#look I had to dig through a pile of notebooks to find these notes cause he's waiting in the pile of WIPs for his story to be told

[lettalady]

Made up fic title: The Sandcastle of Sorrow

The year is 1896. Dr Laszlo Kreizler ventures to the shore because one old friend gets engaged, one turns his attention from the city's problem of crime and corruption to the plagues of a nation – leaving the third to do what can only logically follow after getting a taste of what can happen if curiosity and the proper investigative methods are put to use.

So, yes, he leaves the city behind, hoping those haunted corridors of his mind might be soothed by a change of residence and the sounds of the sea. To escape the ghosts that walk the hallways of his home, that taunt and hunt him at every turn, that torment him with a possibility lost….

[bluecookies02]

Dabi x Reader- I Run To You /nsfw/

warnings: praise/degradation, sex oriented quirk?(meaning succubus-ish!Reader), choking, overstimulation, squirting, pinning/slightly obsessed reader.

The reader becomes a villain-->brief mentions of blood, mentions of Touya's "death".

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Maybe you're supposed to feel some sort of remorse when you see your childhood friend on the screen, blue flames hugging every corner of the building he's in, the poor glass shattering and melting as the reporters hurriedly fly around to catch every evidence and information they can.

You couldn't see much of his face, but the way he carried himself and the exact patterns of his scarred arm were enough for her. You only needed one glance.

It took a few months for you to wrap your head around it. Trying to push down the anger and grief by finding excuses for whatever he's doing. You became obsessed though, super fixated on every last trail of him you can find.

Years went by fast. Gaining the trust of other villains was fairly easy when you share the same hatred for the heroes. It brings you a sense of belonging and they listen. They listen and feel your anger, understand loss better than anyone else you tried to talk to before. You don't receive stupid condolences and bullshit like "it gets better" or "that's what faith had in store for you". You get raw emotion, telling you exactly what you yearned to hear, finally knowing that you're not crazy and that there are people who have enough braincells to see through the terrible facades the society has been smearing over everybody's eyes.

It's hard at first, watching blood and flesh rip through the air you breathe as your shoes leave red trails that follow your step...until they don't...they get mixed and lost and the footprints you once knew were yours look foreign, you don't know where you came from, you just know where you're headed.

You come back to your small apartment almost every night, writing down and scribbling each piece of information before it has the chance to be forgotten, intent on not letting a single detail slip.

You find it bizarre. You wanted to be a hero. For as long as your memory goes, you admired and glorified the kind and selfless faces you saw on TV, and in your own house.

He wanted to be a hero too? Even more than you. You're close, just a handful of months and you'd earn yourself a place. You know it.

Would he remember you?

Your pen breaks under the pressure of your palm, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You stack the notebooks neatly, locking your door before plopping on your pillow.

All of this for a boy...how silly of you...Would he be happy to have someone familiar next to him?

You feel lonely...You miss the comfort of the past and you wonder if he does too. Did he even like you back then? You dig for every memory of him smiling at you, gracing your hand while the two of you played the games on his computer.

Then your eyes wander to the pictures on your wall, collages of newspapers with his face on it. He aged like fine wine. Strong and handsome. His hands are something you can't look away from, his long fingers keeping you in a trance while you snuggle under your blanket, slipping your hand in your shorts. Just this time.

You bend your legs at your knees, head craned to look at the pictures on your walls, mouth loosely open. You take your time working your clit, imagining how he would do it. How he would take his time exploring you after not seeing you for so long.

Your ass bucks off the bed a little, humping against your fingers, almost dipping into your greedy pussy, ghosting over the slicked up hole and spreading the nice coat of the slimy wetness across your folds.

Would he be good at eating you out? Stretching his scarred jaw to fit his mouth over your cunt and lap at it, sticking his tongue out as far as it can go.

You stretch your shorts to fit your hand in, pressing two fingers on each side of the sensitive nub, using your other hand to flick at the exposed pearl. It almost burns from the pressure, too sensitive when it's not hidden under the thin layer.

What if he had his tongue pierced? Imagining the metal on you, swirling over every inch, digging into you as it bumps your clit. You can't make yourself wait anymore, pulling your shorts down and pressing your knees to your tummy. Like he's there in the room, giving him a perfect view of your dripping hole, untouched and clenching around nothing as you trail your finger across it.

You slip two of them in, too horny to drag it out anymore, you start pumping them in and out of your pussy, convulsing and shivering each time you hit that spot while you arch off the bed. Your other hand works your clit, chasing the trashing of your hips while your drenched cunt pools around your fingers, the sound making you high. It's wet and erotic, your palm slamming against your other hand, the rhythm on your clit rushed and messy, interrupting the pace you need.

You imagine his skilled fingers on you again, precisely circling your swollen nub as he stuffs you with his cock, his hot breath on your neck while his dyed hair tickles your face, wet kisses adoring your skin as he's about to stuff you full of his cum, press your legs to your stomach until they feel like they're gonna break. He'd try to go deeper than possible, holding your neck so that he can kiss you properly as your bodies rock the bed.

He'd cum first, seconds before you just to make sure that you milk every last drop as you cum and pulse around his shaft, your pussy gripping and sucking him in while he still balls deep inside you, groaning into your mouth.

The sensation of him shaking against you sends you over the edge, your breath being knocked out of you as your thighs flex and clench together, squeezing your hands and trapping them in place.

You're gasping for breath, eyes closing and ears buzzing from your high, light thrust against your clit coming to a stop as you slowly calm down.

Bliss washes over you as you lay there for a bit, chest rising and falling, your body completely relaxed.

You hope it'll all turn out to be worth it and joining the League would just be another step from many to go. Yet you still hope that your feelings were mutual back then. You experience loss too early in your teen years and a lot has changed since. But one thing was constant, you never stop loving someone even after they're gone, and Touya is the biggest proof of that.

You still had his books, pens, shirts and all of the notes the two of you passed around during dinners or classes...and you held onto them long before you found out he was still somewhere out there.

He was stoic and cold most of the time, his affections looked calculated, keeping you on the line throughout the whole friendship, not letting the two of you slip into a relationship. Pausing his flirting as soon as you seemed to get your hopes up.

If not a relationship, you want closure, and you want him, in any form you can have him.

_______________

Slowly you wake up to a pattern of knocks on your bedside table, not having the time to panic or get scared as you're slipping away from your dreams.

When you finally do see a tall white-haired man next to your bed, you raise your hands up in defense, heart skipping beats and toes curling as you back away to the headboard.

"Quiet a stalker aren't you?" Red eyes pierce through you, your quirk activating for a split second until he grabs a hold of your ankle with four fingers.

"You know what the fifth one does...so behave nicely, I'm not here to kill you" You look around the room, avoiding the uncomfortable gaze of the leader.

The shame of your interior upsetting you more than the initial fear of getting murdered.

"How did you get in?" Your locks are too good to be broken down, your alarm system expensive(but stolen) and working perfectly.

A purple portal flashes in the middle of the room. Well not so perfectly, you figure.

"I won't snitch on your obsession cause I couldn't care less, I want you in the League. Pack your shit or run." Your eyes are wide open, watching as the man slips into a portal and disappears, the purple mist still glowing in front of you.

You hurriedly grab a small suitcase, stuffing everything you know is important, already having some luggage packed in case you had to move fast for whatever reason. It comes in handy being organized.

You hide the newspapers you took off your walls, slipping them between your clothes and zipping the suitcase. First impression matters, so you risk wasting a bit of time to pick out an outfit, making yourself look presentable before you slip into a mellow cloud, dragging your stuff with you.

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing to the tips of your ears and the pads of your fingers, pulsing and warming you up.

The leader greets you again, grinning as he leads you to a room, telling you to make yourself at home.

"I wanted to give you a roommate, but that would be distracting" he teases, his teeth still showing as he closes the door behind you. The room is warm and surprisingly not messy at all. Yes, some things are carelessly tossed on the bed or draped over the chair but everything else is neat. You figure out fairly quickly that it was probably occasionally used.

You take your time to explore the room, piling up the stuff that wasn't yours in one corner of it. You unpack one of your suitcases and half of the other, cursing yourself for bringing the evidence of your little plan.

You don't know why you brought it, it seemed useless after you found out where you're going, but you guess it's for sentimental reasons. You didn't plan for it to happen so fast. But they were indeed a bit low on numbers after recent attacks so they must've gotten impatient and started seeking out more people.

You did do everything in your power to get noticed so you do want to take some credit. You smoothen out the sheets before you sit on the bed, thighs rubbing together from nervousness.

Is he on a mission?

How can you play it cool?

What's his favorite food now?

What are his interests?

Does anything make him particularly happy...maybe a hobby?

Should you try using your quirk to lure him in?

Does he know you exist?

Will he recognize you?

Would he remember you even after you tell him?

Maybe you shouldn't tell him.

You stop before you get too deep in your thoughts, deciding that you should make yourself comfortable. It's very likely that he's not there anyways, and he might not even show up soon, sitting there all alone is just making you more anxious.

You decide to leave the room, curious to meet other members that you heard in the hallways a few minutes ago. They were all headed to the same place, so you decided to go to what you figured was the living room.

The smell of alcohol got stronger, and the small giggles and banter got louder. You fixed your clothes one last time before opening the door, seeing the all too familiar faces in the room.

A blonde-haired girl ran to you, almost tumbling them both to the floor as she giggled excitedly.

"I was dying for more girls in this dump, they all stink" she whined, sniffing your shirt. She was grabbed by the collar by the boss, his pinkie up as the girl huffed.

_________________

So that's exactly how you met everyone, sitting on the bar as you silently wished the last member showed any desire in greeting you. He was sprawled out on the sofa in the far end of the room, a beer in hand and a cigarette in his mouth. You've never seen someone so unapproachable before, and it had to be him of all people.

Yet you didn't take it to heart. He was always like this...well minus the alcohol. New people didn't phase him, even more, he hated new. You're not worthy of his time until he deems you as so and you figure he never met "you" before.

But you do glance at him. The whole fucking night, chatting with others but always slipping and almost getting caught. They pointed it out but you just brushed it off as being curious to why he doesn't look like he's enjoying himself.

Even tho, you can practically feel his gaze on your back each time you turn away, feeling flustered you sip on your drink through the night, blushing when you catch him averting his gaze.

He is intrigued, to say the least. The way you move and talk is intoxicating, your voice feeling like something he had forgotten a long time ago. It reminds him of his past and it makes him fairly angry...but it brings some form of comfort he didn't feel in a while. He'll be selfish enough to indulge himself.

And he does. Months. Seeping into years.

________________

Missions are exhausting, so far you've been on more than you could bring yourself to count. On the run for weeks with little to no rest wasn't the luxurious lifestyle younger you dreamed about.

The comfort of the not so soft bed never felt more heavenly than now. A cheap motel wasn't your form of rest either, but you had to deal, hopping in for a not so relaxing shower with water that jumped from freezing to burning hot every second, tho it did an amazing job on easing the coil in your stomach.

Your quirk is taking a toll on you, control over it fading away as soon as you are laying clean and fresh on the bed. Too much...You were working too much and just teasing the victims never seemed to satiate your quirks' hunger. You second guess your path a lot, especially when you end up alone and exhausted, but you never think about quitting...as weird as that feels. It has its perks you guess...

Him being your partner wasn't one of them. He's practically eating you up, showing off in front of you but ignoring you all the same. You feel like crying from frustration, huffing to yourself before digging into your backpack and grabbing your small toy. It's been a few weeks since you could indulge yourself, the tension of your muscles painful.

Tears are almost freely rolling down your cheeks, your quirk making you feel dizzy as you slip the toy against your clit.

His voice is rough and quiet in your head, the conversations you had playing on repeat, searching for anything that you might've missed.

Every time you thought of one, it was followed by a memory of him pushing you away, smirking before going to do his own thing. He always had a smart mouth, flirting with you but making sure to step right off when he feels like he's dancing on that line.

You bit back equally though, returning the snarky comments and putting up a tough facade all while you tried to cling onto every thread of hope he threw your way.

He was almost sure he heard you though, his real name followed by a muffled cough as you tried your hardest to drown it with small talk. A moment of pure joy after you both made it out alive and safe made you let your guard down.

And when he called off the rest of the mission for the day out of nowhere, you were almost sure too.

But he isn't here now. He didn't follow you, and you're certainly all alone in this empty room. He'll come around...or he'll leave in the middle of the night. You wouldn't be able to blame him for either.

He's in the room right next to you, his fist wrapped tightly around his cock and his eyes squinted shut. He knows exactly who you remind him of, knows exactly what he felt as soon as you joined. You were always similar to her.

Awfully similar.

He knows.

It doesn't feel fair. Not to you or him. But he can't think. He can't focus and he can't stop himself from moaning out your name as his cock slicks up with pre-cum, his other going to his balls and squeezing them lightly.

He feels drunk, even though he didn't drink...well more than the usual amount... his body is burning like it's on fire...which isn't a foreign feeling to him. But it's different, the blood in his veins is warm, surging to the tips of his hands and toes as he fucks into his own fist. He's almost in a haze, fighting the urge to get up and slam your door open. If he runs away now, you'll be safer, maybe quit the League if he's lucky.

But he can't win, messily pulling his pants up and slipping on his shoes, grabbing your door handle in less than a blink as he tries to go back one last time. He has a primal need that pulls him towards you, even when he's not in the same room, it urges him to reach out and chase you, grip on the last straw of sanity and happiness that happens to be you.

Your toy buzzes faintly, sweat gracing your body while you so desperately try to cum. You're too sad and it doesn't help in reaching your high at all, but if you don't do it you feel like you might explode. He knows and he doesn't want you. You wasted your life away. You deserve it for being a creep.

He opens the door cautiously, feeling his cock pulse against the loose buckle. The lamp highlights your tear-stained cheeks and it's criminally hot, illegal even, making his toes curl.

You notice him immediately, dropping the toy on the mattress and using the sheet to cover as best as you can.

"I can't believe you" he whispers.

"Please..." you whine, drinking in the sight of him, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. To leave or to stay...any of the two.You know desire when you see it, praying that he came to quench it.

You're so desperate, craving him, letting go of your quirk and sending hormones to clash and bite against his skin.

You'll lie if you have to, say how you couldn't control it for a second more.

Nothing matters now when he's crawling up your naked body like a starved man, ripping the sheets away, digging his nails into your sides as he ravages your skin like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

And it probably is, the soft nibbles turning rough and hungry as you struggle to hold one, tangling your hands in his hair. You try to pull on it, yearning to kiss him and pour everything you feel against his lips, even if you're just a fuck, you need him to know that you never forgot him.

He doesn't budge, instead, he makes quick work of his pants, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

The room is too warm for you, the air too thick to breathe. You don't know if you want to stop and talk first....maybe you'll have the chance later?

"This is your fault" he huffs, slipping one hand to his boxers to ease the tension, gripping his cock tightly. He'll have to rush it, groaning when your legs subconsciously twitch and spread to let him fit in between.

"I feel like a fucking teenager" he argues, cupping your pussy and hunching over you.

He's missing a few steps, but seeing you so desperate and aching to cum urges him to help you out first.

"Since when did you start luring me in with your stupid quirk huh? Part of your little plan?" he questions, not letting you answer.

You're shaking your head, trying to mumble how you never tricked him into wanting you, not until this exact moment. But words are not your friend right now.

His eyes pierce through yours, beautiful blue swallowed up by the black of his pupils, half-lidded stare stripping you naked. Bare and vulnerable as your back arches, ghosting his fingers over the right spots and making you moan out a soft "Dabi".

It doesn't sound right on your tongue, and he sees the way it rolls off your lips, strained and dishonest.

His large hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place as he works the small bud, lowering his lips dangerously close, whispering across yours.

"Don't close your eyes." he demands.

It's in his arms reach, and everything is so close to making sense. If you look at him, he might start feeling like himself again. One of his fingers slowly dips inside your warmth, dragging the pad of it gently while he presses his thumb against your clit.

Your soft lips fit on his, your hands pulling him in by the back of his neck. He wants to make it slow and romantic, a nice reunion, yet he lets you slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss.

He's not holding himself up anymore, his body's weight shifting onto you with each thrust of his finger, the clacking sound of your pussy urging him to move even faster, make you feel even better. He adds in another one, watching you mewl and relax.

"That's fucking right, you wanted it, you fucking planned this, you sick fuck" he muses, catching you off guard. There's something bittersweet in the fact that he'll never be able to leave every little aspect of his life behind.

Before you even try to mumble something out, his lips are slamming against yours, teeth clashing and pulling on your soft skin.

You clench around him, riding his fingers greedily and roaming your hands across his back, fisting and gripping at his shirt.

You can feel the blood on your tongue, hissing when he pulls out only to slap his palm over your clit, causing you to yelp and pull away from the kiss.

"Touya, listen-" He shakes his head, nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

"You little stalker...how much work did you do for this cock huh?" he presses against you for good measure, making you feel his hot length on your cunt.

"You have no fucking idea" you snarl, gaining some of the confidence back, wiggling from beneath him.

He kicks his shoes and boxers all the way off, getting on your bed and pulling you to him.

His shirt is thrown messily to the edge of the bed, his hands pressing on the small of your back so that you can tower over him, trapping him between your thighs as he leans against the headboard.

Your ass slides over his cock, your hips moving slowly while he trails your figure, gliding his warm fingers across your thighs and up to your breasts.

Both of his hands cup the soft mounds, eyes glued to yours as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth. Hypersensitive to every little touch, your body shivers as he takes gentle, almost there swipes across your nipple, moving his arms back to your sides while he slips the sensitive bud in his mouth.

He lowers his thumb to your clit, flicking it slowly while he nips at your tits, biting and sucking marks across the smooth skin. His cock hooks and prods at your hole each time you both sway against each other, teasing you until the knot in your belly becomes too tight, skin crawling with pleasure wherever his body meets yours. He can hear your breath hitching in your throat, grinning while he speeds up the work on your clit, patiently waiting for you to start arching into his hand. He's gonna make you feel so good...convince you that chasing after him was the best decision you made in your life. Make up for all the years you had to deal with everything on your own.

He can feel your pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, making him push up in one slow and deep motion, immediately feeling the spasms of your soft walls gripping tight around his length. You let out a shaky breath, riding out the first high that finally satiates your quirk if only for a bit, making you drop your weight on him.

"There we go...Feeling better?" the ground might swallow you up, but when his hips start to lazily buck into you, you get distracted...You didn't notice how full you are, every inch pushing and stretching perfectly. You realize his finger never really stopped, only slowed down while he built up the agonizing pace he's bouncing you on.

You know your quirk makes you needy, but it makes everyone even more so, the realization that he probably feels like 9 circles of hell causing your hips to move, meeting his thrusts more roughly.

His head moves back to the headboard, eyes glued to yours as you ride him, propping yourself on his shoulders.

He ignored the burn of his body, too intoxicated and keen on making you feel better to focus on his aching cock, getting drowned in pleasure now that he can experience everything clearly.

You're beautiful.... and he wants to break you, make you blabber his name as you cling to him like he's the only one that can make you feel good. And he's gonna make sure he is. He admires you for a moment, cheeks heating up while watches your tits bounce, your eyes averting under his stare.

Your world turns upside down, your head sinking into a soft pillow as your legs are pushed as far as they can go.

You're scared to look away now, his gaze never breaking when he starts plowing in and out of your cunt, slamming his cock all the way in with each thrust.

His feet dig into your mattress, making the cheap bed creak.

You don't know where to put your hands, switching from the sheets to your thighs.

"Dumb little whore...is this all it takes?" he moves lower to you, pressing your spit coated lips against his.

You manage to hook your arms around his neck, swinging your legs behind his back.

He's plowing too deep, his navel bumping against your clit. He can't make himself pull out at all anymore, stuck on humping inside your pussy, slamming and angling his cock until you cry out.

Panting and groaning against your lips, he manages to slip a few curses, hissing when he tries to stop himself from cumming. Your quirk is cruel.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you still as he bottoms out completely, feeling his cock throb and spill, your walls tightening up against his shaft as hot cum paints them white.

He's high and addicted, already fucking his cum deeper, making sure it goes into every little crease and pore it can reach. You slip your fingers to your clit, trying to get yourself off while he rocks both of you.

"You wanna cum? Wanna milk my cock again huh? Want me to knock you up?" He's stammering it out, words spilling from his mouth in a rush, feeling the burning of his sensitive head as he picks up the pace again, slapping your hands away.

He raises just a bit, pressing one of his large palms on your belly.

His other hand slips to your clit instead, circling and flicking it to make you reach your high before he fills you up again.

Your whining does nothing to slow him down, his motions too rough and almost painful, your cervix bruising up when he presses even harder on your tummy, making your hips buck off the bed.

"Want you to cum...want you to make a mess..." he urges, a low rumble in his throat.

You can only nod, grabbing both of your thighs and spreading them further for him, your pussy open and on display to him to watch as it hugs his cock, slick and dripping.

You have to close your eyes, too embarrassed as you feel the burning sensation surge through you, eyes watering from the pressure as you finally let go. Your whole body tenses up, a low scream slipping out of your mouth when clear liquid splashes over your thighs and stomach, leaking onto his cock.

"Fucking hell" is all you can hear before he stuffs you full again, this time dropping onto your chest as his knees and feet numb out, hot breath tickling your neck as he moans against your skin.

Your weak hands slump on his back, muscles relaxed and barely working.

Someone is supposed to say something...minutes passing by quickly.

Your tired voice fills the room, a soft "Touya..." reaching his ears as you trail off. You're not sure what you wanted to say, but he holds you a little tighter, heart beating faster at the sound of his name.

He kisses your cheek softly, snuggling into the crook of your neck. "Fucking creep".

[tbmaybank]

New To Town (Part 2)

(Gif not mine, not sure who made it but credit to whoever did though!)

Warning: hints at previous abuse.

A/N: I’m honestly really excited about my plans for this series and I’m trying so hard not to rush plot lines 😂

Part 1

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I wake up early, surprisingly early considering how late we were up. JJ was still sleeping, an arm still over me. The house was quiet, so I assume everyone else is asleep too. As much as I would love to go back to sleep, I have to go home to get ready for my first day of work. I slip out from under JJs arm, careful not to wake him and quickly get dressed. Before leaving, I find a piece of paper and a pen from my notebook, and write him a note.

In case you want to see me again, here’s my number x

I set the paper on his nightstand, and sneak out of the house. As I drive home, I think about the previous night. Did I actually make some friends on one of my first days here? I guess I don’t know if we’re friends, can’t really determine that just from one night. Either way, the memories made me smile.

I quickly get ready for work, and start the drive there. Once I put my car into park, my phone buzzes with a text from an unfamiliar number.

-you left without saying bye :(

As I’m reading it, another message pops up

-oh, it’s JJ, by the way.

I didn’t expect him to actually text me. And especially not so quickly. I send a reply.

-I didn’t want to wake you up!

-why’d you leave so early?

-unfortunately, I had this thing called work to get too. Which I need to be going into now

I slip my phone into my back pocket and head inside. The next several hours seem to take forever. Training at a new job is always so nerve wracking to me. I sit at a table in the corner once I finally get to have a break, checking my phone to see another text from JJ.

-can I see you again tonight?

I can’t even stop the smile from appearing, glad that he actually wants to spend more time together.

-sure :) whatcha thinking?

-I could show you around the town, maybe grab dinner while we’re at it?

-that sounds oddly like a date there, JJ.

-I’m failing to see the issue with that.

I’m not really sure why, but I agree. We set a time for him to pick me up, and I head back to working. The closer it gets to being time to head home to get ready for the date though, I get increasingly nervous. I mean, he was super attractive, and we get along great. But my mind keeps wandering to my past, and I start to get nervous. Because I thought he was sweet and kind at first too. And boy was I wrong about that one.

“Okay, y/n, you’re free to go. Good job today, and we’ll see you back tomorrow!” My boss says, letting me know it’s time.

Once I’m home, I start digging through my pile of clothes, hoping to find something cute. My stomach is still in knots, but I’m trying to push that away. Finally, I find a dress that could work. It was a blue, knee length dress that flowed nicely, but also hugged your curves in all the right ways.

-I’m here ❤️

Taking a deep breath as I read his text. ‘Well, here goes nothing.’ I think to myself as I head downstairs. He’s leaning against his car, waiting for me, but straights up when he sees me come out.

“Wow, y/n… you look amazing.” He says as I make my way to his truck, making me blush.

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” I feel myself smiling, and at that moment I decide to not let the fear of the past repeating itself have control over me. JJ is not him. This, whatever it is or becomes, I will be okay.

——————

I’m currently at dinner with him, laughing at one of his cheesy jokes. The whole night has been perfect so far. I can’t get over how easy he is to be myself around. We take turns asking each other questions about the other. Starting small.

“Favorite color?” He asks

“Orange.” I say, smiling

“Orange? Who’s favorite color is orange?” He teases, causing me to giggle.

Slowly the questions get deeper and deeper.

“What’s your biggest fear?” This is the only question so far that’s made me hesitate.

“You want like, real biggest fear or some generic ‘buried alive’ answer?”

“Real.”

“Okay. Uhm. I guess it would be going back home.” I say, pushing my food around with my fork.

“Why’s that?” He asks while leaning forward slightly.

“Things were… not good there.” Hoping we can leave it at that. His eyes flicker to my scar, and I can tell he wants to ask about it again. Thankfully, he doesn’t. He instead goes back to softer questions, asking my favorite movie.

Eventually we end up back at my apartment building, standing next to his truck saying our goodbyes.

“Can we do this again?” He asks, taking my hand in his, causing a small smile to play at my lips.

“I would love too.”

“Hey y/n?”

“Yes, JJ?”

“Can I kiss you?” He asks getting a little closer to me.

“Yes.” He moves closer, gently placing one hand on my cheek, and the other on my hip, before slowly leaning down and placing his lips on mine. I immediately return the kiss, my heart exploding instantly. He pulls away and rests his forehead against mine.

“I’ll see you soon, right?” He whispers, and I nod in return. I give him another quick kiss, before dismissing myself to head upstairs.

Laying in bed later that night, all I can think is ‘what am I getting myself into.’

[harringrovetrashrat]

Tagged by @disdaidal !!!  Thank you!  Omg I’m like 🥺💖🥺💖

So, I figure since I have so many things I’m working on, and no idea when I’ll actually finish them (outside of my Big Bang Project), I should share the bits of them that I do actually have dhfoiahfiosh

What we have are these:

A fic where Billy meets some older queer people while kicked out, and learns from them how to love himself

“So I’m guessing you’ve never met a queen before,” they said. Billy shook his head.

“I’ve never met any royalty.” Juicy laughed and it made Billy feel like he’d said the wrong thing until she looked at him again, practically beaming.

“Well honey, there’s queens abound in here. Drag Queens, specifically.” Billy’s mouth formed a small ‘o’.

“So, you’re a… man?” Juicy shook her head.

“Personally, I find man and woman too limiting. All gender is a costume, darling. I just think dresses are prettier than suits.”

“You haven’t been in the right suits,” Cindy said with a smirk. Juicy gave her the finger without looking.

“It’s called taste, sweetie.” Cindy just laughed. Billy stared at Juicy, feeling awed by them. They were so tall, toned and beautiful. Their skin was dark and glistened with the glitter they’d spread over it. “I’m sure you have taste, don’t you munchkin?” Billy couldn’t help it and he pouted.

“I’m not short, I’m average for my age,” he snapped. Juicy just smiled.

“I like you,” they said, pointing a long nailed finger at him.

A Cheesy Summer Camp Horror fic, with romance and comedy because Like.  Y’all know me.

“Let’s stop talking about her,” Heather cut in. “Let’s talk about this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Billy asked, perking up. “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking we could celebrate the end of the first week with a skinny dip,” she said, eyes sparkling. Billy didn’t miss the flush that crossed over Robin’s face, though he wasn’t entirely sure who it was directed at. He definitely had a guess.

“I’m game!” Tommy piped up, grin wide, anger disappearing from his face. Billy rolled his eyes and snorted, but raised his hand, tongue running over his top teeth.

“Why not,” he said, giving his eyebrows a quirk. “I ain’t no pussy.”

“Of course,” Adam muttered, rolling his eyes. Billy’s eyes snapped over and narrowed. “Isn’t it a little, I dunno, juvenile?”

“Oh come on,” Steve chimed in, munching on the cookie now, relaxing with the change of topic. “Maybe so, but it’s summer, it’s camp, why not, right? Start it off with a bang?” His smile was teasing, bright, and Billy found it hard to look away, hard to deny that smile what it wanted.

The Reverse AU where Steve moves to Hawkins with his father and step family, Claudia and Dustin, and Billy was adopted into the Mayfields

“I’m not--! It’s just midterms! That’s what has me all out of sorts.” He opened his notebook and tried to will his blush away. There was a soft thud and Nancy joined them.

“What has you out of sorts?” She asked.

“Mid--”

“Billy so has a crush on that new guy from New York,” Heather said. Billy made a noise of protest when Nancy smiled, leaning over.

“Oh he’s so cute! Truly impeccable taste you have,” she teased. Billy rested his head on the table.

“I hate both of you so fucking much,” he hissed.

“No you don’t,” they chorused.

“I do, I really do,” Billy replied.

Mermaid AU where Steve and Billy were young friends before being separated.  Steve tries to reunite them obviously

“I can show you a bunch of cool stuff,” Billy said, feeling oddly proud of himself. And well, the ocean was his home. And he never got the chance to really show it off to someone who didn’t already know it. “If I show you the ocean, will you tell me more about humans?” Steve nodded. “Like, why are all the ships girls?”

“Huh,” Steve said, tapping his chin with his finger. “I don’t actually know… Usually I think ‘cause a guy names them. I’ll ask my tutor. He knows everything.” Steve wasn’t a huge fan of Professor Owens, but he was nice enough. He let Steve find things to bring in and ask questions about, he didn’t get mad like Steve’s other tutors had when he had trouble reading. So even though Owens still pushed for Steve to focus more on his future, he was better than the other adults in Steve’s life.

“Tutor?” Billy asked. “What’s that?”

“Like a teacher,” Steve replied. “But like… Different.” In fact, Steve wasn’t totally sure what the difference was. Billy just squinted, looking confused.

“Different… how?”

“Uh, tutors are… are taller,” Steve replied matter of factly. Professor Owens was taller than Ms. Joyce had been, so there wasn’t anything to argue against that. Billy nodded seriously, making a note.

There was a ringing bell and a distant voice calling Steve’s name, making him sigh dramatically. It was already time? Billy’s ears twitched a little and he looked at Steve.

“What’s that?”

“That’s my nanny,” Steve said, mopey and pouting.

More of You’ll Find Me Looking Over the Edge of the World

“Oh, King Steve thinking about skipping?” Billy tugged him down, making Steve stumble as a fist started rubbing against his scalp and messing up his hair.

“Fuck, dude!” Steve cried, nearly dropping his tray. Billy just cackled, letting him go and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No,” Nancy said through grit teeth. “He’s thinking about staying and taking--”

“He can’t go around looking like that,” Billy said with faux concern, eyes all worried as he leaned on the table with one hand and used the other to point at Steve’s, now fully messed up, hair. “I think Steve’ll have to take the afternoon, don’t you?” Billy turned to look over his shoulder, not seeing the way Nancy rubbed at her temples as Jonathan very obviously tried not to snicker. Steve almost felt bad. Billy knocked on the table with his knuckles, pushing up with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him home safely.”

“Get me home--” Steve began, but before he could finish his sentence, Billy was shoving him around and out of the cafeteria. Nancy sighed, shaking her head, giving Steve a look he knew would turn into a talk later. “Sorry guys!” Steve tossed over his shoulder.

Billy with a rat he named Max to piss off Max (he calls her human Max and she hates it)

“And what the fuck are you doing here?!” He asked her. Max, the little trouble maker, just squeaked at him, wriggling in his grip. “No fucking wonder I didn’t see you in Barbie’s house this morning, you decided to be a fucking Houndini, didn’t you.” She squeaked again, tail swirling and dragging along his wrist. He heard footsteps behind him and moved to shove her back into his jacket sleeve when Steve approached.

“You okay-- Oh!” Steve blinked, brows raised as he saw Max reach with her small, cute little pink hands to grab for Billy’s hard nipple again. “So…”

“Cut that out!” Billy hissed, moving her down to cradle her against his stomach. She settled in, but she was definitely hungry and would get restless again quickly. “I didn’t see her this morning but just assumed she was hiding in her little pile.”

“Me too,” Steve said, checking around the hallway for anyone who was late. Luckily, there was no one around to see them trying to hide a rat in Billy’s jacket. “How’d she even get out?”

“I mean, we are keeping her in a Barbie dream house instead of a cage--”

“Really? You’re gonna sass me now? After you insisted that she ‘live like the princess she is’--”

Stranger Than Fiction AU

“Billy, I swear to fucking god if you don’t get out there right now--” Billy stumbled out from the back, head turned to glare at Max, who was pushing him from behind. She pushed until he was at the counter, face to face with Steve. He glared, though his face was flush. Max crossed her arms. “Like we fuckin’ practiced.” Billy shot her another angry glance, but then looked back to Steve. Who was so confused.

“Max may have, uhm, brought it to my attention that I may have overreacted just the tiniest little bit.”

“That’s not at all right,” Max said under her breath. Billy swatted behind him without looking, missing her completely.

“Anyway,” he pressed on, “I just,” he sighed, pushing an errant curl behind his ear. Steve watched the movement before snapping his eyes back to Billy’s. “I don’t often take the chance to be nice, so I got maybe a little offended.” Max scoffed. “Okay a lot offended,” he said with an eye roll. Steve couldn’t help it; he snorted. Billy’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes lit up, like a kid who just learned Santa was real. Steve blushed, looking away, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

“It’s okay,” he replied, turning back to look at Billy. The sun lit up the stray blonde hairs poking out of his messy bun, making a light halo around him. Steve had to catch his breath.

It was like looking at an angel, vengeful and dangerous, but exciting all at once. His eyes seemed to shine, bright and gleeful, but also full of mischief.

“It’s okay,” Steve repeated, feeling his face heat up more. “I would have taken them if I could. They were amazing.” He smiled, nodding towards the stairs. “I should get to it though. Last day and all.” Something sad briefly flickered over Billy’s face, but it was gone as soon as it was there, and Steve thought he must have imagined it.

“Yeah, good luck,” Billy said. Max was smiling, smug, and she punched Billy’s shoulder.

Leverage AU

“Well,” he said slowly, letting the trio shake off their shadows. “The lab closed.” This isn’t about the kid was the underlying message. “But, what’s happening now is that Mayor Kline accepted a lot of weird bribes. They’re from a company called Starcourt Industries. Now, that’s the name of the mall that opened, Starcourt, but what’s weird--”

“--Is that they didn’t exist for very long before suddenly popping up in Indiana,” Alec cut in. “It reads like one of our companies. General background, seems legit, but I did a lot of poking around most of this stuff leads to loose ends. It took a while to get there, so at first glance…” The group nodded. At first glance everything checked out, and even a little digging would provide a general cover that most people wouldn’t think to look past.

Of course, none of them were most people.

“So who are they?” Eliot asked.

“All of the loose ends lead back to Russia,” Alec said. “But nothing concrete or connected, just more companies that do really general stuff. It goes real deep.” The implications there were discomforting. Alec was a genius, and excelled in his line of work, but this kind of grand scale cover up meant one thing: this was bigger than just a few bad apples in a company. This was a plan.

“So who’s the client?” Sophie asked. Nate pulled up a picture of a grumpy looking man, mustache groomed and eyes hard, but kind.

“Chief Jim Hopper.” That got Parker’s attention, bringing her out of the funk she’d been in since the mention of San Diego and Billy.

“Like, Police Chief?”

“Yep,” Nate said, popping the P. “He’s the one who found the kid, found out there was something going on at the lab. Now, he’s positive something weird is going on. Knows he’s done everything he can to legally take the Mayor down, but the man has a lot of friends in high places, and Jim can’t do anything. And that’s,” he smiled, “Where we come in.”

That’s still merely some of what I have going on, but that’s what I’ll share rn. Anyway, tag me in ur WIPs! I’d love to read them :) tag ur it

[simpleserendipity]

Study Date | Kim Namjoon

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader (best friends)

Word count: 1,408 words

"Namjoon!" You skipped down the hall towards the dark-haired male, who was walking beside Jin, "Joon! Joon!" You launched yourself forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, "Joonie!"

"Hi _______." Namjoon was so used to your crazy antics, especially since you've known each other your whole life, that he barely reacted to you launching yourself onto him.

"Are we still studying at your house today Joonie?" You held on tight to his neck, while he moved along practically dragging you with your chest pressed to his back.

"No." He states before looking over his shoulder and rolls his eyes at you.

"Joonie!" You whined as he shuffled his bag to rest in front of him instead of on his hips. Then he moved to scoop up your thighs, carrying you on his back. He huffed at the nickname because no matter how many times he's tried to get you to stop, you won’t abandon the nickname.

"I'm kidding." Joon rolls his eyes at you once again.

"Good! I need help with math," You smiled, putting your head over his shoulder more to see his face. You tightened the grip on his neck, "I have a test coming up. So can you help me Joonie?"

You began slipping off his back so Joon's hands subconsciously moved up your thighs a little more, "Yeah." His hands were inching up your skirt. You should have felt embarrassed about the hand placement but nothing about Namjoon ever felt anything less than comfortable. You all began to walk out of the school, Namjoon’s bag on. It was your everyday routine, walking to and from school together.

"Thanks, Joonie!" You rested your chin on your arms, which were still tightly wrapped around his neck.

"How come she can call you Joonie without getting smacked?" Jin pursed his lips as you all exited the school gates.

"Cause," You looked over to him and you were almost eye level with him, "I invented the name when we were kids." You stuck your tongue out at him to which he playfully reached out as if to grab your tongue.

"But I like it!" Jin whined, "I want to call him Joonie too!"

"Shut up Seokjin." Namjoon turned his head slightly to look at Jin. Jin turned his face away in embarrassment of being called by his full name. They continued to bicker a little bit until it died off. The three of you got to the corner street where Jin goes in the opposite direction from us.

"Bye Jin!" You waved, loosening your grip on Namjoon's neck.

"Bye Seokjin!" Joon laughed, once again using his full name. He pulled one hand from your thigh to wave and you felt his grip on your other thigh tighten, careful not to drop you.

"You guys are so mean!" Jin pouts, turning to walk away, "Bye!"

He walked down the street a little further to his house with you still on his back. When he stopped outside his house, he slowly let you down from his back, "I'm impressed," You laughed, "You've never carried me all the way to your house."

"Whatever ______. You weren't gonna let go of me anyway," You walked up and into his house, "You can head to my room, I'm gonna grab some snacks." Joon turned to head into the kitchen, while you went down the hall. You smiled as soon as you opened the door to reveal his white sheets messily thrown all across his bed and clothes across the floor. You didn’t mind though, it was nice seeing him not uptight and organized, it always made him seem like a real person and not this perfect robot he always seemed to be.

"Joon?" You called, scanning the room for the gift you got him a few weeks ago.

You heard his footsteps coming in behind you, "Yes?"

"Where is that picture frame I got you?" You pouted, you knew he's embarrassed, after all, you purposely got him a very embarrassing gift because it's funny.

He sets down the cookies he brought on his desk, "Well Jin came over so," He opens his desk drawer and pulls out the blue sparkly frame that says 'Best Friends' at the bottom. It has a picture from when the two of you were little and you had convinced him to play princesses, he has a blue little crown and you wore a pink one, "Here." He sets it up on his desk.

"Are you embarrassed?" You pretended to be upset, a stupid grin painting your face when he looked away. 

Namjoon can tell when you're teasing him so instead of even reacting, he just rolled his eyes. "Shut up." You burst into a fit of laughter, sitting on the floor to study as you always do when we study. He starts to pull out his math textbook and looks at you, "Are we going to study or not?"

"Fine," You pull out your test book, "I hate math."

"I know," He starts to flip through the pages, "But you'll hate math more if you don't study for that test and you get grounded then can't come to the concert with me this weekend." He narrows his eyes at the book.

"That's true." You sighed and started to focus.

*****

You were laying on your stomach now, it had been hours of studying and you couldn't take it anymore, "Joonie!" you whined, rolling onto your back, looking at him, "I can't study anymore, it's going to kill me."

"Mhm," He continued to copy down notes, still not looking at you, "Just finish this chapter."

"Namjoon!" you whined again, "I can't study anymore."

"Just finish the chapter." Namjoon just continued to study.

You rolled your eyes before stopping to just look at him. you examined his features and how they've changed. The little boy you once knew has grown into this strong man in front of you, you didn’t know when his jawline had become so sharp or when he got so muscular. You couldn't take your eyes off him, watching the little creases in his forehead as did the problem. Then you watched them relax as he finished solving a problem.

You didn't realize you were staring at him until his eyes met mine. you sat up embarrassed and looked away. you felt his hand turn your shoulder so that you were looking at him. You expected him to tease you but instead, he leaned in and pressed our lips together super gently. you were in shock for a moment and before you had the chance to kiss back, he pulled away, "_______, I'm so sorry." Namjoon turns away embarrassed.

"Wait," You put your hands on his shoulders, turning him back to you, "Kiss me again." You ordered. Namjoon turned around and looked at you with a pink tint to his cheeks and wide eyes. He just looked at you, "Kiss me again." You whispered, he was still frozen. You rolled your eyes, leaning in connecting our lips. My hands tightened around his shoulders and he brought his hands to cup your face.

He immediately kissed you back and we broke apart when we were both out of breath, "I've always wanted to do that..." Namjoon whispered to you, pressing our foreheads together. You nodded in agreement, you couldn't find the words to use at that moment. You just leaned into his lips and kissed him again. This time it was more passionate than before, it was like nothing else in the world mattered at that moment because you were so wrapped up in him. You kept one of your hands on his shoulder and the other trailed up into his hair. He kept one hand on your cheek and the other went to your waist. You climbed across the piles of textbooks and notebooks between us, pushing Joon back. you slowly opened your mouth and eagerly licked his bottom lip. He opened his mouth just as eager. You felt his tongue dancing around your mouth and your grip on his hair tightened. His fingers began to dig into your waist a little bit more.

We pulled apart when we were panting, "So um you wanna..." You looked at the notebooks under you and then over to the bed then to Namjoon. You were praying he would get the hint. With a faint pink tint on his cheeks, Namjoon got up and pulled you to the bed.

[rosesgonerogue]

I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face  Chapter Five

Trigger Warning:�� There's implied rape in this chapter, kids. It's never discussed or described explicitly, just beware, and keep yourself mentally safe and healthy.

The Wayne family wouldn’t leave Marinette’s head for a number of reasons. Their evident knowledge of the Lazarus Pit was an issue, and there was the fact that their butler was a previous Miraculous user. Tim also happened to have a bruise in the precise spot where she had kicked Red Robin the other day. Too many questions and coincidences were piling up for any one family, it was alarming. 

But the mere thought of Tim was incredibly distracting. A slight blush stole over her cheeks at the mere thought of him. He wasn’t what she had expected of the C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises. To be completely honest, she had chosen to consult him last so she had time to get in the zone and not make a complete fool of herself. She had to act like a professional! 

But he’d also been kind, so incredibly kind when he had dealt with Leo, and unlike most people, completely non judgemental of the fact that she seemed too young to have a five-year-old. She felt… she wasn’t sure how she felt. She recognized some of the same emotions her younger self had felt around Adrien, but it was also more mature. She didn’t feel like she was going to trip over her tongue every time she spoke to him.

 Luckily Leo was absorbed in scribbling down one of his many ideas in the car, so she was able to try and puzzle some of this out.

Was she really suspecting Tim Drake of being Red Robin? Some of the mannerisms matched, sure, and there was also a possibility of the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes and the Wayne family being connected. It would explain a lot. She hadn’t seen much of Red Hood in action when he’d found her, and she’d seen absolutely nothing of the others, but from what she knew, it fit. It fit eerily well, even the mystery of the butler somehow felt right.

In the hotel room, Marinette and Leo were soon swarmed by eager kwamis. (Initially Marinette had been staunchly opposed to bringing the entire Miracle Box with her to Gotham, but as it was a longer stay, and a dangerous area, they convinced her that they needed to come as well. Secretly Marinette was convinced that they just wanted a sort of vacation.)

“How was it? What were the Waynes like?” 

“Were they handsome?” 

“Gotham is dangerous, are you okay?” 

“We’re just fine, thank you for worrying,” Marinette said warmly. “Duusu, I have an important question for you. Does the name Alfred Pennyworth mean anything to you?” 

The peacock’s face positively lit up. “Oh, did you meet Alfie? How is he? Where did you meet him?” 

“He’s the Waynes’ butler,” she explained, stretching her arms. “So you did know him?” 

“Oh, we worked together for years! He’s my favorite chick I’ve ever had. I would have happily stayed with him for years, but someone stole the brooch,” Duusu said, wilting a bit. “Nooroo and I were sold from buyer to buyer until Gabriel found us.” 

“Can he be trusted?” 

“Alfred? More than any other human I know.” 

Marinette patted the kwami on the head with one finger. “I’ll get a message to him, if you’d like.” 

“Just make sure that none of the Waynes overhear,” Wayzz warned. 

“They aren’t what they seems,” Trixx agreed sagely. 

“But they’re not bad people,” Leo said suddenly, notebook forgotten. “We can trust them when the time comes.” 

A shiver ran down Marinette’s spine as she looked into the eyes of her son. When Marinette was pregnant with him, she had worried endlessly. All previous holders had given up their Miraculous when they were pregnant, but their children were always faster, smarter, and stronger than average. But Marinette was the guardian, which sometimes made her feel like her body was more magic than human. How would it affect her dear child? 

Leo turned out to be the best child she had ever met. He could be mischievous at times, but he was endlessly kind. He was mature for any age, and Marinette often felt magic thrumming through him, though the kwami assured her that he had to be a bit older before that could manifest. All you had to do to see that he was different was look into Leo’s eyes; her son just saw more than other people. 

“I believe you, mon cher,” Marinette said with a smile. “You’ve never been wrong before.” 

“Monsieur Tim is the best, though,” Leo said gravely.. “He showed me their paintings and trophies and books, and it feels like we were supposed to meet him. He’s important.” 

**************

Tim couldn’t help but dive a little too deep into Marinette’s records. It wasn’t the most extensive report he’d ever done by any means, but the more he found out, the more he wanted to know. 

MDC was a saint. She frequently auctioned off commissions publicly for various charities, all respectable and legitimate, and  a good portion of her income was privately donated as well. But more than being a philanthropist, she also regularly organized community service efforts, none of which she connected to MDC’s brand, and all of which she ended up in the thick of, working harder than any other volunteer. 

One particular finding bothered Tim, however. He’d noticed with mixed feelings that there was no father listed on Leo’s birth certificate. That seemed contrary to Marinette’s character, but he very muchh did not want his suspicions to be proved correct. 

It was buried fairly deep, no part of the proceedings were made public - much to his horror, Marinette had still been a minor at the time of the trial. He didn’t know much of the French legal jargon, and most of the records were confidential enough that he didn’t dare go digging any farther. It wasn’t worth causing another international incident. 

The only concrete things Tim was able to learn were, 1.) at seventeen-years-old, Marinette had testified in court, and 2.) the man had been found guilty, and served a sentence that Tim couldn’t help but find too light. It was far too tempting to dig into the man’s past and completely ruin his life on the off chance that the man was ever released, so Tim forced himself to find a distraction. Remembering Leo’s words, that distraction came in the form of a particular Parisian superhero. 

He’d heard whispers of Ladybug, naturally, but he had mentally categorized her as a public mascot, someone that was of very little consequence or threat. There were hundred of PSAs with Ladybug online, and everyone knew about Ladybug Day, a day where everyone participated in some kind of service of kind deed. 

Tim wasn’t sure what he expected to find, maybe the actress’s name, but as soon as he dug any deeper than surface-level, he found himself tangled in a truly impressive firewall. He couldn’t help but be excited - he hadn’t had a challenge like that for quite some time. If Paris was this secretive about Ladybug, there was clearly more to her than meets the eye. 

The firewall took some skill to get around, but he wouldn’t be stopped. When he finally made it past everything, he leaned forward in his chair, eyes riveted to the screen.

Taglist: 

@ii-fox-demon @queen-in-a-flower-crown @novaloptr @saphiraazure2708 @iamabrownfox @smolplantmum @redhoodedtoad @loysydark @slytheringinger300 @finallyaniguana @brokenwordsarehard2 @abrx2002 @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @moonlightstar64  @marinettepotterandplagg @black-streak @purplesundaze @maribat-is-lifeblood @the-fusionist @river9noble @chocolatecatstheron @darkthunder1589 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @dast218 @k-poplunardreams @meanids @changelinggarden @ladybug-182 @pawsitivelymiraculous @zotinha456 @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @somebodyspersephone @spider-person95 @zestyzealot

Author’s Note: 

I promised you guys some more Leo time, and I delivered! I love hearing your comments about him in particular - kid characters are tricky, but I've had a lot of fun with Leo, and I've picked bits and pieces of his personality from nieces and nephews that I still miss dearly. Let me know what you guys think!

On a slightly different note, I know that Leo’s dad is a different route than most Maribat authors would take. I understand that it’s a sensitive topic, but this is more of a recovery success story. I don’t want to undermine any of the canon characters, and Leo is more of a child of the kwamis than he is his biological father. We’re going to see more of that later, though. This is only really going to be brought up once more in the story. 

[quicksilversquared]

Traps and Sneaks: Chapter 2 (of 2)

As the Guardian, it’s Marinette’s job to protect the Miracle Box and all of the Miraculous inside of it from evil. Obviously just sticking it away somewhere hidden isn’t going to cut it, so Marinette makes a box to hide it in. A booby-trapped box. A very dangerous booby-trapped box.

And if a certain someone gets their thieving little fingers caught in it, so be it.

links in the reblog

Lila sniggered to herself as she snuck up the stairs in the Dupain-Cheng bakery, unnoticed and unhindered.

Really, it had been way too easy to get in. All it had taken was feeding Alya a lie about how she had lent Marinette something to help her finish with their most recent Literature project but hadn't gotten it back, and she was worried about approaching Marinette to ask for it because, well, Marinette had been so busy recently that she probably thought that she had returned it. Lila was worried about appearing like she was accusing Marinette of stealing it if she asked about it, and they were only just starting to fix their relationship after getting off on the wrong foot. Alya had swallowed the lie like it was the most believable thing in the world, clearly thrilled that Lila and Marinette might be on the road to reconciliation, and from there all Lila had needed to do was suggest that maybe it would be easier for her to just fetch her things herself than it would be to ask Marinette.

Alya had been too eager to help, going into the bakery herself and getting permission from Mrs. Cheng to go in. Then she had let Lila in the side door- "I can't possibly go through the bakery myself, what if they recognize me and blame me for the time when Marinette got expelled and don't let me in!" Lila had exclaimed when Alya suggested that she just go in through the front herself- and made sure that she knew the way up before leaving. There had been a dicey moment when Alya moved to come up with Lila and help look, but Lila had waved her off with another excuse, insisting that she didn't want to eat up more of Alya's free time, especially when she knew that Alya and Nino had been thinking of going out for ice cream.

Alya had left, Marinette's parents would be busy in the bakery for hours, and Marinette herself was across the city at some sewing techniques workshop that she had won a full-ride scholarship for and hadn't shut up about all week. There would be no one to catch Lila and plenty of time for her to investigate Marinette's room and find- well, anything she could use against her.

A diary with embarrassing secrets, perfect for blackmail. Money, perfect for- well, money was always a good thing, and so was jewelry that she could pawn. Photos, also for blackmail. Sketches of designs for any other contests Marinette might have her eyes on, to copy and claim that Marinette had taken Lila's ideas. Maybe in-progress commissions that Lila could mess up, all the better to put a dent in Marinette's reputation if the damage wasn't found before she sent the pieces off to whoever had bought them.

One last flight of stairs, and Lila pushed open the door to the Dupain-Cheng apartment. Another set of stairs led up to a trapdoor that Lila could recognize as Marinette's (thanks to Alya's instructions), and she scampered up the steps and into the obnoxiously pink room at the top of the stairs.

The first thing she noticed: it was neat, unlike what Alya had warned her. There wasn't fabric draped all over the place or notebooks left out. On one hand, that would make things more difficult because she would have to search to find anything interesting, and unless Lila wanted to raise suspicion right away, she would have to put away anything she took out. On the other hand, well, it would probably be easier to find some things if she didn't have to dig through piles of fabric scraps or whatever it was that Marinette apparently usually had scattered around her room.

"Okay, first impressions," Lila said out loud as she glanced around. Marinette's school bag was by her desk- maybe she could tear out a couple pages of notes, so Marinette wouldn't have them to study from on the next exam. Next to the desk was a mannequin with what looked like a fairly complete outfit on it, leather pants with a lot of detail work and a matching jacket. Lila fingered the material, glancing at the seams on it. Since the piece was complete- or at least it looked complete- Marinette probably wouldn't look at it too closely before sending it off to its recipient. The recipient who, if the size of the pieces and the look of them was any indication, was probably Jagged Stone.

If she could mess with Jagged Stone's perception of Marinette and maybe mess up their working relationship, that would be perfect. Then he wouldn't feel inclined to do Marinette any favors like, say, coming in to call Lila out on her stories.

Lila decided that she would look for a seam ripper later, when she was poking around the desk. There was no point in stopping her assessment of Marinette's room now for that. After all, she had plenty of time.

The desk was otherwise pretty clear of anything interesting, though Lila was sure that she would dig through it later if she had time. The boxes on it probably just had sewing stuff anyway, and that- well, mixing it up or taking things might annoy Marinette, but she probably wouldn't think that much of it.

Across the room, though- well, there was a storage chest doubling as a bench, and Lila would be very surprised if there wasn't anything interesting in there. There might be a lock to deal with, but she had expected that and brought along her lock picking kit along. A few pokes and she would be in, ready to find out any secrets that Marinette might prefer stay hidden.

"Why couldn't she leave her diary on her desk like a normal person," Lila grumbled anyway, because it was also very possible that she would unlock the chest and find...nothing. Maybe Marinette didn't have any juicy secrets for Lila to exploit, and this whole trip would be- well, not for nothing, because she was still fully intending on causing ill-intentioned chaos, but not nearly as productive as she had hoped.

And considering that Lila was running quite a large risk with her lies to Alya about the thing she had 'loaned' to Marinette, a large payoff would be really preferred.

After a few more minutes of poking around- Marinette didn't keep a diary up near her bed, either, or any jewelry of any value, not that that stopped Lila from pocketing a few exotic-looking necklaces that she could always claim were gifts from people that she met around the globe- Lila turned her attention back to the large storage chest. The lock gave after a minute of working on it, and she flipped the lid eagerly, hoping that- well, hoping that there would be something interesting inside. Instead, she came face-to-face with...presents.

Boring. Knowing Marinette, they were probably all homemade and not worth anything.

Lila scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the pile of gifts. There was nothing interesting about Marinette being so disgustingly organized that she had gifts for her friends prepared well ahead of the holidays and their birthdays. She shoved a couple of the presents to the side, her nose wrinkling further at the next row of equally neatly-wrapped presents underneath.

Except... they were all labeled as being for Adrien.

Lila's eyebrows raised as she glanced at the top row of presents and- yep, all for Adrien. On closer inspection, all of them had little post-its on them with what event- and what year- they were meant to be for.

She sniggered. Marinette was a little obsessed, wasn't she? But as interesting as this was, it wasn't exactly something that she could easily use as blackmail. A bit disappointed, Lila kept digging, shifting packages aside. One more layer, and her fingers brushed against a dark wooden box, one that looked like perhaps Marinette had put it together herself.

It was exactly the sort of thing that a girl like Marinette- someone annoyingly craftsy- would store her diary in. Jackpot.

Smirking, Lila pulled the box out and considered it, her smile dropping as she did. Really, upon second glance, it was surprisingly sloppy, with uneven, dripping varnish and wonky nails. It was ridiculously heavy, even for its size, and especially considering that it was clearly made out of some cheap plywood. And oddly enough, it had two locks on it.

Frankly, the locks were the only reason why she didn't immediately lose interest. If they hadn't been there, Lila probably would have assumed that it was actually a failed project that Marinette was trying to hide.

"Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out which lock to try," Lila scoffed, setting the box on the floor in front of her and settling down more comfortably to work on it. "That second keyhole isn't even in the right spot!"

Really, had badly had Marinette messed up that she had managed to insert a keyhole in middle of one of the side panels, nowhere close to where the box and the lid had come together? It wasn't even straight- in fact, it was upside down. Shoddy craftsmanship, all around.

(The fact that Lila had never made anything like the box and had no idea how to even approach putting a lock like that on a box or even make any sort of box herself was, of course, completely irrelevant.)

Unlike the lock on the storage bench, the lock on the box wasn't very straightforward. There were more pins in this lock, and each one had to be individually maneuvered into place. Lila worked on it, scowling in concentration as she slowly picked it open.

Either Marinette had just happened to have a lock sitting around that she used, or there was something good inside of the box. No collège student was going to spend the amount of extra money it would take for a fancier lock like this for no reason at all.

With one last careful nudge, the lock gave. Lila grinned in triumph, flipping the box open. The lid seemed a bit heavy- for some reason it seemed to be lined with a strange metal band, but who cared- and there were a few stray papers and a thin journal sitting in the top compartment, on top of a wooden shelf with- you have GOT to be kidding me- another lock, just barely visible. Lila reached in to move them, and suddenly metal flashed, quick as a blink. Lila shrieked in surprise, automatically yanking her hand back, but she was far too late. Pointed metal teeth had snapped shut around her arm, keeping it in place, and- oh god.

They hadn't just closed around her arm. No, they had gone straight through the skin and- oh god the pain-

Lila fainted.

  Marinette had been having a lovely time at her sewing techniques workshop. Their instructor had walked the small class through all sorts of different ways of handling material, and next week they would be covering more tricky materials. They had gotten an entire binder with step-by-step photo reminders of what they had learned, and Marinette's already had notes scribbled up and down the margins.

She was so glad that she had won the scholarship to the class. It wasn't that she couldn't afford it herself- after all, with the commissions that she had done lately for Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale, she wasn't left wanting for money- but considering that she often had to miss things because of akuma attacks, Marinette wouldn't have wanted to spend the money on something that she might not even be able to attend. With the scholarship...

Well, if an akuma showed up, that would still suck. She was learning so much from the class and it would definitely up her design skills. Having to duck out on the class because someone got upset and Hawkmoth had to akumatize them would be a huge disappointment, because she would miss out on so much valuable instruction. But at least she wouldn't be spending her own money on it.

She still felt a bit guilty that she was doing the class and not spending the spare time working on learning more Guardian stuff, but the Order and Master Norbu had assured her that she should make sure to balance her superhero duties and her civilian life. After all, they didn't want her coming to resent her duty as Guardian because of everything that it made her miss out on.

The last section came to an end, and everyone turned off their machines and started packing up. Marinette tucked her sewn samples into her bag with her binder- at some point, she wanted to actually file the fabric pieces in next to their respective instructions, but that was a project for another day- and pulled out her phone, opening it up to check for messages. She had put it on silent for the class- silent with the sole exception of akuma alerts, thank you Max for that setting modification- so that no one would accidentally distract her. Sometimes the class chat blew up over the weekend, and having that pinging constantly throughout the class...

Well, it wouldn't give anyone a very good impression of her, that was for sure.

-and oh boy that was a lot of messages.

"My parents tried to call me ten times, Tikki!" Marinette hissed, all of the relaxation and good feelings from the day gone in a heartbeat as she tried and failed not to catastrophize. "Oh my god, what if one of them had a heart attack or a machine broke and sent pieces everywhere and they're at the hospital and it's really bad and I should have been there and-"

"Call them back!" Tikki urged, sticking her head out of Marinette's jacket as soon as they were clear of the rest of the group. "And- look, it was both of your parents calling, not just one or the other. So that means that they're probably fine, right?"

"Oh!" Marinette considered that for a minute, then dove straight back into her worrying. "Then maybe the bakery caught on fire and burned down and we're homeless and-"

"Just call them back, Marinette!" Tikki exclaimed, though she was looking worried, too. "Then they can tell you what actually happened."

Marinette wavered, then pressed Call. Her mom's phone rang once, twice, and then she picked up.

"Marinette! Ah, is your class over?"

"Yeah, we- we just finished," Marinette responded, her heart rate slowly dropping back towards normal. Her mom didn't sound overly upset, so- maybe it wasn't super-serious? "I- I saw you called? And papa?"

"Yes, I hated to call during your class, but- well, there was an incident," her mom told her, sounding a bit hesitant. "Right away- your dad and I are fine, the bakery is fine, the house is fine. But your classmate- Lila Rossi- she broke into the house and into your room. She got into your storage bench and- anyway, long story short, there was a box in there that was, ah, quite severely booby-trapped?"

Marinette's heart skipped several beats, jumping straight into her throat. The- that was the box where she hid the Miracle Box. It was very well hidden- after all, it had been in a locked storage bench, hidden under Adrien's presents, and then locked (several time over) itself- and she had assumed that that would be enough to keep it undiscovered. If Lila had gotten into it- even just into the first layer- that could be enough to put the Miracle Box in danger. The police might want to know what was in the box, or they might have broken it open to get Lila's hand out- because presumably Lila had gotten her hand caught when she tried to get the box open, and getting the trap open wasn't exactly straightforward- or maybe Lila hadn't been caught too badly and had somehow persuaded someone to open the box for her. "It- yes?"

"Whatever the box is hiding- well, it's still hidden," her mom assured her, and Marinette couldn't stop herself from letting out a sigh of relief. "The second level is still locked. And the doctors did manage to get it off of Lila's arm- well, after a bit of puzzling, at least, they said that set-up was very clever. That was why we called you, actually. We didn't want to bother you, but it was just taking the hospital and the police so long to figure out that lock mechanism and they had been hoping for a clue."

...well, at least her mom didn't sound upset with her. Yet, anyway.

"We've gotten the box back now," her mom continued. "And we've already dealt with the police, so you don't need to worry there. They understand that Lila wasn't meant to be in our house, much less your room, and that the box was securely hidden and locked up. The only reason they might want to talk to you is to learn more about why Lila might have broken in."

"To make me look bad, I bet," Marinette said dryly. "To steal things, or plant evidence, or try to find something to blackmail me. Why else?"

"Lovely girl." Her mom said something to someone else on the other end of the line, muffled and indecipherable, before she came back. "That's all, really. Will you be coming back soon?"

"Yeah, I'm heading for the bus stop."

"All right. See you soon!"

With that, the call disconnected. Marinette stared at her phone for a minute, then glanced down at Tikki. Her kwami looked just as worried.

"I thought that you had hidden the Miracle Box really well!" Tikki exclaimed. "That was a really nice place, and no one ever goes digging in there! Add in the fact that you had it locked, and it should have been fine."

"Yeah, but clearly Lila was digging around with the intention of finding anything that I had hidden," Marinette told her. She let out a sigh, the stress starting to inch back in on her, taking all of the relaxation from her sewing class away. Maybe the Miracle Box hadn't been found today, but- well, this was hardly going to be the end of this whole fiasco. If (when) Lila got akumatized again, she would probably go after the box again to see if she could break it. She might tell people at school about it- changing, of course, the reason why she had been in Marinette's room in the first place and making up completely different circumstances as to how she had ended up with her hands on the box. While Marinette really had no choice but to return the box to its previous spot for the moment- after making sure that it was re-set, of course- it wouldn't be completely safe for the long term.

At least summer break was coming up soon and she had already been doing research on how to DIY hidden compartments. Clearly she would need to use that knowledge earlier than intended.

"Maybe she'll actually get in trouble this time," Tikki offered hopefully. "I mean, breaking and entering, trying to steal- you could try to press charges."

"Maybe, but considering how injured Lila probably is, she'd probably pull the sympathy card." Marinette groaned. "I don't understand how she even got in! We've been keeping the side door locked, and mom knows better than to let Lila into the house."

"If she got through the locks on the bench and the box, Lila probably knows how to pick locks," Tikki reminded her. "She might have just picked her way through the door downstairs."

That was a terrifying thought, honestly. That someone like Lila could just pick her way past a door lock and get in her house...

"If that's what happened, I'm definitely going to petition my parents to get better locks." Marinette checked her room again, then headed back down the stairs. Tikki flew after her, phasing into her purse. "I don't think they would agree to put in booby traps, too, but- ugh, I'm going to be worrying about people getting into the house now."

"Maybe it's just a matter of the lock being old and needing to be replaced," Tikki suggested. "Hopefully your mom knows more."

"I hope so!"

It felt like it took forever for the bus to come, and then it trundled along the streets far too slowly for Marinette's taste. She spent the entire trip worrying over different scenarios where Lila could twist things around to make Marinette look like the bad guy and trying to figure out where she could add a hidden compartment to her room, somewhere where no one would notice the addition.

This far, she was coming up blank. Maybe she could put something on her balcony- but that just didn't seem secure enough. It would be far too easy for a passing akuma (or, perish the thought, a passing supervillain) to accidentally knock into and destroy a hidden compartment. No, it would be better to get creative inside her room.

Once she hopped off of the bus, Marinette wasted no time in hurrying home. The bakery was still open- hopefully business hadn't been interrupted too much by Lila's injury- and she headed in, sparing a quick smile for a few regular customers that she recognized. Her parents had one of their normal bakers working the counter in her mom's place, clearly finishing up the day so that the Dupain-Chengs would be able to deal with the mess going on in their home.

Hopefully it wasn't messing production up too much. If both of her parents were upstairs and they had one of the normal back kitchen bakers at the counter, that meant fewer hands on deck to start preparing things for the next day. And since the staff wouldn't stay overtime, that meant that her parents would end up working long hours.

Freaking Lila. Of course she just had to make life difficult for everyone else simply because she was spiteful and fixated on revenge.

Not wasting any time, Marinette headed upstairs. Her mom was in their kitchen and on the phone, her back to the door, but her dad wasn't anywhere in sight. That meant he was probably downstairs, which suggested that she actually wasn't in trouble because she had the trap. If she had been, her dad would be there too, his arms folded and a frown on his face.

Her mom, though, was more than making up for the frowning as she argued with whoever was on the other end of the line.

"No, I am not arguing the definition of 'breaking and entering' or 'trespassing' with you," Mrs. Cheng snapped into the phone, mere seconds after Marinette entered the room. Marinette paused, blinking over at her mom in confusion. Normally her mom didn't raise her voice over the phone. "You are not a resident here, you do not get to let people in who we don't want inside. That is outright irresponsible behavior- no, I do not care what your interpretation of the situation was, I already told you that. And I will be contacting your mom about this. Perhaps she can get it through your head how unacceptable your actions were. Good-bye."

With that, Mrs. Cheng hit the end call button with a flourish, scowling at the phone for a moment before noticing Marinette. Her scowl was promptly replaced with a smile. "Marinette! How was your class?"

"It went well," Marinette told her, biting back the urge to gush. That could wait until dinner, after the more pressing issue of Lila's break-in had been dealt with. "Who was on the phone?"

"That was Alya," Mrs. Cheng told Marinette with a sigh. She pocketed her phone and washed off her hands before returning to her dinner prep. "I was calling to ask her if- well, she stopped by earlier to get something, so I wanted to know if she saw or heard anything out of place while she was here. I just wanted to try to get a better idea of when Lila might have broken in so we wouldn't have to go through as much security footage-"

"Wait, why did Alya come over?" Marinette interrupted, frowning in confusion. She hadn't borrowed anything from Alya recently, and normally Alya at least texted her to let her know if she was borrowing anything from Marinette for some reason while she wasn't home.

"I was getting to that, don't interrupt," Mrs. Cheng gently chided her. "Anyway, Alya seemed pretty surprised about us having a break-in... until I mentioned that it was Lila."

Marinette groaned. She was getting a sinking suspicion that she knew where this was going. "Please don't tell me that Alya let Lila in."

"...Alya let Lila in," Mrs. Cheng confirmed, sighing. "...on the plus side, at least she didn't pick her way in through our doors. I would be looking into swapping out our locks if that were the case."

"Why on earth would she think that that would be a good idea in any way?" Marinette exclaimed. "And- well, presumably she let Lila in and then just ran off instead of supervising her, which- even if Lila somehow made up some reason for having to stop by my room, why wouldn't Alya at least have the common sense to stay with her?"

"Well, from what Alya said, Lila said that she had loaned you something and you had forgotten to give it back, and she was worried about bringing it up and making you upset... because you might think that you had already returned it and think that she was trying to frame you. Or something." Mrs. Cheng pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. "It sounded like Lila was making it sound like you two were starting to mend bridges. And I told Alya that Lila was found with a lock picking kit and some jewelry from your Nonna Gina in her pockets, but she's still insisting that it was all a misunderstanding. "

"How- how much did you tell Alya?" Marinette asked suddenly, brain all of a sudden dancing with pictures of Alya hearing about the trap and trying to dig into what, exactly, Marinette was trying to hide. She presumably had enough sense to not go digging through Marinette's things in hopes of an interesting discovery, especially considering how hurt Lila had gotten, but that didn't mean that Alya wouldn't incessantly ask her questions, and within hearing distance of other people, too.

Not that Lila probably wouldn't bring up the trap on her own- or would she? Why would she? There would be no way to talk about it without making herself look bad. But if Lila's reputation was tanking anyway, maybe she would bring it up just to make Marinette look bad, too.

"Not much," Mrs. Cheng assured her. "I didn't have to. I implied that Lila got into a locked box of sewing things and cut herself that way, which is very believable. Your fabric scissors are sharp, as are your rotary cutters, and it's not hard to believe that someone who wasn't familiar with that box might get themselves injured. I'm not going to tell your most inquisitive friend about your very mysterious and heavily-guarded trap box."

Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief.

"On a related note, I suspect that Alya might not be very keen on coming over here for a while," Mrs. Cheng added. "I was not subtle about how irritated I was with her. And she just kept on digging her heels in more whenever I pointed out things that she wasn't considering or just flat-out missed." She paused, looking slightly sheepish. "And I may, before you got back, have insulted her investigative and observational skills. Just a little bit. I just got too mad about the fact that she fell for such an obvious lie and didn't even try to check with you about it before she went ahead and let Lila in."

Honestly, Marinette couldn't blame her mom for exploding. She couldn't believe that Alya would have done that- and apparently still thought that she was completely justified in doing it. If Lila hadn't gotten herself injured and had gotten away without being caught, who knew what sort of damage she could have caused or what information she might have gotten her hands on?

Frankly, if things had gotten to that point, once she realized what had happened, Marinette probably wouldn't have been able to resist the urge to pull out the Horse and Portal Lila to somewhere dangerous. The arctic, maybe, or the surface of the Moon. She wouldn't be able to cause trouble there.

After a pause, Mrs. Cheng nodded towards the couch. "Your box is there. I think the police said that it's currently disarmed, but be careful with it."

Marinette nodded, scooting around the table to grab the box off of the couch. She was planning on being super careful. After working so hard on the trap- well, she had once gotten a cut on her finger while she was assembling the booby trap, and that had been without any force behind it. She had no intention of becoming acquainted with those same blades with force behind them.

Besides, the box was completely safe when it was disarmed, and Marinette really didn't think that she was likely to ever just forget to disarm it, not with all of the safety measures she had deliberately built in. All that took was unlocking the second lock first- the crooked one that looked like it had been a mistake, or just a practice run on a spare piece of wood that ended up not being a spare piece- and then she could unlock the lid itself. There was a visible latch on the inside that would give away- to her- if the trap was set or not, and she always checked it just in case before sticking her hand in.

"I know how to open it safely and make sure that it's disarmed before I put my hand in," Marinette assured her mom. "After all, I designed it. I won't forget how to do it."

"Honestly, I figured that much. It wasn't a reassurance when I looked at the box at first because honestly, it doesn't look like an expertly engineered box." Mrs. Cheng smiled over at Marinette. "But that's deliberate, isn't it? No one would suspect that there's anything inside when it looks like a beginner's project."

"It was either make it look like that or try to make some sort of ornate box with a hidden key hole so that no one could figure out where the lock was, but- well, I don't have the time or skill to do that sort of carving." Marinette ran one hand over the box, remembering how much effort it had taken to make the box really solid and then go back and make it look like a beginner's project, ramshackle and not at all sturdy. If the person looking at the box knew anything about construction, the presence of the lock would probably give away the fact that she knew what she was doing, but Marinette was willing to bet that most people wouldn't know that. "It would have been cool, though. I've seen some locks online where people would never figure out how to open it unless they had been shown how, and that would have been nice."

Hawkmoth would probably just try to slice the box open then, but- well, if he did, he was in for a surprise. The wood might crack, but the enchanted metal underneath wouldn't budge.

"You've done quite a bit of research about this, then." Mrs. Cheng considered Marinette for a long moment, and she resisted the urge to squirm. "Honestly, there's a part of me that really wants to question the box and say no to you having it, because it's clearly dangerous- I mean, I saw the damage that it did to Lila- and even though I know you'll be careful, it's hard to be comfortable with the idea of that being in your room. But clearly you've been responsible with storing it, and I trust that you wouldn't have gone so far out of your way to get the materials and do the modifications to that trap if you didn't think it was important to protect whatever is in there." She took a deep breath, and Marinette could tell that her mom was severely torn about whatever she was about to say. "So your dad and I are going to allow it, and we won't ask about what you have in the box. Heaven knows you deserve some privacy."

Marinette let out a sigh of relief. "I- thank you."

"And- I didn't want to say anything over the phone, but the police had originally wanted to talk with you about why you had that trap on the box," Mrs. Cheng continued, and Marinette's heart dropped right back into her feet, the moment of relief gone. "Because- well, normally kids your age don't have stuff like that. But- oh, you should have seen it. Your dad got very puffed-up and huffy with them about how this was the second time in less than two years that a classmate of yours had been caught breaking into your room with ill intentions and were you not allowed to protect your things? And one of the police was Officer Raincomprix, so of course he was in a pretty big hurry to drop that line of questioning. Particularly when he was reminded that his daughter was the other classmate that had snuck in."

Marinette hastily muffled a laugh. She would have loved to see that, honestly. "And they didn't say that they would, like, come back later or anything?"

"Only to get a statement from you that Lila wasn't meant to be at our house at all. Your father and I discussed it, and- if it's all right with you- we'd like to pursue pressing charges. We've heard enough about Lila that we want to make sure that she won't be bothering you in the future. Breaking and entering is just- she's taken it too far. She's been taking it too far, and I apologize for both your dad and I that we haven't taken it seriously. No disorder is going to compel someone to target you to the degree that she has been, much less plot to break into your room." Mrs. Cheng shook her head, clearly disgusted at herself for having fallen for the lie. "At the very least, we want to look into getting a restraining order. That should keep her away from you."

"What if Lila spins some tale or tries to get sympathy and we can't get the order?" Marinette asked. Even with their evidence- well, from the sounds of it, Lila's hand was probably pretty mangled, and she didn't have the magical healing potion that Marinette kept on hand just in case to put it back to normal. "What if they decide that her hand is punishment enough?"

"Then we'll argue that." Mrs. Cheng's voice was firm. "If you testify about what Lila has been like, then the courts will know that she's likely to just go back to school and cry about her wrist to get sympathy. And they've seen people like her before, I'm sure. They're not going to be as easily fooled as your teachers and classmates and- well, and your dad and I."

Marinette swallowed and nodded. That would be nice. That would be really nice.

"And if they do- well, and even if they don't- I will be talking to Lila's mother. There's no way she knows what her daughter has been up to, if she still was letting her run around." Mrs. Cheng nodded once, sharp, and Marinette knew that there would be no stopping her mom now. She was determined to keep Lila away from Marinette and force her to see the consequences of her actions, and so it would happen.

Honestly, Marinette had the best parents ever.

  Marinette let out a sigh of relief as she tucked the box back in its spot, piling the presents for Adrien back on top of it and shutting the lid of her storage bench. It locked with a thud and a sharp click, sounding sturdy and secure.

It was too bad that that was a lie. Marinette ran her fingers over the lock, wondering if she should try switching out the lock for a different style, something that would be harder- or, even better, impossible- to pick. It might be hard to do that without attracting attention, though, and if she messed it up?

It would be better to not have signs of tampering on her bench, just in case. Maybe she should practice with putting in and taking out locks on a bit of scrap wood first.

A blanket went over the bench, set at a jaunty angle, just casual enough that it didn't look arranged. Marinette's backpack went next to it, the perfect picture of nothing here to see.

And still Marinette worried her lip.

"It'll be fine, Marinette!" Tikki told her, zipping up next to her shoulder. "Downstairs is all locked up, the box is hidden, and the bench is locked. No one is going to be breaking in- and Lila is in the hospital anyway."

"I know, but..." Marinette trailed off, glancing around her room. Whenever someone entered her room without her consent- when Sabrina broke in, after Jagged Stone's camera wandered in while broadcasting live to all of Paris, and then now with Lila- she always felt thrown off kilter and uncomfortable, out of place and not as secure as normal in her own room. It wasn't ever a nice feeling.

She couldn't even safely leave her diary out in her room. Not her diary, not anything that might be the least bit valuable, not any signs of her crush or anything that might even hint at her double life. Maybe it would be a good idea to tuck those things away anyway, but there was a difference between having to simply put things away instead of leaving them out in the open and having to lock everything away under several layers of protection.

Marinette was starting to get the feeling that once she was older and had her own place, there would be a lot of personalization with false walls and hidden compartments where she could hide away- well, everything, really. All of the parts of her life that she might be at all leery of anyone finding out about.

It was always going to be a good idea to hide the Miraculous stuff, especially while Hawkmoth was active, but Marinette should be able to expect some measure of privacy in her own room. The fact that she apparently couldn't...

Maybe it was a better idea to not dwell on that too much. And, with any luck, they wouldn't have any trouble going forward. She and her parents had talked over dinner and come up with a new rule for letting in friends and classmates: all visits had to be approved by Marinette before they set foot through the door. If she let them in herself it was fine, of course, but if they came in through the bakery and wanted to be let up then Sabine had to have a text on her phone from Marinette approving it. There would be no more surprise visits from her friends- or at least no truly surprise visits, since she would at least get a couple minutes' warning from her mom's inquiry text- and no more people going up to her room when she wasn't there 'just to grab something really quickly, honest'. If someone tried to come over as a surprise and Marinette didn't see her mom's text right away- either because she was just busy or because she was out as Ladybug- then that was just too bad. They didn't just get to saunter up and poke around in her room unattended until she got back.

That- well, security reasons aside, it was a really good change. There had been multiple times lately when Marinette had been in the middle of trying to catch up on homework and one (or more) of her friends burst in and interrupted her, and that had both thrown her completely off and eaten up time that she really didn't have to spare because she felt bad about sending them away when they had come over to see her. There hadn't been any times yet where Marinette had been out as Ladybug and came back to find someone in her room, but, well, she couldn't get lucky forever. If they hadn't made the change, then it would probably only be a matter of time before Ladybug slipped into her room after a long fight and found Alya waiting there.

(That would be a disaster.)

"At least I hadn't gotten around to painting the trap with the poison that the Order sent me," Marinette commented after a pause, pushing away thoughts of her new visiting arrangements and how she really should have implemented them earlier for the time being. The poison was a new suggestion from the Order, something to completely ensure that Hawkmoth wouldn't be able to steal the Miraculous, and it was a suggestion that made her really, really nervous. She fiddled with one of the tassels on the blanket, then resolutely turned and headed up to bed. "The police might have been fine with the bear trap- if only barely- but a bear trap coated in poison? I would have gotten in so much trouble."

"I still think it would be a good idea to put it on," Tikki told her. "I know it ups the scary factor even more, but in case Hawkmoth finds the box and he doesn't pass out from the trap- or if it doesn't catch him as much as it sounds like it got Lila, since he might be expecting a trap!- then it should still keep him from getting away scot-free. You have the antidote and the healing potions, so you should still be safe!"

"In theory, at least." Sure, the Order had assured her that it would take some time for the poison to kick in, enough time for her to get to her remedies- a delay of sorts, followed by it absolutely flooring the unfortunate person affected- but that still depended entirely on her keeping her head long enough to actually get to them.

Maybe she needed to consider a rearranging of where things were so that there would be less distance between the box and the antidotes, just in case that very dangerous and (hopefully) very unlikely scenario of the box snapping shut on her ever happened.

Ugh. More things to do, as though she didn't already have enough on her plate. But Tikki was right- Hawkmoth was too much of a threat to keep putting off the secondary level of protection. She would just have to be super careful around the box- even more than she had been before- and prioritize getting her remedies located closer to the hidden Miracle Box.

That, and she definitely had to make sure that she kept her remedy up-to-date, no slacking and letting it come close to expiration. And, well, she had to make sure that she didn't use up the healing potion- the potion that would immediately reverse the damage from the trap in case something went wrong- with injuries that she got while sewing or tripping over her own feet.

At least she knew how to make the healing potion. As long as Marinette kept an eye on how much she had- and her (poorly) hidden supply of potion ingredients, those had to be next on her list of things to build hiding spots for after a new spot for the box and a close but not too close location for the remedies- and made sure to top it back up whenever she got low, using it for other injuries shouldn't be a problem.

"I'll tell Mom no babysitting next weekend, and do the poison then," Marinette said, realizing that she hadn't said anything for a minute. "If I do it right away and the police end up wanting to see it again, then that'll be an issue. If I give it a little time, then I won't end up putting the poison on and then having to take it right off again. And I need to get some more supplies- a dedicated paintbrush, and some gloves so that my skin doesn't come in contact with it at all."

Tikki nodded, approving. "I didn't think of that! That's a good thought. I think that should be fast enough. And it'll give you time to think about ways you can shake up your set-up so that no one else will know about it again!"

"The biggest changes there might have to wait to summer, honestly," Marinette admitted. The amount of work it would take to make a hidden cubby- and to make it fast enough that no one would notice it- would be absolutely insane, her biggest project yet. "But I'm sure that I can make some changes to up my security before then, and dream up improvements that I can make so that I'm ready to hit the ground running as soon as I have enough free time."

Her mind was whirring with more ideas already, actually. She would have to ask the Order to enchant more metal so to be Miraculous-resistant, pieces that she could put inside of the storage bench and keep it from being destroyed. If Hawkmoth (or his akumas) couldn't pick locks, that should be enough to stop him. And then if she practiced with taking out and putting locks in, then she could put in a lock like one she had seen online most recently, the one that had a hidden keyhole. Both improvements wouldn't affect her ability to get in- which was a good thing, since speed was super important during akuma fights- but should make things for difficult for anyone with nefarious intentions.

It would be a lot of work, of course, and might mean skipping out on a few outings with her friends to get things done quickly just in case, but she could make the Miracle Box safe and secure again. It might even end up helping her in the long run, since now she knew where the weak points in her security were and could fix them before they were put to the test by an akuma or Hawkmoth. Sure, it wasn't ideal that people knew about the box at all, but- well, it wasn't worth crying over spilled milk.

Marinette would come back from this, and she would come back stronger.

[splendidlyimperfect]

critical hit - chapter 4 [make a wisdom saving throw]

When Sting tells Natsu that one of his friends from school is going to be joining their weekly Dungeons & Dragons game, Natsu isn’t impressed - their table is already full. But while Natsu and Gray’s in-game characters clash completely, Natsu finds that real-life Gray might not be that bad after all.

Chapter Summary: The final session of D&D is upon them, and surprising sacrifices must be made. .

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairings: Natsu/Gray, Sting/Rogue

Tags: Modern AU, Dungeons & Dragons, Role-Playing Games, Awkward Flirting, ADHD Natsu, Geek Gray

-----

The rest of the week flew by in a blur of flirty texts, silly Snapchats, and a sushi date on Tuesday evening. Now it was Sunday, and Natsu and Gray were standing in the entrance to the basement, holding hands while Sting raised an eyebrow at them.

“Finally!” He grinned. “Glad my subterfuge worked.”

“Shut all the way up,” Natsu grumbled, waving his notebook in Sting’s direction. “You’re an asshole.”

Sting picked up a Skittle from the bowl in front of him and tossed it at Natsu’s forehead. “I’m an asshole that got you a date,” he insisted. “I believe what you meant to say is ‘thank you.’”  

Natsu rolled his eyes before turning to Gray and kissing him on the cheek. “Ignore him,” he said quietly, smiling at the pink flush that crept across Gray’s face. “He’s always a dick.”

“I know,” Gray said, laughing at Sting’s mock outrage behind Natsu’s back. “But he’s also right.”

“See?” Sting kicked Natsu’s ankle as he let go of Gray’s hand and settled down at his spot at the table.

“And how long did it take you to decide to ask Rogue out?” Natsu asked, setting his dice bag on the table and raising an eyebrow at Sting. “Six months? Seven?”

“Over a year,” Rogue interjected from his spot at the end of the table. “Technically we knew each other for almost three years before he said anything.”

“Look,” Sting started indignantly, but was saved from having to explain himself by the arrival of Erza. Everyone immediately sat up in their chairs, organizing their character sheets and pulling out dice as she dropped her books on the table.

“Are we ready?” she asked as she settled down in her chair. The excited look on her face made Natsu grin, and he could see the feeling was mutual when he looked around the table. “Everyone remember what happened last time?”

“We freed the prisoners,” Gray said, tapping his pencil against the sheets of paper where he kept his notes. “But the summoning spell went off anyway, and we were—”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“—too late.”

The demon’s horns breached the portal, tearing through the reddish miasma as a foul black smoke filled the air. The stench of brimstone and burned flesh followed it and Gray coughed, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing Sting’s arm and nodding toward the wall. Natsu and Rogue were back by the door, herding the last of the prisoners to the stairs. Natsu turned around and made eye contact with Gray across the roof. His expression was grim, and he was pressing his hand over his side where a reddish stain was spreading through his robes.

“We can’t let this thing get out,” Sting insisted, pulling his arm out of Gray’s grip. “If it makes it through the summoning circle, we’re fucked.” He gestured to the lines of blood that had been painted along the rooftop. The sight of that – and the pile of corpses that were lying next to the tree – made Gray’s stomach churn.

“I can’t do much else,” he said, flexing his fingers as he dug deep for his magic. The well of power that usually surged through him was barely there. “I don’t have any offensive spells left.”

Sting looked back to Rogue and Natsu, then hefted his greatsword and turned back to the monster. “We have to do something. I’ll keep it busy; you take care of those three. If you can take them out, it should weaken this bastard enough to kill it.” He gestured to the three cultists standing by the portal before saying a quiet prayer under his breath and charging toward the demon.

Gray couldn’t help but stare in awe as he watched Sting’s charge. Brilliant white light burst from his blade as he swung it at the beast, gouging through its tough hide and causing it to howl in pain. The magic made Sting look holy and ethereal. Rogue appeared next to him – the dark to Sting’s light – keeping the creature distracted while Sting swung at it again.

“Hey.” Gray turned to see Natsu standing beside him, still holding his side and breathing heavily. “We’ve got those guys, hey?”

“You’re bleeding,” Gray said, reaching out to grab Natsu’s wrists. Natsu shook his head and pushed Gray’s hand away.

“I’ll be fine. We don’t have much time.” He nodded at the group of cultists, who were starting to move toward them. “I’ve only got a fireball left,” he admitted. “That won’t take all of them out. You?”

Gray shook his head. “I can portal us out of here and that’s about it.” He looked down at the bag on his hip, quickly trying to think of anything that could get them out of this mess. The only thing he could find was the dagger at his hip, and he didn’t have much faith that it would get him very far.

“Wait a minute,” Natsu said. “I have an idea.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“What would happen,” Natsu asked slowly, staring at his spell list, “if we cast a fireball inside a cube of force?”

Erza raised her eyebrow at him from behind her screen but didn’t answer.

“I hate that look,” Sting said. “It either means this is gonna be great, or we’re absolutely fucked.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Natsu insisted.  

Rogue scoffed as he took a sip of his iced coffee. “If it’s anything like your last plan, we’re gonna TPK right here.”

“We’re not all gonna die,” Natsu insisted. He pointed to an item in his character’s inventory – the Cube of Force. Gray wasn’t sure where he’d picked it up, but he’d only seen it a few times before. Pressing a button on one side of the magic cube summoned an impenetrable forcefield around the user, keeping them safe from all magic spells coming from outside. Or, Gray supposed, trapping them with a spell inside.

“It’s fifteen feet on each side,” Natsu said. “We just gotta trap all three of them in there and toss a fireball inside before they activate it.”

“Why would they do that?” Sting countered. “You’re just gonna throw the cube to them and say ‘hey, press this magic button, it’ll be fine?’”

Natsu hummed, then looked up at Gray. “Do you have the ‘suggestion’ spell?” he asked. “You could try to compel them to do it.”

Gray nodded. “That won’t work if we try to get them to hurt themselves, though.”

“They don’t know it would hurt them. You’d just be suggesting that they push the button on this very fancy cube that’s being thrown at them. It could be a jack-in-the-box for all they know.”

“We’d have to be within thirty feet for that,” Gray said. “If it doesn’t work, we’re kinda fucked.”

“We’re fucked anyway if we do nothing,” Natsu countered. “Do you—”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“—trust me?” Natsu’s expression was sincere as he gazed into Gray’s eyes.

Gray nodded slowly, digging into his reagent pouch and pulling out the necessary ingredients for the spell. He crushed them in his right hand, taking a quick peek at Rogue and Sting over Natsu’s shoulder. Sting looked exhausted and battered, wiping blood out of his eyes that dripped from a deep cut on his forehead. Baphomet’s hide was stained red and covered in deep gouges, and the demon roared as Gray watched Rogue clamber up onto its back and stab both daggers into its neck.

“Ready?” Natsu’s voice pulled Gray’s attention back, and he looked down to see Natsu holding out a bloodstained hand. Gray took it, squeezing it tightly before turning back toward the cultists.

“Ready,” he said quietly.

“Catch!” Natsu shouted, tossing the cube at the cultists as they charged forward. The leader stumbled to a halt as he caught it out of instinct, staring down at the strange object with his brow furrowed.

“Suadeant,” Gray whispered under his breath as he took a step closer, still gripping Natsu’s hand tightly. Sweat dripped down his forehead and the back of his neck, and his heart pounded as he stared down the cultists. “Praecepta mea.”

The cultist looked up at him, eyes wide, and Gray’s chest flared with hope for a second. Then the man’s lip curled up in a wicked grin, and he shook his head.

“You think you can fool me with your cheap tricks?” the man shouted, tossing the cube to the ground with a snort of disdain. “I am Ezrael, he who summoned the Prince of Beasts, the Horned King. I will not be deceived by the likes of you.”

“Fuck.” Natsu’s palm trembled against Gray’s. “Shit, fucking, fuck.”

“I can get us out of here,” Gray said, taking a step back and holding out a trembling hand. The air sparked and glimmered as a dimensional portal began to form. “We can’t do anything else – just fireball them and hope for the best.”

“It’s not gonna be enough,” Natsu said, tugging at Gray’s grip on his hand and looking across the battlefield. Rogue was on his back in the dirt now, still conscious but breathing heavily, with his arm at an unnatural angle. Sting stood against the door that the prisoners had escaped through, sword shaking in his hands as he fought against pain and exhaustion. “Sting’s gonna die unless we kill them.”

Gray looked on helplessly as Baphomet took a step toward Sting and hefted its enormous glaive in one hand, then brought it down in a powerful arc. Sting parried the blow, dropping to one knee as he fought against the might of the enormous beast. Baphomet knocked the sword from Sting’s hands, sending it clattering across the roof as it wrapped its claws around Sting’s neck and lifted him into the air.

“I’m sorry.” Natsu squeezed Gray’s hand and let go, giving him a regretful look.

“For…” Gray trailed off, one hand still casting the dimensional portal, the other trying to take Natsu’s again. Natsu shook his head, then surprised Gray by leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“For this,” Natsu said softly as he pulled back and gave Gray a sad look. Then he shoved Gray as hard as he could, knocking him back through the portal.

o.o.o.o.o.o

“What the hell?” Gray stared at Natsu, who was looking at his dice with an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face. “Can I make a Strength check to counter that?”

Erza nodded and Gray rolled, cursing when his dice landed on an 11 and Natsu rolled an 18.

“What are you doing?” he asked Natsu. Sting and Rogue were also staring at him with twin looks of surprise.

“Saving you,” Natsu said. He kicked gently at Gray’s ankle under the table. “The plan didn’t work, so either we all die, or one of us does.” He looked up at Sting. “If I take the cultists out you can kill it, right?”

“I do only have… sixteen hit points left,” Sting admitted. “If I can get one good hit in, I might be able to banish it. I have to do fifty points of damage in a turn, but if it drops me and I can get my sword…”

“Well,” Natsu said, pulling out a pile of six-sided dice to roll the fireball’s damage. “Hopefully this works.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“Natsu!” Gray’s shout was cut off, and he had no time to react as the magic ported him away, carrying him safely across the rooftop until he was crouched next to Rogue. He watched with horror as Natsu turned and ran toward the cultists. “Natsu, no!”

Natsu ignored him, dodging the first cultist and dropping to his knees to pick up the cube. He turned and gave Gray one more soft smile before pressing the button.

“No,” Gray whispered. The walls of force sprang into life, trapping Natsu in the cube with the cultists. All three of them were still for a moment, staring at Natsu in disbelief, and then the bright light in his hand expanded into an enormous ball of flame.

The explosion was eerily silent, muffled by the magical forcefield. It filled the cube in brilliant shades of orange and red, engulfing everyone inside in Natsu’s raw power. An enormous wave of magic exploded across the rooftop, washing over Gray and Rogue on its way to Baphomet.

“No,” Gray whispered again as the cube began to dissipate. The flames slowly died out, leaving behind three charred corpses and a pile of smoldering robes.

“Sting!” Rogue’s panicked shout snapped Gray out of his haze of grief, and he turned to see Baphomet stumble forward and release its grip on Sting’s throat. Sting fell to the ground on all fours, gasping and choking for air. His sword lay on the ground, just out of reach.

Gray stumbled to his feet, keeping an eye on Baphomet, who was still dazed from the death of its summoners. He darted toward Sting, grabbing the hilt of the sword and dragging it across the ground.

“Get up,” he said, grabbing Sting’s shoulder and pushing him to his knees. Sting coughed, then sucked in several deep breaths before nodding and reaching out for his blade.

“I’ve got this,” he said, voice hoarse. “Get behind me.”  

Gray nodded, still dazed, and scrambled back against the door as Sting hefted the sword in both hands and murmured a few quiet words. The length of the blade burst into brilliant white flames that flickered as Sting took a deep breath and charged.

Gray watched with a deep sense of relief as the blade sunk directly into Baphomet’s chest. The demon howled in pain, swinging wildly at Sting, who dodged the blows and drove the blade deeper.

“Protero!” Sting shouted as another wave of holy magic radiated from him, spiraling out from the sword and creeping across Baphomet’s skin. It quickly engulfed the demon, growing brighter and brighter until—

o.o.o.o.o.o

“The holy magic and your deadly blow are enough to rip through the magic holding Baphomet to this plane.” Erza looked around the table, giving each of them a significant look. “As the tether that binds the demon dissolves and it disappears, a heavy silence settles across the rooftop. The shouts and screams of battle are gone, and all you can hear is the wind blowing through the branches of the horrible, flesh-like tree.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sting swore, dropping his head into his hands and exhaling. “That was intense. I was sure we were all gonna d—” He caught himself, looking over at Natsu, who was staring at his dice with an uncomfortable expression on his face. The spot on his character sheet to track his health read ‘Hit Points – 0/93.”

“You’re not dead yet,” Rogue said quickly. “Sting can—”

Sting shook his head. “I’m out of healing spells,” he said regretfully. “I used my last slot on that banishment. And we’re all out of healing potions.”

“Yeah, and this is my last death saving throw,” Natsu said. He glared at his dice. “I failed the first two, so if this one fucks up…” He looked up at Gray. “I’m dead for good.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

Gray groaned, pushing himself to his feet and trying not to focus on the aches that crept across his body. He still felt dizzy but managed to lock his gaze on the motionless pile of robes on the other side of the rooftop.

“You’re bleeding.” Sting’s voice was muffled, and Gray blinked at him, still trying to clear his head. “You should sit down.” When Sting’s hand landed on Gray’s shoulder, he pushed it off, shaking his head and taking another uncertain step forward.

“I gotta…” He trailed off, looking back over at Natsu’s body. “I…”

Sting’s expression twisted into guilt as he followed Gray’s gaze. “Shit,” he whispered. He looked down at Rogue, who had managed to shuffle himself against the wall of the building. Rogue nodded, gesturing for them to go to Natsu. “C’mon,” Sting said, grabbing Gray’s arm and wrapping it around his shoulders.

Each step across the rooftop ached. When they finally reached the charred circle where the fireball had gone off, Gray dropped to his knees. Sting helped him to roll Natsu onto his back and Gray brushed pieces of singed hair out of his face. His forehead and cheek were badly burned, and his arms were blistered, and Gray stared helplessly at his chest, willing it to move.

“You idiot,” Gray managed through the tears that were starting to form. His throat was thick with smoke and emotion. “You stupid fucking… we could have figured out something else.” He ran his fingers down Natsu’s arm and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

“He saved us,” Sting said gently. He was crying too, tears making tracks through the dirt and blood on his face. His hands trembled as he pressed them to Natsu’s chest, but his magic only flickered dimly. “I can’t heal him. I’m sorry.”

 o.o.o.o.o.o

 “Here goes nothing.” Natsu picked up his twenty-sided die – bright red, flecked with gold – and shifted it between his fingers a few times before tossing it into the center of the table.

The room was eerily silent as the dice rolled. Gray’s chest was tight with the emotions of the roleplay – despite it not being real, the thought of Natsu sacrificing himself for everyone made him desperately sad.

“C’monnnn,” Natsu whispered under his breath. The dice spun once more, then landed next to Gray’s coffee cup – on a 20.

 o.o.o.o.o.o

 “It’s not your fault,” Gray reassured Sting, who slumped down onto his knees as well. “It was his cho—”

Natsu’s hand twitched in his.

Gray looked down, eyes widening as Natsu’s fingers trembled, then weakly wrapped around his own. Natsu’s chest rose with a shallow, shuddering breath, and relief and joy flooded through Gray as his eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Did…” Natsu’s voice was raspy as his gaze tracked from Sting to Gray. “Did it… work?”

“Yes,” Gray squeezed his hand tightly. “Yes, you stupid fucking idiot. Don’t you dare ever do anything like that again, you absolute moron.” The angry words were tempered by a wet laugh of relief. Gray ran a thin layer of ice across the burns on Natsu’s face and arms and he sighed in relief. “Can you move? We should get out of here.”

“Ugh.” Natsu took another shallow breath and tried to push himself up on his elbow. When he wobbled unsteadily, Gray put an arm around his shoulders and helped him up.

“I’m gonna go get Rogue,” Sting said. “I’m glad you’re alive. Thank you.” He squeezed Natsu’s shoulder, giving him a grateful look before heading back over to the other side of the roof.

Gray pulled Natsu as close as possible, being careful to avoid his wounds. “You’re an idiot,” he said again. “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was too,” Natsu admitted. He sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Gray’s shoulder. “I’m glad I’m not, though.”

“Me too,” Gray whispered before nudging Natsu’s chin up and kissing him.

Natsu made a soft, happy sound, returning the kiss and gripping Gray’s robes as tightly as he could. “Gray—”

“Shut up.” Gray shook his head and kissed Natsu again. “You’re not dead and neither am I so just shut the hell up and kiss me.”

 o.o.o.o.o.o

 “Gaaaaaaaaaay,” Sting whispered, laughing as Natsu punched him in the shoulder. He was still looking at Gray with pink cheeks and the widest smile Gray had ever seen.

“You all make your way slowly down the stairs,” Erza interrupted, “supporting each other as you limp back out into the forest. The dark clouds begin to part as the sun breaks through, filling you with hope and warmth. Despite your wounds and your exhaustion, you are content, knowing that your quest was fulfilled, and you saved the world from a hellish nightmare.” She closed her notebook with a flourish. “And that’s the end of that campaign!”

“That was awesome,” Sting said. “I can’t believe we all survived.”

“Barely,” Rogue added. “Pretty sure my arm was about to fall off.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t get blown up,” Natsu said indignantly.

“I believe that was your choice,” Rogue said, laughing. “And you got a kiss out of it.”

“Worth it,” Natsu agreed.

The rest of the evening was spent laughing at each other and retelling the best parts of their adventures, and by the time everyone was ready to leave, it was almost one in the morning.

“Hey.” Natsu caught Gray’s hand as he started to head upstairs after the other three. “Do…” He hesitated, looking at the floor. “Do you wanna stay? I mean, I can drive you home if you want, of course, I just thought—”

“Yes.” Gray waited until Sting, Rogue, and Erza were up the stairs before pulling Natsu close and kissing him. He ran a hand through Natsu’s hair, brushing his messy bangs out of his face and bumping their noses together. “But this time we get to sleep in your bed instead of the couch.”

Natsu laughed, kissing Gray’s cheek and nudging him upstairs. “Deal,” he said.

Once everyone was gone, it didn’t take long to get ready for bed. Gray yawned as he shifted over, letting Natsu curl up next to him with his head resting on Gray’s shoulder. He made a soft sound as Natsu slipped a hand under his shirt, tracing gentle circles on his hip.

“I’m glad Sting invited me to play with you guys,” Gray said quietly, tipping Natsu’s chin up to kiss him again. Natsu sighed contentedly and cuddled closer as he ran his tongue along Gray’s lower lip.

“Me too,” he murmured between kisses. “And I can’t wait for the next adventure.”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Canary Mary & the Miners

A/N: Um. I don’t really... know what to... *big sigh* Listen. Here’s the thing. I’ve been having some trouble finding the time and the inspiration to write in the last few weeks. So I decided to turn to some writing prompts in hopes that one of them would spark SOMETHING even if it was just a few paragraphs to shake the rust off. So I came across one that simply said write about a character named Canary. And a few paragraphs turned into a few thousand words pertaining to Ryan Brenner and of course, a new character named Canary. (It also reignited the spark for me to jump back into the world of Passing Through, which is what I am currently working on and I am EXCITED to share what comes next for that story!) This part right here though, actually takes place well before the events in PT. Ryan is roughly 24 years old here. It’s pre- Jackie, pre- losing Cowboy...pre-learning a lot of things, young, still establishing himself as a person Ryan Brenner. (and some cousins for good measure) I truly hope you enjoy. 

Fun fact: Carbondale is home to the first commercial rail line. 

Warning: brief mention of drug use, drinking 

Word count: 4,761

The first day of any trip home for Ryan was always a busy one. From the minute he’d set foot in Aunt Holly’s kitchen to the second he finally shut his exhausted eyes in the guestroom bed upstairs, the day was always full of tight hugs, loud welcomes, curious questions and more food than any of them could eat. If the weather was right for it, he’d walk down to the beach with whichever of his cousins happened to be around. They’d kill a 6 pack of beer and fill each other in on the stories they’d rather not share with the rest of the family. Once Ryan had come home in the middle of a summer downpour, and the rain, and even more so the lightning, made the trek down to sit in the sand impossible. Instead, Ryan, Jimmy, Taylor and Fitz sat on overturned buckets and bags of mulch in Holly and Alan’s shed, laughing and teasing one another as they dodged drips from the shed’s leaky roof. After supper he’d sit out on the porch with whoever was still awake and alert and play a few songs, the tempo of them slowing as the sky filled with stars. 

The second day was always more calm, all the excitement out of the way. He’d wake up in the guestroom, the mattress slightly too short for his long legs but still far more comfortable than most places he slept while on the road, and turn to the shabby wicker bedside table. Ryan didn’t get much mail, just a few letters and postcards, but reading them was always one of the highlights of his visit. Aunt Holly would save them for him, bundling them up in short stacks tied with blue yarn. Although she would always give them to him almost immediately after he unlaced his boots, he would always tuck them away with his things upstairs, knowing that he’d have more time to read them in the morning. 

On this particular trip, when Aunt Holly had stuffed the bundle into Ryan’s right hand while his left arm curled around Taylor’s shoulders and he ducked out of the way of a spiraling Nerf football that Jimmy had just lobbed from the top of the stairs, he noted that the stack was a little thicker than normal. He smiled to himself, fingers hooking beneath the thick yarn. I sent out a few more’n normal this year too. 

As he’d gotten better as a musician, he’d found more opportunities to meet and play with and learn from other musicians in his travels. Some he never even spoke to, simply set up on the same corner and agreed on song choice without words, with just chords and nods. Others he found himself forming friendships with, realizing that they had more in common than just their musical talents. His first few years on the rails had been spent mostly with Cowboy, Virginia and eventually Georgie. But more recently he found himself traveling solo, wanting to stay longer in some cities, wanting to skip town faster in others. He found himself wanting to stretch his limits and learn more about who he was, not just as a traveller or an artist, but as a person. And he realized that one of the best ways to learn about himself was to interact with as many people as he could as see what he felt, how he responded, who he was drawn to and why. 

What he’d learned leading up to this visit home was that he was someone who craved genuine connection, and sought out others who wanted the same. For every one meaningful connection he made, there were at least twenty interactions with people whom he could tell had forgotten his name before they’d even made it three steps, even after they’d just spent a few minutes chatting, dropping a few singles into his case and telling him that he sounded great. Some people, he knew, just wanted to be liked. They craved acceptance from everyone they met. Ryan learned that he was not one of those people, and he liked that about himself. Only one that’s gotta be okay with me is me. 

But when he found those rare individuals who looked for the seams in things and pulled them apart to peek at what was inside, he held onto them because he knew that those were the people who had the best chance of understanding him and helping him understand himself. Thus began the growth of the non-biological branch of his family tree. Robin and Oz and the rest of the crew he spent his first West Coast summer with, Georgie, Cowboy and Virginia had been the base of that branch, but other chutes were beginning to form now too, resulting in thicker stacks of mail and more reasons to purchase stamps. 

Waking up in the too small bed, he stretched his neck to the right until a small pop released some tension there. A satisfied sigh, the kind that only came from getting a good night’s sleep, slipped from his lungs as he sat up blinking in the dusty morning light. Rising with the sun was a hard habit to break, even when he was staying somewhere that he didn’t need to vacate immediately like he was now, but Ryan didn’t mind. He enjoyed having that time to himself while the rest of the world was still quiet. 

Dragging a hand through his sleep disheveled hair, he glanced over at the bundle of letters and postcards, and once his fingertips had finished fixing the errant strands, they reached out to brush over the frayed ends of the yarn that was cross wrapped around his mail. Blue this time. He smiled to himself wondering if he’d be leaving with a scarf or a hat at the end of the week. It wouldn’t be cold enough for a scarf  for another month or two, but he knew that it was important to Aunt Holly that she send him off with something to keep him warm. It was important to him, too, he’d learned, her scarves warming more than his neck on several solo winter nights. Clearing his gravelly throat, he pulled the covers back and set his feet down on the floor. 

Rifling through his pack, Ryan pulled out his last clean pair of jeans and a dark green long sleeved thermal, a freshly sewn patch on the left elbow courtesy of Virginia. Before making his way down to Georgia he’d spent two weeks with her and Cowboy as they made their way through the Midwest, parting ways outside of Chicago. There were certain things that Ryan always had on his person- twine, sunscreen, his notebook- and with Ginny it was a travel sewing kit. He twisted his arm to look at the patch, a dark brown oval cut from an old corduroy button down that had lost more buttons than it retained, and smiled. He ran his fingers over the stitches that held the patch in place. She’s gettin’ better at this. The nail of his pointer finger snagged on a crooked stitch and he chuckled. Cowboy prob’ly gives her plenty to practice on.

He finished getting dressed and grabbed his hat, bending and folding the brim with one hand before stuffing it into his back pocket. Aunt Holly had a strict no hats in the house rule, and even though he knew she was still asleep, Ryan wouldn’t think of breaking it. She’d knock it clean off my head ‘f she caught me. It wasn’t a guess, he knew from experience. How to pick his battles was another thing he’d been learning lately, and waiting a few extra seconds until he was outside before putting his hat on wasn’t worth causing trouble. 

Picking up the bundle of letters from the side table, Ryan left the spare room, closing the door behind him. The hallway on the second floor was narrow and dark; there were no windows because the hall wrapped around the stairwell, and there were rooms on all four sides. But Ryan had spent enough time in that house to know where to turn without having to see, and in just a few familiar steps he was descending the staircase, socked feet moving quickly and quietly over the creaky steps. He made a quick stop in the kitchen, setting up the coffee pot to brew, waiting until he could hear it hissing and clicking as the heat plate warmed up before turning towards the front door. This thing’s older’n I am. Just like shrimp and grits and peach cobbler for supper on the first night of his visits were staples, Ryan would always show his appreciation by making sure that everyone woke to a full pot of dark roast on the second day. 

He didn’t wait for the coffee to brew though. Instead he found his boots in the pile of shoes by the door, digging one out from under a red canvas sneaker that seemed to be missing its mate. Whose is this? Taylor’s? He picked it up by the lace and flung it deeper into the pile. What’d she do with the other one? Sticking the stack of letters under his arm, he tied his laces loosely, shaking his head at the image of Taylor walking home with only one shoe the night before. I bet Jimmy was messin’ with her. Though none of them were as rowdy as they used to be, all of the Brenner cousins had held onto their propensity for mischief when they gathered in groups of two or more. Some things never change. 

Other things did, though. He took the stack back out from under his arm as he straightened up, eyeing it and guessing that it was thicker than the last one by at least five pieces. Passing the pencil marked molding that measured the heights of he and his cousins at various ages, he opened the door and headed out into the bright morning to read his letters. He settled into the angled Adirondack chair, the wood worn smooth after decades of use and abuse, and untied the knotted bow, smiling at the little pop as the yarn let go of the knot. 

Dropping the yarn into his lap he sifted through the pile until he found Robin’s loopy lettering, always in brightly colored ink. He plucked out two letters addressed to him in red and purple respectively, as well as a postcard from Culver City that was so smudged that all he could read was the last line- Oz and I miss you, Brenner. No matter what else she wrote in her letters, whether she was writing to tell him that things had gotten dark for Oz again, or that things were going well for them, she always ended them with that and he could hear her unwritten next line: Get your ass back out here! He was happy to see, after reading as much as he could of the smudged postcard and both letters, that things seemed to be on an upswing for Oz. One of the letters even mentioned that he’d been clean and sober for a year and Ryan beamed. I gotta get out there soon. Maybe this spring, after Montana.  

There was a birthday card from Nikki, the girl he’d gotten his first tattoos from. Happy Birthday, handsome!! Was all it said, with a line of little x’s, her name signed below them, more x’s dotting the two I’s. Ryan felt his lips twitch under his beard as a slight flush climbed over it, and he recalled all the teasing he endured from Georgie when it became clear to the rest of the group that there was something between Ryan and Nikki. Been a while since she saw me. He ran one hand over his scruffy facial hair before lowering it to look at the roughly inked black lines and dots that marked the spaces between his knuckles. Inhaling a slow breath through his nose he could almost smell the woman’s strawberry shampoo as she leaned close, holding his hand in one of hers and her tattoo gun in the other, her chunky silver rings cool against his skin. Wonder what she’d think now. Nothing had ever really happened between the two of them. Nothin’ more than kissin’. 

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he sighed. She was somethin’ else though. Wonder ‘f she’d… He tapped the card twice against the knuckles of his opposite hand before shuffling it back to the bottom of the pile. Nikki’s not really...neither of us wants to stop movin’ around and… He shook his head. Nikki was a great kisser, that he was sure of. She was vivacious and spontaneous and lived her life in bright colors and never failed to make Ryan laugh when they spoke on the phone. But even through all the physical attraction Ryan knew that there would never be anything serious between them. She’s a good friend… just not a good fit for me. He snorted to himself as the sun rose above the treeline. ‘Nd I’m not a good fit for her. He wasn’t looking for a relationship anymore like he might have been last time he went out West to see Nikki and Louie and the rest of them. But if a relationship found him along the way he knew it would have to be right for it to stick. ‘Nd if it ain’t gonna stick there’s no point.     

There were postcards from Cowboy that said very little, if anything at all other than a quickly scrawled You’d like it here, Brenner, or Good spot for buskin’. It was like a breadcrumb trail of suggestions for when Ryan didn’t know where to go next and wasn’t ready to repeat or circle back up with anyone else. The two of them- three, counting Ginny- had spent enough time together to know what small town charms and quirks would peek the other’s interests, or what tiny details in big cities the other looked for. Le Claire, Iowa. Laramie, Wyoming. Las Vegas, Nevada. Point Pleasant, New Jersey. The images on Cowboy’s postcards were always faded, and Ryan knew it was because the man would always hastily pull the first card he touched from a display in the window of a gas station or convenience store. No one sends postcards anymore so they sit in the sun. A faded river boat. A washed out field of cattle. The strip, sanded down by sun and time spent in a gift store. A ferris wheel, maybe. Doesn’t matter what’s on the front. He made a point to set the cards from Cowboy aside so that he could jot down the cities in the back of his notebook, where he kept a running list, crossing them off after he’d taken his friend’s advice to visit them.

By the time Ryan was down to the last postcard the sun had breached the tree line, brightening the sky and waking up the birds. The quiet morning filled with the chirps of sparrows and warblers, each trying to outdo the other in the complexity of their songs. Somewhere in the trees behind the house a mockingbird stole pieces of each, taking credit for the others’ creativity in order to fit in, and from the gargantuan oak in the front corner of the yard a small cluster of nuthatches erupted squawking from the middle branches. But Ryan hardly noticed the wildlife around him because his mind was on a very different bird, one certainly not native to Georgia. He read the front of the postcard in his hand, vintage linen print in bright colors spelling out Greetings from Carbondale Pennsylvania, a small white mountain laurel blooming beside the state’s Capitol building, and he knew who the card was from before even turning it over. Canary Mary. 

His eyes widened with excitement as he flipped it around, and though he’d never seen her handwriting before, it matched his expectation of her penmanship perfectly. Her letters all stood at a hard slant and the bottoms of her y’s, g’s and j’s curved back around to underline the words they occupied. Ryan always picked up on the ways that a person’s handwriting reflected parts of their personality, and Mary’s rebellious spirit and intensity were visible in the way she pressed her pen to the cardstock. As he read he could even picture her leaning casually in the corner booth at Lyle’s, layers of shawls and sweaters and long necklaces draped around her as she wrote. 

Ryan- 

First off I hope the rails have been good to you. Hope you and Georgie Porgie are lookin’ out for each other, and I hope y’all had a good summer. I hope you got after some of the things you were lookin’ for when you left here- but only some, ‘cause you always gotta have more to go after, remember that. There’s always more. 

Second, just wanted to see if you’n Georgie were interested in swingin’ up this way come October. There’s this music festival ‘round Halloween called Blues’n Boos - don’t hold the name against me, I didn’t make it up!- and I’m thinkin’ of tryin’ to be part of it, but only if you two come and back me up with your strings. I can sing, you know that, but I ain’t never sounded better’n when you boys stumbled into Lyle’s, and those couple’a duets you sang with me? That crowd won’t be ready for Canary Mary & the Miners I’ll tell you that! So I’m crossin’ my fingers you’ll say yes. You got my number, honey. 

-Canary 

Ryan hadn’t felt the smile creeping up his cheeks as he read, but when he finished he realized he was wearing it all the same. Canary Mary & the Miners, huh? He shook his head and laughed under his breath as he turned the card back over. He traced the block letter P with one finger, thinking back to last fall and the week or so he and Georgie had spent in the small coal town of Carbondale. They’d hopped off in hopes of finding somewhere to busk, but the weather had other plans, a heavy, chilly rain soaking them to the bone within minutes and making playing outdoors impossible. Heading towards the first establishment they saw that they didn’t think they’d be turned away from- a dive bar called Lyle’s, the chipped paint on the lit sign above the door beckoning them like a beacon- they carried all of their things inside and were immediately met with the sound of piano keys and Mary’s sultry, smoky voice. Knew we were in the right place then. 

Where ya goin’ baby? And how you gonna get there when I’m gone? 

Tell me where ya goin’ baby? And how you plannin’ to get along? 

I’m not tryin to doubt ya no, no… just thought I’d ask ya for fun. 

Rain water dripped from the ends of his hair beneath his hat, running down the side of his nose as he stared at the woman on stage, completely captivated by her performance. Damn. His mouth dropped open and he let out a breath, turning to his friend. “You hearin’ this Georgie?” 

Despite the fact that the woman was clearly ten or maybe even fifteen years older than they were, Georgie’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he answered. “Oh yeah, Ry, I’m hearin’ this alright.” Ryan smacked him on the arm with the back of his hand and laughed knowing that even though Georgie was a sucker for a pretty face that could sing, it was more about the voice than the face, and he respected this woman’s talent. 

They had ended up settling in at the end of the bar nearest the small stage, the bartender allowing them to stash their bags behind the bar while they had a few drinks and waited out the rain. They’d listened to three more of the woman’s songs, but it was those first few lyrics that he’d heard that had stuck with Ryan, and not just the words themselves, but the feeling she had put into them when she sang them. 

Where ya goin’ and how you gonna get there? 

It was supposed to be a song about independence and Ryan felt that in the confident yet carefree way she sang, seeming to play with the listeners’ ear as well as their heart and their ego. But he also realized that he didn’t know the answer. Where am I going? If someone asked me… what would I say? He sat there, brow all wrinkled as he contemplated the bubbles in the foam of his beer. Georgie had gone off to the restroom leaving Ryan by himself, but his stool didn’t stay empty for long. 

“That beer got the answers you’re lookin’ for there honey?” Wha-

Ryan looked up in time to see the woman slide into Georgie’s seat, one shoulder shrugging to try to keep her sleeve from falling down it, the other arm waving at the bartender and motioning for a glass of water. She lowered her arm then and turned to face Ryan head on, her wide eyes rimmed with dark liner and fringed with long black lashes. A stud dotting the side of her nose and a small scar cut through her top lip but did nothing to dull her smile. She was beautiful, but not in the most conventional sense. Her beauty came from the way she moved and how she carried herself, how sure she was when she sang and spoke and smiled. I’ve never seen anyone like her… she’s… It wasn’t attraction but awe, Ryan looking at this woman like a moth might look at the light- slightly stunned and not sure if it would burn him or show him the way.

The bartender had appeared with a water, reaching over the bar to hand it to her. She took it, winking at the man and thanking him before drinking a big gulp and wiping a hand across her mouth. Several bracelets and bangles knocked about on her wrist as it fell to her lap, her attention turning back to Ryan. “I take it that’s a no then?” 

“A...no?” Ryan shook his head trying to clear it enough to focus on the moment and the woman who was speaking to him. “Sorry?” 

“Mmm,” she hummed around the glass as she took another sip, her eyes brightening above the rim. “Don’t be.” Ryan blinked and felt himself relax, the furrows in his forehead smoothing back out at her casual manner. “I just meant...guess you’re not findin’ what you’re lookin’ for in that drink. But then again, who really does, huh?” She set her glass down and extended a hand to him. “I’m Mary. ‘Round here I go by Canary Mary.” She gave a playful roll of her eyes, tossing a wave around the place. That makes sense. Voice like that in a town like this. She laughed. “‘Cause if I ain’t singin’, you know somethin’ ain’t right. Ain’t that right, Lyle?” She called the last part out to the kind, balding man who had allowed Ryan and Georgie to tuck their stuffed packs safely away. 

“That’s right darlin’. You’re our songbird alright.” The man called back as he poured two beers from the taps. 

Mary laughed again, eyes returning to Ryan’s as his fingers wrapped around her hand. “And who are you, honey?” 

“‘M Ryan,” he answered, giving her hand a small shake as she squeezed his in return. “You sound...you’re really good up there.” He nodded towards the stage with his chin as she released her grip on his hand. 

“You think so, huh?” She cocked one eyebrow and Ryan tilted his head. Yes. How could you- “Well I s’pose you’d know.” What? She smiled and pointed to the case that was standing up between Ryan’s legs. “Saw you come in with that baby on your back, so I know you know what you’re talkin’ about.” 

Ryan shrugged and looked down at the thick lacquer on the bartop. “Oh I dunno, I just-” 

“Hey that friend a yours you came in with, he play too?” She asked before he could downplay his talent or ability and Ryan nodded. He does. “How’s about you boys come up and play with me? You can be my band for the night.” She lifted one hand up, panning it in front of her as though reading the marquee on a theater. “Canary Mary & the Miners.” She laughed, the sound heavy and sweet like molasses. “C’mon I think it’ll be fun, what’dya say?”

Georgie had come back right at that moment, agreeing for both of them, and he and Ryan had spent the rest of the night crammed up on the small platform, playing a few songs with the woman who was part songbird, part sultry lounge singer and all heart. She’d leaned in to whisper into Ryan’s ear, urging him to join her on a song or two. At first he’d been hesitant because the only female singers he’d ever done duets with were Robin and Virginia, and he knew both of them well enough to know what they were feeling when they sand, how to match them. But Mary had put that hesitation to sleep with her next words. 

“Trust me, honey, what you were lookin’ for in that beer? You got a better chance of findin’ it in a song. So you wanna sing with me?” 

He had, and it had somehow felt...easy. As the night wore on and the number of patrons dwindled, Mary, Ryan and Georgie found themselves closing down Lyle’s, the three of them sitting in the only three stools that hadn’t been overturned and lifted up onto the bar. Lyle swept the floor, music playing softly from an old but still functioning radio, allowing them to finish their last round as he cleaned up. They’d gotten to talking, Mary sharing a little about herself and how she left home to pursue a life of music and whatever came with it, and Ryan had asked her if she ever worried that she’d made the wrong choice, or that she’d ended up in the wrong place. Is that… am I worried about that? I didn’t think I was but… 

“Only thing I ever ask myself, Ryan, is if I’m good with who I am in the moment. Only person that’s gotta be good with you is you, honey. If I’m good with where I am and where I’m goin? Then I know I didn’t make the wrong choice.” 

Where am I going, and how am I gonna get there? He tapped the card against his knuckle again, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He could smell the nutty aroma of the coffee he’d made, could hear the sound of his family waking up and shuffling towards the kitchen for a cup. Smiling as he let the breath back out in a sigh, he plucked the yarn from his lap and re-wrapped the bundle of cards and letters. I’m good with who I am… lot of it thanks to her. Canary Mary had taught Ryan more than he thought she knew at first, but as time went on and he thought back on the interaction, he wondered if maybe she knew all along that he needed some guidance, needed to be shown the way or at least pointed towards the light.  Either way, he knew his answer. 

It’s too early to call Georgie. Ryan squinted at the sun as he rose from the chair and stretched, his shirt lifting up to expose a thin strip of his belly, the morning air a cool shock on his skin. 

“Ry’n, you want milk’n your coffee’r no?” Huh. Guess Taylor didn’t go home last night. Must’ve slept in the living room. Her accent was always thickest in the morning when she wasn’t quite awake, like it was now as she called out the screen door. 

He turned away from the sun and back towards the house, tucking the bundle of cards under his arm and whipping the hat off his head. “Yeah, just a drop though. ‘M comin’ in now I can…” 

It was too early to call Georgie now, but Ryan knew that as soon as it was late enough to guarantee the other man would answer, he’d be calling his friend to make travel plans for Carbondale in October.

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💜Sleeping Naked💜 Levi x Reader

💜Sleeping Naked💜

“Levi, Y/N needs to be present for this meeting. Go and wake her, please.” Erwin pulls his gaze away from the report he was reading to look at the man in front of him.

Shooting a glower at the blonde man, Levi grumbles. “Yeah, I’ll go wake her up.” Turning on his heel, he walks out of the Commander’s office and makes his way towards the Squad Leader’s room. Knocking on the door sharply, he waits several moments but hears no movement from inside. The minutes tick by, repeated knocks bringing no response. Loosing patience, he digs a set of keys out of his pocket and finds the key to Y/N’s office. Letting himself into the space, he notes that it’s remarkably tidy, like the woman herself, her desk organized with few report left to finish. Walking through to the door on the right, he opens it slowly to reveal her bedroom.

Y/N is in a deep sleep. Her hair fanned out behind her on the pillow. The sheets tucked up under her chin. Her face soft and relaxed, her breathing slow and peaceful. She looks beautiful to him, free from titans or worry in sleep, making her look almost ethereal. Levi observes her for a time before remembering there is a meeting they are supposed to be at. Growling in annoyance at being distracted by Y/N sleeping and the early hour, he walks up to her bed and yanks the covers completely off of her.

“Get up, idiot! There’s a meeting.....” He stops, suddenly flustered.

Y/N shoots up in the bed, yelling. Eyes darting around the room, she spots the Captain, standing by her bed, holding her sheets, his expression bewildered.

“What the fuck, Levi! What the hell are you doing in here?” Y/N’s heartbeat begins to return to normal as she realizes there is no danger. “Levi? Hello???”

The short man turns a brilliant shade of red and adverts his eyes. ‘Holy shit! She’s naked! I just saw EVERYTHING.......’ Her form was now burned into his brain. Toned arms, slender shoulders, full breasts, a flat stomach leading to rounded hips and smooth muscular thighs and trim calves. ‘She has large areoles with small nipples, and she obviously shaves her....’ he cut off his thoughts, groaning to himself.

Spinning around, he growls “Get dressed idiot. Erwin needs us for a meeting right now.” Walking out of her room, the door to her office slams shut as he exits.

Confused, Y/N looks around to see what could have upset the Captain so badly. Looking down, she realizes. “Oh.....”

After quickly washing and dressing, Y/N makes her way to the Commander’s office, slipping in quietly. The other squad leaders were seated around the table, leaving the only available seat right next to the one person she didn’t want to face right now, Captain Levi. Settling beside him, she apologizes to Erwin for holding the meeting up. Giving her a warm smile, he waves off her tardiness and asks pardon for having her woken up so early on a rare day off. Beside her, Levi snorts, rolling his eyes at the exchange. The Commander frowns at the rudeness and begins the strategy meeting, laying out his plans for the upcoming expedition.

While trying to listen to the formation plan, Y/N’s attention is continuously drawn to the dark haired male beside her. He is shifting uncomfortably in his seat, an unusual deviation from his normal attentive behavior. Watching him from the corner of her eye, she catches his gaze darting over to her on several occasions. About the fifth time she sees him looking at her, she turns her head and meets his stare, curious. He jerks his head back to where the commander is pouring over the maps, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. Grinning slightly, Y/N turns her attention back to the meeting.

Afterwards, Hange walks with Y/N back towards the offices, chattering about the latest results of the experiments on her titans, Sonny and Bean. She murmurs and hums acknowledgments as Hange drolls on, her mind on this morning and Levi’s behavior at the meeting. Was he embarrassed? If so why? It was no secret that he routinely knocked Hange out and bathed her when she neglected personal hygiene for too long. It’s not like he has never seen a woman naked before.

Interrupting your thoughts, Hange turns to her as she reach her office door and asks, “Do you know what was wrong with Shorty this morning?”

Shaking her head, Y/N replies. “I don’t know.”

“Huh, he was acting weird after he came back from waking you up.....Oh well, back to work! Bye Y/N!” Hange grins as she enters her office, bellowing for Moblit.

Shaking her head, Y/N makes her way to her office and gets to work on the reports she had left from the night before. Picking up her pen, she begins to write her assessments of her squads latest training results, notating weaknesses that needs to be addressed before the expedition. Engrossed in her writing, she fails to notice her door open and a figure approach her. A tray of food with a cup of tea slides in front of her, startling her. Looking up, she finds Levi frowning down at her.

“You didn’t show up for breakfast after the meeting.” He explains, gesturing to the tray.

“Hmmm, thank you.” She picks up the tea and takes a sip as Levi settles himself in the chair on the opposite side of her desk. He scrutinizes her calmly, waiting for her to start the conversation. Smirking internally, she purposely turns her attention back to the papers in front of her, ignoring the grumpy Captain. Long minutes pass as she continues to work, occasionally checking her notebook for specifics to add to her report. She hears a grunt come from Levi, obviously trying to catch her attention. She pays no mind as she finishes the paper and files it neatly in the piles of papers to be delivered to the Commander for review. Taking another sip of the black tea, she picks up another file and starts reading, perusing slowly as she plays Levi’s game.

Breaking the silence, Levi grumbles “Your food is getting cold, idiot. Eat.”

Picking up a piece of toast, she takes a bite and puts it back on the tray, looking back at the words in front of her. She bites her lip to keep from grinning, a look of concentration painted on her face while she waits for Levi to finally say what he came to say. It only took another minute of silence for him to snap.

Slapping the papers out of her hand, Levi is by her chair in a flash, causing her to blink in shock. “Damnit, look at me.” He growls, looming over her, his face fierce. Painting a neutral mask on her face, she looks up at him, tilting her head in mock confusion.

“What’s wrong, Levi? You seem upset.”

Pushing a hand through his raven hair, he turns and paces in front of her, his agitation clear in his movements. It’s a long moment before he speaks. “How the hell can you do that?” He spits out finally.

“Do what?”

“Sleep like that, woman!” He hisses as he glares at her.

“Ummmm....it’s comfortable??” Her reply seems to anger him even more.

He marches over to her and hauls her to her feet. “Anyone could have walk in and seen you or worse, dumbass!” He shouts, furious she is not taking this seriously.

“Levi, you UNLOCKED my door. How many people have keys, hmmm? You, me and the Commander. You were the one who decided to pull the covers off of me and embarrass yourself. Why are you so mad?” She questions.

He freezes, what she’s saying is true. Her door was locked. He had forgotten that bit in his surprise on finding her naked in bed. Sighing, he drops his hands and looks away from her, realizing he has just made an ass of himself. He opens his mouth, but is at a loss for words. Turning away, he starts to walk to the door, but Y/N pulls on his arm, stopping him.

“Are you embarrassed because you liked seeing me?” She asks. Turning back to her, he tries to give her a glare but fails. “Haha, you don’t look scary right now, you look constipated. I’m right, aren’t I?” She teases, flashing a grin at him. “You’re pissed because you saw me naked and now you want to....MMMPPPHHH.” She was cut off as he presses his lips to her, molding his mouth over hers.

Closing her eyes, she leans into the kiss. At her acceptance of it, he cautiously slips his arms around her, pulling her closer to him as he deepens the kiss. Opening her mouth to allow him access, she tastes the tea and mint off his tongue. Breaking the kiss, Levi pulls back and speaks.

“So I guess I’m sleeping naked tonight.” He smirked.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” She asks.

“Well, if your sleeping next to me naked, I sure as Hell am I’m going to be.”

Mobile MasterList

[cloudyyoonji]

College Muse.

Bang Chan x Reader

Summary; Music producer! Chan and Writer! Reader both dwell on each other for some help on a project similar in nature.

Genre; FLUFF!!! 

A/N; Hello! Requests are open at the moment, so please feel free to make a request!!

____________________________________________________________ 

i.

Final assignments, or rather nicknamed the 'direct spawn sent from Satan himself’ by the students on campus, are finally approaching, sent in various forms for all students to stress about on their own, tortured by the assignment questions for countless hours upon hours. 
 But a whole dorm room of stressed-out young adults was certainly reflective of the pits of hell. 
 You’re squished up in the corner of the room, the assignment outline fresh in your mind as you plug in your headphones. 
 “You’re going to write a love story,” your professor has told you, hands clasped behind his back. He clicked his tongue, eyes wandering around the room. “The twist? It needs to be a realistic love story. None of that ‘love at first sight’ bullshit. Write me raw and real material.” 


So now you were here, a rough playlist of love songs playing to tune out any background noise of Jisung and Felix yelling as they play some video game, and Wendy’s muffled tapping that seems to be echoing through the whole common room. 
 You sighed, scrolling through countless open tabs on your phone, pen scrawling little notes here and there as you find something interesting to write. Language of Love? Was there such a thing? 
 You note Bang Chan enter the room, keys in one hand and a bag in the other, as you swipe through the songs on your phone, turning back to the notebook to write out a summary of your findings. 
 The couch beside you sinks, causing you to look up and immediately roll your eyes at your dorm mate, who has a goofy grin as he looks down at you, fingers pulling the string of one of your earphones. 
 “Whatcha doing?” Bang Chan asks in the same annoying drawl of a voice he uses to get on your nerves, typically whilst you were studying. 
 You drop the pen in your right hand, using it to shove him off your shoulder, a whine leaving your lips as he laughs at your frustration. 
 “Go away, I’m trying to study.” 
 “On what?” His eyebrows are raised now. “Cheesy love songs? Shouldn’t you study something a bit more interesting? I can show you a few of my demo’s if -“ 
 “They're not cheesy love songs,” you pout, cutting him off. “Besides, it's not the music that I am studying. I’m trying to be a writer, remember?” 
 He takes full advantage of your rhetorical question, letting the whole ‘light bulb moment’ type of exclamation leave his lips in a higher pitch than his regular voice, cut off when you shove him away again, this time curling into a smirk. 
 “You’re studying Love?” “Yes,” you sigh finally, “I have to write a ‘realistic love story’ for my final.” 
 “Oh,” He sits back into the couch now, nodding. “That should be easy for you.” 
 You turn to him now, materials abandoned measly on the arm of the couch, eyes narrowing on the boy as he sits, arms crossed. 
 “And why would that be the case, Bang Chan?” “Because you’ve clearly been in love.” 
 Your hard demeanour drops as you watch the boy for a second or so. “I’ve never been in love, Chan.” 
 “Sure you haven’t,” the blond laughs, “I’ve read your writing. You can convey it perfectly.” 
 Now you’re interested, folding your arms again as you realise that the boy has not a clue of what he’s talking about. 
 “Chan, I’ve never been in love,” you tell him, ignoring the heat that seems to have made its way to your cheeks. “I’ve only ever written about it from an outsiders point of view. I’ve never even been in a proper relationship.” 
 Its a tad awkward. You can see that the top of his ears is painted red by embarrassment. You avoid his eyes in hasty flicks from one thing to another. The fabric of the couch, to the carpet, to the pair who are sitting in the middle of the room, controllers in hand. 
 “It's okay,” the boy finally says, avoiding your eyes too. “I’ve never been in love either, and I’ve got to write and record a freaking love song.” 
 You let a small ‘oh’ slip from your mouth, nodding as your eyes trail back down to your messy notes. 
 “Maybe we could help out each other? Some study dates perhaps?” The boy suggests, a hand indicating your pile of notes, a cheesy smile trying to help fuel his suggestion, trying to win you over. 
 “Not a freaking chance,” you reply, knocking off his smirk as you gather your things. “Do your own study, Mr Bang, then I’ll think about it.” 
 And with that, you leave his shell shocked self on the couch, knowing perfectly well that you’d be showing him those notes in a day or so. 
 ii.

As luck would have it, you were here, two days later, bribed by the one and only for your notes, his not-so-terrible corrupt gift being to buy you coffee for the remaining three weeks until your assignments were both handed in. 
 There was only one weakness you had, and he had exploited it with a smile. But you’d let him. After all, free coffee was free coffee. 
 “You know,” You raise your head, watching the boy over the top of the iced coffee that was clutched in your sweater-ed hands. “My teacher recommended we ‘fall in love’ so we could write a song about it for the unit.” 
 You can't but help laugh, nodding as you swallow the bitter liquid. 
 “My professor said the same.” Rolling your eyes at the memory, your smile turns to a cringe. “Then all the couples cheered and started making out.” 
 He mirrors your disgusted face, fingers curling around his mug of coffee as he sits up to properly read your notes. 
 “‘Love is manipulating” you tell him. “The fine line between love and hate can only come down to trust, which is why love often only ends in pain. We’re pushed to find love, and it can only ruin us. Love simply cannot exist in a realistic sense”

“Wait, wait, wait. You don’t believe that romantic love can exist at all?” 
 You take another sip of your coffee, shaking your head to confirm your answer to his question. “No.” 
 He’s put the notebook down now - or rather dropped it onto the table -, slumping back into the chair as he shakes his head at you, the same smile never leaving his features as he stares at you in disbelief. 
 You mirror him, leaning back, to only gesture to him. “What's your idea then?” 
 Chan seems to think for a second, fingers digging into his pocket to grab a pen, body slumping forwards as he begins writing in your notebook. 
 You take note of the way he slants the paper when he writes, turning his head just slightly to look down at it. It was almost strangely attractive. Chan himself was strangely attractive when he was writing, whether that was in a lecture, or when he was jotting down lyrics. 
 You can see how his fingers grip the pen tightly, pressing it into the paper to write in small, precise letters. Under the curly mess of blond, his eyebrows furrow as he concentrates, transferring the words swirling his head, to the paper. 
 Then he sits up, knocking you from your observatory state, eyes awkwardly landing on the almost empty glass in front of you as you try to mask the fact you were staring a little too intently. 
 “My insight,” he reads. “is that true love will only prevail when one can open their heart and mind, without a doubt that the other person will hurt them. Unlike what you said, I really do think that love is possible.” 

“Maslow explained love to be a need. Everyone must experience love at some point in their lifetime to feel like they are completely themselves. Everyone deserves to feel loved, and everyone needs experience what it feels like to be loved.” 
 You sit forward in your seat. “But that's the thing,” you argue. “A realistic love can only bring you pain and sorrow. That why we only read about fabricated love from peoples minds, because it makes us forget about what a painfully cruel world we can live in.” 
 He sits back, shaking his head, no hint of a smile this time. “But we don’t have to live in that kind of a world. You said it yourself; ‘can live in’. I promise you Y/N, I’ll change your mind by the time the assessment is finished.” 
 “I’d like to see you try.” You reply, eyes firmly on his. 
 He sticks out a pinky, a silent promise. You smile, wrapping yours around his. I promise to change your mind. 
 iii. 
 It’s been a few days since that promise had been made, Chan still not managing to change your mind. Your views were still the same on love, even if your whole common room had disagreed on the most part. 
 But you’d both been busy on this assignment. Chan has been making beats that you could hear through the wall, somewhat soothing to your mind when it was running wild. 
 You’d only had a few hours of sleep, scattered throughout your day. You’d spent it at the computer mainly, your desk littered with empty pens and screwed up paper. 
 Well, it wasn’t just your desk. Your whole room seemed to be completely engulfed by stray papers, many of which had overflowed out from the bin. 
 You hadn’t really left the room, only heading out to the small kitchen for a pack of instant noodles, or to go to the bathroom, then closing the door to the dark room as you returned to your original hunched position. 
 You’d also only seen Chan in brief glances as you were heading back to your room. It seemed that perhaps Chan too was plagued by days of pondering, just as you were. 
 Your glasses are almost pressed against the screen of the monitor, watching the blinking cursor. You can barely see the word; Love, the title of your narrative. No matter how much you looked at the word, you still couldn’t fathom the word. Nothing special came to your mind upon hearing the word, rather only the memory of Chan intertwining your pinky’s in a silent promise to change your mind about love. 
 Was this the first stage of that promise happening already? 
 Likewise, nothing came to your mind upon starting at that stupid cursor for hours on end. You couldn’t possibly start a realistic love narrative with a pinky promise, could you? 
 You don’t quite register the door opening, but you sure do see it. The light of the day seems to burn your eyes almost instantly, a groan escaping from your lips as you scrunch your eyes closed and rub your aching temples with the pads of your fingers. 
 “I knew you were brainstorming, but holy shit Y/N.” 
 Your ears perk up at Chan’s voice, eyes opening to take in the blond who is standing in your door frame, eyes wide as he takes in the discarded drafts of writing. 
 Your eyes follow his, pointed over at the overflowing bin in the corner, a giving him a small sheepish smile when his eyes meet back with yours. 
 Shaking his head, he takes your wrist, pulling you up from the chair. 
 “Hey!” You groan, knees sore from your countless hours of sitting. 
 “We’re going for coffee. You need to get out of this room - No, no, no - this building. You need to get out of this building.” 
 You sigh, following him out of the overflowing room wordlessly. Chan had a habit of being right about things, and this was one occasion you knew you couldn’t argue with him on. 
 The walk to the coffee shop helps you clear your stormy head, ideas coming and going, but the idea of finally having a coffee scratches at your mind. 
 “Hey,” Chan breaks you from your thoughts, walking from the front counter with a number in his hands. “Let’s sit. I’ve ordered.” 
 So you both pile into a booth, awaiting your coffees with sleepy anxiety. 
 Not much is said, yet not much needs to be said. You feel somewhat at peace now that you’re out of your own head. Chan really helped too. You two have become so close over the last few years, that these moments were really nice. You could just chill in each other’s presence without it being awkward. 
 Upon the arrival of the coffees, you perk up a little coffee, drinking up the bittersweet liquid as soon as it touches your fingertips. 
 “Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick, my god.” 
 Looking over your glass, you can see him laughing. Shooting him a sheepish smile, you place the glass down, your fingers fiddling with each other. 
 “Any luck with the music?” You ask finally, looking over the table. 
 “I’ve got the music, it’s just the lyrics and the recording now. But that’s always the hardest part. I’ve got some ideas, so I’m going pretty on track with it all. How’s the writing going?” 
 “Shit,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve developed writers block on the topic of love it seems.” 
 “You’ll get there. Really, it’ll come to you when you least expect it.” 
 You nod along at his words, but it soon turns to a sigh, head falling into your hands. 
 “Chan,” you say tiredly, pulling your head up to look at the boy with all the strength you can truly muster up. “If you don’t let me sleep on your right now, I think I’m going to die.” 
 He loses it. With his head thrown back, you can see that the boy is as almost as tired as you are. Yet, he does get up, slipping into the booth beside you. 
 You fall into him, coffee abandoned from your mind, eyes closing as your head touches his shoulder. 
 His arm goes around you, perhaps instinctively. But you’re too tired to even care, your one final brain cell figuring that perhaps he’s holding you close so you don’t collapse head first into the table. 
 “Thank you,” You whisper tiredly. “I didn’t want to die on a sticky table. Your hoodie is really soft, so now I can die peacefully.” 
 You can feel his smile, the slight laugh too. 
 His free hand pats your hair. “No sticky table endgame for you, my dear.” 
 You laugh at this, eyes still closed as your cheek is pressed to the material of his hoodie. 
 You let your body finally relax a little, blending into the atmosphere of fresh coffee ground - one you really loved. But you can’t ignore the new scent either. This scent felt different, made you feel different. 
 You’re not sure if it’s butterflies or the coffee, but this feeling was something you really had no idea of. 
 Was this the second stage of his promise? 
 iv. 
 The days seemed to blur into each other, most of your hours spent with Chan. You two had made the college cafe your staple shop, meeting at some point in the day to have just space out completely together. It didn’t matter if you were writing on your laptop, or if he was producing on his, his company was just enough for you. 
 It had happened a few times today, but you once again realised with a jolt that you couldn’t stop thinking of the cute producer. You could see him now over the top of your computer, earbuds in as he nods to the beat only he could hear, a wide smile gracing his features when he meets your eyes. 
 Above everything, you wanted him to hold you like he had again. You wanted him to chuck his arm around your shoulders as he laughed at something you’d said. You wanted more than a housemate. 
 You smile back at him, eyes half focusing on the lines you’d typed out. 
 Boy, you’re falling for him, but there's no way in hell that you would be telling him that. 
 “Hey,” Chan’s voice takes your out of your thoughts. “It’s getting late. We should probably head back.” 
 Nodding, you close up your laptop for the night, shoving it into its bag along with the few pens and notebook you had. 
 You both slip out of the cafe, the night air cool against your skin. You adjust the strap of your bag, pulling it up as it begins to slip over your shoulder. 
 With your phone in hand, you can see that its quite late, probably something you’d live to regret tomorrow morning for your 4-hour long lecture. 
 Upon arriving at the dorms, you change and immediately collapse into your bed, bidding Chan a loud ‘goodnight’ as you turn off your lamp. Eyes closing, you barely even remember falling asleep. 
 You also don’t quite remember your dream, but what does stick with you is the sheer terror of a nightmare. It grabs at you, even whilst your asleep. 
 Your eyes shoot open in a blur, breathing heavy as you take in your surroundings. The hefty unsettling feeling lays over you, pressing into your chest as you come to sense just where you are, and what you had been dreaming about. 
 Pushing yourself up, you find yourself getting more anxious, eyes welling as a black pit settles in your chest; heavy. 
 Your feet hit the carpet, hands crossed over your arms as you walk towards the door. 
 The time is far from your mind. 
 Taking a shaky breath, you lightly rap on the door to Chan’s room, your breaths echoing around the kitchen. “Chan, are you awake?" Some part of you prays that he doesn’t answer, to save yourself the embarrassment of being completely in such a state because of one of your nightmares. But then, if he did answer, would it be so bad? 
 The door opens, Chan’s tall frame looming over you. You can see him well, even in the darkness, his hair is slightly tousled, clothes wrinkled. But his eyes are open, awake, and full of concern as they land on you. 
 You don’t say anything, but rather step forward, arms wrapping around his middle. His body relaxes, arms wrapping around your frame. 
 “I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes, cheek pressing against his chest as you try to banish your anxiety away. “I had a nightmare, and I didn’t know what else to do…” 
 He nods, holding you a little tighter. It seems to relieve you in some weird way; to be held in the arms of someone you know is safe. 
 You’d told him previously about how your nightmares were induced by stress. When it had gotten especially bad within your first year of studying, he’d stayed in the common room with you until you’d felt better. 
 “You don’t need to explain,” Breaking away from you, he keeps a hand on your wrist, opening the door a little wider. “You can stay with me if you’d like.” 
 Wordlessly, you nod, following him in. 
 Sitting down on the side of the bed, you feel slightly awkward, watching as he crosses to the other side and slips under the blanket. 
 “You can lie down you know.” “O-oh, okay.” 
 Some part of your brain cringes at your response, knowing that you’ll probably live to regret it later. But for now, you lie down, focusing your efforts on trying to get to sleep. 
 You let out another shaky breath, eyes wandering over the room of his room. Knitting your fingers, you try not to disturb the boy with your fidgeting. 
 A hand comes into contact with your own, making you look over at the boy, who is wide awake next to you. He gestures for you to move a little closer, a light smile on his features. 
 “Are you sure?” You whisper, heartbeat loud in your ears. 
 “You look like you need a hug.” 
 So you comply, turning into him, head rested on his arm. You feel his free arm pull you close. 
 Sure, you’d hugged Chan before, hell you’d even cuddled him. 
 But this was different, right? Your heartbeat was telling you that much, a constant pound in your chest you prayed that Chan couldn’t feel. 
 You’re not sure when exactly you close your eyes, but when you open them again, you’re pressed to his chest, his hands laying neatly on your back as his arms encircle you. 
 You barely realize how close you truly are, slumber taking over you in a short few seconds, mind shutting down for the night once more. 
 Chan is holding you. Chan is holding you.

... 
 The sound of your alarm is blaring, body groaning almost subconsciously as you roll over to stop the noise. 
 Hand flapping out across the bedside table, you suddenly realize with a jolt that you’re not in your room. 
 Bolting upright, you take in the unfamiliar room, your alarm cutting off to signal 6 more minutes of sleep. But you can’t sleep, mind wide awake as you process what exactly happened last night. 
 Looking around, there are no traces of the boy, rather a yellow sticky note in his place. 
 “Had a 6am lecture. There’s a coffee in the fridge though!! Shoot me a text when your lecture is finished and we can get some actual coffee.” 
 You smile down at his messy scrawl, eyes gazing around the room. 
 It is neat, everything in its own spot. His desk is specially organized, music equipment laid out near some pens and an open notebook, a notebook you saw him with quite often. 
 You don’t even realize your standing in front of it till you see the messy scrawl of song lyrics writing in your hands, eyes darting back and forth as you take in the words. 
 His songs, they were beautiful. 
 Then it hits you like a bolt of lightning. His songs seemed to spark something deep in your mind, fingers itching to write down the ideas that have been summoned to the forefront of your mind. 
 Neither less to say, you didn’t focus too much on your lecture, but rather sat at the back, fingers clicking over the keys of your laptop, the ideas are written in a messy scrawling only you could truly read sitting next to you. 
 You’re writing, after a long case of writers block. But you’re writing with him at the forefront of your mind. 
 If that was a good or bad thing, you don’t know. But you do know that your feelings about Bang Chan had definitely changed. 
 You like him, just like you always had. He was still your goofy best friend of a housemate, who laughed with you when you did something stupid, who made you both hot chocolate on your 3am study sessions. 
 The boy who promised to change your mind about love. Now he really was. 
 v.

“It's finished!” 
 You look up at the blond who is beaming as he walks towards you, notebook in hand. 
 You know what he means immediately. The song, the love song, was finished. 
 You give him a grin equally as big, gesturing for him to sit across from you in the booth. 
 “Can I listen?!” You ask, watching as he fumbles with his phone. 
 “Of course,” he looks at you incredulously. “You don’t get a choice.” 
 You laugh at this, shaking your head as he hands you his earphones, fingers hovering over the play button on the track memo. Giving him the thumbs up, you can’t but help the chills that run over your body as the first note plays. 
 “I love it already.” You tell him. He holds up a hand, silently telling you to keep listening, but the smile on his face is evidence that your compliment is enough to fluster him a little. 
 The song is almost exactly like your story. From the recounts of precious memories to the feelings of being grounded, safe. 
 Some part of your heart swelled at the lyrics, and the other sank. 
 The song was so beautiful, and yet so sad. Just how long would you two be walking together in your dreams? 
 “What do you think?” 
 He’s taken out one of the headphones now, a wide smile on his face, but fingers fidgeting at one of his rings. 
 “I really like it, Chan.” You tell him, which was certainly the truth. You do like it. “It’s really beautiful.” 
 You guess that some selfish part of you wanted the song to be about you. That this was his way of confessing. That you two could walk together in one dream, just as the characters in his song do. 
 But the boy just smiles, thanking you as he stuffs his things into his pocket. 
 “Do you want your regular?” He asks. “Yes please.” 
 Your eyes linger over his frame as he slips out from the seat, walking towards the counter. 
 His hair often bounced as he walked, but you noted that today it was laying slightly flatter than his usual curly mess, parted down the middle, brushed, and styled too. 
 It’s like he was trying to impress someone. And maybe that someone wasn’t you. 
 Even if this was the case, you couldn’t scrap your whole story now. You would finish it, even if it meant you had to do it painfully. 
 Setting the number down, his hand runs in front of your face. 
 “Hello? Earth to Y/N?” 
 You blink, knocking you from your unconscious staring. “Oh, sorry.” 
 His smile fades slightly, body leaning forward. “You okay? You don’t seem like your normal self.” 
 Forcing up a smile, you shake your head, pointing to your temple. “Too many thoughts today.” 
 You had a habit of being in your own head, Chan knew this too. It was just what you did as a writer, brainstorming ideas or little snippets of writing you acted out in your head. 
 “Do you need paper?” 
 You nodded, fingers pulling the pen from your bun. 
 You’d put it there during your lecture, something you often did on the days your creativity sparked. 
 He passes you his notebook, the same one you’d seen earlier that morning, flipping to a blank page before pushing it in front of you. 
 You hesitate, looking up at the male across from you before you press the ink to the paper. 
 One thought seems to come to the forefront of your mind, pen swirling across the page in cursive letters as you write it down 
 “I think you might have the prettiest eyes in the world.” 
 It was cheesy, but it was really the truth. Every time you made eye contact with Chan, his eyes seem to glimmer. Watching him produce was like that too. You could see the passion reflected in his eyes. 
 “I think you might have the prettiest eyes in the world,” You barely register the words coming from your mouth, looking up at Chan with wide eyes. 
 “I said that out loud didn’t I.” “Yes. You did.” 
 You cover your face in embarrassment, and apology on your lips. But he speaks before you get a chance to even justify yourself. 
 “You know,” he looks around the cafe. “I usually hate Monday’s, but now I get to see you, so I quite enjoy them.” 
 Your heart beats wildly in your chest, hands dropping into your lap. You avoid his eyes, pink staining your cheeks. Was this what you thought it was? 
 He shakes his head, hands now flat on the table. 
 “Will you continue being my Sunday poetry and coffee, muse?” 
 You look up at him, heart in your throat. “Did you just ask me out in fancy terms?” 
 “Maybe,” Chan shrugs. “You have to admit, it was a good line. So what do you say?” 
 Sitting up now, you finally look him in the eyes, his light smile triggering your own. 
 “I say yes, but only if you continue to be my pre-lecture 6am Monday coffee.” “Deal.” 
 vi.

Bursting into the common room, you hold up the stapled mass of paper in your hand. 
 “It’s finished!” You exclaim to those in the room, getting a load of cheers and claps in return. 
 Even though your assignment was due tomorrow, you had to admit that this was the first assignment you’d really invested your time in doing, hopefully producing one of your best pieces of writing so far. 
 Chan appears from nowhere, easily taking the stapled story out of your hands with nothing but a swipe, planting himself on the couch as he flicks to the first page. 
 You sit across from him, eyes watching as his flick over the pages of typed print, a small smile here and there. 
 “This seems like a very familiar story.” He smirks, handing the stack back to you when he’s finished. 
 You roll your eyes, biting back a sarcastic remark. 
 “It seems my professor was right about finding someone to fall for.” 
 He raises an eyebrow at this. 
 “Does this mean your views on love have changed?” “...yes.” 
 The mumbled reply doesn’t go unnoticed by Bang Chan, body moving closer to yours, a wide smile on his features. 
 “Did I finally convince you? Did you really change?” 
 “Only for you, Bang Chan.” You tease, shoving him away. 
 His hand touches his chest, face expressing an overdramatic response to your words. “Stop it, I’m shy.” 
 Rolling your eyes, you hit his head with printed narrative, standing up from the couch. 
 “I think this calls for a coffee.” 
 “Agreed,” he links his arm with yours. “I could use a coffee.” 
 ... 
 Knocking on the door of your professor, you shoot Chan a nervous smile, hand pushing down on the handle at the sound of a muffled ‘come in’. 
 “Hi,” you say, holding out the stack of paper towards him. “I’ve just come in to give you my assignment.” 
 “Ah,” he smiles, taking the paper with two hands. “Thank you.” 
 His eyes flick to Chan, who is standing at the door, then back to you. 
 “Y/N,” he asks, eyes turned up in a smile. “Did you enjoy this assessment? I’m trying to get all of my students feedback on it.” 
 “Oh,” you breathe, nodding. “I really enjoyed it. I feel like I learnt a lot, and grew as a future writer.” 
 He nods, holding up your pages. “I sure look towards to reading this. Thank you, you may go now.” 
 Politely bowing your head as a silent thanks, you give Chan a small smile as you turn back, walking towards the corridor. 
 “Oh Y/N!” “Yes, sir?” 
 Your fingers are on the handle of the door, other hand lacing with Chan’s nervously. 
 “Didn’t I tell you?” He gestures to Chan and you, a knowing smile on your face. 
 You both laugh nervously, nodding. 
 He smiles at this, shaking his head. “Go on, you two lovers. I won’t waste your time much longer.” 
 Quickly scurrying off, you two laugh about your professor. 
 “How much do you want to bet that he totally planned this with your teacher.” 
 “Hey, that’s a fair idea,” Chan replies, looking down at you. “He probably knew that someone was bound to take his advice.” 
 Rolling your eyes, you shove him away from you lightly. 
 “I take everything back.” “C’mon! I’m your man now!” 
 His shoulder rubs against yours as you two continue walking. 
 “You know, I flirted with you nonstop for like the last few months.” 
 You stop walking, looking up at him. 
 “You did?” “Yes, but you were way too thick to notice. Hell, Y/N, I literally called you sweetheart, muse, and my dearest.” 
 You huff, crossing your arms. “So you planned this? For me to finally fall for you whilst we were doing this topic?” 
 He shrugs with a cheesy smile. “Maybe. I mean, now you get to get your 6am Monday coffee with me.” 
 You shake your head at him, wrapping your arm around his middle. “I’m glad you did because now I get free coffee for the rest of my life.” 
 Arm around your shoulder now, he laughs, throwing his head back in such a way that made you laugh along with him. 
 “You just make my day,” he comments, pulling you closer to him. “SIKE you’re an idiot!” 
 The kiss that is pressed to your cheek makes you squirm, trying to push him in the chest. But his grip is way too strong for you, laugh loud in your ears. 
 Shaking your head, you finally push him. “You’re dead to me now Bang Chan.” 
 “Baby!” He muses, now walking backwards as he keeps up with you. “Cmon! I was only being sarcastic!” 
 “I’m going to laugh so hard when you trip over.” you deadpan, eyes focused straight ahead as you cross your arms over your chest. It was hard not to smile, it tugging at the sides of your mouth. But you don’t give in to the itch. 
 “That’s only because I’m falling for you, sweetheart.”

[mystiphying]

Pulled To You

↳ CHAPTER TWO 

PAIRING: Randall Carpio x June Sutton (OC) SUMMARY: In her first year at Belgrave University, June somehow goes from having a little crush on her RA to hiding in supply closets and sneaking around with him. And later finds herself a little in over her head, once a mysterious book leads her down a path she can't un-walk. CHAPTER THEMES: N/A CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1.2k

⇢  MASTERLIST

 Sifting through random notes and notebooks, flicking through the endless pages of her heavy textbooks, June was sat on the small carpet of the small floor space in their room. Luckily June had the room to herself for a little, seeing as Georgie was flying home for the weekend. June wondered who had that kind of money for such a spur of the moment trip home, but then remembered which university she was attending. So with her roommate gone, June could make as much mess with her miles of notes and piles of books as she pleased, with papers organised in an odd system only she knew how to navigate. And also play her music louder than she usually could. Distracted by all the things around her and fixated on organising her notes, June had kind of lost track of time and before she knew it, it was dark outside. And before she had a moment to think about her grumbling stomach, there was a loud knock on the door. June jumped to her feet and rushed to open the door. When she opened her door to see him there was a wide smile on her face, one he usually returned. But with her pissed off next door neighbours arms-crossed and angry behind him, Randall had expression on his face she could only describe as unimpressed. June’s smile turned into a confused flat line.  “Hey, what’s up?” She asked cautiously. Randall sighed and stepped past her and into the room, careful to not step on the mess on the floor, and closed her laptop, shutting off the music.  “Noise complaint.” He said coldly. June looked at the smug faces on the girls outside the door.  “It’s Friday.” June said, becoming growingly irritated.  “Yes, that’s also what I said, but they’re within their rights to complain.” He explained.  “So, what? Is this just a warning?”  “No.” One of the girls from outside chimed. Randall shook his head.  “It’s just a warning. Make a habit of it and I’ll have to write you up.” He said while making his way back to the door. “Just keep it down.” June nodded.  “Okay.” She said, and once he was out the door she pushed it shut before he could say anything else. He turned to the two girls and they thanked him, June still being able to hear them now her room was silent. She rolled her eyes and pulled out headphones, instead playing her music through those. Something irritated her about the exchange, especially since her music wasn’t even that loud. Especially not for six o’clock at night on a Friday. June wasn’t unreasonable and had sat through plenty of their noise, which made her all the more annoyed. Suddenly feeling grumpy and agitated, June flopped onto her bed, interrupted by a hardcover book digging into her back. She sat up and pulled the book out from underneath her, ready to drop it on the stack of books on the floor, but feeling the patterned leather cover of the book as opposed to the glossy covers of her textbooks, her stomach dropped. “What the fuck?” she asked to no one in particular. This was that book, the one she’d found outside before. How was it here? Who did it belong to? All questions with no one to ask them to. But it was still oddly entrancing, still pulling her to flip the pages, to hold it. And unconsciously, she did. One page after another, all contents unintelligible and foreign. If she looked hard enough it felt like what seemed to be words, would continuously shift. Like the book didn’t want to be read. Before she could totally freak herself out with the weird teleporting book, her phone buzzed on her bedside table.

Randall: Hey

June: hi

Randall: Sorry about that, just being an RA Randall: One that isn’t sleeping with a resident… You’re not pissed right?

June: i’m not pissed, just being a resident... that isn’t sleeping with her RA June: tell me honestly, was my music THAT loud?

Randall: Could have been quieter…

June: damn, okay

Randall: I’d like to see them live next to my neighbors tho Randall: Super loud and always yelling at kids in COD

June: oof, not ideal at all June: hey btw did u leave this weird book in my room?

Randall: Sorry, wasn’t me Randall: Hey can you open your door n maybe not slam it in my face this time??

June: depends on who’s there? you or the RA who isn’t sleeping with his resident?

 Before he could type out a response she opened the door and pulled him inside. She closed the door behind her and pulled him close to her. She gave him a short kiss before pulling back and ducking away to tidy some of the papers and books scattered everywhere.  “So, what’s this visit for?” she asked, speedily clearing the floor and having everything in a neat pile to toss on her desk. The heavy books thumped on the desk beside her laptop.  “Wanted to know if you were hungry.” He said, lifting the bag of takeaway she didn’t notice he’d been holding. She smiled.  “Wow. Kind of inappropriate though, considering you're my RA.” June joked.

 June and Randall sat on her floor, eating takeaway nachos from the Blade & Chalice, chatting in low voices, making sure not to cause another ‘disturbance’. He would say something amusing and she would laugh softly, and he would smile watching her. She had caught it a few times, feeling a little shy when she'd catch his eye. Although their relationship with largely physical and they didn't get many chances to be intimate in other ways, this felt really comfortable and pleasant. She really enjoyed his company, sitting together and talking and Randall loved all forms of intimacy, the physical kind especially, but there was something he loved about getting to know someone, finding the little quirks that make them all the more interesting.  “Do you like studying medicine?” June asked, genuinely curious. Randall took a second to think about it.  “Yeah. It’s interesting, kind of fun in a way.” He said, “Learning how the body works together and in sync, it’s fascinating.” June nodded her head.  “That does sound interesting. My mom’s a nurse, she wanted me to also study nursing but…”  “You’d be good at it.” He said quietly.  “Hmm?” She noticed his own words had caught him off guard, but had a gut feeling about it. Randall hadn’t been looking at her but did once silence fell.  “I don’t know. I just get this feeling that you’d be good at it.” His phone rings his mildly obnoxious ringtone, and he picks it up. Muffled voices she can’t make out and his short replies. She assumed it was something private, and chose not to pry. He hung up and looked to June. “Sorry to leave like this, but I gotta go.” He stood and she followed, to politely walk him the very short distance to the door.  “Don’t sweat it, I.. I’ll see you soon?” She asked, regretting it a little, afraid she had sounded… clingy? But that fear subsided when he gave her a smile, one in which she returned.  “I hope so.”

PROLOGUE   ⇢  CHAPTER 1  ⇢  CHAPTER 2  ⇢  CHAPTER 3

A/N: Hi! I finally got around to posting this on Tumblr while it was already on my AO3! I’m currently writing the fourth chap but it’s kinda meh so far...

[ifeellikeameowster]

E.V.O.L Chapter 2 - On No!

Chapter Summary: Logan is finally done with his workday and can now retire to his living quarter upstairs. He starts reviewing his notes for the day only to find a few inconsistencies and a startling conclusion...

Warnings: Beginnings of Yandere like behavior, mentions of stalking, emotional breakdown, breaking of objects.

Pairings: One-sided analogical.

Word Count: 4k+

Chapter followed by Author’s Note then Tag List under the read more:

One track mind, one track heart.

If I fail, I'll fall apart.

Maybe it is all a test.

'Cause I feel like I'm the worst,

So I always act like I'm the best.

Logan Sumner, self proclaimed magical child prodigy and warlock extraordinaire, always had three cups of coffee throughout his typical work day. One cup before breakfast, one in the middle of lunch, and finally one after his dinner. Dr Sumner was well known in the magical community as a stickler for his routine and the outbursts that were sure to follow if anything trivial ever dared to interrupt said routine. Though the particular interruptions that had occurred earlier that day hadn’t bothered him nearly as much as they should have. Almost as if-

He tightened his lips and jerkily shook his head to rid himself of that train of thought before it could even leave the station. Instead, he steered ever sturdily and steadily forward and into his quaint dining room table’s only occupying chair. It was time for dinner, after all. He whistled out into the air of the sparsely decorated apartment atop his shop for his two wonderful and trustworthy Familiars. 

Moriariy, punctual as per usual, was the first to join him. Flying in from the direction of his bedroom and landing at the other end of the table, where a small plate of little seeds and several lush fruits awaited him. His other Familiar, however, followed along at his typical slower pace. Slinking in from the direction of the stairwell and stopping beside him at the foot of the table, where a larger plate of tenderly cooked meats awaited him.

“Did you have a good run, Sheppard?” Logan asks the Valravn as he runs a gentle hand along the canine’s back.

Sheppard, who was slightly more wild in nature than the Yatagarasu, would occasionally leave the shop for the later half of their work day in order to have a refreshing romp in the nearest forest- the one just outside of Painic Park. Logan never once worried over his return, for his Familiars had never failed him before. Which is one of the many reasons he got along better with them than with his other, more humanoid peers.

The handsome pitch black wolf with scattered feathers along his form, bird’s talons as front legs, and a sharp beak perched at the end of his snout gave a tired out, low swooping nod at the query. His warlock gave him a quick pat on the head for his reply and turned away to focus on his own meal. 

It was a hearty and well balanced dinner of steak and salad, yet Logan could not help but feel as though he was craving something else entirely different. Perhaps it was the usual pull towards his work he so often felt? Nodding along to the notion, he picked up his cutlery in order to dig in. One cannot think well on an empty stomach, as the saying goes. Once he began eating, his polite and surprisingly patient Familiars began to eat their own meals as well.

After dinner he immediately washes the small amount of dishes used during the day. It was best not to let them pile up too much, as he was a man that loathed disorder and messiness.

Moriarty swooped in to help place the assorted plates and glasses back on the shelves while Sheppard strode his way over to the living room to lay between Logan’s grey loveseat and the small brick fireplace. Knowing full well that that seat was where Logan would be spending the next couple of hours as he casually went over the day’s work. 

Moriarty, on the other hand, would spend the time flitting between nesting on the cushion beside him, perching on the back of the loveseat, and resting himself upon Logan’s shoulder. His movements were easily predictable for Logan, who hardly ever got startled by the bird. Well, with the exception of…

The warlock pinched the bridge of his nose as he made his own way into the living room while holding his last cup of coffee of the day, sending Moriarty a look that somehow managed to be questioning, exasperated, and fond all rolled into one as he passed by him.

Why had the bird practically launched himself towards their newest client? Normally, if his Familiars invaded a strangers personal space so abruptly upon first meeting them then that meant that they saw them as a threat and were acting fast to protect their warlock. But that had apparently not been the case at all! Moriarity had....had proceeded to cuddle the darkly dressed man in an overly affectionate and quite frankly rude manner. His Familiars, as he had mentioned to the fellow, usually did not like anyone other than Logan. Only finding exception in long time acquaintances that he held a particular camaraderie with. Especially Moriarty because he was Logan’s first and therefore most bonded. The client in question, however...Had seemed to not mind at all...And had just happily soaked up the bird’s affection towards him. He had taken it all in with an alarmingly charming smile and softened voice that almost made his knees-

He falls into the loveseat, gripping the edge of the cushions with one hand and trying not to spill his fresh coffee with the other as he sits down. Anchoring his thoughts before he lets them set sail into some illusionary sunset. He needed to forget about that odd incident. He needed to start thinking straight again. He needed to get some more work done. 

Don't do love, don't do friends.

I'm only after success.

Don't need a relationship.

I'll never soften my grip.

With a resolved sigh the warlock reached over to the end table beside the loveseat, placed the just barely saved cup atop it’s coaster, scooped up the couple of notebooks that were there, and began looking through his notes on all of his meetings for the day. As he read through them, however, he began to feel unnaturally antsy. He chewed on his bottom lip. He tapped his nails against the cover. He hopped his foot continuously up and down. Sensing his uneasiness, Moriarty lets out a questioning caw soon followed by Sheppard’s concerned woof.  

“I’m fine.” He rasps out, “It’s just…” His eyes flicker towards the second notebook, the one now laying right beside his thigh. The one he would read second. Because he always read everything in chronological order and he would never skip around. Not for anything. Because it was very important that he remained well organized and timely in his work. So he would leave that one for later, for only after he had finished this one first. He would leave it there and he would-

Proceed to snatch it up immediately, entirely disregarding the previous notebook, which promptly and tragically fell onto the floor. Poor first notebook. Your fate belongs with the pen now.

“It’s this.” He hisses out as he flips on over to page thirty two. The beginning of his notes on his noon appointment, who had actually arrived an overwhelmingly terrible amount of one and a half hours late. Which had set him further on edge than he already was after dealing with Misses Stockbean around ten o’clock that morning, who had demanded more Ozian Poppy seeds than the original agreed amount for half the usual price. So understandably, he might have been a tad snappy towards the bloke at first but he had tried to soften at least a little bit after seeing how anxious the poor guy really was. But then, oh then, Moriarty had preceded to act entirely too strange for him which set Logan right back on edge again. After he had calmed his Familiar down with promises of extra fruits at dinner that night if he stayed quietly upstairs for the remainder of the appointment, he had finally been able to start to interview him.

Monday, September 23rd. Virgil Spurling. Age 26. Self Employed. Lives with his three adoptive parents, Thomas Proudfoot, Talyn Banes, and Joan Vivas. Only spends time with either the three of them, or his two honorary cousins Remington Sexton and Otto Toby Haggard. No living friends outside of the family. No current romantic or sexual partners. Has dark brown hair with light brown highlights. Has long bangs that fall over his eyes, sometimes almost covering them completely. Has rather stormy hazel blue eyes that almost appear violet depending on the lighting he is in. Has pronounced dark circles under his eyes- which are concerning. Has a lovely onyx teardrop piercing on his left cheek and a pair of matching dahlia piercings besides his lips. Has rounded, soft pink lips with a thinner upper lip and a thicker, more bitable lower lip and-

Wait a minute, just what kind of notes had he been taking the entire time he was conducting this interview?! He skips ahead two pages and he’s still just on the physical description section. His physical descriptions had always been more concise and to the point before now. He didn’t quite understand what had happened this time in order to change that. He skims ahead more to try and pinpoint any change or clue anywhere in all of this absurdity. 

Has brushed his bangs aside and placed them beside his ear to allow me to see that he has a tattoo behind his ear, on the side of his neck, comprised of a complicated swirl of black roses and thorns. It looks like it would have been painful to get but compliments the structure of the junction between his neck and shoulder nicely. It makes one wonder if he would appreciate someone’s equally difficult yet proudly designed tattoos of assorted constellations across one’s rib cages-

Okay, just why had he started talking about his own tattoos? These notebooks weren’t for some diary-esque documentation of himself. They were for taking professional notes so that he made sure he remembered the most important details of, and information for, all of his assorted clientele. Skip ahead further!

He is surprisingly smart. He is as quick witted as he is sharp-tongued. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, his actual tongue is baby pink and soft, if the few times it has darted out to lick nervously over his lips and teeth are of any indication. He hates pick up lines. Understandable. I find them pointless as well. He. Him. He too has memorized the entire periodic table of elements and is actually fluent in using their abbreviated symbols to make multiple words. Impressive. Breathtaking-

Well at least he seemed to be finally past the physical description now. Yet those strange sentences kept popping up and intertwining themselves where they had no right to be. Even if that had been rather breathtaking at the time it still...It still didn’t explain...Skip ahead! Skip ahead!

He lost his only friend at much too young of an age. I couldn't even begin to imagine how he must feel. How I would have felt were I in his place. He deserves to be comforted and well looked after. He needs a hug. A nice long, extended hug. Perhaps, seeing as I am the only one here with him as of the moment and thusly the only person currently available to do so I could-

Woah, woah, woah. Slow down there past Logan! One should never initiate physical contact with their client without their express consent. He knew that, of course. He knew that and yet he had written...He had written far too much about himself, is what he had done. Wasn’t he supposed to be finding Virgil a suitable romantic and/or sexual partner? How could he do that if he was too busy writing about himself and what...what he wanted? And wait, he wanted? He...yearned? And just for what, exactly? Skip-

He likes poetry. Specifically gothic poetry. That is one of my many favorites as well. I have a rather extensive collection in my shop that I could share with him-

Oh Merlin. 

He prefers Astronomy as well. Rather surprising, actually, given his darker appearance and habit of speaking- I had wrongly pegged him for someone much more superstitious. A nice surprise. A welcome one. He seems hyper fixated on the plethora of bird-associated constellations which is highly endearing. There is a new large telescope being currently housed in the recently opened observatory section of the Morph Museum, which is not that far of a walk from my shop. Perhaps I could take him-

Oh Merryweather.

He likes bath bombs and the hand soap that foams. He likes collecting seashells and storing little hidden trinkets in them. He likes feeling the gentler tides lap across his feet but dislikes ever actually going any further into the water unless someone he trusts is there with him. Meanwhile, I personally haven’t been out metal detecting in a while maybe I could go with-

Oh Mages of Both Old and New!

I know exactly what I want and who I want to be.

I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine.

I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy.

Oh, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh!

Logan tosses the notebook back down onto the couch, a notably much safer place than the floor, and lets out a choked, broken sob. Using his hands to haphazardly tug on his hair, he somehow hopes to numb his ever spiraling thoughts like a brain freeze might do so after drinking a cold beverage too fast but it’s not working.  Nothing’s working and-

And there’s a lick on one of his hands. He blinks aside a few tears he hadn’t even realized had fallen in the first place and sees that Sheppard had risen to his height by standing on his hind paws and was now trying to gently get his warlock to stop abusing his own scalp. Meanwhile, Moriarty was darting back and forth across the room, obviously trying to locate the source of Logan’s clear distress. He manages a breathy chuckle at that despite his current haggard condition and decides to wrap his arms gently around Sheppard’s feathered scuff instead.

“Really,” he praises, “What would I do without you two?” 

Sheppard huffs back at him, which roughly translated to Nothing, obviously. And causes Logan to break out into a more genuine laugh this time before sinking to his knees and bringing the pup softly down with him. He evens his breathing out as Shep licks consolingly at his hands and arms. “What am I going to do, boy?” he mumbles as he uses his dress shirt’s pocket handkerchief to dab at the stray tears with one arm as he still clings to the wolf with his other. “This can’t be happening, right? It just can’t.” He gets no response at that, however, probably since the poor canine can’t entirely grasp the emotional severity of the situation. 

Deciding to just toss the handkerchief into the nearest bin instead of sending it through the wash as per usual whenever he dirtied it, he finally lets go of Sheppard, stands back up, and brushes off his pants legs. Upon glancing towards the looming form of the notebook where it still lay tauntingly on the couch’s cushions, he guffaws a more strained and panicked laugh as his thought train not only takes off down the tracks but also entirely derails off course.

If you are not very careful,

Your possessions will possess you.

TV taught me how to feel,

Now real life has no appeal.

“What have I always told myself, hm?” He gestures wildy, causing Moriarty to stop his frantic searching in order to look towards him and for Sheppard to perk back up into attention as well. “What have I always told myself even way back in school? Even though other more hormonal mages always disagreed with me, what were the words I always stuck by, huh?” The two Familiars shared a brief confused look between the two of them.

Logan stops to run a hand through his hair in hopes of straightening it up a bit from it’s tousled state. “What words not only got me through school but also allowed me to reach my full potential and achieve the placement of top student?” He allows himself to take a moment to stroke a hand over each of the surfaces of all the awards aligning the top shelf of his smallest bookcase, located on the other side of the loveseat than the end table was. These were the backups of the awards he kept in his shop downstairs, just in case a particularly rowdy customer ever managed to break one. After his fingers left the “Best Little Potion Maker’s” one, he pushed himself away from the area entirely and headed swiftly towards the hallway in front of the staircase. 

It has no appeal.

It has no appeal.

It has no appeal.

It has no appeal.

It has no appeal!

His ever attentive Familiars followed worriedly behind him until they stop just before the steps. He flourishes a harsh, pointed finger at the few portraits hanging on the wall there. “What words were going to eventually get me all the way to the top of Heartwish City’s very own magical community? But are now just...Just dead pipe dreams!” His two most trusted creature companions, still ever so confused by his current trail of logic, made hushed little questioning noises.

Ripping the topmost portrait off of the wall, he began to hiss his next words at it as if the object itself had managed to personally offend him. “Focus on your work. Never fall prey to your feelings. You need to be successful in life more than you need to personally engage in any inane romantic or sexual endeavors.” Merlin’s painted facade stared blankly and unchangingly back at him. In utter retaliation at the silence, he tosses it frame and all down the stairs. Upon remembering Logan’s aversion to untidiness, Sheppard slinks slowly down them to go collect the scattered remains.

Don't want cash, don't want card.

Want it fast, want it hard.

Don't need money, don't need fame.

I just want to make a change.

“Lot of good that did me, boys!” He continues to deliriously shout out, “All these years and not even so much of an inkling of said feelings and yet over the course of one idiotically ineffable day I’ve managed to gain what is essentially a childish schoolyard crush!” He managed to breathe out all in one go before slumping tiredly against the side of the stairwell.

In a Eureka! moment Moriarty begins to excitedly flit to and fro while hurriedly chirping at his warlock. Almost too fast for him to be able to sense the meaning of. “Wait, slow down a bit Mori. What are you-” More hard to decipher chirps, “Hold on, move in? What on earth gave you that idea? No, he’s not going to-” More persistent caws this time, “Well, of course we both like him, I’ve literally just now established that already and- And wait just a moment.”

He scoops the bird gently into his palms. “You liked him first, didn’t you?” One short caw confirmed a resounding Yes. for him. “Did you know, then? Could you have possibly sensed that he’s perfect for me? For us?” He stutters out a breathy laugh, “That’s what that whole debacle was about, wasn’t it?” The crow coos soothingly back up at him and gives him a love bite on the bridge of his nose. Logan releases Moriarty back into the air, along with the emotions connected to his previous outburst, and leans back to place his hands firmly on his hips while he stood proudly back up on his own two feet.

“Just look at me, behaving so ridiculously over the top for such a trivial matter. Throwing a temper tantrum even! Just what would my old professors say, if they saw me now?” He shuffles over to the other side of the hallway where a small cabinet is and opens one of the drawers. “After all, I am more than perfectly capable of handling more than one problem at a time, am I not?” There was both a cheerfully agreeable caw and howl at that, which caused him to finally smile happily again. “And besides, it might not even last all that long. Crushes and mere infatutations are usually short lived!” He rifles through the drawer’s contents until he finds another portrait that was dusty and slightly cracked in one of the upper hand corners. Shutting the drawer and striding back over to the stairwell he holds it up to see if it’ll fit in the arrangement. “Yes, this’ll do perfectly.”

I just wanna change.

I just wanna change.

I just wanna change.

I just wanna change.

I just wanna change!

“And well, if it does last longer or just so happens to escalate further, then...” He concludes as he places the portrait on the spot with a short spell to fix the hook he had broken earlier and steps back to admire the new set up, “His parents never specified that I couldn't be the one I chose for his match, now did they?” Morgan Le Fey, now sitting atop the others as if on a throne made up of the mages, gives him a subtly wicked and tilted smile in response. 

He mirrors her expression for the briefest of moments before spinning on his heel and heading towards the only window on the top floor of his building. The warlock steps into his bedroom,  pushes the curtains aside, and undoes the latches in the center. As he thrusts the two panes wide open, Moriarty joins his side once more.

 “Ah, perfectly punctual as always, Moriarty.” he praises as the bird lands on the back of his hand before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially to him, “Before any new endeavor one embarks on in their life, they should always research properly first, yes?” After his Familiar nods in agreement he continues onwards, “And I’m sure you want to see him again soon yourself, right?” Upon realizing who his warlock was talking about, the bird fluffs up his feathers in anticipation. “Exactly, so this all makes perfect sense.” He waves away any other possible negative notions with a sweep of his hand and turns swiftly back towards the open window.

The sun was setting now. The doctor briefly recalled a time, as a kid, where he had stayed up long past his bedtime not only to see the sunset but to also test out his newest telescope. Back then, before he had properly entered into his magical schooling, he had been far more into scientific pursuits at the time. Though he still held a liking towards them now that he was older, what really currently consumed him was his work with all things magical and mythical. Though now, after today, a new beast of a subject was rounding the corner to have it’s turn eating away at his soul. Maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky enough, he could manage to take a bite out of it first.

“Alright, Moriarity, you know what you must do.” He interrupted the nostalgic scene and swung the arm the Yatagarasu was perched upon out the window and into the open picturesque evening air. His voice took on a booming echo, “Go forth and gather all that we must know, Though never your own cover you must blow.”

All three of his Familiar’s eyes flashed with the royal blue color of Logan’s magic before the third eye disappeared into the feathers of his forehead and his third leg was tucked away into the feathers of his tail. They both breathed a collective sigh of relief at another spell well cast, despite the roller coaster of emotions that they had all been through that day. Moriarty gave him one final nod in reassurance of their plan and took off into the ever changing dusk sky.

The warlock stayed by the window long enough to watch until his Familiar’s form disappeared over the horizon then set about closing and locking it back up. His other Familiar trudged upwards from the stairs, through the small apartment, and into his bedroom. Giving him a huff to announce his presence. 

“Oh, you cleaned it up?” he asked the Valravn, who butted his head against his thigh, “Thank you, though I could have gotten it myself later.” A grunt followed that and he chuckled as he scratched behind the canine’s ears, “Yes, yes you're a good boy. Now let’s head to bed, shall we?” Sheppard pulled away from the affection to howl at the window. “Moriarty? He’s...running an errand. He’ll be a while.” To which he received the most pointed look a dog’s face could ever muster. He shivered as he felt the intrinsically implied Can’t hide things from me, we’re bonded. and cleared his throat to correct himself, “He’s watching over our dear new acquaintance, Virgil. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to meet him yourself soon.” 

Much more satisfied by that answer, Shep hopped up onto his rightful spot at the foot of the bed. Where he settled down to wait as Logan went through his nightly routine of partially getting ready for the next work day, cleaning himself up, and changing into his pajamas. 

Meanwhile, the coffee mug in the living room on the dark wooden end table still sat forgotten and untouched. Where it would no doubt remain throughout the entire night.

I'm gonna live, I'm gonna fly.

I'm gonna fail, I'm gonna die.

I'm gonna live, I'm gonna fly.

I'm gonna fail, gonna die, die, die, die.

A/N: So I’m still a dirty rotten no good procrastinator. But! Hopefully it’ll help make up for the wait just a little bit that I’ll be posting both chapters 2 and 3 in quick secession. Along with a short, one-off Creativitwins fanfic (coming soon) based off of the latest episode (SVS Part 2). Hope you’ll enjoy! ^ . ^ “”” Also, I’ll no longer be going through the original post for reblogs to add to the taglist. So if anyone wants to be added to it please dm or ask me and let me know! ;3

Tag List: 

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[lynnsfics]

Coffee Stained Confusion Ch 12

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~~~

When you finally emerged from the basement, the tower was in chaos. The whole building was in lockdown and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were in a frenzy. Tony greeted you both at the stairs. 

“Well, glad to see you both well after that little, what would PR call it? ‘Elevator incident.’ I suppose Barnes will need to see a medic, but hotshot we need you upstairs. The rest of the team is meeting to discuss what happened. I know you aren’t sure if you’re joining yet, but they need a briefing on Alicia. Tell them everything you know.” He turned to walk away but paused, “And tell Rogers to dig up any old HYDRA files we have. After what happened here, we’ll need them,” 

Bucky turned to you, “The meeting room is three floors up. I can show you the way there, if you want.”

“I think I’ll be able to find my way, besides you need to wait here for the medic.”

“Alright then,” he smirked, “I’ll see later, phoenix.”

Making your way upstairs you started to regret your decision of refusing Bucky’s escort. You were about to meet the Avengers, by yourself nonetheless, and you looked like you’d been through hell. To be fair, you basically had, but they didn’t need to know that. 

Heart pounding you stepped into the conference room. You saw Sam and instantly felt a little bit better. At least you weren’t completely alone. The team sat at a table, debating something heatedly. The moment you walked in, however, they all stopped and turned to you. 

“Uh, hi.” Just great, your mind decided to skip town at the worst possible moment. “I’m Y/N, Tony told me to come here and brief you guys on Alicia.”

Thor smiled encouragingly, “Yes, her escape has us all baffled.”

“We believe that HYDRA got their hands on a blueprint of the tower before their infiltration was discovered.” Steve chimed in.

“Although Tony is constantly modifying things,” Rhodey countered, “which means we may still have some moles.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Or boys, the most likely option of all. They hacked into our servers and turned off the power, giving some of their agents time to sneak in, break Alicia out, and cut a few elevator cables too.” 

“Now I may not be an expert on Midgardian technology, but I thought Stark’s computers were fully secured?” Thor questioned.

Steve responded, “They should be, but HYDRA has some tech specialists. One of their scientists had his entire consciousness uploaded onto a computer database.”

“You should have seen it,” chuckled Natahsa, “extremely creepy.”

“So we’re just going to assume that since they can make a guy into a robot that they can get past Stark’s firewall?” Rhodey scoffed.

Soon they began arguing again, which seemed to go on for ages. Your mind reeled trying to keep up with the conversation. Finally Bruce Banner cut in, “Well, Y/N is here, maybe she can inform us on what Alicia is most likely to do.”

Sam nodded at you. You could do this. “Well, with me, she played more of the long game. She pretended to be my best friend all throughout college. So, for almost six years now. Uh, we were majoring in law so it was supposed to be eight years instead of the regular four. But HYDRA wasn’t very secretive about the murder of former double agents. They used very obvious poisons, ones that were just discussed in the biology course Alicia and I take. Well, used to take, I guess.”

“I don’t understand.” Wanda said, “Why would they use something so obvious? Isn’t flying under the radar like their whole thing?” “We aren’t sure yet, but I’ve been thinking about it and it may be a way of them taunting S.H.I.E.LD. If I learned one thing, it’s that Alicia loves a spectacle.”

Bucky walked into the room, his ribs bandaged and some fresh stitches on his forehead, but looking much better than before. “Well if she wants a spectacle,” he said, “why don’t we give it to her.”

“I know you probably just got concussed,” Sam said, “but what the hell are you talking about dude?”

“In the infirmary I spoke with an agent who was knocked out by some HYDRA thugs. He said one of them he had seen around for a week or so. But the other two he had never seen before. They probably had a few moles in here to learn how to hack into the power supply and then sneak in some more when the power was out.” “But how would they know that Alicia would be captured?” Natasha questioned.

“They didn’t.” Bucky replied, “That threw a wrench in their plans.” He stepped next to you, “So did Y/N here, which is why they tried to dispose of us both with the elevator stunt. That didn’t work so well though, considering we’re both still here.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Steve asked.

“The agent gave me a location, where they might be taking her. S.H.I.E.L.D has apparently been scoping the place out?”

“How do we know that this is legitimate information?” Tony asked, entering the room.

“Well we don’t, not yet. But we can reconfirm with Fury.” “Sure, I’ll give him a ring. He just loves my calls.” Tony said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Considering you skipped the meeting Tony,” Steve glared, “you can do this one thing. Unless, of course, you want to be searching for her for another few months, and let more good agents get  killed. No? Then I strongly suggest you give Fury a call.” Steve stood up and glanced at you, “Speaking of, Y/N here knows some more about the murders, so you may want to look over her uh, biology notes. They may contain the next poison to be used.” With that, he left the room.

You glanced awkwardly around the room, waiting for someone to speak next. When no one did, you cleared your throat and said, “I have the notes in my bag, if they’d be helpful.” 

“They should be in your room, we can go get them now.” Bucky said reassuringly.

The two of you exited the conference room, and you felt a sigh of relief wash over you. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel safe around the Avengers, you did, but you were terrified of saying the wrong thing and making a fool of yourself.

“That went well,” Bucky said, but you weren’t entirely convinced. “No, really, they actually listened to what you had to say. It took them awhile before they truly paid attention to what I told them.”

“Thank you, and thank you for getting me out of there.”

“Well, to be fair, we do need to get those notes, and you looked like you needed a breath of fresh air.” 

You nodded. “I did, to be honest. It’s a lot of pressure. But,” you paused, and glanced down, “that won’t stop me from joining. After all of this, I don’t think that a future in law is for me. Going back to college isn’t a possibility. I think my future is here.” Bucky broke into a grin, “I’m glad. We need you here.” Under his breath, he muttered something, but you couldn’t quite make it out. 

“What was that last part?”

“Oh nothing, just, uh, thinking. Only one more flight of stairs and we’ll be there.” Was that a slight blush on his cheeks or was it just your imagination?

Finally, you made it to a door with a security scanner next to it. Bucky cursed, “My security card was damaged in the fall. Let’s try getting in a different way. FRIDAY, requesting access?” FRIDAY responded, “Access granted. The package for Miss Y/N has been delivered to her room.” “A package?” 

Bucky glanced down, “It’s probably just your books. They had to be collected from the apartment, so they must have arrived late.” The door swung open to reveal a series of rooms, mainly in a monochromatic theme. Little bursts of color appeared throughout in the form of paintings. 

Walking up to one, you saw the artist’s signature and gasped. “Bucky you painted this? It’s beautiful.” 

He smiled shyly, “After leaving HYDRA, and having done nothing but cause pain, I wanted to be able to do something good. So I took up painting. Growing up, Steve was always the artist, I never really thought I’d be good at it,” he chuckled, “apparently I have a bit of a knack for it. Your room is down that hall there if you want to grab your notes. I’m going to get changed into some fresh clothes, but let me know if you need anything. 

You walked down the hall and saw an open door, sitting on the bed in the room were your notebooks in a neat pile. Next to them was a package wrapped neatly in plain wrapping paper. Written on it was a note, “Phoenix, just in case you decide to join the team. ~From, Bucky”. Gently unwrapping the package, you found a suit inside, with orange-red flames in spirals across it. It was beautiful. A knock came at the door. “I hope you like it. I didn’t want to assume anything about you joining, but after what you said about the tattoo I thought, well anyways. I talked with Tony before stopping by the meeting and asked him to have it made for you. If you don’t like it you could get another one-” You cut him off, “No, it’s absolutely perfect, I love it! Thank you.” You walked over to him and wrapped him in a hug. He froze for a moment before returning the gesture. 

“I can take the notes down to them, if you want. There’s a TV in the main living room, and the coffee machine is on the counter in the kitchen. You should be able to relax a little.”

You smiled, “That sounds great, thank you.” As soon as he left with the notes you sat down on the couch and turned on the television. Brooklyn-99 was already on and you smiled, the familiar show bringing you some comfort. A few episodes in, it started getting dark out and you began to doze off.

It wasn’t long after that your dreams turned dark and you woke up screaming.

~~~

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[litzing]

The Last Starmachine

When modern problems require ancient solutions.

Title: The Last Starmachine

Author: @litzing

Word Count: 1513

The ceiling, emblazoned with a fractal map of the universe that must have taken thousands of cycles to complete, hangs over me like a midnight sky as I cross the grand cavern to the very last Starmachine. With tears in my eyes and a smile on my lips, I gaze up at the culmination of my life’s work, a tall, mysterious cylinder covered in carved runes that looms over the cavern like a monument to the heavens. I reach out to touch the structure, but I hesitate right before my fingertips can brush the stone and withdraw my hand. There’s more to be done before I can enjoy my discovery.

“Is that it?” asks Masza in accented Common. He approaches the Starmachine, regarding it with awe. I’m fishing in my knapsack when I look up to see him about to touch the cylinder with one large, scaled hand.

“Don’t!” I blurt out, and Masza freezes with his palm mere inches from the Starmachine. “Don’t touch that. You could turn it on.”

He lowers his hand. “I thought it had a key?”

“It does. But one can never be too sure.”

I produce the key from my knapsack, wrapped in an expensive Ssarrhan fabric. Masza leans closer to see. It’s a sandy brown stone sphere about the size of my fist. Runes similar to those on the Starmachine are etched into the surface. A long, jagged rod extends from the top. Not much to look at; the antiques dealer I bought it from was using it as a paperweight.

“This is incredible! Oh, I am so excited. Imagine what we can do with the last Starmachine, Masza!” I can’t hide the way my eyes light up, nor how my speech quickens. “We can salvage civilizations! Light up skies! We can create new worlds capable of life! How amazing!”

Masza clears his throat. My smile fades when I raise my eyes to see him looking disgruntled.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Am I getting paid or what?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” I dig deeper in my knapsack, then pass him a wad of bills. “As promised. Thank you for guiding me, Masza, I greatly appreciate your assistance.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He counts the bills. “Just hurry up. It’s hot in here, Ilamiria.”

“I apologize, but we could be here for a long time.” I’m already setting down my lantern and flipping through the tiny notebook I keep in my pocket at all times, stuffed full of important information I’ve gathered about the Starmachine. To the left is a control panel of sorts, a cluster of stone dials that correspond with cosmic coordinates, and I wander over as I’m talking to nobody in particular.

“These must be the tuning dials. I wonder if I can turn them? Surely the stone has deteriorated over time, perhaps even cracked in some places...”

All of the dials have keyholes on the left side. The key fits like a glove in the largest dial, and it turns with ease. Once I’m certain nothing terrible will happen, I start twisting the dials according to my notes.

“Ah, I see... So this is—And this small one here determines—Hmmm... Maybe this big dial... Yes!”

“Should I be listening to you?” Masza questions, ambling around the cavern, his thick tail swishing along after him. There isn’t much to look at beyond the map on the ceiling and the Starmachine.

“No, no...” I wave a hand vaguely in his direction. “Don’t mind me. But please don’t break anything.”

“Wasn’t planning on it...” he grumbles.

Referencing my notes, I arrange the dials in a very precise way. They must be correct, or I could cause catastrophic damage to the universe. If I don’t use specific coordinates...

“... I could destroy worlds,” I murmur.

“What?” Masza’s voice is close behind me. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Ah, no, of course not. Just talking to myself,” I reply. I’m busy with the dials. So busy, in fact, that I don’t hear Masza pull out his blaster until the barrel is pressed against the back of my head. I pause, hands still on the dials just as I’ve set the right coordinates.

“Masza?”

“Y’know, Ilamiria,” he begins, and I hear him flick his blaster from stun to kill. “I think we should destroy some worlds.”

“I’m sorry?” I turn, and I find myself face to face with the business end of Masza’s blaster. “Oh! Masza, why—?”

“I have a buyer from Talroch that’s very interested in the last Starmachine. They say it’s some kind of weapon?”

“A weapon!? Of course not! Masza, Starmachines are the closest thing to gods this universe has! They create life! And we found one! This is the archaeological discovery of the millennium. You can’t possibly sell it to some warlord!”

“Money talks. I listen.” He extends his hand. “I’m gonna need you to hand over that key.”

“I’ll pay you more. My parents are wealthy aristocrats on Tikka. I can afford it. I’ll double your money!”

“It’s a lot of money, kid.” Masza beckons with one clawed finger. “The key.”

“But you don’t know how to use it!” I exclaim, desperate. “Masza, you could kill us all. You could take billions of lives. Trillions!”

“Guess I’ll need your notes, too. Hand ‘em over. I won’t ask again.”

I can see in his dark green eyes he’s not messing around. Maybe hiring a guide from a bar on Ssarrha was a bad move. I glance up at the Starmachine, my beloved, and chew my lip in thought. Is my sense of self-preservation strong enough to outweigh my morals? Turning over my research to this thug will put trillions of lives in jeopardy. Could I do that to save my own skin?

No. I found the last Starmachine. I won’t let anyone take that away from me. And I sure as hell won’t let anyone use it as a weapon.

I duck under Masza’s blaster and ram my shoulder into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbles and falls with a surprised yelp, his blaster slipping from his fingers and clattering off to the side. I dive for the blaster, but Masza catches me by the ankle and hauls me towards him. I try in vain to claw my way forward, my nails scrabbling against the stone until they split and bleed. Masza’s grip on my ankle is bruising, and he’s so much stronger than me. Gasping for breath, Masza drags me closer and flips me over so he can straddle my waist and hold me down. After a swift punch to the face that must have broken my nose, his rough hands find my throat, and he squeezes.

“Fucking brat!” he spits, glaring at me with narrowed eyes and slitted pupils, sharp teeth bared like an animal. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? If you really were some kinda kid genius, you’d have handed over your shit and died easy. Now you’re gonna die—“ His grip tightens on my throat. “—slow.”

I kick my feet and try to pry his hands away, but it’s futile. Thinking fast, I grab the knife sheathed on Masza’s belt and drive it into his gut as deep as I can, piercing his soft underbelly. Pale blue Ssarrhan blood bursts from the wound when I rip the knife out, and Masza shrieks in pain, releasing my neck to try to stop the bleeding with both hands. I scramble out from under him and snatch the key from where I’d left it on the panel, and without a second thought, I force the key into the ignition and twist it to the right.

The cavern rumbles. I watch in awe as a brilliant golden glow creeps through the runes carved into the Starmachine, lighting up every crevice from bottom to top. A large panel in the ceiling above the Starmachine slides open, exposing the night sky. As the glow reaches the top of the cylinder, I feel electricity in the air, a crackling static that raises my hackles and stings my eyes.

After a deafening silence, the Starmachine roars to life. It sounds like the wind howling in a hurricane. I feel myself being pulled towards the cylinder, and I grab the control panel to keep steady. Masza is not so lucky. The Starmachine reels him in from where he’s groaning in pain on the ground, and the moment he touches the white-hot cylinder, he’s lit up in flames. His agonized screams will haunt me for the rest of my life, but soon, he is nothing more than a pile of ash.

With an explosion that leaves my ears ringing, the Starmachine ejects some sort of projectile into the sky. It’s gone in a blink, breaking out of the atmosphere. Then the glow fades, the dials spin back to their default position, and all is quiet, save for the panel on the roof sliding shut.

But before it can close, I see a prick of light in the sky that was not always there.

[caeruleis]

@unladylikc

" Oh hey, Lancey-poo! This belongs to you, right? " The moment he'll open the door to his room, Lancelot would be greeted with the sight of Vivian holding his notebook while still wearing her banana onesie. From the looks of it, she seemed to have forgotten to get dressed. " Since ours were similar looking, I must have accidentally taken it when we were studying at the library last night, but yeah, if you noticed the notebook you opened today had different handwriting, that's totally my fault. "

Unprompted || Always accepting (feel free to turn into threads)! 

                                                       ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ― ☽ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

    The click of his pen upon thick parchment echoed through the cluttered room - lips purposed and foot tapping against the leg of his chair where he set at his desk. A collection of hefty books, notes, maps, and an assortment of tools - ranging from chess pieces to ink - were all stacked in a haphazard manner on the meager space he had. The gentle light of a candle bathed his work in an orange glow to keep the fog of night from spilling into his room as he worked. Ever the diligent student, he was already finished with his classwork more than a week in advance. What he was pouring over now was a personal project of his, but it soaked up most of what little free time he had between classes, and kept him up late into the night. To the point where, well, he never really bothered to take care of his room. Luckily, the dorms were single-student ones so no one actually ever actually saw what a mess it was despite how organized he always seemed. Clothes were strewn about - half hanging off of the bed, and half in random locations on the floor. He had a stack of books from the library tucked away in the far righthand corner that were collecting dust and well past their due date. Another pile he had purchased from a merchant that hadn’t been cracked open yet. His classwork was littered in every nook and cranny. Plates from the dinning hall were tucked beneath a pair of socks and some tools to keep his weapons sharp - which were in an equal state of disorder. And he knew he should clean it, but he simply didn’t have the time. So he left be, and then, clearly, it had gotten out of control.       

     Fingers card through messy, black locks as he leans over his desk - fingers lifting to adjust the glasses he used when he worked well into the night and exhaustion began to make his vision waver. He’s been jotting down ideas and notes for the better part of the night, and sleep still felt a long way off despite the swiftly dwindling hour. But he can’t say he minds. He’s doing all of this to achieve his dreams. It matters little to him if he goes a week without sleeping if that week can be spent, possibly, saving the lives of people like Vane’s parents who were cut down needlessly by beasts when the army could have stepped in. And it keeps him working long after he should. He knows rest is important, but he can’t being himself to stop. Or, rather, that had been his intent until he hears rap of knuckles against the door, and he quickly shuffles out from his chair, pen placed neatly atop an otherwise chaotic pile of papers. Carefully, he steps over the collection of mismatched items on the floor, pushing them out of the way of the door as he reaches out for it so they won’t be seen. Loose pants and light nightshirt are a far cry from the armor he’s always seen wearing or the uniform shoved on for classes. 

      He opens the door the sight of Vivian, and lips part in mild surprise the second he does because it’s impossible not to notice what she’s wearing. For a brief moment, he questions whether or not he might have fallen asleep while writing, but he dismisses that idea. He was, at least, fairly self-aware. So, he tries to will the surprise that clouds his features into a smile, and while he does manage to pull up the corners of his lips, he’s surprise remains despite his best effort. Trying his best to ignore it, he glanced down at the notebook held in her hand, and - ah, he hadn’t even looked over the notes from today. He had taken them directly from the text itself a week ago so there had been no need, but now that he sees it, it’s clearly his notebook. “It is. I should have been paying a bit more attention. I apologize for causing your trouble,” he offers before accepting the worn notebook from her, and cracking it open to scan one of the pages just to be safe. It’s very much his, which means the one he’d taken must be hers. 

        “I should have yours then, wait just a moment.” He slips back into his room, propping the door just slightly ajar with a book before he makes his way over to his desk and - it’s not there. Dread settles in as he quickly hoes through the notebooks there only to find that none of them have the right class or subject matter to be Vivian’s. With a series of loud clanks and slams as he digs through a few more, he realizes that her notebook is somewhere...buried in his room. With a sheepish smile he returns to the door once more. “Forgive me, I seem to have misplaced it, but I’ll find it shortly. When I do, I’ll drop it off -” he cuts himself off mid-sentence when that book he had been used to keep the door from slamming in her face fell, and, as a result, the door had swung open and realized the complete disaster his room was in, much to his dismay.