#let me know if any of the links are busted/mismatched

[minimanic]

JUNE MOVIE ROUNDUP!

Made it 33% of the way through my aspirational pride month list which is a little less than I'd hoped for but not the worst I've ever done. Viewing overwhelming skewed 90s with some notable exceptions.

Handful of unrelated and late additions that I also feel some type of way about.

Opinions and links under the read more

✨In which 90s queer cinema makes me nostalgic for a period of time that I was technically alive during✨

But I'm A Cheerleader (1999) Directed by Jamie Babbit: An absolutely adorable romcom about conversion therapy that handles its premise with more grace than anyone could have possibly expected. None the less, it stressed me out so bad i nearly ground my teeth to dust.

💚 But I'm a Cheerleader available on Internet Archive here, Tubi here

Nowhere (1997) Directed by Gregg Araki: I like to joke about how insufferable i would have been if I'd found Araki's films as a teenager but i think this is the one I would send back to myself if I could. The man takes teenage angst both seriously and honestly and that's a talent and a level of compassion that sets him apart. Also this one has aliens in it.

The Watermelon Woman (1996) Directed by Cheryl Dunye: The drive to find people who were like you within the history of art and culture, especially as a marginalized person, can be a consuming force and it's portrayed beautifully here. Also it absolutely rules to see a classic 90s indie slice of life film about black lesbians.

💚 The Watermelon Woman available on Internet Archive here

Bound (1996) Directed by Lilly and Lana Wachowski: It Just feels Good man. This one was a re-watch but it's a re-watch at nearly 20 years and it hits just as good today as it did when i was 15. If the Wachowski's excel at anything it's a commitment to catharsis.

✨More Pride month flics✨

You and the Night (2013) Directed by Yann Gonzalez: Admittedly, I don't have a ton of experience with low budget french films about supernatural events happening at an orgie but even so I'm confident this is the best of the genre or at the very least the sweetest. An absolute comfort film.

Apocalypse After (2018) Directed by Bertrand Mandico: It resonates. It's also full of goo and fun outfits and practical effects!

Pink Narcissus (1971) Directed by James Bidgood/Blank Narcissus (Passion of the Swamp) (2022) Directed by Peter Strickland: Pink Narcissus is a homoerotic fever dream that appreciates the erotic power of ass more than anything i have literally ever seen. It works completely. Blank Narcissus is equal parts cheap parody and fairly compelling rumination on lost love. It doesn't quite work but i get it.

💚 Pink Narcissus available on Internet Archive Here

El Pico (1983) Directed by Eloy de la Iglesia: I mean... its absolutely the prototype of the don't do drugs kids type dramas of the 90s but its noteworthy that it came out a solid decade before Trainspotting and co.

Lucifer Rising (1972) Directed by Kenneth Anger: Finally found a screener for this movie with more than 4 pixels! I'm gonna level with you. A couple weeks later I have forgotten literally everything about it despite my best efforts. I was certainly enthralled while watching it though. I'll give it that much.

💚Lucifer Rising available on YouTube here

💚 Most if not all of these can be watched through Solidarity Cinema. They're doing really excellent work over there. I use their streaming option through Plex and its been an absolute dream so far.

✨Movie I did not know was queer but oh my god holy shit✨

Anchoress (1993) Directed by Chris Newby: Threw this on for summer solstice and... its a revelation honestly. Part of the Folk Horror box set that came out a few years ago and definitely one of the best. The cinematography is beautiful. The ethos is immaculate. And who among us wouldn't have risked it all for a janky statue of Mary at some point in our life.

✨The Best of the Rest✨

Twister (1996) Directed by Jan de Bont: I am saying, truly and genuinely, with my whole chest: this is the best disaster movie ever made. Every single character is a delight, the effects inspire a mixture of fear and awe, it essentially watches like a road movie, Helen Hunt is trying to get revenge on a tornado. Its the rare perfect film.

Witch's Cradle (1944) Directed by Maya Deren: The best experimental films carry a sense of genuine magic with them and this has that in spades. Absolutely hypnotic.

💚 Watch Witch's Cradle on YouTube here

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) Directed by George Miller: I fully forgot how good this movie is. You can really see a lot of the themes and sensibilities that would eventually come to fruition in Fury Road start to form here.

Moby Dick (1956) Directed by John Huston: Appropriately epic and perfectly cast, who doesn't want to watch Gregory Peck fight a whale?

💚 Moby Dick available on tubi here

Dr. Strangelove or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) Directed by Stanley Kubrick: First time watching this one all the way through and in a packed theater no less! Tragically, the jokes still land just as hard as they did when it first came out. The whole theater lost it during Ripper's fluoride in the water bit. Kubrick's signature style is wildly successful when employed for comedic effect.

💚 Dr. Strangelove available on Internet Archive here

Galaxina (1980) Directed by Wilim Sachs: Is it a good movie? No absolutely not. Does it inspire a powerful fondness within me? It sure does! Imagine if Space Balls had no budget and periodic delusions of also being a real science fiction movie. That's what you're working with here and it is a delight.

💚 Galaxina available on YouTube here

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 8

••••

Marty Deeks has been patient his entire life, whether that be waiting until Christmas morning to open presents or until a new Donnie & Marie album was released, but when it comes to one Kensi Marie Blye becoming his fiancé, he’s anything but. So he’s not at all deterred when he steps into the small antique shop in search of a ring. Her ring, without getting a yes first.

No, she hasn’t said yes to his proposal yet, but she did confess that she wanted everything with him. So even if it’s not a yes right now, it will be eventually and he wants to be ready. 

Now here he is at the fourth store today, considering how large Los Angeles is and the amount of people, he thought it’d be easier than this. As he examines the display of unique and elegant jewelry, he begins to lose hope once again, nothing catching his eye. 

The shaggy blonde’s attention is suddenly pulled away from his perusal when he looks over to the man behind the counter and the older lady that’s holding out something to him. He’s only a few feet away but the delicate features of the solitaire diamond ring scream out to him. 

The older black woman feels the shaggy blonde’s stare, she turns, studying his face as his focus continues to stay on the ring in her hand. There’s one thing she’s learned in her 70 years of life and that’s the look of a man in love, but not just any love, a love that’s all consuming. 

He’s pulled out of his trance, realizing that the two have stopped their conversation completely and the woman’s gaze is now on him. “I don’t mean to stare its just...”

“No need to apologize, I recognize that look on your face. Reminds me of my Henry.”

He flashes her sad smile, knowing just by the reverence in her voice that she’s talking about him in the past tense. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was my first love...my only love. Some people don’t get that in life, we were lucky.”

“I know what you mean.”

Something in the way he drifts off for a minute with a dreamy gaze makes her consider her ring and the love she hopes it will be a part of again. “Tell me your story.”

Never missing the chance to talk about his girl, Deeks feels his lips pull into an automatic smile. “I met Kensi when I was 11 years old. My mom and I were in a bad situation at home and her family took us in. That first night we were there I had a flashback of sorts, as I was sitting there paralyzed in fear, she wrapped her arms around me and some part of me knew that I was finally home.” Shaking his head, he thinks about how easy it is for him to tell this woman with deep brown eyes full of understanding how much his best friend means to him. “I know its crazy, she was 8 years old, I was 11, but it made sense in my mind. Growing up we were inseparable, still are. We experienced so many life changing moments together and apart, but no matter what we were there for the other. She’s my person...the person I go to for everything, no matter how big or small it may be. I’ve always felt like I’m my most true and authentic self around her and she around me. We’re just synced. A few weeks ago we finally realized what everyone else around us saw from the start, we’re in love. It’s been 20 years and she still makes me feel like that safe little 11 year old boy. I didn’t see any point in waiting any longer, so I proposed to her a few days ago.”

The older woman takes a look around the store, expecting to see the young woman since he’s already proposed, she’d imagine they’d want to pick out the ring together. “Where is she?”

He feels the heat rise to his cheeks, a little embarrassed. “Well, she hasn’t said yes yet. My Kensi’s a thinker, she likes to look at a situation from all views.”

“But you’re still looking for a ring?”

“Yeah, because I know that she’ll be ready one day and when that day comes I want to give her something special with meaning behind it. I’ve been looking everywhere for the perfect ring and I was losing all hope until-“

“You saw mine.”

He smiles hopefully as she finishes his sentence. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without hesitation, she extends the delicate piece of jewelry towards him.

He hesitantly reaches for it, looking to her for confirmation. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. This ring deserves to continue being a representation of our kind of love. It represented mine and Henry’s for 50 years and now its for you and Kensi.”

“It’s so beautiful, I’m sure you could get so much more for it than what I have.”

“How much do you have, son?”

“Four thousand.”

It’s not about the money for her really and that’s when the idea strikes her. “I think we can make that work, but on one condition.”

It takes everything in him not to wrap the woman up in a bear hug. “Anything.”

“You let me meet this woman of yours.”

Nodding his head, he can’t agree fast enough. He thinks about his love and how sentimental she is, especially when it comes to their relationship. She’ll definitely want to meet that’s given them something so special. “I’d like that...we both would.”

••••

The next day at work its as if the universe is helping him out when the death of a marine who had suddenly come into a lot of money lands on their front door step. Of course its tragic but the shaggy blonde can’t help smile at the opportunity this case is bringing him. 

Once the two pair of partners return from their respective assignments they gather in the bullpen, trying to figure out the different angels that could’ve resulted in the marine’s untimely demise. 

“Maybe he was here to spend it.” Kensi speaks up, snowballing off of Callen’s statement about leaving behind a paper trail. 

Sam’s eyebrows raise, nodding his head at the strong possibility that she may be right. “Corporal Peterson said he was thinking about getting married.”

“An engagement ring from Tiffany’s?” Deeks questions, knowing Corporal Porter had a serious girlfriend and it would be logical he’d be hunting for a spectacular ring now that money wasn’t really an issue. 

The brunette locks eyes with her partner, flashing him a small grin. “You have no idea what that little blue box means to a girl.”

He smirks, thinking about the small delicate ring that’s in the black satin bag tucked in his wallet between a photo of them and Marg’s information. One of the main reasons he went in search at an antique shop is because he remembers the gaudy diamond ring Jack had proposed to her with and how it screamed the opposite of what his best friend was. That should’ve set off warning bells from the get go, because if there’s one thing Kensi Blye is not, its flashy. His girl isn’t one for bling and he knows the story behind the ring he bought will mean more to her than any content of a little blue box could. “Oh, but I do.”

••••

She’s been feeling him stare at her on and off all day...well more than usual. It’s when they’re walking towards the home goods store to question Porter’s girlfriend that she’s finally it. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

His brow furrows at her accusatory tone, shrugging his shoulders. “What, a guy can’t look at his fiancée?”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Didn’t you?” He smirks, knowing good and well that they’re as good as engaged. 

She shakes her head. He’s right, but there’s no reason for her to voice that, not that there’s really time to before they’re already at the front of the store.

As her partner goes off to distract Diane’s manager, Kensi’s able to question the blonde without interruption. It’s when the young woman talks about she and Porter picking out rings that she suddenly feels a strange kinship with her. 

When Jack had proposed to her all those years ago she hadn’t really thought about how gaudy and so unlike her that the ring truly was. It wasn’t until he was off in Afghanistan that she would catch herself staring at the large diamond thinking that it didn’t belong there. Everything was different with him, she realizes that now that her rose colored glasses are off. 

She’s been having these moments ever since Marty proposed, finding herself imagining what kind of ring he’d give her. He loves her like no other, he knows she’s not into blingy things. It makes her smile when she remembers all the times he’s seen women with large diamond rings and spouting off something about someone overcompensating. She’d laugh and that would make him laugh, and in turn they’d get stares from strangers making them laugh even harder. Never in her life has someone made her laugh the way Marty Deeks has. 

Kensi’s focus goes back to the woman standing in front of her, against her own will the image of their roles reversed comes to the forefront of her mind. What if it was Marty that had been killed? The answer brings a gut wrenching ache over her. 

••••

The jewelry store op had been a bust. As soon as the man behind the counter got a glimpse of Kensi’s bracelet the air shifted and they were immediately asked to leave. It may have not turned out like they planned but Deeks can’t help but love the fact he and his partner got to deceive their coworkers once again by “posing” as a couple. Kensi didn’t seem too keen on showing affection however, especially when Sam and Callen were just outside. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when the sharp point of her heel lands directly into the top of his foot.

So now here they sit in the bullpen, in silence, trying to figure out the team’s next move. He took over Callen’s chair so they could work more closely but neither have come up with any links to their victim in the myriad of old case files piled on each desk. 

The shaggy blonde takes a look next to him, smiling at the pout that’s displayed on his girlfriend’s face. She hasn’t spoken a word in the past 30 minutes which is kind of worrisome. Afraid that he pushed to far by calling her his fiancée, he speaks up in hopes that she’ll respond. “Are you mad at me?”

“Dogs go mad. People...people get angry.”

The spark in her mismatched orbs makes him want to forget this nonsense and kiss her right then and there, but he quickly remembers the terms of their bet and knowing Callen isn’t anywhere around, he continues this little charade...for now. “Is this about the jewelry store? Listen, I was just trying to sell the fact that we were a couple.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like anybody would believe that we’re a couple.”

He has to hold back a laugh at her words because ever since middle school that’s all people thought they were. “You’re right. You are so not my type.”

••••

It takes longer than any of them anticipated but eventually Porter’s killer is caught. As Hetty congratulates them on a job well done, she hands Kensi a small ring box. The contents of said box are a delicate simple ring much like Diane had described. 

She thinks back to the woman and her heart aches for the loss that she’ll never get over. The life that she’ll never get to experience with the man who she loved. She’s drawn out of her thoughts at the distinct laughter of her love filling the room. Looking across to Hetty’s office she watches as he exchanges some verbiage with Sam making Callen laugh and she could swear there’s a hint of a smile on the Operation Manager’s face. It’s then she realizes that she wants to accept Marty’s proposal. Who the hell cares that they’ve only been dating for a few weeks. They’ve known each other their whole lives and she doesn’t ever want to live without him. There’s just one thing she has to do first.

Taking out her phone, she presses call on the newly added number “Diane, hey, Special Agent Kensi Blye, NCIS. I was wondering if I could drop by. I have something that Tom left for you.”

••••

Deeks watched from the passenger seat of the SRX as his partner handed over the small box to Diane. As she pried it open, tears immediately sprang to the woman’s eyes and before either knew it her arms were wrapped around the junior agent in a giant bear hug. It suddenly made him think about what if he were the one that died, leaving Kensi all alone. The thought alone breaks his heart in two.

A few minutes later the pair bid their farewells and part ways. He’s surprised a little at the look in her eyes, its not one of sadness but there’s something else, something he’s not sure how to describe. 

The shaggy blonde is so focused on his girlfriend that he doesn’t realize she misses the turn towards his apartment, instead she keeps going for a few minutes until she hits the Santa Monica exit. A few minutes later they’re back in the same spot at the overlook where they were just a week ago. 

“What are we doing here?”

She turns towards him, that unrecognizable look still swirling in her mismatched eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking.”

[hey-hamlet]

cold hands and warm hearts (he cares, i promise you)

From his cocoon of blankets, Izuku sent a pitiful glare at his heater. His stubbornly broken heater. Its little red light blinked at him mockingly.

He hadn’t realised his heater wasn’t working until the nights had started to cool off. No matter how many times he pressed the button on the innocent-looking little box it simply refused to spit out so much as a warm breeze. He allowed himself one more moment of self-pity before he curled into a tight little ball and screwed his eyes shut. “Faster I get to sleep, faster I warm up.” He whispered to himself, nose twitching at the warmth of his breath.

---

Building a dorm so rapidly is bound to cause problems. Bad luck it happens to the three too stubborn to say anything about it.

Also on AO3! Fic under the cut.

From his cocoon of blankets, Izuku sent a pitiful glare at his heater. His stubbornly broken heater. Its little red light blinked at him mockingly.

He hadn’t realised his heater wasn’t working until the nights had started to cool off. No matter how many times he pressed the button on the innocent-looking little box it simply refused to spit out so much as a warm breeze. At first, it wasn’t so bad, he could just pull on more blankets. But now he could see his breath in the air, the tip of his nose stinging with cold. He supposed it wasn’t too much worse than the winter his mother and he had no heating, but at least then they’d had piles of hot water bottles to keep them warm. And she’d found money to fix it before it got too bitterly cold, even if they had to be a little stricter with their food budget than usual.

He was broken out of his reverie with a violent and involuntary shiver. He allowed himself one more moment of self-pity before he curled into a tight little ball and screwed his eyes shut. “Faster I get to sleep, faster I warm up.” He whispered to himself, nose twitching at the warmth of his breath.

He awoke just as cold as he’d fallen asleep. Scratch that, he was colder – a night of laying still having sapped the warmth from his muscles. Pushing down the deep need to just curl up tighter and pray he warmed up, he stretched out an arm to grab his phone. His fingers were so stiff and cold it took a solid minute of fumbling just to pick it up.

His second problem was that the glass screen was freezing. So cold that his breath was fogging up the screen. And his hands were so cold the phones touch screen was struggling to pick anything up. Two frustrated sighs later, he unlocked his phone.

4:15 am. On a Sunday. He fought the urge to let out an inarticulate scream of frustration and instead buried his face in his pillow, absently hoping it might suffocate him. He had no such luck.

He sure wasn’t getting anything done like this, and there was no way he’d catch any more sleep in a room this cold. He took a deep breath and levered himself out of bed, uncovered toes numb against the carpet. Chanting a quiet “suck it up, suck it up” to himself, he piled his towel, warmest clothes and soap into his arms and all but ran down to the showers.

The tiles stung his feet so he hoped awkwardly from foot to foot as he waited for the water to heat up. Thankfully for his fraying nerves, it didn’t take too long. Shucking off his clothes, he all but dived under the nearly scalding water, irritation soothing rapidly as the water warmed his skin. The contrast of burning skin but cold muscle underneath was an interesting one admittedly, but not an enjoyable one.

Izuku jumped about a foot in the air when he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening. “H-hello? Apologies, I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be awake so early.” An unmistakable voice chattered.

“Iida?” Izuku questioned, voice only just audible above the water.

“A – ah!” Iida responded, still sounding like he was seconds away from bitting off the tip of his tongue with chattering teeth. “Mid- Midoriya! I was just trying to warm up, I –“ he trailed off a little sheepishly, sounds of him getting ready for his own shower filling the empty space. “My heater isn’t exactly, well, functioning.” The water turned on and Izuku had to try a little harder to hear his friend. “I suppose it should really be able to handle it, as a hero in training, but-“

“It’s so cold!” Izuku exclaimed. Iida laughed. He sounded a little less chattery.

“I take it your room wasn’t particularly warm either?”

“I wish, it was freezing,” He whined softly, trying to keep the warm water out of his hair. It was delightful now but would be considerably less so when it cooled down. “My heater isn’t working either.” Iida hummed in agreement. They finished their showers in comfortable silence, Izuku waiting an extra minute in the now warm bathrooms for Iida to finish.

Hesitantly, Izuku pushed against the now damp door. Immediately, a blast of cold air hit him in the face, stinging his eyes. He scrambled behind Iida, pushing the other boy out the door first. He let out a few spluttered complaints but allowed the smaller boy to use him as a warm shield, pushing him towards the kitchen. From his position behind his unwilling shield, he didn’t see the figure already in the kitchen. But he could hear her cursing.

“Uraraka?” Iida asked cautiously, as if he were approaching a particularly angry cat. Izuku peaked his head out from around Iida’s ridiculously broad chest to see Uraraka glaring angrily at a slowly boiling kettle. She turned towards the voice, a glare still fixed on her face until she realised who the other two were.

“Iida? Midoriya? What are you doing up?” Her teeth were chattering, even underneath the layers of clothing that served to make her look like an overstuffed teddy bear.

“Too cold.” Iida and Izuku said at much the same time. Uraraka let out a sympathetic chuckle.

“Same, my heater is, and always has been, busted.”

“Me too,” Izuku whined, reluctant to move away from Iida and his radiating warmth but not feeling brave enough to hug him.

“My heater wasn’t functional either.” Iida trailed off thoughtfully, also opting to huddle beside his friend. Izuku’s face twisted as Uraraka began to fix hot drinks for the three of them.

“You don’t think – you don’t think this was a logical ruse? Do you?” They all shuddered.

Choosing not to think about that for the moment, they shuffled over to the couch, drinks in hand. Izuku all but stick his nose into his coffee to take in the warm steam it let off. Uraraka huddled onto the couch, pulling the two boys with her. Ignoring any possible personal space they may have wanted, she draped the ugly but delightfully soft bootleg All Might blanket around the three of them, pulling them all in close. The warmth of each other and the drinks, coupled with the ungodly time in the morning, made the three of them drowsy as they sipped from mismatched cups. Izuku would later blame that drowsy state for the embarrassingly high pitched squeak he made when he heard the front door opening.

In a reflex borne out of a really rough year for their class, the three of them all slipped off the couch and into combat stances, squinting through the darkness to see the figure in the doorframe. Izuku let his quirk flicker ominously.

“Kids? What the fu-  the hell are you doing up? It’s not even five am yet.” Uraraka let out a relieved sigh at the gravelly voice of their teacher, and the three of them relaxed where they stood. She promptly plonked herself back down on the couch as did Iida. His need to be polite to their teacher was seemingly outweighed by his need to feel his fingers.

“Sensei?” Izuku questioned as his teacher cast off his capture weapon. “What are you doing awake?” Aizawa sent him the driest look Izuku thought he’d even seen.

“My patrol just finished. Why in gods name are the three of you up?” None of the said anything beyond awkward mumbles. Aizawa eyebrow inched higher. Still nothing.

“Iida.” He growled, apparently choosing the boy as the weakest secret-keeping link.

“Our heaters are broken, Sensei.” He blurted out. Aizawa had apparently chosen wisely.

“It’s ok though!” Izuku interjected nervously, emotional state a little too fragile in the early morning for his teacher to tell him how little he cared. “It’s not that bad, really!” He was fully aware the beds of his nails were blue.

“Yeah!” Uraraka jumped in, looking just as pinched as Izuku, “We’re tough! It’ll be fine!” Iida just squirmed under Aizawa’s glare. He just sighed, settling himself on the couch across from them.

“Why didn’t you want me to know they weren’t working? Did the three of you manage to break them or something?” A chorus of indignant ‘No!’s followed. Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “Then?”

Uraraka broke first. “Idon’thavethemoneytofixit,” she blurted out in one breath, face flushing even pinker in the cold.

“Pardon?”

“I, well my parents,” she shrunk down in her seat, Iida and Izuku almost reflexively pressing in closer to her to offer support, “We don’t really have the money to pay for repairs for something like a heater.” Aizawa just nodded, turning to fix his gaze on Iida. The boy sighed.

“Well, I didn’t want to – I didn’t want to cause trouble for something so minor.” It was Uraraka’s turn to lean into Iida this time, the poor boy looking like a kicked puppy. Aizawa sighed, turning to face Izuku last. Izuku sunk into his seat, face burning slightly in shame.

“Didn’t think you’d care, Sensei.” If Izuku had been looking Aizawa in the eyes, he might have seen the flash of something like pain, or guilt. But, from where his eyes were fixed on the floor, he only saw the edges of his own building tears. “It’s – it’s not a big problem anyway. I can’t – I can’t pay to fix it either and – and I’m already – “ Uraraka drew him in closer. He tried to will back his tears, embarrassed about crying over something so minor. “I didn’t want to be a problem child.” He all but whispers.

Aizawa lets out a heavy sigh. The three students huddle together, eyes downcast in embarrassment. Iida shifts, as if to apologise again, but anything any of them could have said was cut off as their teacher wrapped them in a strong hug. Izuku jerked back instinctively before shyly returning the hug. Aizawa lingered for a moment before pulling back, coughing to hid his own embarrassment. It did nothing to hide the pink tinge to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” The statement was unexpected from their teacher Izuku and Iida opened their mouths to protest almost instantly. Aizawa held up a hand to quiet them down. “No, listen. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you can’t come to me for things like this. UA built these dorms so quickly we were fully expecting problems to arise. You shouldn’t have to suffer for the shortcuts someone else took.” The three of them nodded, Izuku stubbornly trying to wipe his weeping eyes. Aizawa smiled, a much softer smile than the three of them were used to seeing. “I’ll find you three some more blankets and you can get another hour or two of sleep down here while I make some calls. Sound fair?” Izuku smiled softly, Iida nodded an affirmative and Uraraka sent their teacher a mock salute. He chuckled quietly, before padding off to find something warm.

Shouta returned ten or so minutes later to see his kids curled into each other, sleeping peacefully. He carefully pried the near-empty cup of green tea from Iida’s grip, pulled the blanket back over Midoriya’s arm from where it had slipped down, and brushed a stray hair from the corner of Uraraka’s slightly open mouth.

Gently piling the blankets he’d gathered around them, he wandered off to his rooms to make some angry phone calls. He wasn’t going to let his kids suffer needlessly on his watch.

[lairep]

Chat Noir Finds Out (Part 4)

Summary: Things get serious this chapter. Way serious.

Next Part || Part 1, 2, 3 || Ao3 Link || Other Works

I did say I was gonna post this soon. The next chapter is half-way done and is just as terrible so have this where I set up for all the events and things. c; A lot of just Chat thinking here.

Also, remember when I mentioned that this started out as an angst fic? Welp, here you go.

Chapter 4: Still The Night After Chat Noir Found Out

Chat Noir already knew too much.

After everything was cleaned up—again—and Marinette had changed out of her milk-soaked shirt, Chat Noir decided it was time to finally confess his sins. Because Ladybug totally had a crush on him too and there was nothing to fear anymore.

Except maybe her wrath for betraying her trust, but he was sure she wouldn’t kill him if he explained it was a complete accident. She would surely understand and not decide to murder him. Probably. Hopefully.

But just as he was starting to speak, Marinette let out a despondent sigh, and he was forced to hold his tongue on the matter. Instead, he asked, “Something wrong?”

Marinette looked at him sideways from her chaise and then flopped down on it. “Since you’re here, Chat,” she said as she buried her face in her throw pillow, “I hope you don’t mind if I ask your advice on something.”

He frowned at her tone and rolled the desk chair he was perched on closer to her. Helping his Lady always came before any of his own agendas. “What is it, princess?”

“Well,” Marinette began, sitting up and hugging her pillow to her chest, “Today, my, uh, crush acted really weird.”

Oh, crap. Chat Noir looked sideways at the framed picture of himself on her desk and gulped. This was about the fiasco from this morning. Because of course, it was.

“Yeah, him,” she said, nodding at the photo, and then sighed his name with such strong yearning that he almost fell out of his chair, “Adrien…”

Okay.

No.

Well.

Maybe yes.

Definitely yes.

But also no.

His heart was bursting with delight and his face was on the verge of catching on fire from how hot it was. His insides were warm, fuzzy gloop. His whole body was practically buzzing. The way she said his name just now should be made illegal in Paris. No, in the whole world, all across the continents. It just shouldn’t be allowed, period. For his sake.

It took all his will-power not to tackle her right then and there and squeeze her to him until they’ve basically fused into one, big Marichat entity. No, he was a cool cat. No matter how much he wanted to pounce on her and cuddle her until daybreak, he really shouldn’t. It was highly inappropriate.

“What—” he started but his voice came out an embarrassingly higher octave, so he cleared his throat and tried again, “What happened?”

Marinette blinked out of her love-sick expression (caused by him!) and returned to looking unhappy. “This morning he was really weird,” she began, twiddling her thumbs, “I think I misunderstood something because he, um, he—” her voice rose in pitch “—hesaidIloveyoutomeeeEEE!” She ended with a scream and slammed her face into her pillow. And then continued screaming.

Well, then.

Chat Noir completely understood, though. If Ladybug randomly blurted out ‘I love you’ to him, he would have instantaneously combusted. But it would have been a happy combustion. Marinette was clearly not happily combusting as of the moment and he had a rising suspicion as to why that was.

It wasn’t long before his Lady stopped screaming into her pillow. She straightened up, then looked up at him, expression embarrassed. “S-Sorry about that,” she gasped out, face red, “it’s just… I’ve always dreamt he’d say those three words to me, you know?”

He tried very hard to keep his face neutral as he cooed at her internally. She was so adorable and precious and he vowed that, once everything has been cleared up, he will say those words to her every day for as long they lived.

“But—”

He blinked at her hazily. But what?

“—he took it back immediately afterwards…” Marinette trailed off, looking down at her hands, her expression so crestfallen that it broke his heart into a million pieces. And made him irrationally angry.

What a jerk! What kind of guy tells a girl he loves her and then takes it all back?! If it were him, he would never—

Crap, wait.

That was him.

That morning he had said ‘I love you’ and then immediately took it back.

It was all him.

Chat Noir resisted the urge to toss himself in the trash where he rightfully belonged.

“I mean, I don’t know,” his Lady said quietly, still not looking up. Which was good, because he really didn’t know what expression he had on his face right now. Today was a rollercoaster ride and he was stuck on the loop-the-loop. “Like I said, I might have misunderstood things.” Her face scrunched up, and she let out a small, quite bitter sounding laugh, and continued, “I mean, why would he suddenly ‘love’ me? It’s not like he even noticed me before today.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her that of course he had; he’d noticed she was kind, brave, strong-minded, pretty, and overall amazing even before he knew she was Ladybug. But Marinette had gotten up, started pacing, and continued talking, her voice getting higher and her words coming out faster, giving him no space to interrupt.

“Today was so frustrating! It was complete torture! He kept saying my name out of nowhere and I was so hyper-aware of his presence because of that! But then even while that was going on he was completely ignoring me and then Alya said he stole my shoe and threw it away! I had to walk home with mismatched shoes! And then the rest of the day he got all cozy with Chloe and even went on a date with her! She sent texts to everyone bragging about it and they took selfies and they went shopping and they looked like they had so much fun and I know there’s nothing between us but it still really, really hurts!”

Chat Noir didn’t know what to say. Not that there was anything to actually say. He’d been so focused on his own dilemma that he never realized just how his actions would’ve looked like to an outside observer; to Marinette—who, as it turned out, had a crush on him this whole time.

“I definitely misunderstood something,” she whispered to her hands, and she stopped pacing to drop back down her chaise. To his absolute shock and horror, tears had formed in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have let my hopes up even for one moment. No matter how nice that one moment had been…”

There go the shattered pieces of his heart. Her words ground them to dust. They were just dust now. Infinitesimal pieces of heart dust, scattered in the wind. Irrecoverable. Lost in the void.

He could only imagine the state of her heart.

Even if Marinette were not his Ladybug, he wouldn’t have been okay with this. He’d messed up really bad. Like, worse than dead potted plants and milk spat all over her.

He’d hurt her.

Will there ever be a trash can big enough for a piece of garbage his size?

“Tomorrow,” Marinette choked out, clenching her fists, and he wanted nothing more than to put his hands over them and squeeze, “I don’t know what I’ll do if… if they come to class holding hands or announcing they’re official. I don’t think I can take it.”

Chat Noir wanted to scream that it would never happen. He didn’t even like Chloe that way! He only liked one person and that was Ladybug. And she was Ladybug.

But he was stuck where he was because he couldn’t trust himself to move or say anything. He wasn’t sure what other things he’d end up making a mess of if he even tried breathing in her direction.

“But,” she said, wiping at her eyes, her voice a little harder even as she sniffled, “there’s really not much I can do if he likes someone else, you know? I think the most I can do is stop Alya from murdering him tomorrow.” She smiled, like she just told her own private joke, and finally turned her bluebell eyes to his.

Caught by surprise, his breath hitched. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Marinette furrowed her brows at him, then after a few moments of staring at him, she gasped and covered her mouth, as though realizing something. “Oh, no, Chat! I’m so sorry!” she cried, sounding genuinely apologetic, “I didn’t mean to vent to you like that. That must have been so uncomfortable.”

“NO!” he exclaimed loudly before he could stop himself. Marinette flinched back, stunned, and he raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I-I mean, there’s nothing to apologize for, my La—princess. It’s just…” Quickly, he deliberated with himself in his head, wondering if he should come clean now.

Chat Noir wanted to bust out with the truth, just like ripping off a band-aid.

Adrien Agreste wanted to gently ease her into the truth, as that was the considerate thing to do.

(And, in one corner of his mind, he heard that Plagg wanted to eat some cheese, because he was hungry.)

In the end, there was a compromise, and Chadrien decided that they would gently come out with the truth, no easing, just straight-forwardness and honesty, nicely so as not to shock her, but also quickly so the situation wouldn’t escalate further.

‘Marinette,’ he would say, voice deep yet soft, and laced with his love for her, ‘I know for a fact that you did not misunderstand anything. Adrien does love you.”

‘What makes you say that, pretty kitty?’ she would ask, her beautiful bluebell eyes sparkling under her long luscious lashes.

‘Because, my princess, my Lady,’ he would reply, cool as a movie hero coming back home from a mission to blow up an asteroid about to hit the Earth. He would kiss her hand and quietly release his transformation, finishing with, ‘I am Adrien Agreste, and I’ve always loved you.’

Marinette’s eyes would form tears again, but they would be happy tears. ‘Oh, Adrien,’ she would gasp out with that yearning that made his insides gloopy, ‘I love you too!’

He would open his arms to her and she would fall into them, her smile as bright as the morning sun. Then they would gaze into each other’s eyes and find the infinite beauty of the universe in their togetherness.

And then they would live happily ever after.

The end.

Beautiful, straight to the point, no shortcuts or lies, and a happy ending.

Perfect.

Except, he was Chat Noir, embodiment of bad luck and destruction. Hence, the very moment he opened his mouth to begin his happy ending, luck decided it was the perfect time for a phone to suddenly start ringing.

Confused and mildly miffed at the interruption, he whipped his head around to search for the offending phone and Cataclysm it.

“That’s my phone!” Marinette yelped and scrambled up to her loft. He watched glumly as Marinette groped around her bed-sheets for her phone and clumsily tap at it. “Oh, it’s Alya.” He sighed as she picked up the call, a hand held up to him apologetically, and began a conversation. He nodded at her and turned his chair around to give her some privacy.

He tuned out sadly to the soft sounds of Marinette conversing on the phone.

His happy ending was so close, and a phone call had to ruin it.

Why did he ever think things would be that easy?

It felt like his whole life had turned on its head in the past day and a half. He learned of his true love’s real identity by accident, and he learned that she reciprocated his feelings, also by accident. In the same vein, he also learned that he had a great capacity to make a mess of a lot of things. By accident. He killed her plants by accident. He spat milk on her by accident. He broke her heart by accident.

Basically, today he learned that he was a great big (albeit good-looking) ball of accidents waiting to happen.

“—what?!” came Marinette’s voice, cutting him off from his musings. He turned to see her hurriedly climbing back down from her loft, looking at him with a horrified expression, phone held against her ear. “Y-you’re coming over?!” He stiffened up, staring back at her in subdued panic. “You’re at the door?!”

As if on cue, a woman’s voice sounded from the floors below. “Marinette! Alya’s here!”

Marinette let out a yowl that sounded like a cross between a new-born crying for the first time and a cat having his tail stepped on by a neglectful human.

With his hearing, he heard Alya’s surprised, “Girl, what was that?” from both the phone in Marinette’s hand and the floor below them.

Chat Noir sat frozen in his panic, knowing very well that he should move but was unable to get his limbs from working. Meanwhile, Marinette had dropped her phone and was now waving her arms frantically between him and the window, as though trying to articulate something.

“Chat Noir!” she whispered urgently at him, and he stared at her with wide eyes, “go! Window, go—”

There was a knock on her trapdoor, and they both stiffened, eyes trained on each other. “Marinette, open up! Why is your door locked?” came Alya’s muffled voice.

Marinette let out a quieter version of her new-born and cat yowl and approached him to roll the desk chair he was on to the window. At that point, Chat Noir finally got his limbs working, and he grabbed at the windowsill mere moments before Marinette could crash him straight into the glass and throw him out four floors down.

“Marinette?” came Alya’s voice again, and the trapdoor rattled against its locks.

Chat Noir could practically hear horror movie violin music punctuate the panic they both felt at that sound.

“Uh, I come!” Marinette said shakily, then corrected herself, “I mean, I’m coming! I’m just—” she fumbled with the window’s locks just as he did the same, effectively blocking either of them from actually opening it “—not decent!”

She grunted in irritation and smacked his hands away from the window. He let out a “Hey!” of surprise, a little louder than necessary.

She squeaked and slammed both hands to his mouth, just as he did the same. Now both of their hands were on his face, and not opening the window. They stared at each other again, and he vaguely wondered how they managed to get themselves in this situation.  

“…girl, what was that?” came Alya’s voice again, quieter and more contemplative this time.

“No one!” Marinette yelled a little too quickly, and then paled as he pushed against her hands in an effort to tell her that was a dumb thing to say, “I mean, nothing! I mean, there’s no one else here! It’s just me, hahaha!”

Alya didn’t respond, much to their relief.

They stood against the window for a while, just staring at each other, their breathing in sync. Chat Noir felt the furious beat of her pulse from her wrists. He also smelled the scent of cookies and milk on her fingers against his mouth. He couldn’t help himself—he subtly puckered his lips against her fingers in a very light kiss.

His Lady gave him a glare, obviously having felt it, to which he responded with an unapologetic wink. She took her hands away, huffing, and quietly pulled the window open, giving him a subtle push. He mouthed a ‘sorry’ as he put a foot against the windowsill. She responded with shooing motions with her hands, and he chuckled a little because that was way too adorable.

Quickly deciding that he couldn’t possibly ruin anything more for the night, he grabbed one of her hands and laid a kiss on it, just as he usually did for Ladybug. “I’ll see you later, princess,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin, and grinned at the rolling of her eyes in response.

“Just go,” Marinette muttered, but didn’t sound displeased. She lightly pushed him out the window and he laughed as he deftly mounted it backwards—

“Is that Chat Noir’s butt?” came a disbelieving voice from directly below him.

Alya’s voice.

Chat Noir gulped and slowly craned his head to look back below him, desperately hoping that it was just his imagination. He found, to his horror, that he was not imagining it, and that Alya was looking back up at him. More accurately, Alya was looking up at his butt from a window on the floor below.

He whipped his head around to face Marinette and she looked like she was going to have a conniption. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, and her lips were pursed together shakily, as though to prevent a scream from spilling out.

Just how many things could he possibly make a mess of in one day?!

“Marinette,” Alya called slowly from below, and he looked back down to find that Marinette’s parents had joined Alya at the window to view his assets, “why is Chat Noir’s butt hanging from your window?”

-

[literalgreyarea]

THE END OF A SEASON Oct. 3rd, 2017 

We ate grapes and sipped from mismatched carnival glass goblets. The sun crept behind the city, leaving blue, and grey, and violet in its wake. There was art in every corner, on every wall. Music's influence whispered in everything we touched. Cassettes, vinyls, posters, guitars... Plants shivered by the windows. Wires tangled underfoot. Frayed carpet. Swirling projections. Little knick-knacks crowning the sink: a dinosaur, a penguin. The cat's cradle I'd stepped into several months before was pulling tighter -- had been, for a while -- and every little knot was starting to strain, to rub up against its neighbor, threatening to trip over itself and reveal the whole plot.

Usually when I'm invited to events on Facebook, I tend to ignore them. Not because I'm particularly against them, but I generally lack the ability to join in, so I try to avoid disappointing myself from the get-go. This time, I knew I'd be in the area, though. I asked for more information. Checked the bus routes. Said "screw it", despite it meaning I'd have 4 shoots back-to-back, and marked myself as attending. 

Come the night, I... totally went to the wrong house. A very grumpy, elderly woman shouted at me and shooed me away with impatient gestures. My confidence wavered. But! It was an easy fix. Just a couple blocks down, if my GPS was done playing tricks. Very manageable. And it really was! I found the house, climbed the odd-out stairs, and approached with a meek smile. There were so many windows, of course, that I needn't knock. I was ushered in with thanks and gestures, and "Shannon! Wow, it's nice to finally meet you! Oh, um -- your bag is... your bag is blocking the..." Feeling silly, I moved out of my prone position by the door. "Actually, you know what, I need to get firewood. Don't worry about it." 

Oof. I was already being an awkward mess.

As CJ wrestled the hydra that is organizing any show, I spoke with some nearby guests who welcomed me with all the graciousness of family. I made space to fiddle with my camera. I let my surroundings sink in. I felt that itch come on, the buzz before a gig, that flutter in my palms. Oh, there were so many things I wanted to photograph. So much art tinging the air. So many things to touch. What was the proper etiquette? Just because it was a show didn't mean I was allowed to treat their house like a venue, and even venues wouldn't like you pulling decor off the walls. I told myself I would be respectful and put on my metaphorical blinders. Entertainment first. Details later. Do your job.

I snapped a shot of a bust that had been lined up with a pair of green witch hands -- a la the spirit of Halloween -- to "adjust my lighting". My confidence eased. Familiarity gave me a shield to hide behind. I was still incredibly far from my comfort zone, but at least I was being productive. That always helped.

Sure enough, things fell into place from there. More guests entered the living space. Our first musician -- our hostess -- came to the "stage". There were your standard apologies for time, questions of set lengths, and schedule adjustments. The strum of an acoustic. Flaxen hair over boisterous orange ruffles. A page laid out, titles and cues.

Erin hadn't performed like that in a long time, not that I would have thought it. Her voice came through clear. Her fingers only fumbled twice. Her songs were relevant, even as she looked somewhere far away, presumably trying to ignore the nerves that tirelessly trail eager listeners and timely rust. She was quick and practiced, and we all drew in to that melancholy sound, that energetic string, lined up along the walls, on cushions and floorboards. CJ, with her wide-brimmed hat, spoke of the earth. She spoke of the perception that She is angry, and questioned that perception. She spoke poetry, of the dirt we stand on, of what might be love, and passion and mouths and mountain fire. Her hands spoke with her. We sang beside her, behind her, at her lead. We clapped. She stood aside, and it repeated. CJ apologized for her insecurity, and I wanted to cling to the natural warmth in her tone. She reminded me of someone I used to know. I felt sparks in my knuckles. I missed and still miss being there. Being nervous. Being electrified.

I snapped another shot. Made way for yet more to join. Recorded a segment on my phone. 

Next up came Hel Mary and her partner. Rachel's voice was a jolt to the system. So different and rough, and, sadly, interrupted with the scratch of a cough, a pause for water. Still, she sang, and Patrick played. And when she needed a moment, he came to her aid, his voice filling in the void that hers left. They sang together and they laughed. They spoke openly of their dynamic, of the songs that they wrote, and, with amusement, admitted how very few of their songs for each other had been sweet. "Anger is good art," he impressed, nonchalant. She twisted her hair between her fingers and touched his shoulder, and I thought how wonderful it was to witness such things unburdened.

Their final song together made my chest hurt. Again, I recorded what I could, ever watchful of my phone's battery and the unanswered notifications thereon. Hel Mary retired before her throat would utterly fail. Patrick (Galactic) drew center. I started to think too much, doubting my abilities to capture these moments effectively, and wished bitterly that I was not alone. Accepted that I was, and tried to vary my position in the limited space. If I was all they had, I had to be enough.

I still wavered, regardless of my mental affirmation. My attention fractured. Click. Record. Think.

Do your job.

Patrick finished. My heart swung somewhere low. Sunflower Sutra, four to the name, audio extraordinaires for the evening, plugged in. Shuffled and repositioned. Three men, a woman with striped and belled pants. A binder and a green cup. A small white accordion of sorts. Unable to shake my idle mood, I considered getting some air, but told myself that it was better to get the necessary shots in first. They began.

I wasn't ready.

Every artist surprised me that night, again and again. For a band that had never performed acoustic together, it sounded like it was everything they were meant to be doing, and they held us. Hannah shared little details about their group with us, and the others chimed in with chuckles or remarks of their own. They made references to those before them, and thanked CJ and Erin for putting the night together. They were charismatic. They were good.

I needed a break.

The rest of the night, I felt sluggish. My insides were heavy, but the air was light. I took a sip of wine. My stomach disagreed. I munched on greens and cheese and chatted with CJ, my phone charging on a far wall in the kitchen where I hid. I peeked out occasionally. Always listening. The cat's cradle tightened around my heart. I mustered what I could of my energy and roused to each song's end. I exchanged names and handshakes and conversation, and I finished strong. The fortune I pulled as the dish was passed around made my brain stir, albeit numbly, and I was vaguely aware that I didn't have the money to give to the artists that had overwhelmed me that night. They didn't mind.

The tips were divvied. The front door opened and closed. Opened. Closed. I lingered. Lingered. Left.

There are so many details that I know I've missed, but I can't separate that heavy feeling from it all. The urgency. Loneliness, maybe. Longing. It was only a few days later that I really moved forward, so many ideas and hopes fogging up my mind. But as I walked south to find my bed that night, I was full, safe in the shadows on my path, and happy. 

Thank you, CJ, for inviting me. Thank you, Erin, for having me. And thank you, everyone, for inspiring me.

I will be better. If you'd like to view my photos from the event, follow this link.