#lemony overtures!

[magpie-trove]

October Reads

Wishtress • Nadine Brandes | everybody clap I finally finished Wishtress it only took me *checks watch* three years. Overall it would have been pretty mid to me except I loved the aesthetic, the audiobook narrators had fascinating accents, and there’s one part at the end that broke me and rearranged me a little. Those three things were good. There were maybe other things and maybe more specific criticisms but I forgot them

How Lovely the Ruins • Annie Chagnot & Emi Ikkanda | poetry anthology, I wished it had been a little more on theme. There were a few good ones in it though

Women in the Valley of the Kings • Kathleen Sheppard | non fiction about the women in early Egyptology. Either there was a statistically improbable concentration of lesbians running around Egypt or the author kept mistaking the way Edwardian women wrote affectionately to each other as romantic overtures, not sure. She also seemed to want to acknowledge the flaws in Egyptology while saying that the women in it were less bad than the men though because they were also overlooked victims. But ma’am. These women are smuggling a mummy in their cabin. And they threw it out the window cause it smelled bad. MA’AM. However. I did enjoy learning about the women involved in Egyptological development and she picked a good variety of them working in different departments and positions that were crucial but overlooked.

The Flight of the Swans • Sarah McGuire | i looooove you <333333 she got redemptive suffering good good good YA six swans retelling

The Patron Thief of Bread • Lindsey Eager [2/3] | EXCELLENT middle grade fiction. It’s a little slow which can be good but my brain got bogged down in the middle and I was going to have to return it soon so I skimmed the second third and read the whole last third and the writing is beautiful the story is beautiful good good good

Who Could That Be At ThisHour • Lemony Snicket | this is like if Humphrey Bogart was thirteen and nobody understood him because he didn’t want them to. It’s got sentences so polished I can see the plot in them but only when it wants me to. It’s got deep character connections you feel with just three details attributed to them. What can I say. I was having a pretty good time in the middle grade film noir parody. I do recommend.

Poetry for Young People: Edgar Allen Poe | just wanted to reread the Raven and a bit of the Fall of Usher with pictures :) if that’s what ur looking for this is the book for you

Call Me Iggy • Jorge Aguirre | YA graphic novel about a Colombian immigrant family. The son starts getting love and Spanish class advice from his Grandpa’s ghost. I liked the art.

Pride • Ibi Zoboi | YA Pride and Prejudice retelling about classism/gentrification in the Bronx. I think it could have had insightful things to say about P&P but I also think it would have been better if it weren’t P&P. Those were its weakest elements, plus I personally didn’t enjoy the voodoo spiritism awakening stuff going on in some parts. But the writing was well done and it was full of such palpable love for a neighborhood that I sobbed at the end about it.

A Pictorial History of Sea Monsters • James B Sweeney | yeessssssssssss a fun silly old nonfiction book I found at the library that just goes through and talks about various sea monster sightings from log books. Very fun, I skipped the second half which is real animal facts only because the book was from like the 80’s and definitely not up to date, but it was a fun read.

The Perilous Gard • Elizabeth Pope | retelling of Tam Lin in the Elizabethan era. WHAT an atmosphere, what a story, what a time!!!! Loved it. Was side-eyeing a few parallels she seemed to be making (was she? tying Queen Mary to the scary pagan human sacrifice goddess fairy queen? did seem kind of like it which is hm. tastes a little bad but I’m going to pretend I do not see it.) the faith & fairy worldview integration should go in a book about non human status in a Christian worldview.

The Secret Lives of Booksellers and Librarians • James Patterson and Matt Eversmann | we all know James Patterson didn’t touch this except for the two paragraph intro you can all stop kissing up to him in your essays ok. But it was a quick easy read full of love. Did get a wee bit repetitive by the end, but overall I had fun thinking about books and libraries <3

Bea Wolf • Zach Weinersmith | Zach Weinersmith the hero that you are for using proper or proper enough Old English poetical devices throughout your entire Goonies-esque graphic novel of Beowulf for kids <333333333

[writer59january13]

August 13th, 2024 – twenty five plus years since awful series of unfortunate events

Once again tis time to pony up and trot out (neigh - without horsing around) an unforgettable day encompassing a series of unfortunate events (so take that Lemony Snicket! - yeah go ahead and picket!). Wicked bad day poem originally crafted, designed, engineered... then alternately titled for no particular rhyme nor reason:

unwitting courtesy extended to Doctor Donald (Duck) Dossey who coined paraskevidekatriaphobia.

Superstitious severely tested across fineline doggedly gingerly jinxing luck of mine August thirteenth nineteen hundred and ninety nine

forever etched in the annals of my personal infamy

as one still sending hair raising shivers down my spine

which following unpleasant details occurred on a street

that branched off kind of like a fork tine

adjacent to one named Woodbine.

Prior to the following awful events that unfolded aforementioned day

somewhat solemn and gray

I did not consider myself unduly superstitious

nor prone to bouts of triskaidekaphobia/ paraskevidekatriaphobia no how no way. Yet that particular Friday the thirteenth baptized me

in the bloody waters of superstition unequivocally

whence upon waking said particular morning

the search for funereal garb found me burrowing into a small closet

while bending on one knee, and nonchalantly rummaging for suitable article of clothing to wear

(per the wake/

sitting shiva of William Zison the octogenarian father in law) an unbeknownst ill fate

lurked just seconds away ready to cap cha an innocent prey as any unseen observer

and/or pet would agree.

Hands rifled and rustled thru various and sundry miscellaneous items in one or another box

mostly clothing and other apparel

draped in coat hangers

plus a precariously perched

heavy tin of yarn heavy as rocks

began to teeter from top ledge, than made a slow inexorable descent in direct path of thy crown

containing valued mental stocks. The topmost part of thine skull felt impact of sharp metallic rim

that left an indentation in soft part of scalp – more’n an abrasive skim

and bent circular shape

of contrivance filled to the hilt

one law of physics pertaining to falling object (taught to me) acquires greater mass accelerating with velocity and vim.

Upon reflexively yet tentatively touching raw sore spot

fingertips revealed presence of warm liquid soon coagulating into a pulpy gordian knot

from sharp lipped impact registering nausea and vertigo quite a lot

hence sewing crafts managed to stitch a tattooed laceration forming a bloody clot.

Body writhed with physical torment

as if being only partially alive

whereby waves of blacking or passing out found me swooning ready to take a swan dive

nonetheless from Schwenksville to Penn Valley, I did (by divine grace) safely drive

whence family members and relatives once destination reached, the motley crue began organized car pool arrangements

per heading off to the cemetery,

which caravan formation similar to a human bee hive, yours truly declined to go communicating persistent distress from mishap I bowed wowed out, stayed home and kept company with a dog (purportedly man’s best friend)

(said pet belonging to a friend of eldest sister in law), whose open palmed overtures of mine did not jive. An impulse found fingers reaching out to stroke this unfamiliar animal

supposedly man’s best friend

only to find sharp teeth from canine jaw clamped down hard on hand

which second bodily injury, my mother affixed a butterfly bandage to expedite the injury to mend, I did immediately tend

while bolts of white hot pain shot thru lower extremity of palm

radiated upward through forearm into shoulder did wend.

[impracticaldemon]

Sweet Success

Ikemen Sengoku fanfiction by impracticaldemon for lulidrafts [art by lulidrafts]

Words: 2500 Rating:  M for sexual situations Also read on:  Will be published on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Author’s Note:  I was fortunate enough to win a piece of art from lulidrafts, and we got to talking about Ikesen characters while discussing possible scenes.  Ms. Luli was working on some steamy Nobunaga art at the time, and asked if I’d be interested in writing a story for it.  I hope that you enjoy the result of the collaboration! The Nobunaga art is reproduced by permission.

Sweet Success (or, Nobunaga’s Kiss)

The corporate gala was always a black-tie affair, and the one time that the designers—most of them—wore their own creations, although not necessarily creations they shared with the rest of the world.  After all, haute couture and comfort rarely went hand-in-hand, and designers had the luxury of making outfits tailored to other than runway-model proportions when sewing for themselves.  Lumi had chosen to wear a plain, but beautifully cut, little black dress, since there would be a riot of designs and colour aboard the luxury yacht chartered for the event.  She preferred to highlight her work on others.

It wasn’t the first big party that Lumi had attended with Nobunaga since they’d started dating, but it was the first business affair at which Nobunaga had been Lumi’s guest, instead of the other way around.  She’d worried at first that he’d be put off by being reduced to the role of companion, but in retrospect she should have known better.  For one thing, it was virtually impossible to ‘reduce’ Nobunaga regardless of role; for another, he was endlessly curious, especially about those things of importance to Lumi. He’d been quietly entertained to find himself more of a bystander than a central figure, while Lumi took the lead, greeting both colleagues and wealthy patrons alike with her usual candid charm.  At least, that’s what Nobu called it.  Lumi’s boss frequently rolled their eyes over the way the young designer tended to speak her mind, for good or for ill.

“I believe that I have helped to raise your status among your peers,” commented Nobunaga, as they slowly made their way off the boat at the end of the glittering evening.  His dark eyes glinted with amusement, and one corner of his mouth curled up to match.

“How could you not?  I got to show up with the city’s most wanted—I mean most eligible—bachelor on my arm—”

“Putting to rest the rumours that our relationship was no more than wishful thinking on your part—”

“I never started those!”

They stopped beside a sinfully expensive black car—the kind that more or less required a vanity plate—and Nobunaga pulled Lumi into his arms, enveloping her in warmth and the delightful scent of his cologne.

“I know that, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I found it rather enchanting to be your trophy for the evening.”  She felt his lips against her hair, and knew he was smiling.

Lumi huffed a small laugh. “As if!  But yes, it was different for me to be looking down from a podium at you, even for just a little bit.”

“I was pleased to watch you receive the recognition you deserve.  In fact”—one arm tightened around her waist, and a strong hand suddenly cupped her chin and cheek—“it was rather intoxicating to be in your world for a little while.”  His lips found hers, demanding and sure, and his fingers slid around her face to tangle in her hair.  She shivered from something other than the night air as his other hand caressed the muscles of her lower back and derrière through the soft, clingy material of her dress.

For a long moment, Lumi gave into the kiss.  She could feel the aroused tension in Nobu’s body from each point at which they touched, and desire buzzed in her ears and flushed her cheeks and skin.  With an effort, she pushed back a little when they finally came up for air.

“We should go home, Nobunaga.  This is, ah, awfully public.”  She was breathless, and conscious that it was exciting to embrace so intimately in full view of any other party-goers in search of their cars.

“Oh?  You don’t look like you want to stop—and most people are taking cabs, or being chauffeured.”

It was true, and the parking lot was mostly deserted, as well as rather dimly lit.  The realization that the venue continued to ignore all requests for better lighting decided Lumi in favour of going home, even though her body was suggesting that another kiss was in order.  Resolutely, she turned her face away as best she could.

“Unhand me, sir!  I wish to depart.”

Her flippant, challenging words made Nobunaga chuckle.  He pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her neck, causing her to gasp and lick her lips, but then he released her.

“Yes ma’am.”  He held open the car door in the manner of a respectful chauffeur, but his gaze was hot and hungry, and seemed to roam over her body as she tried to slide gracefully into the front seat.  When he leaned in after her to buckle her in—ignoring her feeble protests—he paused to breathe a few words into her ear:  “You may find it a long ride home, my dear.”  The hand he rested briefly on her thigh seemed to convey heat to her whole body.

Lumi took several careful breaths as Nobunaga closed her door and walked unhurriedly around the car to the driver’s seat.  Tonight had been her night.  She’d received praise from her colleagues, recognition from her employers, and public respect from a number of VIPs—including several top models.  Nobunaga had finally gotten to see her wholly within her own sphere, and he’d been impressed.  And turned on. That thought was exhilarating.

“Nobunaga…”

“Yes?  How may I be of service?”

The car hummed into life, and Nobunaga backed smoothly out of the parking spot.  She found him almost indecently sexy most of the time, but there was an extra patina of sexiness when he was driving, especially at night.  She’d have to be careful.

“What do you think of this dress?”

“That’s an odd question.”

“Still.”

There was a smile in his voice as he answered, “I like the way it looks on you.”

“Just the look?”

“Hmm?”  She saw him consider her words.  “…No.  I suppose there’s the material, too.  It’s smooth, and as soft to the touch as it looks, which isn’t always the case.  Many pretty materials look nicer than they feel.”

“You’re right, as usual.” Lumi smiled at him, and then ran her hands down the fabric of the dress, deliberately reveling in the wonderful material she’d chosen.  “Of course, it’s rather thin”—she casually stroked the fabric clinging to the swell of one breast, aware that her inhibitions were submerged in champagne—“but it breathes well, and has enough give in it to show off the curves of the wearer’s body.” She thought she heard the tiniest hitch of indrawn breath from the city’s hottest bachelor (as voted by the listeners of the city’s biggest radio station).

“Lumi.”  The hint of command in his voice made her look over at him. However, she gave him a cheery smile instead of the lovelorn—lustlorn?—look she was afraid she had too much of the time when they were together.

“Sorry, Nobu!  I didn’t mean to bore you…”  She clasped her hands girlishly—and quite obviously deliberately—under her breasts.  Nobunaga started to say something, but he stopped abruptly when she started to play with her visibly-hardening nipples, first stroking, and then pinching them, before forcing her hands away—and it was an effort—to start pulling hairclips and pins out of her hair.

There was a low chuckle from the driver’s side.  “Power suits you surprisingly well.  You are most enticing, this evening.”

“Am I?”  Lumi ran her fingers through her hair, releasing it from its artful knots.  Without looking up, she leaned back in her seat, toed off her pretty heels, and put her feet up on the dash.  The skirt of her dress slid up her thighs revealing smooth skin and the hard-won muscle of her lengthy walk to and from work.  “Oh dear,” she murmured, giggling.  She couldn’t help the giggle—she didn’t think she’d ever had Nobunaga’s attention quite like this before, and it was fun.  Among other things.

After a brief, and wholly fake, struggle to tug down her skirt, Lumi tilted her head winsomely at Nobunaga.  His sensuous mouth was curved up at one corner, as though he were fighting a smile. One large hand reached out to stroke her thigh, and she felt her eyes slide part-way closed.

“Mmmmm…”  Her head tilted back involuntarily when his fingers began to brush against the rapidly dampening silk of her panties, just at the top of her leg.

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes—definitely.” She wriggled around in the seat a little, unabashedly pressing herself toward Nobu’s hand.  The motion against her intimate folds became more direct and more satisfying. With a view to sharing the pleasure, she reached out—a little blindly—and traced her lover’s cheek and chin before leaning even closer to him in order to find and caress the hard bulge just below his belt.  A sharp intake of breath acknowledged her foray, which pleased her.  Nobunaga rarely gave up his tremendous control.

“I don’t know whether to drive faster—mmm, that’s very nice—or stop, for fear of crashing.”

“You won’t… nnnnngh… crash.”  The silk panties were wet through now, and his fingers were pressed as firmly against her clit as their positions allowed, though not directly against her slick skin—quite possibly on purpose, knowing him.  Her toes were curled against the invisible glovebox, and not-so-small jolts of sensation made it difficult to focus.

There was an intense silence, as they each concentrated on the other’s touch, and presumably—in Nobunaga’s case—the road.  Lumi had no idea where they were, exactly.  She prayed they were close to her place, because she knew Nobu would insist on driving until they got there, since she’d made it a challenge of sorts.  Just as she was about to try for a glimpse of their whereabouts, the car slowed and made a sharp turn followed by a sudden stop. They were in the driveway of Lumi’s townhouse-apartment building.

Nobunaga pulled away long enough to turn off the engine and unbuckle his seatbelt, and then he twisted around and kissed her hard enough to bruise, one hand tangling tightly in her hair, and the other sliding up her thigh and rubbing insistently between her legs. Lumi found herself gripping the sides of her seat as she pressed her whole body into the kiss.  A deep moan escaped her, even as Nobu’s lips and tongue claimed her mouth.  She could smell the musky scent of sex.

“Nnnnnngh… should go… mmmmm…”

The hand driving her wild slid away, and the sharp click of her seatbelt made her stifle her protest at the loss of heat and pressure.  Nobunaga’s mouth suddenly left hers, and closed over the engorged tip of one breast, teasing it through the material of her dress in a way that left her panting with desire.  She wanted to respond with—with something—but she couldn’t unclench her fingers from her seat.  When he lifted his head and grinned at her no-doubt lust-filled countenance, she just licked her lips and smiled back.

“You want to go inside, I take it?”  His words might sound cool, but his feverish eyes and flushed cheeks told a different story. His attempt at control gave Lumi the incentive she needed to uncurl her fingers and reach out to grip and then rub the tip of the hard shaft pressing against the fine material of his dress pants. His breath hitched and she heard herself chortle.  She’d always wondered what a chortle sounded like—now she knew.

“Yes… Please, my lord”—it was lovers’ game between them, to be lord and maiden—“please do come inside…”

They both laughed, a little breathlessly, at her unsubtle emphasis on the last words, and then in the time in took her to blink, and register his absence, Nobunaga was opening the passenger-side door of the car and lifting Lumi into his arms.  They kissed again, passionately, with all the promise of a night’s love-making ahead of them, and Lumi muttered, “Key.  Damn—”

“I grabbed your purse.” Amazingly, he had.  She didn’t protest leaving the shoes.

Somehow, they managed to get into the building—it had a key code—and then Nobunaga took the stairs two at a time before setting Lumi down in front of her door, at her slightly muffled insistence.  Find key, put key in lock, open door—

The door swung open and Nobunaga seized her from behind, caressing her breasts before spinning her around  into his arms. His lips closed on hers as he walked her backward into her small living room, kicking the door closed behind him. She automatically started to unbutton his shirt, returning the kiss and stretching up a little to grind her hips against him. He stopped when her back hit the wall beside the archway into her kitchenette, and let her tug the now-open shirt down off his shoulders to hang on his wrists.

“Cufflinks…” they muttered at the same time, panting.  Lumi grabbed for a wrist and stared blindly at the offending jewellery.  Focus. Her fingers were usually pretty good with clasps and clips and stuff like this, but even as she gripped the gold, falcon-engraved cuff-links, Nobunaga’s tongue swept over the curve of her ear and she faltered.

“…Do you… want these off… nnnnnggghhh… or not?”

“Mm-hm.”

His teeth joined the assault on her ear, and heat swept her body.  Sometimes it’s good to be stubborn. Years of helping models dress and undress came to her rescue, and for thirty seconds Lumi tuned out everything but the—stupid, freaking, why is he so extra anyway, who wears these things anymore— cufflinks, which finally dropped to the floor.  The shirt followed in a whisper of expensive silk-linen blend, and then demanding fingers clasped the back of her head, and a strong arm pulled her firmly against a hard body.

“Is this private enough, Lumi?”  Nobunaga bent his mouth to her neck, and she whimpered.

“…’essss…”  Her body was writhing against his, and she craved his touch—on her breasts, belly, and thighs, and—so much—on and inside her wet, sensitized, most intimate places.

“Good…” He kissed her lips again, but lightly, teasingly, although his eyes were burning.  “Now I will kiss you all over… in celebration of your… mmm… so notable successes…”  The words ghosted against her parted lips, and she swallowed.  The muscles of her core clenched and fluttered in anticipation.

For a short time there was silence, and then Lumi moaned, quivering.  Her head tipped back against the wall, and her knees started to buckle. One hand twined itself in Nobunaga’s hair as he knelt before her, at once servant and master.  It was almost unbearable.

“Nnnnnnnnnnggggghhhhh! ….Aaaaaahh!...”  Pleasure, hot and sweet, coursed through her, and her hips would have bucked hard, but for the strong hands clamped around the tops of her thighs.  His lips, his tongue, his mouth! “…Nnnnnnnnnggggghhhhhh!  Nobu—Nobunaga!”

It was one hell of a kiss.

[END]

Full Image (credit lulidrafts)

Hope I’ve done it justice for you lulidrafts! ♥

~ Imp

[fbfh]

light up the dark [VI] - leo x reader

genre: mid adventure domestic fluff overture, romance, smutty lemony bit towards the end

word count: 3k

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: very much so, yes

warnings: magic manipulation powers, feelings are hard and weird and scary, some innuendos, the phrase hot gusher out of context, the word dirty talk, trying to "proposition [someone] in front of two for one cookie crisp", brief credit card theft, jason thinks ketchup is spicy and gets clowned on for it, one use of the word lube in reference to mechanical lubricant, shirtless leo remember that one piece of shirtless leo viria art?????? remember the caption?????, your facade is beginning to crack, deadpan joke about being dead in space, making out, whole lotta sexual tension, brief mention of a boner, teeny tiny bit of grinding, getting interrupted, c*lypso

summary: after an extensive shopping trip, you, Leo, and Jason settle into your airbnb and wait for the others to arrive. Jason takes a nap, and Leo helps you dye your hair. You return the favor by helping him make dinner which leads to two things; a well timed boner, and a poorly timed visitor.

listen to: power and control - marina, 100 bad days - ajr, all I ask - adele

a/n: let's play spot the zack and cody reference within the first paragraph

also surprise the series isn't dead!! a shock to all but mostly me!!

as with all smexy smutty nsfw content, all characters are aged up to 18+

Standing in front of a wall of hair dye taller than you are should have been exciting. It would have been, except for the fact that all the colors were various shades of honey mist auburn. You really don’t want to have to make a separate trip to a beauty store for hair dye. Your eyes land on a firetruck red box, and gratefully, you realize you won’t have to.

“Perfect,” you muse, throwing it into your cart, along with the other stuff on the list you’d divided between you. You grab a few other things from the beauty section while you’re there; some makeup, eyeliner, a glass nail file, and a tiny pair of oil slick cuticle scissors.

Nearby is a guy a little older than you in a varsity hoodie and sweatpants squinting at a two in one shampoo label.

Perfect, you think, beginning to approach. You work your magic - literally - and within a few minutes you have his credit card. It takes way less time than it used to. You also didn’t have to smile and flirt nearly as much as you used to. You’re relieved that you don’t have to fake enthusiasm around rich douchebags the way you used to, and a new inky drop of fear begins to stain the corners of your mind. You can’t even bear to admit it to yourself, but you’re kind of scared. Before you can begin to question if you know what love is and if you’re capable of experiencing it without the influence of your divine heritage, you shove it all away. Not the place, not the time. You speed up a little, passing an endcap of candy, and knock a box into your cart.

On the other side of the store, Jason checks off items from their half of the list as Leo tosses items in the cart, talking along the way. Of course, you came up in conversation rather quickly.

“She’s… a real piece of work.” Jason says, treading lightly.

“You said it, man,” Leo agrees, sliding a pack of coke onto the bottom of the cart. Jason thinks for a moment before continuing.

“She seems to,” he tries to figure out how to phrase their dynamic, “not hate you as much as everyone else.” Leo laughs at the accuracy of the statement. He can tell Jason has something else to say, so he’s quiet while putting paper plates and napkins into the cart.

“Hey, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Just… don’t let her hurt you, okay?”

He stops for a second. He’s so lucky to have a friend like Jason, one that will genuinely look out for him, but sometimes people caring for him still catches him off guard. Really off guard. With no idea how to begin to verbalize that complicated mess, he takes a split second to collect himself.

“Thanks, man.”

His smile is sincere.

Don’t let her hurt you. Can he just do that? Not let someone hurt him? Especially someone like you. He’s only had a few long term crushes before, all just out of reach and only getting further away. Only one had amounted to something - not that he could call what he had with Calypso ‘something’. She certainly wouldn’t. He looks around, trying to shake off the sting. He starts to get that unsettled, itchy feeling when he focuses on stuff like that for too long.

‘At least I got some good stories out of it,’ he thinks, messing with the back of his hair and fixing his hoodie strings.

“Here.”

He turns around, coming face to face with you, holding out a box very close to him.

“Hot gusher.” You say softly. What? His cheeks heat up, pulse speeding up suddenly. He glances at Jason, who’s at the other end of the aisle asking an employee something. Are you implying something? Are you trying to proposition him in front of two for one cookie crisp? He’s unable to look away from your gaze, intense and striking. You couldn’t possibly mean what he thinks you mean. Your fingers brush and he’s struggling to find an elegant way to say ‘hey, maybe the grocery store isn’t an ideal place for dirty talk’.

“W- uh, sorry, what?” he says, laughing in an equally hushed tone, needing to make sure you meant what he thought you did. You glance down, then back up.

“They’re spicy gushers. I thought you’d like them.” the feeling is gone in a split second, the same time it took to arrive, and is replaced with relief. He looks down at the box, realizing he’d taken it from you at some point. He laughs at the ridiculousness of his previous panic.

“Thanks,” he says, a reflective smile on his face.

You realize how comforted you are to see him smile, really smile, when you catch yourself having to keep a neutral face. One of the first times your resting bitch face has been intentional. Before you can say you’re welcome, Jason comes back over. You hand him the card.

“Pin number’s 0401.”

They both stare at you, skimming the label of a granola bar, completely unperturbed.

“How…”

“Credit card theft.”

The logical part of Leo’s brain starts to speak up, telling him to raise his guard, that his stomach should be twisting. If you can just take someone’s credit card without a hint of remorse, who knows what the hell kind of damage you could do to him if he got closer to you? And he really wants to get closer to you.

“Oh,” you pull a small pop top tube out of your cart and hand it to Leo, “this is for you too. You know, since you don’t like coffee,” you trail off as he reads the label. Caffeine and electrolyte drink tablets, red berry rampage flavor. He looks up at you, feeling warm and… something else, something ineffable, at the gesture.

You stare at each other, eyes locked, surprised at the strangely intimate feeling stirring in both of you.

“What are those?” Jason asks, snapping you out of whatever that was.

“Spicy gushers,” Leo says, smiling again, “I didn’t even know they made those.”

“Hot mango,” Jason reads from the side of the box, “that actually sounds pretty good.”

“No way dude, you can’t handle spicy food.” He starts to protest, and Leo continues, “You think ketchup is spicy!” He looks shocked.

“Okay, that was one time! It was a weird brand and there was way too much pepper in it!”

You bite back a giggle at their bickering, taking note of how much better Leo seems to be doing and finding surprising comfort in their banter.

It doesn’t take long to get to the airbnb and get set up. You all dump your bags in your rooms, bring in the groceries, and shove everything into the cabinets in a reasonably organized manner.

Jason heads upstairs to unpack and call Piper, announcing a few minutes later that they should be here in less than two hours.

“Perfect,” you pull out your hair dye from the last bag. It’s not exactly the manic panic wildfire red you’d initially wanted, but it’s definitely better than nothing. You stare at the box for a second, then up at Leo who’s trying to get one more bag of chips to fit in with the others.

“Hey,” you say, just loud enough to get his attention, “do you… can you get the back of my head?” He looks at you, questioning, and you hold up the box dye. He smiles, once again noting your softened edges around him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and minutes later you’re in the bathroom, adorned in a big tee shirt covered in all your previous hair colors. He’s staring at your shirt, eyes dancing over the swirls and splatters of color. It reminds him of a painting he’d seen once, unable to remember the name.

You shake the bottle, skimming the instructions again, then start speaking to him, eyes still on the box.

“Take a section of hair, about this much,” you demonstrate, holding out a section of hair, “rub in the dye like this…”

You hand him the second bottle of red dye, and he starts on the back. His fingertips start separating out a section of your hair, and you still, a shiver running up your spine. He hesitates for a moment, then continues, and you hope he hadn’t noticed. His breath fans your ear, and you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. Your lungs are shallow suddenly, squeezed tight like a bouquet clutched in a shaking hand. You find it almost impossible to focus on dying the front half of your hair.

You don’t want it to stop, you realize. His fingertips dancing along your hair, the glimpses of his incredibly focused face in the bathroom mirror, the way he’ll gently turn your head to make sure he didn’t miss a spot.

“Shit,” he leans back, hunching forward. You look behind you, eyes landing immediately on the spot of red dye on his shirt.

“Shit,” you echo. He looks back at you, waiting to see how he’ll react.

“Oh, it’s all good - no worries. I already have a ton of motor oil and lube - lubricant… machine grade, petroleum based engine lubricant-” he laughs, “stains on this shirt anyway. Don’t sweat it.”

You almost laugh. A giggle bubbles up from your chest and stomach, but catches in your throat. Before it can come out, he slips off his dye stained gloves, and tugs off his dye stained shirt from the back. It seems to happen in slow motion. In a mere moment, your eyes engraving every detail, every line and curve and freckle to memory.

There’s really no delicate way to put it; he’s fucking jacked. Deceptively so. You’re frozen in place, cheeks flushed. You suddenly wonder what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms, held so close to him.

You snap yourself out of the thought, all of that occurring in just a few seconds. He leans past you, setting the dye stained shirt carefully on the counter, glancing at you intensely.

“Are you checking me out?”

You make yourself roll your eyes and turn away, replying, “I’m sure you’d love that.”

Angled away from him, you momentarily reprimand yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and mouthing oh my god. You turn back to him, not recalling the last time you had to deliberately keep up your aloof front around someone like this.

“So, are we finishing my hair or just gonna leave it like this?” you ask rhetorically, motioning to your half done hair.

He watches you do this, confirming his suspicion that you’re really not as cold as you let on. A smile blooms on his face, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as… cute as that.

“Yeah,” he replies, slipping his gloves back on. The things you do around him seem to mean more now. He notices the way your eyes flutter closed for a moment when he plays with your hair, working in the dye, or the way you still for a split second when he gets a little too close to the side of your face, checking that he didn’t miss a spot.

He doesn’t want this to end either. But eventually, your hair is fully saturated with dye, the timer on your phone counting down slowly. There’s still some dye left. He sits on the closed toilet.

“Your turn. Do me.”

“What?” you laugh.

“Yeah, a little streak - up here.” He leans forward, sectioning off a part of his hair.

“Seriously?” you ask.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to match…” he muses. Your eyes get this dreamy look for the briefest second, then you’re turning back to shake the bottle some more.

“I guess… I mean there’s too much dye to throw out, we might as well do something with it.”

It’s his turn, now, to feel the warmth from your body, your hands running through his hair. His eyes want to close, and bask in the feeling, but he refuses to miss out on the view of you so soft, so close to him. It doesn’t last nearly long enough for either of you, and much too soon you’re pulling away and throwing away the gloves and empty bottles.

By the time you finish cleaning up and throw out the garbage, it’s time to rinse your hair. Hanging your head over the tub, you let the water flow over your head until Leo tells you it’s running clear. He does the same, and you point out too late that he only had to rinse the dyed part, not his whole head.

You both laugh as you wrap a towel around your hair, teaching him how to do the same.

“Sweet, I’ve always wondered how to do the spa snail towel thing.”

“The spa snail towel thing?” You try in vain to fight another laugh.

“Yeah, you know… cause it looks like a snail, and they do it at spas…”

“Oh… my gods…” you laugh, exiting the bathroom and heading down the hall, “I”m going to get changed.” you call.

“Am I wrong?” he asks after you, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He heads to his room to do the same.

A few minutes later, you’re carefully pulling on your top, when he calls through your door.

“Hey, I’m gonna be in the kitchen, come down when you’re ready.”

“...Okay,” you agree.

You check your outfit in the mirror. You can still feel his fingers brushing your neck. Your head tilts at the memory. Snapshots of him pulling off his shirt in slow motion flash in your memory.

You realize how much of an affect the last hour has had on you. Your stomach drops.

You can’t possibly be falling in love. No way. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

You’re not the falling in love type. At most, you’d hook up with someone a couple times on the rare occasion you thought they were hot, too.

Oh, you decide, that must be what’s happening. I just think he’s hot. I mean, duh. Of course he’s hot. Did you see him in there?

That’s all you have to do; hook up with him once, maybe twice, then you’ll get over it. It’ll make his ex jealous, and they’ll get back together. It will go just like it always has. Then you can move on to whatever the next crisis is.

You take a breath, resolving to follow the plan, exit your room. You throw yours and Leo’s old clothes and towels in the hamper, and head down stairs. He greets you, and pulls you into the kitchen.

“I have something to ask you.” Your brow furrows.

“...Okay.”

He takes your hand in his, the other behind his back.

“Will you…” he looks at you, gaze piercing, “...be my sous-chef.” he finishes, holding out an apron, matching his.

You study him, a hopeful, surprisingly confident look on his face. His hair is still damp. You’re sure yours is, too. You wait a beat, before replying slowly.

“Yes. But I’m not wearing that.”

“That’s fair,” he says, setting the apron on the counter, “I will have to dock your pay for being out of uniform, though.” You let out a puff of air from your nose, biting back a laugh. He pulls out a skillet, bowl, and oil, and begins preheating the pan. You watch him pull out more ingredients, and begin to set things up.

“Right now we’re waiting on that,” he says nodding at the stove. You nod, inspecting a bottle of seasoning he’d pulled out, and settle into a comfortable silence.

He thinks back to the last time you had time like this - playing twenty questions at your apartment. A pit forms in his stomach as he remembers the conversation veering to Calypso, as it always seemed to. He shoves it away. Not this time. He steadies his nerves. “So, you want to play twenty questions?”

You agree, coming closer to him.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

Your eyes flick over to the clock. You have a solid hour, hour and a half before the others are supposed to get here. You stare at him, brushing hair out of his face.

“I’d be dead in the endless void of deep space.”

He cracks a smile at how on brand that response was. Your fingertips trail down to his neck, rethen shoulder. The smile doesn’t leave his face, not completely. Your heart beats loudly in anticipation.

“My turn. Do you want to make out?”

His head snaps up, eyes locked with yours, trying to tell if you’re serious or if this is another example of your distinct sense of humor. But he can tell it’s not - there’s something a little too close to the surface in your eyes.

“Yeah. Yes, totally-”

You grab his collar, pulling him in for a kiss, and leaning back against the empty counter.

His lips are soft and warm, moving gracefully with yours. You barely register that the first kiss ends before you dive back in. You angle your head, deepening the kiss. He plants one hand on the counter, the other making its way to the small of your back. You flick your tongue past his lips, and his grip on your waist tightens. You clutch his collar tighter, other hand moving through his hair, still damp at the ends.

You can tell he’s enjoying what you do by the way his mouth quirks up ever so slightly at the corners, and by the way he starts to harden beneath you. You roll your hips into his, and he falters, sighing, breath fanning your lips. Not quite a moan, but you’re getting there.

The front door opens before you can.

Leo pulls away reluctantly, very reluctantly, and turns off the stove.

“That was fast,” he says, panting slightly and still very flushed. They’re not supposed to be here for a while, still.

A tall girl enters the kitchen, dark strawberry blonde hair pulled over her shoulder. She looks between you and Leo with a sour expression on her face.

“Calypso,” Leo says.

"...Hi."

[barbossas-wench]

I will add one thing to POTC 5 musical for paying a homage to the ride attraction

The talking skull from the ride

The skull was above the stage and telling the audience like in Lemony Snicket style where he said "Sit back, and keep your eyes at the stage. That be the best way to repel boarders. And mark me words, mateys... Dead Men Tell No Tales."

This part is between the overture and the title song of the musical

[prankprincess123]

Watching the Opera Scene I really wished they had done it very differently, partly because it seemed rushed and smushed together as they were taking several instances years appart and making it all one night with missing characters, and I always pictured the assassination as happening when they were teenagers.

I would have opened it with the actors who play Violet and Klaus, stepping out of a car (possibly the cab, but I dont think it's likely he had it at 16 or even 18, though it would be hilarious) and thanking Jacques for the ride. (and being the get away driver) At this point the audience is a little confused thinking is this scene an AU? But no, Violet's hair would never be in big princess curls and without bangs, and Klaus doesn't hold himself with that much confidence, and Sunny would be with them. And as the audience watches them enter the theatre it becomes apparent that these aren't Violet and Klaus at all, but that they're teenage Bertrand and Beatrice.

Maybe we still have Beatrice preforming, with Bertrand and Lemony looking on from the wings, both with heart eyes. While she's preforming the scene pans around to briefly show the audience, (where if one pays attention they'll notice three identical boys somewhere, another boy with a lizard popping out of his pocket, and a Very Formaly Dressed girl in a boxed seat with an R above the door, among others.) Eventually the camera focus settles on a box in which sit a man, a woman, a girl and a boy, as they applaud.

As the clapping dies down the girl whispers something in the boy's ear, kisses his cheek (he blushes madly) and exits the box. The camera follows her as she walks through the hallway seemingly nervous particularly as she's approached by another teenage girl.

"Do you mind if I join you K?"

"Of course not E, just thought I'd stretch my legs during the intermission. Possibly find L mooning over B."

"Oh wasn't she marvelous? Her performance was astounding, and her costume is VERY IN!"

The two girls who by now the audience has realized are Kit and Esme continue walking down the hall, Esme continuing to ramble on, and Kit clutching her purse just tightly enough that with the camera focus and angles it seems suspicious. Soon they find L, B & B in a secluded alcove and begin talking to them; Kit catching Lemony's eyes and having a silent conversation with him, that includes several glares and eye rolls and ends with her gesturing discreetly to Esme and him sighing before asking her a question and then leading her away from the group.

Kit reaches into her purse and pulls out a box, handing it to Beatrice. All three teens voices are slightly shakey as they speak.

"According to D's research the venom M discovered is almost instantaneous. They'll be dead before they even realize something happened."

"I know D told me when he found out that I'm throwing it."

"Do you know who..."

Kit cuts the younger girl off "No. And I don't want to. Only you two are supposed to know the targets. Even if D probably does as well."

"And L. He knows too, though I don't even think half of the people involved were told the purpose of their part of the mission, let alone the targets."

Kit nods and gives them a tight smile as overture music begins to play and the trio separates, the camera following Beatrice and Bertrand once again. The pair walk into the wings of the theater, his hands shaking while she relies on her acting abilities to maintain composure. They pass Lemony in the hallway as he patrols as their lookout, pausing his own part of the mission briefly to grab Beatrice's hand and squeeze it tightly. Eventually they reach their destination, standing on a catwalk hidden from view of others, but with a perfect view of the audience themselves. Pulling out her spyglass Beatrice scans the crowd.

"Are we really doing this? And how are you so calm?" Bertrand's apprehension and nerves are somehow more obvious now.

"Of course; it's our mission. And I'm not calm, I'm merely still acting, because if I let myself think; I'll start wondering if we're doing a wrong thing."

"Isn't it though? Isn't assassination typically considered both illegal and immoral?"

Her hands grip her spyglass and begin to shake as her voice turns pleading "Not if theres a valid reason. And we have to believe the reason we're doing this is noble, or our entire lives have been a lie."

He nods and opens the box revealing two Venomous Flying Darts, which they reach for as the camera focus returns to the viewing box.

"... and while a healthy admiration for the arts and the theatre is a respectable interest, a Count should not be on stage!"

"But I'm not a Count yet. And I want to be an actor!" As he hisses this at his father an accordian solo begins from the orchestra below.

"That's enough for now Olaf. We'll discuss this further when we get h..." her words are cut off as both she and her husband collapse.

Worriedly Olaf begins shaking them and calling for them to wake up. Tears begin welling in his eyes as he realizes what happened and screams for them to come back.

And end scene.

And then a separate scene with them as adults for the sugar bowl, shorter as its just Esme telling it in the court scene, while being similar to the existing scene in that everyone's having tea together, Esme and Beatrice have that conversation and B and L take the bowl. And possibly another for the 'break ups' which I always figured were a result of Olaf starting to become unhinged and everyone fearing for their lives, and that I'd do as almost a continuation of the masked ball scene, and it could largely just be Lemony summarizing it, with Kit, Beatrice and Bertrand going into hiding because Olaf is actually liable to kill them for killing his parents, being the arms dealer for that, and then proceeding to hide those facts for years; and Lemony faking his death soon after for similar reasons, only to come back and find B & B married and with baby Violet.

[swishandflickwit]

Marichat — the season of giving 1/1

Summary: He remained on the floor as he sorted his thoughts. Marinette told him to make himself at home, yet prior to this moment she had always made it clear that he wasn't to touch her stuff. Was he really going to betray her trust and disobey her direct and concise command, all to satisfy his indomitable curiosity?

This time, he did not hesitate.

Yup!

Words: 3.1k

Rating: General Audiences

Also on ff.net | AO3

Other writing

For Selina, who saw me—the good and the bad—and still, chose to stay. 

"Marinette?”

Chat Noir called hesitantly as he dropped in from her unlocked skylight and onto her bed. He’d been out on a solo patrol when he received a message through his baton from her, asking he come over as soon as he was able and that she'd leave the door open for him. Not 15 minutes into his patrol but deciding Paris was safe just then (or, as safe as it could be with Hawkmoth still at large after two years of measly Akumas), he set his course for her home.

Her missive had been far from urgent but Marinette was his friend. When it came to them, to her, there was no such thing as too secure. He found it was with good reason, as a quick examination revealed that she wasn't in her chambers. His heart kicked into overdrive. Though nothing appeared disturbed nor was it suggested that there had been a scuffle or a break-in, it was still with heightened suspicion that he took in her room and noted her trap door was ajar. But then—

“Just a second!”

Her sweet, nightingale voice wafted from beyond her entryway and the sound—so crisp and sonorous and alive—had him breathing a hefty sigh of relief.

“Everything okay?” he returned, if only to quiet the little doubts that festered his mind (and would undoubtedly remain till he could see her and touch her for himself).

“Yup,” she continued. “Just, make yourself at home!”

Oh, he mused. Now that he could do—and with almost embarrassing ease. The thought of being alone in this particular place might have filled him with tension if he hadn't all ready been tasting the remnants of his satisfaction of knowing she was all right. And maybe… maybe he was brimming with excitement—a little mischief too! Though visits to Marinette's were frequent occurrences whether he was Chat Noir or Adrien (admittedly, he came over as Chat Noir more often than the latter), an overture to her room was an uncommon privilege indeed, and even then, without exception, he was consigned to her chaise (because you unfurl a whole basket of yarn one time and suddenly you're forever branded a naughty kitty, sheesh). It was kind of a bummer, really. He may have been the one with an apartment for a room but Marinette's was spectacular in that, it was a perfect reflection of her beautiful mind—cluttered sure, but charming and lovely and creative, too. He could tell as much from his banishment place on her lounge and without closer perusal.

But now, she had left him here without supervision, which basically meant he had carte blanche, which basically meant he could look and touch which basically meant he planned to take full advantage of this rare stroke of luck—wasn’t there something about curiosity and cats, after all?

A perk of an ear towards her doorway had him surmising she was rummaging for something in the kitchen, and ascertained she wouldn't be coming up any time soon. On habitually silent feet, he descended her loft and prowled first to her dresser beneath, where most of her possessions lay.

(At the foot of her steps sat the elusive basket of yarn. The temptation to unwind the tightly woven, flaxen thread was compelling enough to stop him in his tracks. He dropped beside them and bit his lip. “Later,” he promised the glistening, colorful, spun wool as he ran a gloved finger lovingly carefully over the nearest roll)

Lingering on his crouch, he clambered closer to her desk till only his eyes were visible over the wooden ledge. He scrutinized the contents of her workspace with the same intensity as a detective in a crime scene, which may have been stupid but would he have discovered such a gem as this, if he hadn't? The gem, of course, being—

Her sketchbook.

It shouldn't have been so peculiar as to pique him. Marinette was a fashion designer and had no such qualms showing her designs (although, she was usually cautious about whom and where she showed it after the whole Hat Contest Debacle). But this was not just any one sketchbook, too. It was the sketchbook. The one bound in black leather—the smell of it so lemony and new and, well, leathery that he felt his knees weaken when he took a big whiff; he did so love leather—with the thickset drawing paper. It was the one she only ever brought out when she was around him, Chat Noir him, and yet never permitted him to see.

He reached out a hand to touch it.

Then just as quickly used the other to hold it back, the force of his clutch so dominant he knocked himself flat on his back.

He huffed a frustrated breath—though with whom it was directed to was anybody's guess.

He remained on the floor as he sorted his thoughts. Marinette told him to make himself at home, yet prior to this moment she had always made it clear that he wasn't to touch her stuff. Was he really going to betray her trust and disobey her direct and concise command, all to satisfy his indomitable curiosity?

This time, he did not hesitate.

Yup!

He rose and meandered to her table once more, affecting an unhurried amble if only to declare he wasn't too eager a kitty in case someone happened to catch him unawares. Which she wouldn’t, of course, because he was a professional. And he was dignified okay? He wasn't a wild animal! He had class and self-respect and self-contr—

He slammed the pad open.

And was robbed of all breath.

He turned the paper, and another and another, and like a sucker punch to the gut, he was struck by the images before him every time.

What…?

“You found it.”

Startled, he spun and tripped over his feet, his bottom landing sharply against the edge of her desk.

(So she had caught him)

“I-I'm sorry,” he stammered, panting as if he had run a marathon mere seconds ago. “I'm so, so, so sorry, Marinette—”

“Hey,” she murmured, placing the tray he failed to notice she had been carrying on her chaise before approaching him. A frown marred her delicate features and his panic escalated at having been the one to put it there. “I wasn't, I mean, I was but I-I didn't—I didn't know—”

“It's all right, minou,” she soothed. She rubbed circles in the space between his shoulder blades and he closed his eyes. With her simple touch, so lambent and familiar, she drained him of his tension. It shouldn't have surprised him. Her presence had the natural ability to bring him such warmth, it was powerful enough to melt even his most frigid anxieties.

With a final deep and cleansing breath, green eyes peered at her and found a sheepish smile stretched across her lips. He thumbed gently at an upstretched corner, before gliding smoothly to the dip of her chin where he stayed.

“I'm sorry,” he repeated more calmly though no less sincere. She shook her head.

“Don't be,” she insisted, withdrawing the hand at his back so she could wrap it around the wrist that cupped her face. She gave a genial squeeze. “If anything, I should be sorry. I should have made it more clear, I'm relieved you found it.” It was her turn to breathe in deeply. With her eyes closed and her nose scrunched, she was utterly adorable. He wanted to hug her and he would have, if his nerves hadn't returned tenfold at the intent way she beheld him when she pronounced her next words.

“I wanted you to find it.”

His arms fell limp at his sides, perplexity making a rag doll of him. He found it incomprehensible that she would want him to seek it at all, and a million and one questions spun in his brain—why had she done this? What for? Why did she want him to find it? Why here? Why now?

But a simple, “Why?” was all he managed to splutter.

A blush filled her cheeks though for once, she did not tear her gaze away.

“You know how, when most people give gifts, they like to wait for the receiver's reaction?”

She didn't wait for an answer as she barreled on, not that he could have given her one anyway, seeing as his brain was stuck on the word gift.

“Yeah, I'm not one of those people,” she tittered nervously. “I didn't have the courage to hand it to you directly so I left it and a couple of meaningfully crafted words in the hopes that your curiosity would do the rest. It's actually nice,” she teased, levity trickling into her articulation, “how that one's without fail.”

“Me-owch,” he quipped, though a crooked grin still stole across his lips.

She rolled her eyes even as she laughed. “Those terrible puns, too.”

“Like you can do any better!”

“I'm a-pawlled you think I'm not claw-ver or punny enough to deliver the purr-fect lines—”

He gaped. “Oh my god.”

“Purr-haps you should consider the paw-ssibility that my litter-acy in the art of puns is purr-etty paw-esome—”

Two in a row! He was laughing so hard, he had to grasp her shoulders to keep upright. “Marinette.”

“And if you were my real furr-end you would sup-pawrt me with a better cat-titude than that. Don't you find me hiss-terical?”

Without quite knowing how, his arms had twined themselves around her shoulders and waist till his body was a perfect extension of hers, his tremors echoing through her as his laughs dwindled into sobs. Marinette bore it the way only Marinette could, with an understanding that negated the need for words... with that soft and quiet comfort only she could provide, as she knotted her arms around him in kind and became home. Because as he had lately come to realize, home was so much more than an incomplex word, it was a feeling, and it wasn’t so much a place but a person and this—she—was it.

She was what truly made a home.

“Merry Christmas, Chat Noir,” she averred mellifluously into the damp skin of his neck. “Or Hanukkah or, you know, whatever it is you celebrate. Happy holidays, from me to you.”

He held her to him tighter. “I don't even know where to begin thanking you.”

“Well, maybe you can tell me if you liked it?”

He pulled back just enough so that he was but half an arm's length away, limbs resting firmly on her shoulders. He shook his head, and her face fell. Then, with a knuckle, he tipped her chin up so that their gazes collided, green eyes brimming with unmistakable clarity.

“‘Like’ is… it's too small,” he whispered vehemently. “I just—thank you. A hundred, no,” he pecked her cheeks, “a thousand times,” he kissed her neck and she squealed, peels of laughter rumbling from her chest to his, “a million times,” he whispered as he framed her hips and kissed her forehead, “a billion, billion times,” and tinkling giggles gave way to heated sighs of indulgence, “a trillion times,” he soughed, making pathways of her face where he found respite on her chin, and rest on the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you,” he asserted.

I love you.

The words writhed and slithered in his brain, between the spaces where his impulses thrummed from one neuron to another, because his body was fuelled and Marinette was the fire that ignited his senses, little sparks of longing spiraling the length of his spine and blooming along the muscles of his arms so that they pulled her flush to him before he could even catch up with the direction of his mind.

I love you, he thought, unbidden. And though he was very much in love with Ladybug, when it came to Marinette—he found he quite meant it, anyway.

I love you, the intimation burned his throat.

“I love it,” he affirmed instead, tongue laden with blacken soot and the taste of ash in his mouth.

He bit his lip. Some brave lion he was! But it wasn't fair anyway—he couldn't give away parts of himself when both Marinette and Ladybug deserved more. They deserved the very best parts of someone, no matter if it were with him or another, so long as they received everything.

So he cupped her face and spoke with his eyes instead, in the hopes she might hear that which he could not yet find it in himself to say—that she might feel what he so badly wanted to reveal.

“I'm glad,” she hummed, palms molding to the curve of his own cheeks as she wiped away the remnants of his liquid emotions. Then the smile slid from her lips as a concerned frown took its place. “But something tells me you're… bothered?”

“I just…” the tips of his ears sunk into his head as he tilted his head down, silken strands brushing the bangs that lined her forehead. He struggled to grasp at the words. “I don't—”

So of course Marinette would seamlessly evince the painful right ones.

“You think you don't deserve it.”

“It’s too much.”

And it was. Marinette had given him more than a gift, it felt like she had given him freedom—she had given him life. A sketchbook with page upon page of images of him in various, almost intimate, occasions. An amusement-invoking portrait of him doubled over in laughter—so life-like—he felt the giggles reverberating in his belly. There was a depiction of one of his battles so precise in its likeliness that impossible though it may have been, it was as if she was by his side when it had occurred—a testament to Marinette's genuine talent, of that he had no doubt. Then there were the pictures that made him blush, not because it contained any scandal or debauchery, rather for it's innocence—a delineation of his profile in saddened thought, his whole face downcast from his limp locks and trodden eyebrows to the decline of his mouth. There were illustrations of his form in quiet repose just as there were of him in agitated slumber, naps he had taken in the periods when he'd visit but collapse beneath the weight of his exhaustion because he trusted her enough to let his guard down. There were sketches of his hands, his eyes, his mouth… and through it all were traces of Marinette—from her subtle signatures, to the way every line or curve was purposely done and to the evident consideration for each drawing. Because she had taken him in, had looked her fill and inspected all of him, from the literal and figurative mask he wore to the deepest, darkest, ugliest fragments of him and still, she hadn't found him lacking. Still—

She had made him beautiful.

“Why?” he asked again, voice hoarse with the aching need to know.

“Oh, minou,” she cooed, yet the vehemence with which she spoke thrummed forcefully through his veins and straight into his heart. “Because you do deserve it. Because I don't think you realize how wonderful you are. Because I believe not enough people appreciate you but I hope you know that I do. Because I wanted to,” he was hyperventilating, he was dreaming, “but above everything else—it's because I see you, Chat Noir. Here,” with one hand, she brushed feather-light fingers along the length of his forehead, “and here."

With that same artist's hand, she outlined him, from the side of his face to his neck, digits charting filigree across his collarbones till she settled on the space above where his heart lay, and every point in which she touched him felt engraved into his very soul.

“I see you,” she blazed, “and you're magnificent,” passion in her words and fire in her caress. “You. are. good.”

His tears streamed afresh. It made waterfalls of his face and splashed onto Marinette's skin as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead atop hers.

“If I am good,” he confessed, “it’s only because I have you to remind me.”

“You give me too much credit,” she giggled even as her face transformed into a rose.

“Not nearly,” he shook his head, gazing at her solemnly. “Not enough.”

She conceded with a gratified purr and again, the words boiled at just short of his lips.

“I—” he tried, choking at the efforts. But he wasn't ready, and like smoke, it had gone.

“I know.”

(And though he shouldn't have been surprised, it was any wonder how she heard it at all)

She nuzzled his nose with her own and for more than a couple heartbeats, they remained. It was as if time suspended just for the two of them, that they might have this quiet moment and have it be prolonged in its perfection.

“Can I show you through it?”

“Again and again, till you tire of it, Princess,” he returned. “And even then, once more.”

They took the forgotten mugs of hot (now cold but no less scrumptious) chocolate and a couple of blankets up to her rooftop where they settled onto her chaise, his back against the lounge and hers to his front. She weaved stories of her experiences for each etching—what they had been doing and what they had been speaking of. Some he remembered (his favorite being that of her gorgeous rendering of the landscape from the balcony he had taken her to the first time he sought her out for no other reason than to bask in her presence), but most were lost in Marinette's private recollections and from her own unassuming observations, in the moments when he allowed his vulnerability to cloud their time together—because he had been tired and because he had been sincerely happy.

When she had finished, he made himself a haven as she fell back against his shoulder and slumped over in exhaustion. He wrapped the blanket tighter around her svelte frame, and from its place by their knees, he regarded the sheepskin book. Honestly, it was a work of art. But it left him exposed, and he felt naked at her scrutiny but—strangely strong, too. Because if Marinette had stripped him, it was only so she could build and shape and forge him anew.

“Merry Christmas, Marinette,” he whispered, as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of her head.

So though the gift had been a culmination of his portraits, he couldn't help but feel—watching the steady and reassuring rise and fall of her chest, sleep-warm skin seeping through his suit and into the marrow of his bones… the sunset casting a halo around her raven locks and breathing embers onto her flesh—

The true gift had been her.

AN: Happy holidays everyone!

[listentotheland]

These are 101 of my favorite film scores edited together into one ultimate medley. Technically, there are 105 music tracks, but 4 of them are not counted because 2 are repeats (same film, different track), 1 is from television, and 1 is from a film trailer. How many can you guess? Want an extra challenge? Try guessing with your eyes closed. Leave a comment with your highest score. Enjoy! (Track list below) • • • • • • • 00:00 Close Encounters of the Third Kind - “Wild Signals” 00:25 August Rush - “August’s Rhapsody” 00:44 Man of Steel - “What Are You Going to Do When You Are Not Saving the World?” 01:14 Waterworld - “Escaping the Smokers” 01:42 X-Men: First Class - “First Class” 02:11 Saving Mr. Banks - “Uncle Albert” 02:38 Braveheart - “A Gift of a Thistle” 03:10 King Kong - “Central Park” 03:39 X2: X-Men United - “We’re Here To Stay” 04:00 The Matrix Revolutions - “Neodammerung” 04:11 Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End - “Up Is Down” 04:27 Titanic - “Take Her To Sea, Mr. Murdoch” 04:57 Gravity - “Shenzou” 05:24 Sunshine - “Sunshine (Adagio in D Minor)” 05:48 Frost/Nixon - “Frost Despondent” 06:28 Up - “Stuff We Did” 06:49 Catch Me If You Can - “Catch Me If You Can (Reprise And End Credits)” 07:18 Hook - “Remembering Childhood” 07:32 Stargate - “Mastadge Drag” 07:50 The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - “The Ring Goes South” 08:20 Hugo - “The Thief” 08:43 The Artist - “Fantaisie D’amour” 09:02 Mission: Impossible - “Main Title Theme” 09:24 Drumline - “The Classic Drum Battle” 09:47 Batman Begins - “Molossus” 10:18 Dark City - “You Have The Power” 10:46 E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial - “Escape / Chase / Saying Goodbye” 11:03 Mortal Kombat - “Taste of Things to Come” 11:21 The Lone Ranger - “The Railroad Waits For No One” 11:46 Speed - “Main Title” 12:05 The Mask of Zorro - “The Plaza Of Execution” 12:34 How to Train Your Dragon - “Test Drive” 12:59 Warrior - “Listen to the Beethoven” 13:25 Beauty and the Beast (2017) Trailer - “Reborn” 13:53 The Grey - “Writing the Letter” 14:17 I Am Legend - “I’m Listening” 14:43 Casper - “Casper’s Lullaby” 15:12 The Shape of Water - “The Shape of Water” 15:50 Let Me In - “Peeping Owen” 16:18 Atonement - “Briony” 16:40 Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone - “Hedwig’s Theme” 17:16 Interstellar - “Detach” 17:45 Batman Returns - “The Finale (Pt. 2)” 18:13 The Pursuit of Happyness - “Welcome Chris” 18:42 The Walk - “Perhaps You Brought Them to Life - Given Them a Soul” 19:00 Tron: Legacy - “Flynn Lives” 19:28 Back to the Future - “Main Theme” 19:50 Home Alone - “Setting the Trap” 20:15 Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves - “Overture” 20:38 Raiders of the Lost Ark - “March” 20:56 Men in Black - “Main Theme” 21:13 Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street - “Opening Title” 21:34 Spider-Man - “Revenge” 22:09 Deadpool - “Maximum Effort” 22:29 Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End - “Love Theme (Extended)” 22:52 Ruby Sparks - “The Past Released Her” 23:20 Dragonheart - “To The Stars” 23:49 The Shawshank Redemption - “End Title” 24:08 Love Actually - “PM’s Love Theme” 24:39 Superman - “Main Theme” 25:06 The Great Escape - “Main Title” 25:26 Ratatouille - “End Creditouilles” 25:47 Mr. & Mrs. Smith - “John Drops In” 26:12 Lemony Snicket's A Series Of Unfortunate Events - “Drive Away” 26:43 Cast Away - “End Title” 27:20 Hook - “You Are The Pan” 27:41 Meet Joe Black - “Whisper Of A Thrill” 28:02 The Brave One - “Erica” 28:28 Oblivion - “Fearful Odds” 28:58 The Lion King (1994) - “King Of Pride Rock” 29:27 Game of Thrones - “Main Title” 29:52 Prisoners - “Through Falling Snow” 30:12 Shame - “Brandon” 30:25 The Man in the Iron Mask - “Surrounded” 30:42 Rush - “Lost but Won” 30:54 Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace - “Duel of the Fates” 31:24 Beauty and the Beast (1991) - “Prologue” 31:50 The King’s Speech - “The King’s Speech” 32:10 Finding Neverland - “The Play and the Flight” 32:39 Inside Out - “Bundle of Joy” 32:54 Casino Royale - “The Name’s Bond…James Bond” 33:23 The Incredibles - “The Incredits” 33:37 La La Land - “Epilogue” 33:55 The Terminal - “The Tale Of Viktor Navorski” 34:14 Ghostbusters - “Get Her!” 34:31 Joker - “Bathroom Dance” 34:52 Drive - “Tick of the Clock” 35:20 Big Eyes - “Opening” 35:44 Psycho - “Prelude” 36:04 Signs - “The Hand of Fate Part I” 36:23 West Side Story - “Prologue” 36:59 American Beauty - “Opening Theme” 37:25 Brokeback Mountain - “The Wings” 37:58 Inception - “Time” 38:32 Corpse Bride - “The Piano Duet” 39:06 Devil - “Devil” 39:28 Jaws - “Main Theme” 39:40 Wall•E - “Wall•E” 40:00 Edward Scissorhands - “The Grand Finale” 40:38 Batman - “The Batman Theme” 40:53 Gladiator - “Barbarian Horde” 41:22 Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens - “The Jedi Steps and Finale” 41:55 Independence Day - “End Titles” 42:24 Jurassic Park - “Welcome to Jurassic Park” 42:50 Avengers: Endgame - “Main on End”

[tutorofenglishtokoreans]

Traditional Filipino Names: I'm Mayumi. How about you?

Traditional Filipino Names: I’m Mayumi. How about you?

  Yay (!!!), it’s good to be back once again after what seems to be a very long silence of this lemony page!!! I was feeling so sorry for myself for this shortcoming, and it felt like I owe myself to write some more. But before that, I wanted to update the posts with long overdue overtures that include this. This was supposed to be up last month but work drowned me so deep last time that I’m only…