrien’s eyes fluttered open. Hers were still closed, her face desperate.

“I’ll be back,” he breathed. He kissed her forehead then forced himself out of her hold.

--

The room suddenly felt cold with Adrien gone. Marinette opened her mouth and looked around, only to remember that Tikki wasn’t here. She hadn’t felt so helpless since Stoneheart.

The only thing she could do was stop Adrien from doing something stupid. She scrambled out of bed and yanked open the half-closed bedroom door. A bright green flash nearly blinded her in the dark room.

Marinette stared, dumbfounded, as Chat Noir leapt out an open window, his back to her.

--

Alya startled awake at the explosion outside. She kicked away the covers and rushed to her apartment window, where a giant pink and purple cloud of something was quickly engulfed in flame.

She turned to Tikki. “I don’t suppose that was a freak accident.”

The kwami looked worried. “That’s definitely an akuma. It looks like we made this switch not a moment too soon. We need to go!”

“Tikki, spots on!” Tikki spiraled into her earrings and a pink light flashed down her body. Alya pushed open her window, flung out the yoyo, and shot off into the night.

I hope Chat Noir’s already on the way, she thought. She sprinted across the rooftops and halted behind a chimney that was right above the site of the explosion, trying to figure out what was going on. The street looked like it had been bathed in bright, multicolored paint.

“What are we looking at?”

Alya screamed and swung a punch at the voice behind her. Chat Noir, whom she could only see because of his glowing eyes and shiny bell, flipped out of her way before her fist could make contact. “Well that wasn’t very ladylike.”

“You scared me! Make a noise or something next time, you kinda camouflage in these shadows.”

“Cat snuck up on the fox – put that one in the history books.” He leapt up onto the brick chimney and perched there. “So what’s this one’s deal? I haven’t heard any more explosions.”

“I don’t know yet. We need to take a closer look.” They leapt to the ground. The damage was much more brutal up close. Radiating scorch marks littered the street. A car was upturned, on fire, and its windows were broken. The air smelled burnt and toxic.

Most disturbing was the graffiti. An entire mural of screaming and running people were plastered to the buildings, and while it was obviously spray painted, each face looked lifelike.

“Chat Noir, I think these paintings are actual people. Civilians.”

“Looks like we’re on the same page, Ladybird. And I’m guessing somebody had a lighter or a cigarette and set all the aerosol on fire, causing the car to explode.”

“But where did they go?” Alya – Ladybird yoyoed to the top of a lamppost. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she spotted a trail of particularly garish paintjobs amongst the normal Parisian street art. She called down, “They left a trail! Let’s go!”

Whoever this akumatized sucker was, they’d been busy. Chat Noir and Ladybird passed dozens, possibly hundreds of citizens turned into murals. After several minutes, she looked over to her new partner while they ran. “Why do I feel like we’re being lured into a trap?”

Ladybird flew past him when Chat Noir stopped dead in his tracks. She skidded to a halt and backtracked to him. His eyes narrowed. “Probably because it’s a trap. I don’t know how, but I think you’re right.”

“I know it’s been a few years, but Hawk Moth’s puppet used to demand the miraculous by now.”

“And if he’s suddenly come out of hiding, he must be especially desperate for them now.” He jumped onto his baton and extended it up, up, way farther up than was reasonable for any stick to hold him. He extended his arm. “Come up here.”

Ladybird slung the yoyo around his wrist and joined him at his perch. He pointed out the crazy paint trails all over the city that she couldn’t have made out before. It looked like a maze with no solution. “Maybe not a trap. More like a wild goose chase.”

“All the better to ambush us, I bet. So that must mean they have a very high vantage point, too…” Ladybird looked up. “Oh shit. The Eiffel Tower. Drop!”

They fell back to the street and rushed to an alley as far away from any paint as they could.

“I hate it when the akumas play cat and mouse,” Chat Noir complained.

Ladybird flicked his bell. “Good thing I have the cat, then. Let’s find a way to get the mouse down from its house.”

Chat Noir snorted. “That was terrible.”

“You’re really in no place to judge.”

“We need to get to the Tower without being seen, so we should stay on the ground, and avoid as much paint as we can.” A bright pink blast of orange particles beamed from the top of the Eiffel Tower and coated an entire block. “While there are any normal streets left, that is.”

Ladybird was jealous of Chat’s costume because it let him blend in with the dark streets more easily. She felt like a siren in the bright red suit – at lease her Rena Rouge costume, while orange, was soundless and easier to sneak around in. They wound through alleyways, sprinted across boulevards when they had to, and even made a detour through a sewer. By the time they reached their destination half of Paris had been turned neon colors. God knew how many people were now paint.

They almost made it. But the Eiffel Tower, for better or worse, was a major tourist attraction night and day. As such somebody screamed “Is that Ladybug and Chat Noir?!” just before they got up the damn thing. Immediately the excited couple got smushed to the sidewalk with a fountain of blue spray paint.

Ladybird flicked her yoyo to the top. “So much for the element of surprise.”

“At least we got here, didn’t we?” Chat Noir scampered up the side of the tower on all fours, somehow keeping pace with her as she shot up. They touched down onto the railing at the top.

This victim was a young woman, her hair in a messy bun the color of a blank canvas, paint brushes stuck in it like chopsticks or pencils. Her paint-splattered overalls were glowed and had way, way, way, way too many pockets stuffed full of even more paint brushes. Her skin was covered in rainbow rings. She whirled around when Chat Noir cleared his throat, aiming the spray-paint can in her hand.

“What’s with all the evildoing, Graffiti Girl? Get kicked out of art school?”

Ladybird froze, then groaned from deep within her soul. “That one’s just in bad taste!”

“Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.”

The purple Hawk Moth mask glowed around her eyes, and she demanded, “Hand over your miraculous before the rest of Paris spends eternity as a mural!”

“I bet the akuma’s in that spray can,” Ladybird muttered.

“Summon the Lucky Charm,” Chat whispered back. “I’ll distract her.” He leapt at the akumatized woman and attempted to sweep her with his baton. She jumped over the attack, pulled out two paint brushes, and started trying to stab him.

While they fought, Ladybird looked uncertainly at the yoyo for a moment. Ladybug’s plans were always so ridiculous – how was Alya supposed to live up to the same level of mad genius?

Well, here goes nothing. She flung the yoyo over her head. “Lucky Charm!”

A pair of red and black spotted handcuffs fell into her grasp. “What the fuck?” She looked around furiously, trying to think what Ladybug would do. Graffiti Girl and Chat Noir were still engaged in some vicious hand to hand – or brush-knife to baton – combat. Ladybird suddenly realized that she kept making grabs for Chat’s right hand. The ring. Of course.

The idea was stupid, but hopefully it would work. “Chat Noir! Extend your arm!”

“What?”

“Towards me!”

He clearly thought she was crazy, but he grabbed the baton with his left hand and threw out his right. Ladybird sprinted at a central pillar, jumped onto the side, and launched herself at her partner. As expected, Graffiti Girl had snatched Chat Noir’s hand and tried to simultaneously put him in an arm lock and take off his miraculous. Ladybird slapped the woman’s wrist with one cuff, slid to the side so she twisted her body, and forced her other hand into the other cuff.

“I’ll take that.” Ladybird plucked the spray out of her grip and offered it to Chat Noir like a silver platter. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“With pleasure. Cataclysm!” She tossed him the can and he caught it, the black energy crumbling it to dust. A little black and violet butterfly fluttered up from the ashes like the worst phoenix metaphor ever.

Ladybird swiped her yoyo like she’d seen her predecessor do a hundred times and captured the akuma. It came out with its wings bright white. She watched as it disappeared among the stars.

Chat Noir held up his fist with a proud smile. “Pound it?”

Ladybird grinned gratefully back at him. “Pound it!”

--

“Marinette,” Master Fu said. “I wasn’t expecting company this evening.”

“I’m sorry for barging in. I’m not used to just sitting by during akuma attacks, and my apartment is empty and I miss Tikki and I really didn’t want to be alone.”

“I understand. I’m deeply troubled by the appearance of this akuma tonight.”

“So am I, Master. That’s not why I’m here though.” She stood with her arms crossed. “I accidentally saw Chat Noir transform in my living room this evening.”

Fu’s only response was to go back into the kitchen and pick up a teapot. Marinette swore she saw the corners of his lips quirk up.

She threw up her hands. “You must think this is very funny, don’t you?”

“You two have paced circles around each other for thirteen years. Would you not be just as amused in my position?”

“I can’t believe I’m having Chat Noir’s baby! Do you have any idea how many kitten jokes I’ll have to endure?”

Master Fu handed her a cup of steaming tea. “Drink this. It is good for the nerves. On a more somber note, I must ask you to tell Adrien your identity very soon, Marinette. I hate to trouble you with this theory, but it concerns him as well.”

“What’s going on?” They both sat down.

“Hawk Moth released an akuma for the first time in four years. It bothers me that it’s coincided with your maternity leave.”

Marinette sighed. “It doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me either.”

“It may be he thinks his chances are better against a new ladybug. You were wise to choose someone with experience already. Whatever the reason, it’s become more imperative than ever to retrieve the missing miraculous, and now that Hawk Moth is active again, we have our chance to find him. I went back to the old academy for the Order of the Guardians, as you know. While there I recovered a number of old texts and I’ve found a single strange record about the Butterfly, so brief I almost missed it. There was once a holder who was able to detransform then akumatize himself.”

“The butterflies stay active while Hawk Moth is his civilian self?” Marinette yelped.

“Few have attempted such a thing. One succeeded in transferring powers to herself, that I now know of.”

“So Hawk Moth could have akumatized himself at some point.”

“Exactly. I’ve spent years searching for him. Every clue I find on some level implicates the same person. But I’ve never found a smoking gun, and I’ve always dismissed him because he was once akumatized into The Collector.”

“The Collector…” Marinette whispered, sifting through her memories. She remembered each akuma persona, all right, but the whacky names and civilians behind the butterfly often got mixed up in her head. “A previous suspect…oh no.” Her eyes widened. “No, no, no, tell me it can’t be Adrien’s dad.”

Master Fu just looked at her sadly.

--

When Adrien got back, Marinette was asleep. He sighed in relief; he needed sleep before he had this conversation with her, and after the way he jet off tonight, he had to tell her. In the morning.

He changed into a pair of sweats and slid under the covers next to her. He noticed that she’d changed into pajamas in his absence. Adrien wrapped her in his arms, one hand against her growing belly, and closed his eyes.

Chapter 11

Ko-fi