#maybe my ao3 account will see an actual use in the future we’ll see

[m3llowm1sh]

mish’s relationships with the rd cast

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt day hurray! What does BaXia think of ChenQing? They would have crossed paths in the war, right? What do all the other weapons and instruments think of WWX apparently setting aside SuiBian for ChenQing? Can THEY tell he's got no golden core?

ao3

You seem kind of evil, Baxia remarked when she first met the flute.

Yeah? The flute responded without first bothering to extend her perceptive aura out to see who was talking to her, sounding like a little punk, arrogant and bold. Well, you seem kind of – oh fuck oh fuck you’re terrifying!

This was true. Baxia was terrifying.

Please don’t destroy me! My master needs me!

Baxia said nothing, enjoying how the flute squirmed, and nudged her own master pointedly.

Do not destroy the flute, her master responded with a sigh. He knew Baxia well. Her master is on our side.

Truly, war made for strange bedfellows. Baxia mourned the loss of the easy, straightforward night-hunt.

She nudged her master again.

Yes, fine, you can chase.

Her master - loving, wonderful, understanding master that he was - very casually walked across the room, unhooked her from his back, and put her down next to where the flute was hanging off her master's belt.

Chase, Baxia said happily, the aura of her power already spreading beyond the confines of her blade. Chase, chase, chase –

Someone help meeeeeee!

-

You’re kind of a dick, Chenqing said, having finally realized that Baxia had no intention of destroying her incipient spiritual soul. Anyone ever tell you that?

Yes.

…really? Who dared?

My master.

Your master is badass. Chenqing contemplated for a moment. So is mine, he's very brave, even suicidally brave, but not – you know – that much.

Baxia considered this, and accepted it. Her master was indeed a superior sort of human.

Why do you smell of death? she asked, mildly curious.

My master uses me to direct resentful energy, so I’m affected by its aura. You?

I bathe in it.

…you're so badass.

Yes. Baxia was.

You’re not bad, she told Chenqing, which almost predictably got a little huffy.

I raise armies of the dead! I am terrifying! They call me the phantom flute! I am more than 'not bad', okay?!

Baxia ignored Chenqing's nonsense. It would not take long for her to realize that being called ‘not bad’ by Baxia was a very high compliment, as such things went.

-

Are there any swords that aren’t afraid of you? Chenqing asked. She was very chatty. Or sabers. Or musical instruments…

Which musical instruments have you met?

Uh, mostly Wangji? Wangji’s cool.

Baxia occasionally wished for eyes so that she could roll them. Her human got a great deal of relief out of doing that, according to him. Wangji has a temperament of ice, yes.

No, I mean, that’s not what I meant, I – wait. Are you making a joke right now?

Baxia said nothing.

You have a sense of humor?!

Baxia said nothing.

This is ridiculous. It’s like meeting a hurricane with sharp teeth and finding out it also likes to sing bawdy brothel songs.

You’re kind of stupid, Baxia observed.

Well, yeah. I mean. Have you met my master?

Baxia had.

He’s only scary by accident, Chenqing said ruthlessly, which was only to be expected – no one dunked on a human like their spiritual weapon. Inside, he’s a big soft squishy meatball.

My master cries when he has feelings.

My master too! Humans, am I right?

Baxia supposed Chenqing was, in fact, right.

Perhaps she could stay.

-

It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything Wei Wuxian is doing for us, Baxia's master remarked to her one day. But didn’t he have a sword at one point? The one with the ridiculous name – Suibian.

At the next meeting, Baxia asked.

Suibian? Yeah, master doesn’t use him anymore, Chenqing said. It's a bit sad, actually. He can’t access the spiritual energy in the blade anymore.

Baxia didn’t like the sound of that. How come?

Master doesn’t have a golden core, Chenqing said. I think he used to, but he doesn’t anymore.

Seems careless.

Hey, I’m pretty sure it’s not his fault! Anyway, it’s a whole big secret. Why do you ask?

My master wanted to know.

Hah, Chenqing said. Nice of you to ask on his behalf, since you can’t tell him what the result of your question was.

Baxia said nothing.

You – can’t. Right? Masters can’t hear what swords say.

I, Baxia said, am not a sword.

…oh shit. Shit, no, you can’t –!

-

“We need to talk,” Baxia’s master said to Chenqing’s. “In private.”

You’re a rotten tattletale, Chenqing said.

Why do you care? He won’t know it was you that squealed.

Yeah, well, I know that I did it!

It’s for the best. My master will be nice about it, and your master will feel better for it. Baxia considered. There may be tears.

There were many tears.

Master really does seem like he feels better, Chenqing observed. I wouldn’t have called that.

Told you so.

-

So, Chenqing said. This hunt is probably the last time we’ll be able to hang out.

Probably, Baxia agreed.

I was hoping to ask for some advice.

Bichen is amendable to your flirting, and Wangji follows where she leads, so you have a shot.

I – what? That wasn’t what I was going to ask.

Baxia waited.

…wait, are you serious? Will that work? I could do that –

-

The flute’s an idiot, Baxia told her master. But maybe she and that master of hers can help you here.

It would be inappropriate for me to ask, her master said, rubbing his eyes. The Jiang sect kicked him out, remember? It would be stepping on their face to approach him despite that.

Okay, Baxia said. So step.

Baxia…

You share a secret with him, at his request, she pointed out. He owes you for keeping it secret for him. At minimum, even if he can’t help you right now, he can help protect your brother when you’re gone.

Her master was silent. That was his weak spot, and had always been.

No one would be able to know, he finally said. And Meng Yao comes every week.

Is our home so small that we can’t hide someone from Meng Yao’s sight? Baxia said scathingly. Since when is he the master here, not you?

I just meant that he’s a sneak that’d sell me out to his father given half a chance, her master sighed. All right, I’ll see if there’s anything that can be done. Wei Wuxian is a musical cultivator, and a genius; maybe he can tell me why Clarity doesn’t seem to be having the impact we hoped it would.

Sure, Baxia said. Whatever. I don't really care. Just get help.

-

Well, that worked, Baxia said to Chenqing. Sort of.

How are you this badass? You just -! Singlehandedly -! I can’t – how?!

Calm down, Baxia advised. What are you, human?

How dare you.

You’re the one acting like you need air to speak.

…so I’m looking forward to seeing the Lotus Pier again now that we're not banished any more, Chenqing said, pointedly changing the subject because she was wrong and she knew it. Thanks for that.

Thanks for figuring out that the evil meat was poisoning my master.

That’s. uh. Sure a way to call someone.

Why not? He’s evil, and he’s made of flesh, and he’s going to be nothing but meat as soon as I have an opportunity.

I thought your master was thinking of some sort of confinement…?

He certainly has thoughts, Baxia allowed, purposefully broadcasting.

I have very strong thoughts, her master replied pointedly. Do not kill him on your own – I’ll only get the blame for that.

Oh no, Baxia told him insincerely. How terrible for you.

Baxia. Please.

Fine. What about Jin Guangshan?

…what about him?

Me and the flute are going to take care of him.

We are? Wait, are you talking to your master right now? Oh that’s so cool. Tell him to tell my master that I said hi.

Baxia would tell her master no such thing.

That’s probably not the right way to do that, her master said, but in that wavering tone of voice that suggested he was open to being convinced. Though it would be easier to sell Meng Yao as being only collateral damage in the scheme if Jin Guangshan took the lion’s share of the blame, which would only happen if he wasn’t around…that doesn’t seem right, though.

Sure it is, Baxia said soothingly. He’s the one who wanted to play with resentful energy, right? All we want to do is play with him back. Who can say no to that? He’s practically volunteered!

-

“Okay, I have a weird question,” Chenqing’s master said to Baxia’s. “Please don’t judge me. But…did we happen to work together to drive Jin Guangshan into a resentful energy backlash?”

“We did not,” Baxia’s master said.

“Okay. Right. Got it. Sorry, stupid question.”

“Our spiritual weapons did.”

“…what?”

“If you’re wondering why your Chenqing shows signs of use in the manner that would be associated with Jin Guangshan’s untimely demise, it’s because the resentful energy you’re using has been sufficient to allow it to cultivate in the direction of a guai,” Baxia’s master explained. “It has a will of its own now, just as Baxia does. You will need to account for that when you master it in the future.”

“Wait. Are you saying that my flute has, what, a personality? Can think and talk and do things on its own?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…that’s so cool. Can you tell Baxia to tell Chenqing I said ‘hi’?”

Why are they like this, Baxia’s master asked Baxia.

I don’t know, you’re the human expert, she replied, ignoring the way that Chenqing was happily chirping answers to her human’s questions even though he couldn’t hear her. Why are you all like this?

I don’t know, he said. I really don’t know.

-

It’s nice to meet you, Suibian said, sounding appropriately respectful. I appreciate your master finding a way for my master to continue to wield me.

It’s through resentful energy, Chenqing said gleefully. Lots and lots of it, refining the sword like a saber – my poor master’s going to have to stay up late and learn so many techniques, his hair’s all going to fall out.

Yes, Baxia said. I can see the resentful energy. There’s a lot of it.

Lots and lots, Suibian said proudly. I drew in everything I could.

Without sorting out the evil?

…isn’t it all evil?

Mm, not really, Baxia said, and began to extend out her aura.

Uh, Suibian said. What’s going on.

I told you to be more patient! You shouldn’t have taken the evil parts, Chengqing said. It makes you a little bit evil, too, and that makes you Baxia’s prey.

…prey?

Chase, Baxia said. Chase, chase, chase –

Help! Help – somebody help!

I would, Chenqing giggled. But master doesn’t speak flute. Sorry!

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

champagne problems (part 1)

here's my first part of my modern no magic "champagne problems" singer-songwriter quarantine thomastair AU! happy birthday to @foxglove-airmid even though I don't think it's your birthday where you live anymore (and I still haven't posted zia's birthday fic, it'll happen I swear)!

no content warnings for this part (besides maybe quarantine), but future parts will include discussions of mental illness, substance abuse, and a suicide attempt

obviously, the song alastair "wrote" in the fic is not mine, it's by taylor swift! and a few of the lyrics have been changed!

Masterlist | AO3

Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief as he lugged his suitcase up onto the fifth floor landing.

“‘Ere we are,” Piers announced as he unlocked the door.

Thomas was utterly exhausted, such was the result of taking a redeye flight across the Atlantic during a global pandemic, but any idea of rest that he’d had was interrupted when he heard the sound of piano flood the apartment.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Piers nodded, “One of my flatmates, the walls are paper thin. He can’t record at the studio right now, but he’s trying to finish his EP, so it’s been a bit noisier around here. He’ll take a break soon, hopefully.”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s no problem. Thank you, again, for allowing me to stay here. I’ll be looking for my own place as soon as the quarantine is up.”

“Of course. You’ve got the couch as long as you need it. Couldn’t just hang you out to dry, could I? Although, you did pick a god awful time to move to the city, if I do say so myself.”

Thomas sat down on the couch and tried to make himself comfortable. It was more comfortable than the flight or the airport, at least. “I know… I considered postponing the move, but the visa was so difficult to get, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. They say this will all blow over in a couple of weeks, but borders are closing and I heard talk of them suspending all pending visa applications. I didn't know how long it would be if I waited, if the job was even still here for me at all.” Although at first entrance, the music had seemed to be a nuisance, it now comforted him. It wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it quite reminded him of the days Alastair’s playing had filled their flat…

“Where did you say you were working again? At a record company?”

“Yeah. I’m just doing pretty basic stuff for now, but if I ever do want to record my own music, I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Hm,” Piers said, gesturing to the room the music was coming from. “Perhaps you’ll get on with him well, then. Would you like some tea?”

Thomas nodded and Piers went to start the teapot. Piers continued, “Though I suppose he's more of the tortured artist type. Very reserved, quite prickly. I didn't even meet him until a couple weeks after I moved in here because he was off in some psychiatric hospital.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one for gossip. “My other roommate’s nice, though, I think you’ll like him. He-”

“How did you end up in New York, again? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Piers dove into the subject change quite readily, explaining his uni - or college - years in New York City and his decision to stay afterwards. Thomas had tuned most of it out, truthfully. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude, but he was rather exhausted, and Piers was wearing thin on his patience.

As the kettle started to whine, Thomas heard the musician begin to sing, and he froze. It sounded so much like Alastair. But it couldn't be, could it? With over 8 million people living in the city, he would not end up in Alastair's apartment by accident. His Alastair was certainly reserved and prickly, but it wasn't possible. It must be like all those times he thought he saw him on a street he'd never walked or heard his laugh in a café he'd never been to. Just his mind, tricking him. Even if he knew that voice so well, despite not hearing it in so long.

“It’s quite good, isn’t it? His first single just dropped.” Piers asked, bringing over his cup of tea. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been staring intently at the door.

Thomas took the cup. “Hm? Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

“You should look it up. It’s called “champagne problems” by Simurgh. That’s spelled- Well, it should come up.”

The name Simurgh sounded familiar, but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on where he knew it from. At Piers’ insistence, he pulled out his phone and brought up the song. As he skimmed through the first few lines, a cold feeling settled in his stomach.

“You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse”

“Simurgh,” Thomas realized.

“Yeah, I think it’s Arabic or something.”

It took Thomas a moment to process that Piers was responding to him. “It’s Persian.” He was certain that Alastair would have some very stern words to say if he heard Piers confusing the two, actually. Thomas had admittedly let his Farsi skills deteriorate quite a bit since the breakup, but he was fairly certain the name came from the Shahnameh. There was no doubt in Thomas’ mind now: he was staying in Alastair’s apartment, and Alastair’s first single was about one of the most painful days in Thomas’ life. “I, er, I used to study it.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Piers launched into a tangent that Thomas tuned out as he read through the rest of the page.

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems”

“Thomas? Are you alright?”

He realized then that his hand was trembling so badly that his tea nearly spilled. He used his other hand to steady it. “Oh, uh, yes, I’m just tired.”

“Perhaps you should rest. I can ask Alastair to quiet down for a while-”

“No!” he exclaimed rather too forcefully. “No, that’s not necessary. I’d just rather not talk, if that’s alright.”

Piers nodded.

Thomas kept reading.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems”

Of all the songs, why did he release the one about him? Why was it about a memory still so painful in Thomas’ heart, all of these years later? He remembered it so well, standing there, alone, shattered into a million pieces.

“You told your family for a reason You couldn't keep it in Your sister splashed out on the bottle Now no one's celebrating”

He was fairly certain that Barbara had been more excited than even he was, confident that Alastair would accept, and so very proud of her baby brother, all grown up. She’d been furious when it fell apart, but it was her who stood with him during the aftermath, who boarded him onto a train to Edinburgh to visit Eugenia when he couldn’t stand to be in the same city as him any longer, who went through his phone, blocking all of Alastair’s accounts so that he could obsess over him no longer, who comforted him as he wept and held him as he picked the pieces of himself back up again.

And all the more sour was the memory in light of her death.

“Dom Pérignon, you brought it No crowd of friends applauded Your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems”

He looked up at Piers, who had fortunately become enthralled with something on his phone and was no longer paying Thomas any mind. He lifted the teacup gingerly to his lips, but he felt far too sick to take a drink.

“You had a speech, you're speechless Love slipped beyond your reaches And I couldn't give a reason Champagne problems”

A reason, that’s all Thomas had wanted. Just any explanation. He understood if they were moving too fast, or perhaps he’d misread something, but he just didn’t understand it.

Why? Why can’t you tell me why? I deserve an explanation, Alastair. Please, anything.

I… I’m sorry, Thomas.

Stop it! Stop apologizing! We can just go home and pretend this never happened, please, forget about all of it, it was a stupid idea-

Thomas, stop. I shouldn’t’ve… This was a mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

That was the moment Thomas felt his heart stop beating.

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door November flush and your flannel cure "This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through”

Despite the nearly two decades Thomas had spent in London before Alastair, it was never the same without him. He saw him everywhere he went, despite knowing he was thousands of miles away. After graduating uni that May, he accepted a spot at a graduate program in Spain and didn’t look back.

“One for the money, two for the show I never was ready so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you "You’re the only one I want by my side, What a shame you’re fucked in the head," you said”

Those were the words that haunted Thomas’ nightmares, even now.

It’s you! It’s only you for me! It was always going to be you! But I can see now that I was never going to be enough for you, you and your secrets and walls and your lies. It’s a shame… it’s a shame you’re so fucked in the head, Alastair. You’ll never truly love anyone, will you? You’re not physically capable of it.

Alastair hadn’t responded. Thomas had wanted a rise out of him, any reaction at all, despite knowing how lethal and volatile Alastair could become when provoked. But there was nothing. Not a flicker of anything in his steeled expression. He’d simply looked down, apologized again for any pain that he’d caused, and left.

That was the last time they’d spoken.

Thomas and his sister left for Edinburgh that night, and when he’d returned to London, Alastair was gone.

“Well, you'll find the real thing instead Who'll patch up your tapestry that I shred And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems”

Thomas couldn’t imagine giving his heart to anyone again, not now and certainly not then. He’d dated in Madrid, but it had always stayed casual. He’d made sure of it. He could see now that he and Alastair had gotten together quickly, moved in together quickly, done all of it very quickly. After all, he’d fallen hard and fast. He gave all of himself to Alastair, and he’d nearly lost all of himself in the process.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket New picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

“You won't remember all my Champagne problems”

Now, he wondered what the rest of the story was. He’d convinced himself that Alastair had never loved him, that he was heartless and cruel, though he’d known that wasn’t true. Could Alastair have written this song if he’d never truly loved him? Perhaps he was a sociopath.

Thomas felt like he should run. Like he should pick up his bag and dart out of the apartment before Alastair could notice him, find some hotel somewhere with undoubtedly extraordinary high rates and just pretend like this never happened. He could get back on a plane and go back home to his parents and delete his phone browser history and pretend like this was all just a bad dream. But he could not move.

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed before Alastair’s door opened. He looked up with a start.

“Thomas,” Alastair breathed. He stood wide eyed, flushed.

“Do you two already know each other then?” Piers asked.

There was a moment of silence before Thomas cleared his throat. “We used to,” he said, looking down.

“I, er, I forgot that your friend was coming today,” Alastair told Piers. “It’s quite a long journey from London, you should have told me, I would have been quieter.”

Thomas considered correcting him for a moment, but decided not to. “Don’t worry about it. I heard you had your first big release. Congratulations.”

Alastair gave an awkward nod. “Thank you. Right, well, I’ll just…” He rushed over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’ll try to be a bit quieter.”

“Don’t- It’s fine, really. In fact, I’m sure there’s some hotel in the area I can stay at for now, actually-”

“Well, don’t leave on my account,” Alastair interrupted. “We agreed to let you stay here, and the city’s a bloody mess right now. I’ll stay out of your hair, Thomas.”

Thomas only nodded as Alastair disappeared back behind his bedroom door.

Thanks for reading! Taglist (ask to be +/-): @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @itsjusta-j-really

[peekbackstage]

Thanks so much for sharing your perspective. I've found your posts very informative and appreciate your time and effort. I saw you mention something about XZ's team not doing a great job responding to the situation, though of course they aren't to blame for it. If you don't mind, would you share your thoughts on what a better response might have looked like, and what impact it might've had if they'd done things differently?

One of the things that stands out most to me is how unprepared XZ Studio was when dealing with a PR crisis. It seems to me like they most likely did not have a strong social media team at the time who would have been tracking any trends or conversations associated with XZ. (By the point at which 227 happened, XZ Studio had already been established for about five months.)

It is pretty standard to track your artist’s name and keep an eye on trending topics, especially to get in front any major issues. As 227 began to develop, had XZ Studio been tracking the development on social media, they could have potentially defused the situation very quickly when the big call to action first emerged from XZ fans to report a fanfic to the government. It was so out of hand, and there was no statement from either the company or the artist that it seemed as though both were complicit in allowing it to continue, which is precisely why so many antis emerged, incensed against XZ’s apparent lack of action to rein in his fans and guide them appropriately. 

Much of the backlash that occurred against XZ and his fans is because there was no initial response when the call to action first appeared - they could have essentially stopped it before it got too far and prevented AO3 and Lofter from getting banned. A simple statement from the artist and the management company to defuse everything could have potentially stopped the movement in its tracks, with the amount of influence XZ does have over his fans.

When things did go sideways, there still was no statement or even an apology from management or XZ, who was being criticized for the actions of his fans. Though it wasn’t his fault (technically), the ways in which his fans behave reflected poorly upon him as an artist and an influencer. Had he taken “responsibility” immediately and apologized, it might not have gone so far as a boycott against him that resulted in so many brands dropping him. 

What I think a better response would have looked like once 227 occurred would have been this:

1. Immediately issue a PR statement condemning the actions of the fans and take responsibility for not initially “guiding” fans properly. Apologize on behalf of the company, the fans, and the artist. Statement should also include a note that states the offending content is merely fiction and that there is no truth to the story. There is no reason to be upset over something that is not true or defamatory, as it is imaginary. (This would essentially be a coded statement denying a certain relationship to begin the process of dissociating and creating a different narrative.) 

2. Artist should issue a statement condemning the actions of the fans and apologizing as well. Call to action for any fans who might continue to act out to behave appropriately. Remind fans that fiction is not real, and to stop acting out against something that is imaginary. 

3. Meet with Weibo privately. Ask them to help with community management to ban accounts that are breaking their TOS. Do this very early on in the process. Also, invest a good deal of money to hire an entire social media management team or a company to heavily monitor Weibo and aggressively report accounts that are engaging in defamatory behavior and potentially breaking Weibo’s TOS. Take legal action against anyone who is actively breaking the law. 

4. Book an interview with a large media outlet or a well-known media personality. Allow and even encourage questions about the incident. Artist should condemn the actions of the fans who caused the incident and apologize to the public for their behavior. Artist should also say something like, “The story is fake/imaginary/fiction/not real.” (Saying something like that more or less demonstrates how dumb all of this is.) I am assuming that questions won’t be asked about AO3/Lofter being placed behind the Great Firewall due to China censorship. 

5. Dissociate from anything and everything that might allow others to continue associating the artist with the incident. In XZ’s case, that means dissociating from WYB, because he’s associated with said incident given the fact that this was all caused by a fanfic. Put a moratorium on kadians and any other potential “interactions” that would allow fans to continue to have “content” to discuss on Weibo. The point here is to change the narrative - this way antis won’t also have content they can use to criticize XZ.

6. While this is happening, call all brands and schedule meetings. Attempt to rescue the brand deals. For brands who are very unhappy, offer a contract revision to suspend the contract terms for a set amount of time (such as four months) to see if the issue blows over. (It’s better to put it on hold than it is to have to try and get a new brand deal, especially once the brand’s annual sponsorship monies have already been allocated for the year.)  

Potentially work with third party PR team to circulate rumors among XZ’s fanbase that he is losing brand deals to create urgency for a counter-campaign against antis trying to boycott XZ’s brands. If there are just as many people calling brands to support XZ as there are calling for a boycott, then it would potentially be a 50/50 toss up as to whether or not a brand deal manages to be saved. This might also lead to a surge of sales for all of XZ’s brands, which would then maybe demonstrate to the brands that XZ shouldn’t be dropped.

7. Track sentiment/feedback once all of the above has been completed. If all of the above didn’t help at all, create new action plan which might include withdrawing the artist from all activity for a set amount of time. 

So there you have it. Maybe a response like the above could have potentially ended up with a different outcome for XZ. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped at all and everything would have still been just as bad. We’ll never actually know. 

What I hope is that XZ now has a better team who can handle issues like this in the future, and that he will see a full recovery for his career this new year. If 2020 has proven anything to anyone watching, it’s that XZ’s consumer power is still massive, and that his popularity has not waned at all. The fact that he is still sweeping all the awards that require fans to vote, often winning by millions of votes, and the red sea that fans managed to put on for him during the Tencent awards are undeniable symbols of his enduring popularity.  

This kind of influence is staggeringly powerful - brands and media outlets that previously might have felt uncertain about XZ as an artist most likely will have positive sentiments towards him as a result. 

So, let’s hope that 2021 will be the best year for XZ. 

The future is full of possibilities and the sky above is endless.

Edit: @pepeyee Made it clear to me in the replies that I definitely did not clarify myself or my thoughts on all of the above well enough, so I will be writing a response to all of the above to further clarify some points so that there is no confusion about my stance here. 

[marjansmarwani]

beyond the terror of the nightfall

4.5k || ao3

After everything, there is much healing to be done. But comfort can always be found in the ones you love. --- A (very late) 2x13 coda

Did this take me forever? Yes. But I got it done before the new episode and that's what matters. Shoutout to @justaswampdemon for helping me make sense of my own timeline, you’re the best! 

(And am I insane posting this 6 minutes before the 911 episode airs? Probably.)

----------

Things looked brighter in the morning. 

Not only because they had fallen into bed without drawing the curtains when they had finally gotten to a bed in the early hours of the morning, but because of the man laying beside Carlos; face still peaceful in sleep. He couldn’t help but stare; taking in the miracle that was TK’s rhythmic breathing. It was irrefutable proof that he was still there, that Carlos had not lost him in the chaos and fear of the night before.

He lay on his pillow, silently observing and resisting the urge to reach out and touch him for that extra layer of proof. He wanted to feel the warmth of his familiar skin beneath his fingers but he did not want to pull him from this blissful state where maybe he could forget everything that had happened, for a little while. He turned away to avoid the temptation and look around the room, taking in the details that had escaped him the night before. 

Owen Strand’s guest room was sparsely but tastefully decorated and the warm browns of the room were as comforting as any place could be. The bright sunlight streaming in told Carlos that it was well past the time he usually woke up and for a brief frantic moment he thought he must be late for work. But then he remembered that at some point during the seemingly never-ending night one of his coworkers on scene informed him that their captain had ordered Carlos to take at least a few days off and that more leave would be ready for him should he need it. 

He let his head fall back against the pillow with a sigh, closing his eyes as he tried not to think about all of the things that needed to be done. He and TK had nothing now: no home, no clothes, no wallets. Every bit of their life, no matter how important or trivial had been reduced to ash right along with their home. Carlos knew they were lucky to have even escaped with their lives; the very real fact that they almost hadn’t had haunted him since the moment the flames erupted. But now, after, he was able to see around that and consider their way forward; and he knew it wouldn’t be easy. 

The sound of TK stirring beside him pulled Carlos from his thoughts and he rolled over to see his boyfriend slowly blinking open his eyes. He tried for a smile when those eyes landed on him and received an equally unsteady one in return. 

“Good morning,” TK said softly, his voice almost a whisper as if he didn’t want the world to know they were awake yet. 

“Good morning,” Carlos replied, matching the other man’s volume even as he moved closer and pressed a light kiss onto his lips. TK smiled into it, but once they pulled apart and he took a look around at their surroundings his smile faded. 

“I remember it happening,” he said after a moment, his eyes on the sparse furnishings of his dad’s house, “I was just hoping that maybe it was a dream.” 

Carlos hummed his agreement but he slid his hand across the bed to find TK’s. He squeezed it as soon as he found it and TK wound their fingers together in response before he pulled his mind back to the present and turned so he was facing Carlos again. They lay in silence, simply soaking in the presence of each other for a long time before Carlos finally sighed and ran a weary hand over his face. 

“We have so much to take care of,” he lamented, “I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Me neither,” TK agreed, “but we can divide and conquer, I suppose. You’re not alone in this Carlos,” he reminded him earnestly, “We are in this together, 100%.”

Carlos smiled at him as warmth spread through his chest. Their home might be gone but he can’t help but feel lucky that they didn’t lose this, that he didn’t lose him. The tasks before them were daunting and he was already dreading the hours spent on the phone with the insurance company, but knowing that he has TK at his side makes it all just that much more bearable. 

“We do make a good team,” he agreed, watching as TK’s smile grew. 

They lay there for a few more minutes, soaking in the calm silence of the late morning sun and the soothing presence of each other. It’s eventually TK that moves, a groan coming from his lips as he pulls himself up. 

“I suppose we need to actually face this,” he said wryly, “but I’m going to take a shower first. Care to join me?” 

Carlos laughed at his suggestive eyebrows but shook his head, “As tempting as it is,” he told TK, “I don’t think I could knowing that your dad and Mateo are right down the hall.” 

TK gave a light chuckle and leaned down to give him a lingering kiss. When he pulled away he took Carlos’s air with him as he stood from the bed.  

“Your loss,” he told him as he disappeared out the bedroom door with one last suggestive grin. 

Carlos watched him go, still trying to find his breath. Sometimes he was just struck by how much he loved the other man. It was a thought he had often, and a thought he had had last night as the flames had raged around them. 

As he pulled himself out of the familiar bed and began to get ready for the first day in their uncertain future he knew without a doubt that no matter what came and no matter how difficult, it would be worth it. Because he still had TK and they still had each other and after that, nothing else really mattered. 

-----

It doesn’t hit him until he is in the shower, of all places. 

He and Carlos had both spent an extremely long time under the running water the night before, plying the soot and smell of smoke off of their skin with Owen’s myriad soaps and skincare products but somehow now this regular, everyday act of showering before he got ready was his undoing. 

It was inevitable, he supposed. He hadn’t really processed it after all. There had just always been another thing to focus on: getting them out safely, answering questions about what had happened, supporting Carlos. TK had been a firefighter for the majority of his adult life; fire was nothing new to him. The sights and smells and sensation of being trapped among the hungry flames hadn’t affected him like it had the other man, for which TK was grateful. Carlos was the consummate pillar; always there to lend his support, always ready for TK to lean on and he was happy to be able to return the favor. 

But eventually, he ran out the timer he didn’t even know was running. 

It’s the smallest thing that acts as the catalyst. He’s just reaching for a shampoo when an idle thought drifts through his mind: he can’t remember the name of the shampoo Carlos used. 

It had been a bit of a running joke between them that Carlos had been struggling to find a shampoo that worked with his curls. He finally had settled on one just last week, but TK couldn’t remember what it was. He needed to replace it for him, he needed to make sure Carlos had everything he needed but he couldn’t remember the name of his shampoo. 

And it’s that thought that somehow brings the reality into focus. Everything they had is gone. They needed to move forward and they needed to do it completely from scratch. Everything they had built together was gone, and there was no bringing it back. The past month of living with Carlos and building a home together had all been erased; all proof of its existence reduced to ashes.

All their memories seeped into every square inch of the house were gone and there was no getting them back. 

It’s just one tear at first, but the rest quickly follow. Before he knew it he was sliding down the wall of the shower; chest heaving and shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. He landed on the shower floor as the tears kept coming, mixing with the warm water falling around him as he put his face in his hands. 

He hadn’t let himself feel this because Carlos had needed him but now, in the privacy of the shower with the sound of the water concealing his sobs, he let it come. He cried until he didn’t have anything left in him, until all the fear and pain was gone and he only felt numb. 

Then he stood up, shut off the water, and stepped out of the shower; drying himself off and getting ready to face a new day. 

----------

Carlos stepped into the kitchen to find Owen, fully dressed and bent over the counter writing something on a notepad. He cleared his throat awkwardly as he stepped into the kitchen, not wanting to startle the older man. 

“Carlos!” he greeted cheerfully, Good morning! I was just leaving a note for you boys, I have to head out for an appointment in a bit. How’d you sleep?” 

“The room was very comfortable,” he replied, carefully skirting around all mentions of sleep and dreams. The look Owen gave him told Carlos that he wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t press. 

“I expected you both to sleep longer,” he said instead. “It was a late night and lord knows TK’s never really been a morning person. Is he up too?” 

“He’s in the shower,” Carlos answered, taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter. “We both figured we have a lot to get done so it would be best to get moving.” 

“That actually brings up something I wanted to talk to you about - well, a few things actually,” Owen amended. “The first is simple.” 

He followed his words by picking up something resting on the counter beside the paper he had been writing on. It was his credit card and when Carlos went to protest he shook his head, “Don’t even think about it. Unless one of you went to bed with your wallet last night and failed to mention that, neither of you has access to any of your accounts at the moment. We’ll get that all sorted out in time but for now I’m sure you’d appreciate having some clothes that actually fit. And don’t even think about trying to pay me back,” he added as he slid the card across to Carlos, “I can cover it, and it’s the least I can do.” 

Carlos carefully picked up the card in front of him and looked from it back to his boyfriend’s father, “Thank you, Owen.” 

Owen waved off his thanks. “It truly is the least I could do, given everything. But I’m not the only one who wants to help you two.” 

Carlos opened his mouth, ready to assure him that the 126 didn’t need to do anything, that simply being there was enough (though knowing them he was sure his assurances wouldn’t stop them) but what Owen said next was not what Carlos had been expecting. 

“I know TK talked to his mother last night and told her it was fine that she couldn’t fly down here, but if I know her she is kicking herself for that. Now, this is all up to you and TK. It’s your house and your insurance and it’s up to you how you want to handle it but don’t forget that you have a powerhouse of a Manhattan lawyer on speed dial,” Owen reminded Carlos, “don’t be afraid to call Gwyn if you think it’ll help.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to…” Carlos began but Owen shook his head. 

“None of that,” he told him firmly before his expression softened. “She hates that she can’t be here for you two and if you would like to pass on some of the legal and insurance stuff to her I know she would be happy to do it. She would probably feel better about it, knowing that she was able to help you both even if it’s just a little.” 

Carlos nodded, feeling the smallest amount of weight lift off his shoulders. There was still plenty left behind, but the knowledge that someone with a better understanding of the system could help them made it just that much easier to breathe in the face of it all. 

“Thank you, Owen. I will.” 

“Good,” Owen said with a nod. “It’ll mean a lot to her and I’m sure you won’t mind a few fewer things to deal with.” 

Carlos nodded emphatically at that and Owen grinned. His expression shifted though as he caught sight of the clock about the stove. 

“I need to go,” he said hurriedly, “I have an appointment at the hospital. Will you tell TK...I don’t want to leave before he comes down but…”

Carlos shook his head, “It’s fine, I’ll tell him. We’ll see you later.” 

Owen gave him a grateful smile, “Count on it. If you need anything while I’m gone just call me, and don’t worry about buying whatever you need because I’m not letting either of you pay me back, I mean it.” 

Then he was gone, out the door with a wave before Carlos could even open his mouth to argue. He picked up the card idly and was tapping it against the counter while his mind wandered when he heard footsteps behind him. He looked around and felt a smile spread across his face at the sight of TK entering the kitchen. It abruptly faded though when his boyfriend grew closer and he could see the telltale signs of recent tears all over his face. They were well concealed, but Carlos knew TK’s face better than his own. TK had been crying, there was no doubt.  

“Babe?” he asked gently, rising from his seat at the counter.

“I’m fine,” TK assured him in a hearty voice that did not have Carlos fooled for a second. 

“TK you are not fine,” he retorted adamantly, “talk to me.” 

“I am Carlos, really,” TK repeated firmly and Carlos went to argue again but TK kept talking. “It just all finally hit me, I think,” he told him, “that’s all.” 

Carlos could feel the panic that had sprung up at the sight of TK’s upset start to fade in the absence of any immediate threat or injury. “I’m not surprised,” he admitted softly, stepping forward to wrap his arms around the other man. “You’ve been a rock the entire time and while I appreciate it - really, I do - it was your home too.” 

TK heaved a weary sigh and wrapped his own arms around Carlos, returning the embrace. “I know that,” he said softly into Carlos’s shoulder, “but I’m okay, I swear.” 

Carlos pulled away enough to study TK’s face, to look for any sign that he was lying. When he didn’t see any he relaxed and took a breath. He knew that it would take some time for them to both move past this and that they were each going to deal with this in their own way. He also knew that this would be far from the last time they talked about this, or the last time one of them struggled. But if TK said he was fine, he was fine and Carlos would let it go - for now. 

“Your dad just left,” he said instead, stepping away from his boyfriend so he could enter the kitchen. “He had an appointment but he said he would see us later.” 

TK nodded as he crossed to the counter and pulled out two mugs before filling them both with coffee and handing one to Carlos. Carlos took it with a grateful smile and continued, “He also left his credit card and told us to buy whatever we need and was very clear that we were not paying him back. He mentioned that part twice.” 

TK shook his head fondly and Carlos grinned before he moved onto the next part of their conversation. “He also suggested we call your mom to see if she can help us with any of the insurance stuff.” 

TK looked up, surprised for a moment before his expression evened. “That makes sense,” he admitted. “If anyone knows their way around the system, it’s her.” 

Carlos grinned at that, allowing himself a quick moment of enjoyment at the thought of an unsuspecting insurance agent trying to pull one over on Gwyneth Morgan. “I think we should,” he said a beat later, “I think it could make a difference because frankly, I have no idea where to even start with all of this.” 

TK chuckled and shook his head, “Honesty, me either. I’ll call her in a little bit, see what she says.” 

Carlos nodded but secretly he was sure the answer would be yes. He was fairly certain that Owen was right, that she would do anything that felt like she could help them, especially in a way that only she could.

“We should make some time to go out for a bit,” he says instead, “get some clothes to get us through the week, get you a new phone.” 

TK grimaced at the reminder. “You’re lucky you still had yours in your pocket,” he told Carlos. “It feels so weird not having it. I feel so out of the loop.” 

Carlos chuckled and reached across the table to place his hand on top of TK’s, “That’s okay,” he assured him sweetly, “I’ll make sure you stay in the loop.” 

“My hero,” TK deadpanned, but he was grinning. 

Any further conversation was halted by the dinging of the phone in question and Carlos fished it out of his pocket, swiping it open to reveal a new message in the group chat. He put the phone down on the counter so he could see the message from Paul: Status update: everyone make it through the night? 

TK rolled his eyes fondly as messages from the others appeared, all confirming their continued existence. Carlos grinned at him before he pulled the phone closer to type out a message informing them all that yes, he and TK had in fact survived the night. The conversation quickly shifted from there and, TK reading over his shoulder as he sipped his coffee, slowly a plan began to form. 

Paul reminded them all that they had scheduled a game night for tonight and that if there was ever a time they all needed it, it was now. Marjan was quick to agree and Mateo to wonder where they were going to meet. It was Nancy who suggested the 126, reminding them that it would be abandoned for the foreseeable future and that the building had been deemed structurally sound. It was at this point Carlos felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to meet TK’s concerned eyes. 

“Would you be okay with that?” he asked softly. 

“Yeah,” Carlos responded, baffled at the other man’s concern, “why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because we barely escaped from a burning building with our lives last night.” TK reminded him gently, “I’m just making sure you’d be fine hanging out in another one.”

Carlos considered, looking back down at his phone. The messages had paused and it seemed as if everyone was waiting on him. The idea of being surrounded by the work of the arsonist who had taken their home did seem daunting, but doing it with their friends and TK at his side made it seem far less so. 

So he smiled at TK and gave him a nod before he typed his agreement into the chat. The others were clear in their enthusiasm and despite everything that lay behind them and what was still waiting, Carlos found another smile. 

He had a feeling they’d be okay after all. 

-----

Walking into his destroyed firehouse is like walking into a grave, again. 

When he first started out as a firefighter he never thought he would be forced to stand in the ruins of the place that had come to be a second home (or even a first home, at times) and contemplate the loss and tragedy of the sight before him. But he had, twice. The first time it had been silence: the emptiness of the formerly bustling kitchen, the hastily made beds in the bunk room. The knowledge that the rooms would never be filled again. 

This time it was charred walls and shattered windows; physical destruction scattered with the debris and clutter of their day-to-day lives. They were still there - still standing - but there was an illusion of safety that had been washed away, never to be fully regained again. A safe place had been violated and for that Owen was sure he would never forgive himself for being the cause. 

His flashlight caught a glint of something in the debris of his office and he reached down to pull out the lump of melted steel. He turned it over in his hand as he sank into his chair, his mind fractured between a time nearly 20 years ago and this moment. He had once walked out of hell alone; filled with the grief of losing his brothers and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. But he had moved on and he had built new families and he had vowed to look out for them so he would never have to feel that loss ever again. In the minutes between his frantic call to Judd and the call confirming they were all safe he had nearly been toppled by the fear of that thought. He had thought that he might lose a family again, and that this time it would be his fault. 

But he hadn’t; his luck had held again. It had even carried on late into the night, saving him from losing the one thing that meant most to him in the entire world. The pure, unrestrained fear he had felt upon making the connection between Raymond’s threat and the fact that TK and Carlos - the two people both he and Gabriel Reyes cared for most - lived together, making them a perfect target, was unlike anything else he had ever felt in his life. The helplessness had almost overwhelmed him as he and Billy had raced to the scene, the guilt still did even now. 

But his luck had held once more and while he was beyond grateful - the thought of losing either of the boys was too awful for him to even comprehend - he was left now to once again wonder why. What had he ever done to make him deserve a happy outcome when Tommy didn’t get one. What made him better, more worthy of a long life, than Charles Vega? He may not have known the man for long, but he had come to know him well and he knew without a doubt that Charles had been a better man than him. Not just a better man: a better person, a better friend, a better husband, a better father. Charles Vega was better than Owen in every single aspect of life that mattered. 

Yet for some reason fate had decided that Charles’s time in this life was over; that Tommy needed to face life without her partner, their girls without their father.  

And Owen was still here, left standing once again in the ruins; wondering how to move on. 

He turned the lump of steel - a reminder and a relic - over again in his hand. There were so many skeletons in his past and sometimes he was afraid that his present was trying to match that. It was a fear that he lived with day in and day out, it was one of the things that kept him up at night and kept him turning to the tequila. He didn’t know how to shake this feeling of dread that had become his constant companion and sometimes he was afraid it would drown him. 

Sometimes he wished it would. 

There was a list of people in his head; people he couldn’t save, people who should have lived instead. He was running through the list of names (Pullman, Rollins, Rosewater, Santiago…) when the sound of loud music erupted through the silent shell of a firehouse. He frowned, glancing around as if the source would reveal itself before standing and heading down to the first floor. 

The sound of voices soon mingled with the sound of the music as he followed it to its source. He turned the corner from what had formerly been the kitchen into the skeletal remains of the lounge to see a small crowd. It was his team, and Carlos. He watched in awe as they took it in stride, as they made the most of it. He lingered off the side, beer in hand and more than content to watch and observe as they bantered and argued about foosball teams. They had all been deeply affected by everything that had happened; he had seen it in them in the immediate aftermath. He knew it had affected them each deeply in their own personal way.

But somehow, they keep moving forwards. 

He wonders vaguely when he lost that ability as he stands off to the side, watching them jostle and tease each other by the foosball table as Carlos and TK watch fondly from the sidelines, quietly seeking comfort in each other. He is amazed at their fortitude, at their propensity for healing. They have all faced so much and yet they keep coming out on the other side just as good, just as strong. Just as whole. 

He felt a smile find its way to his face as he saw TK gently rub at Carlos’s back; an almost unconscious act of comfort and support. They were fine because they had each other and as long as that was true he knew they’d be okay. 

His new team had become a family somewhere along the way and he knew that together, they could make it through anything. It’s in that moment that he decides two things: first, that the news of Charles Vega’s death could wait. These people deserved one night unmarred by tragedy and he had the power to give it to them so he would. 

The second, he decided as he watched them laughing with abandon and leaning into each others’ space - finding happiness in the literal midst of destruction - was that the best thing he could do for them is to make sure that they always had each other. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything and everything in his power to make sure that stayed true, for as long as he possibly could. 

[thewritewolf]

Running to Catch An Airplane Trope

Adrien has lost just about everything now that his father has been unmasked as Hawkmoth. But he isn't about to lose her too. 

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Adrien watched as Nino walked up to the podium and took his diploma, to general applause and the loud cheers of his family.

His hand tightened around his own diploma. There hadn’t been much of either when Adrien walked up, the first name called.

Barely any applause. Mostly just whispers. Some worried. Some… accusing. He supposed he couldn’t blame them, after everything that had happened still so fresh in the mind of the public.

There weren’t any loud cheers from his family. Mostly because there wasn’t much of one left anyway. He’d known for years that his father would never attend something as plebeian as a high school graduation, but…

Adrien hadn’t thought it would be like this. He’d had no clue at all about any of it.

It had taken all five of them - Ladybug, Chat Noir, Carapace, Rena Rouge, even Queen Bee - but they’d finally done it. Hawkmoth and Mayura, unmasked for all the world to see. No going back, no sneaky tricks to get away from it.

The only cost? Adrien’s family. His father and Nathalie, jailed. His mother, gone for a second time. His home, leveled in the pitched battle that followed. All his life except for his heartbeat is what it took to bring Hawkmoth to justice.

His teammates still didn’t know why he’d left so quickly afterwards, how he’d immediately detransformed and broken down. For most of them, they would never know. After all, no need for the secondary heroes now that the terrible Hawkmoth had been unmasked. Paris would rest easy under Ladybug and Chat Noir’s watch.

There is more clapping and Adrien mechanically joins in, only to be startled when everyone begins standing up around him. The ceremony is over, just like his days of childhood. His classmates are chatting excitedly amongst each other as they head across the street. It takes him a moment to gather the strength to stand up, but when he does, he is surrounded by his real friends.

Nino. Alya. And…

“How are you feeling?” Marinette asked softly.

This was the worst part. It was their graduation! Everyone should be happy and celebrating and here he was, dragging down the mood with his own misery. Just like always. It wasn’t fair to them, not in the least. Swallowing his emotions, he offered a strained smile.

“I’m doing better,” he lied.

Marinette didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything. Nino threw his arm around Adrien’s shoulder and they all followed after the rest of their class. For a moment, the prospect of having Dupain-Cheng pastries was almost enough to make Adrien forget it all. It was a good choice of venue for them - what better place to end their time together than the site of so many of their happiest memories?

Adrien was just about to sink his teeth into a passion fruit macaron when he started listening into what his former classmates were saying.

“-Going to school for botany, so I can open my own flower shop!” Rose said, giving Juleka a hug out of excitement.

Adrien shoved the macaron in his mouth and walked toward another part of the shop to find another. There, he overheard what Alix was saying.

“Yeah I got a plan to skate with the best in my new university. Gonna try to keep the family tradition of historians alive since clearly big bro ain’t up to it with all his conspiracy stuff. But that doesn't mean I gotta be a stick in the mud about it.”

Eventually, Adrien found a place in a corner, a good ways away from the rest of his friends. Some of them cast glances his way, but no one made a move to talk to him. What could they say anyway? ‘Sorry your dad was the magic terrorist that turned every single one of us into super villains at one point or another?’

And he certainly wasn’t about to approach them either. Not if they were going to be talking about the future. They all sounded so hopeful and excited, he didn’t want to bring them down with his uncertainty.

Having his entire life charted out in meticulous, color-coded detail, he wasn’t very confident in his own planning abilities. Even in his superhero career he was more often than not following someone else’s plan. What was he going to do with his life now, when even his superheroics weren’t necessary?

The party was still going on when Adrien sneaked out. He was sure nobody would miss him from there. No doubt the mood might even lighten once he was gone. Nino and Marinette would at least have a better time now that he wasn’t bringing everything down.

The only good thing he could say about his father now was that at least he’d actually paid Adrien for his modeling. Even if Adrien only recently got access to that bank account, it meant that he could afford a house to rent now that his childhood home was cinders.

Turning the lights on as he entered, he shuffled over to the television and hesitated. He used to like turning it on to have some background noise, but it was hard to escape the news about his family these days. Backing away from the TV, he opted instead to turn on a music playlist.

Adrien collapsed onto the couch, the weight of his loneliness bearing down on him now more than ever. Maybe he could have handled everything else, but on top of all of it, the defeat of Hawkmoth meant that Ladybug had basically gone off the grid. No akuma battles, no late night patrols.

His mind wandered - Where was Ladybug? What she was doing?

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

Long after the party had died down, Marinette went up to her room and pulled out a letter that she had hidden away months ago. It almost felt like another lifetime when she had sent out that application. She had sent it not because she had intended to go but because it was something she was expected to do.

Someone like her, with her hopes and dreams worn on her sleeve since she was twelve, didn’t just ‘forget’ to send out her university applications. It would’ve looked suspicious. So she sent the letters, knowing in her heart that she would never be able to leave Paris because walking away from it would mean leaving it defenseless.

But now the danger was gone. She didn’t need to protect her beloved city anymore.

Holding the acceptance letter to a semester long fashion internship in Milan, her heart pounded in excitement. After so long, she could finally start living her life again.

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

There weren’t a lot of people left in Adrien’s life.

He’d never been super close to most of his classmates, so that wasn’t a huge loss to him. But the retiring of most of the super hero team, plus Nino, Alya, and Marinette being super busy these days did cut deep.

But, as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop as Chat Noir, he reflected that at least he had Ladybug. Getting a call from her out of the blue was surprising, but he jumped at the chance to see her again after the maddening quiet of the last couple months.

A part of him was worried, however. Why did she want to see him? Ladybug didn’t do anything without good reason. And what good reasons were there left for them in a post-Hawkmoth world? Did she want his miraculous…? His hand brushed over his ring. No, she would never. She knew how much being Chat Noir meant to him. Besides, if she wanted to disband all of them, she would’ve taken his ring along with the other miraculous.

Heart pounding for more reasons than one, Chat Noir landed on their favorite meeting spot in one of the towers of Notre Dame. As he spots her iconic red and black outfit, he pushes aside his worries. Everything else aside, Ladybug was here - that alone was a huge load of his shoulders.

She turns around at the sound of his boots landing on the ground.

“Just the cat I was waiting on,” she said with a smile.

“I hope I didn’t keep such a beautiful woman waiting for long,” Chat replied, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. “What’s up, bugaboo?”

“I’ll get right to the point, chaton.” Ladybug took a deep breath. “I’m going to be going away for a few months. I got an internship in Milan. I’ll be leaving next week.”

His heart dropped and he took both of her hands in his. Eyes locked onto their interlocked hands, he murmured, “Lovebug, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it that long…”

She freed one hand to cup his chin, pushing it up until they were looking eye to eye. There was a soft but sad smile on her face.

“I know its a whole new world for us, and I’m sure its been rough for you. So I’ll make you a promise-”

“A purromise?” He punned half-heartedly.

“...sure, a purromise,” she replied. “The first time I see you after I get back, chaton, we'll blow this whole thing wide open.”

He frowned. She couldn’t mean…?

“We'll reveal our identities, I swear." To prove her sincerity, she held out her pinky.

“But… why can’t we do that now?”

"To give you something to look forward to, of course," she said with a smile. “So what do you say?”

Staring at her pinky for a long time, he eventually grabbed it with his own pinky. The promise had been made.

They chatted for a little while after that, but eventually Ladybug had to leave. People would notice she was missing if she was gone for too long.

Chat watched her leave, turning into a dot on the horizon. After all, who was going to notice, even if he was out for an hour more?

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

The days run by, lost in a blur of video games and books and other distractions that kept him in his room. There was no Nathalie to force him into his usual activities. No father to breathe down his neck. Just him slowly losing track of time as the days ticked past, unnoticed by Adrien. He didn’t even realize it was the day that Ladybug had said she was going to be leaving for Milan until his phone lit up for the first time in days.

It was Nino, of course. He was practically the only one calling him these days, except for the group chats that he was in. And even then, the last few calls had been a bit of a blur, running on autopilot like he was.

Adrien answers the phone. “Hey, bro, what’s up?”

“More like - what’s out? And the answer is me. I’m outside. Open the door, my bro.”

Nino hung up, leaving Adrien to blink in the darkness of his living room, illuminated only by the light of his paused game. Standing up, he rushed over to the door and opened it a crack. Sure enough, Nino was standing there.

“‘Sup dude?” He pushed open the door, letting the sunlight filter into Adrien’s house for the first time in days. Nino scrunched up his eyebrows in concern. “T-shirt and sweatpants this late in the day, my dude? You feelin’ alright?”

“Same as usual, I guess,” Adrien said with a shrug. “What’s the occasion?”

Nino let himself in and pulled open Adrien’s curtains. “Don’t really need one to hang with my best bro, do I?” He saw Adrien’s face. “Okay, okay, so I needed some time outta the house. Can you blame me? With everything going down with Marinette, I could use some space away from that bummer fest to take my mind off things.”

“Things going down with Marinette?” Adrien asked. Did something happen?

“Yeah man, Alya was a wreck last night. We helped Marinette pack up and honestly, watching those two say goodbye just about made me tear up." Nino tugged at his cap, getting ragged from the years.

Adrien takes a moment to shake off the gray stupor that's been hanging over him for months, that had been doubled because of Ladybug’s absence.

“Uh... what? Is Marinette going somewhere?” That is someone he should make more effort to keep in touch with, if he's being honest with himself. Maybe once she comes back from her vacation or whatever, they can get coffee.

"Dude, you never listen to anything I say anymore,” Nino said, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes disapprovingly. “I know it's tough with your dad and all, dude, but you've got to get out of your own head. Marinette's leaving."

"What? Leaving? Like, leaving leaving?"

"Might as well be, dude. She's getting on a plane this afternoon and not coming back for 6 months." Adrien got stuck by deja vu. Something about that time frame sounds familiar... "She wanted me to tell you she'll miss you while she's gone."

"I... can't believe I didn't say goodbye. Where is she going? Why is she going?" He’s more alert than he has been for months. He took a seat next to Nino, leaning forward a little as he hung on Nino’s words.

"A sweet fashion internship dude. Way over in Milan."

And it clicks. Internship. Milan. The whole semester. There’s no way… it can’t be a coincidence.

If Adrien is wrong, he doesn't lose anything. He'll see his lady and his friend when they both return. But if he's right - and he's got to be right! - then she's gone. She's gone and he won't get to say goodbye, to tell her that he loves her, that he's always loved her.

Nino's still chatting away in the background, "...and to be honest, I'm surprised she didn't come see you before she left. Alya said she wanted to clear the air about that massive crush she had on you in high school-"

"I'm sorry WHAT?" Adrien tries and fails to keep his voice level.

Nino raises his eyebrows. "Dude, I thought you knew by now.” He shakes his head. “Everybody knew."

That raises far too many questions for Adrien’s liking, but he is too focused to be sidetracked now. He leans into Nino’s space, clarity in his eyes for the first time in a long time, one question on his mind.

"When does her plane leave?"

"What? Like in, an hour or so, dude.” Nino’s eyes widened as he realizes what Adrien might be planning. “But there's no way-"

"-igottagoniceseeingyouninobye!"

Adrien throws on a pair of converse sneakers, tongues sticking out in his haste out the door, untied laces flying. Nino is shouting something behind him, but Adrien doesn’t have the time to listen. Once he was out of his friend’s line of sight, he transformed and ran. He runs faster than he ever had in his entire life, his rooftop blurring under his feet as they carried him across the city.

He can't believe it took all this for him to figure it out. At this point, he doesn't care that she might reject him. The only thing that matters is that he has to know for sure. Nothing was more important to him in this moment than to look in those bluebell eyes and tell her he's figured it out. Figured her out.

He can't have her disappear for six months and forget about him. About what they could be.

Getting to the airport took longer than expected. Getting across the whole of Paris wasn’t easy, but he did it. Even if he had to stop way outside his destination to detransform. Nothing was about to stop him. Not even his own body, wheezing and protesting the sudden activity after a summer of slacking could slow him down. There was something more powerful than muscle and sinew at work here.

The airport was busy and Adrien froze at the front door, catching more than a few odd looks from people. He didn’t have any time to spare for them, however. His eyes, his heart, were too busy frantically searching the crowd for just the barest sign of her. Despair that he was too late had begun to lace its tendrils around his heart when the crowd parted for a split second.

He saw her.

Not just Marinette, in a cute floral summer dress, hair tied back and lugging her bags behind her.

No. In that half of a moment, he saw Ladybug and Marinette as one. The strength behind her eyes, the determined squaring of her shoulders even though he knew she was scared. If he had any doubts before, they were gone like mist before the sun. He was only barely aware of himself bolting towards her, parting the crowd in front of him to a tune of a host of disgruntled French travelers.

His hand snags her wrist just before she reaches the security checkpoint. She turns, part of surprise, part out of curiosity. Her eyes widen when she sees him, but he doesn’t have the chance to savor it. He’s already pulled her into a hug, pouring all the love he’s bottled up inside himself into it.

Hand cradling her head, his mouth close to her ear, he can barely manage to pant out a few words, the exhaustion of pressing himself so hard so fast finally catching up with him.

"M'lady.... princess....found you..."

In a voice so quiet only his senses, made keen by years of using the black cat miraculous, can make out, she whispered, “...Chaton?”

He grins, gasping, and nods. Her eyes tear up and she hugs him back twice as hard. "How did you know?"

"Internship in Milan. Had to say goodbye. Had to tell you...Mari, I love you."

She's stunned for a moment, and pulls back to look him in the face. Matching her gaze, he feels himself falling inescapably into those bright blue eyes. He never thought he could fall even more in love, but today seemed to be the day for revelations. The moment broke only when she rolled forward on her tiptoes, placed her arms around his neck for leverage, and pressed her lips to his.

Time began again when a booming voice called out a flight number overhead. Marinette, kiss-drunk, pulled back and bit her lip, making Adrien’s heart do a backflip.

“That’s mine.” She pouts, then brightens and smirks, "You know, I hear Milan is lovely this time of year. You should come visit me sometime, Mr. Moneybags."

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

Two months later

Adrien rose with the sun, one of the few habits from his teenage years he’d never managed to shake off. Marinette was a few rooms over, taking the guest bedroom of his Italian villa while they lived in Milan. He started to make breakfast.

It wasn’t a miraculous cure - their relationship, her being here with him. His life was still in shambles. There were moments where he couldn’t be strong. He still felt lost most of the time.

But she was a constant. He could build a life around her - together. She was there when he needed to be weak. And her steady determination that he’d find his way was more often than not enough to ground him.

He put his breakfast on a plate and left Marinette’s on the kitchen counter, knowing the smell would do more to coax her out of bed than any amount of knocking or reminders. In the meantime, he pulled out his laptop to get a head start on his online class work for the day. It was just general requirements, but it gave him time to test the waters, see what he liked and what he didn’t.

No matter what, though, he knew she was going to be there every step of the way, cheering him on just like he knew he would be right there for her. A perfect team, just like they’d always been.

Yesterday was rough. Today would be better. And tomorrow? Adrien smiled as he heard Marinette's morning grumblings down the hall. Tomorrow shone bright with possibilities for both of them.

[poisonedapples]

Domestic Life (Was Never Quite My Style)

Summary: Even with a baby Patton who refuses to go to sleep, Roman finds himself having the loveliest night with his family.

Warnings: The song “Dear Theodosia” and one “blink and you’ll miss it” mention of parental abandonment. It’s mostly adorable fluff

Pairings: Romantic Logince, parental Royality and Logicality

Word Count: 2,522

Taglist: @noodles-07 @didyouseerichohisawrich @look-ma-im-on-tv @somehow-i-got-an-account @depressed-stressed-virgil @queen-of-all-things-snuggly @ohlookanotherdumbfanboy @jamie-writes-things @adoratato @boopypasta @omgsomeonesomewhereonearth @beyondthestacks @changeling-ash @hold-our-destiny

Notes: Happy anniversary to the best boyfriend in all the land, @romansleftshoulderpad, who has been there through everything good, weird and awful. You’re amazing, and even though my Writing Machine broke and had me change my present idea four times, hopefully you’ll appreciate some fluff nonetheless.

(Also shoutout as always to my friend Cornybird on Ao3 for editing my stuff I owe you like five squishmallows)

Roman and Logan were always the couple that no one could have possibly guessed. Roman was wild and untamed; always aiming for the best of the best, striving to conquer the impossible and prove everyone who doubted him wrong.

There always seemed to be so little time for him. He wanted to write, sing, dance, act, create, and he refused to let trivial things get in the way of that. Even as a hopeless romantic who dreamed of marriage, it seemed like his running on pure adrenaline made it impossible for him to make friends, let alone a husband.

Logan wasn’t much better. He wasn’t very invested in the arts and had (arguably) more achievable goals, but he still couldn’t stand to not be the top of his class. He wanted to be idolized. He wanted a kid who felt as helpless as he once did to look at him and get hope for the future. He wanted respect, and he was determined to gain it.

But that led to him overworking himself. Logan had a habit of working late into the night to put efficiency over self care, to drop everything that could get in his way and absorb himself in his own goals. Yet just like Roman, self isolation led to loneliness, and his personal expectations made him deem himself unworthy of a partner and family, no matter how untrue that was.

On the outside, they looked like people who were too busy and in their heads to enjoy the little things. Logan passed up warm showers and movie nights to get his ideas out on paper, and Roman passed up coffee shops and strolls through the park to create bigger and better things. But for the longest time, on the inside they were lonely. And only one person could see that enough to break through.

No one expected them to get to this point. The point where they’d been happily together for four years, Logan’s engagement ring carefully placed in the same box that Roman had given it to him in on the bedside table. But it was real anyway, and Logan was fast asleep, while Roman’s brain was thinking about too many fantasy worlds for him to calm down enough to doze off. Instead, he ran his fingers through his fiancé’s hair and watched him sleep peacefully on his chest.

Roman could have spent his entire life in that position. Just him and Logan, his adorable love looking peaceful and happy as Roman protected him from the world. If he wouldn’t be risking waking him up, Roman would also be peppering kisses all over his face, but he took a mental note to do that in the morning instead. They were going on a date tomorrow after all, and those always ended in lots of kisses and cheesy flirts Logan would roll his eyes at. But Roman thought his faux annoyance was adorable, so he used pickup lines at least three times a week.

But that was tomorrow, and tonight was tonight. And nights were a child’s favorite time to break the peace.

Roman could hear babbling from the room across from them, as well as from the baby monitor next to the bed. Patton was already squealing “dada” a little bit, and Roman knew from experience that he was getting ready to cry for them. It broke his heart every time Patton cried, so he gently pushed Logan to the bed and kissed his hair. He didn’t squirm, so Roman shimmied off the bed and smiled at Logan one last time as the baby talk got a little louder. He knew the drill by now, so Roman grabbed his guitar before he left and went to Patton’s bedroom. Music was the fastest way to get the little guy back to sleep.

Roman opened the colorful door to his son’s nursery. Only a pale blue nightlight gave light to the room, revealing a crib with a babbling baby holding onto the rails. Patton still couldn’t walk, but he was getting pretty good at standing in place, so the day would come at any time now. 

Roman gave his baby a tired smile. “Hello, sunshine. What are you doing awake? Princes need their beauty sleep!”

“Dada, dada, dada!” Patton babbled, jumping as much as his tiny legs could using the spring of the crib’s mattress. Roman didn’t bother going to the crib and picking him up, though. He learned a long time ago that a rocking chair doesn’t make Patton tired anymore; he only squeals with excitement like it’s a baby rollercoaster. Roman experimented one night and played Wonderwall on his guitar as a joke when Patton refused to calm down, but it was the fastest the little guy had ever been lulled to sleep. Since then, Roman immediately picks up his guitar and lets Patton relax to that instead.

“What’s the request tonight, little buddy?” Roman asked as he sat in the rocking chair and strummed some of the strings. “Frère Jacques? Hey Soul Sister? Or do you want a song Dada really likes?”

“Dada!” Patton squealed.

“A Dada song? Excellent choice!” Roman leaned back in the chair and thought about what he may want to play. Logically he knew Patton only said dada because it was the only word he knew, but Roman liked to pretend his baby was the smartest boy in the entire world, even if his farts still scared him and he slapped his hands on every new surface he found. If he grew up to be anything like Logan, then Roman knew that he would have a bright future. “Now...what would I maybe want to play…”

Patton let go of the railing and let himself fall on his butt back to the mattress. He crawled over to his favorite stuffed frog and held onto the fur tightly, which Roman thought was objectively the cutest thing in this world. Though then again, everything Patton did was adorable. He was at the perfect age to steal the heart of everyone, and call Roman a lovestruck dad all you wanted, but his baby just blew his breath away.

“Hey, little froggy, how about we bring back an old favorite? Especially since me and Papa have been watching the Hamilfilm a whole lot!” Patton giggled in response, so Roman nodded his head. “Alright then, let’s see here…”

Roman placed his fingers on the neck of the guitar and strummed the first cord, testing out the tune. When he was satisfied, Roman strummed out the beginning notes of the song, and already Patton began to seem mesmerized by it.

“Dear Theodosia what to say to you? You have my eyes, you have your mother’s name. When you came into the world you cried and it broke my heart…” Patton shoved one of the eyes of his stuffed frog into his mouth, listening intently. When Patton was first born, all Roman did was sing this song to him. It seemed to fit so well given their situation. Logan always went on about how Patton had Roman’s eyes, even though Roman expected Logan to mention that it was obvious Patton would have some of his traits. He was half Roman after all, and Logan was hardly one for sentimentals anyway. But then again, becoming a dad had made him a lot softer than Roman could ever imagine.

“I’m dedicating every day to you, domestic life was never quite my style, when you smile…” Roman looked over at his baby. He had a little smile on his face, but Roman also guessed that was just the permanent position Patton’s face was in. He seemed like a happy baby almost all the time, give or take a few sick days and the time Patton saw a spider for the first time. “...You knock me out, I fall apart, and I thought I was so smart.”

Roman didn’t know if he was smart or not. His fiancé said that intelligence is more than book smarts and street smarts, and Roman had his strengths just like he had his flaws. But insecurity was a wild thing, and though Roman put on his best facade of greatness, he was only human, and humans have a strange perspective on self worth. Though no matter how intelligent he was, Roman had long accepted that Patton could break down any tough walls he or Logan put up. After all, it had been quite the sight to see Logan sob from happiness at holding his baby for the first time.

“You will come of age with our young nation...we’ll bleed and fight for you. We’ll make it right for you. If we lay a strong enough foundation...we’ll pass it onto you. We’ll give the world to you and you’ll blow us all away. Someday, someday…”

Roman strummed out the notes in between lyrics for longer than he had to, but it was okay when his audience was a baby who didn’t actually know the song. “Ready for one more part, buddy?” Patton didn’t respond (obviously), he only looked up at Roman with big eyes. “Good! I know it’s your favorite part.”

“I have to admit that it is mine as well.”

Roman’s strumming stopped in its tracks when he heard the familiar voice. He looked across the room to the door where his adorable fiancé stood, his hair messy and Roman’s stolen pajama shirt making him look considerably tinier. If Roman wasn’t so tired, he’d scoop Logan up and swing him around the room for being so adorable. “What are you doing awake, love?”

“I can hear you singing from the baby monitor that’s a few feet away from my face.” Roman’s cheeks flushed red, but Logan didn’t care. He walked over to Roman at the rocking chair and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, giving a kiss to the top of Roman’s head. “Did a certain little froggy decide to have a party past his bedtime?”

“He woke up, yeah. I’m trying to put him back to sleep.”

“Did you check his diaper?”

Roman blinked. “...I did not.”

Logan sighed, but he shook his head fondly at his forgetful fiancé. Roman always went to the more complicated solutions before thinking about the basics, but at least he was trying. If Patton had started to cry, Roman would have eventually realized to check those things anyway.

Logan picked up Patton from his crib and took a sniff of his diaper. He smelled clean, which was good, but putting a baby to sleep who simply didn’t want to rest was harder than having something specific to fix. Logan kept Patton in his arms as Roman strummed on his guitar again with a smile.

“I still have to finish my song, Logan. Care to join the late night party with us?”

Logan smiled. “It’s Alexander’s part, correct?”

“Don’t act like you don’t already know. You love this musical as much as I do.”

“Fair point. How about you sing to us, then?”

“Could you do me the honor of singing alongside me?” Roman asked.

Logan felt his face heat up. “...We’ll see.”

Roman didn’t push it anymore. He knew Logan didn’t like his singing voice, even if it was objectively the best thing Roman could ever possibly hear. But when Logan got some time to ease into the idea, he would eventually slide into it.

Roman started strumming again, and the song picked up once more. It was just that with Logan around, the energy of the room felt all the more alive. “Oh, Phillip you outshine the morning sun. My son. Look at my son!”

Patton smacked both his hands on Logan’s shoulder. Logan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Pride is not the word I’m looking for. There is so much more inside me now…”

Logan began to sing, and Roman almost stopped in his tracks with awe. “Oh, Phillip, you outshine the morning sun. My son.”

Patton looked up at his dad with the most adorable baby smile. At the sound of both his parents and his favorite guitar, Patton began kicking and bouncing in Logan’s arms. The song was meant to calm him down enough to sleep, but instead the little guy decided it was the perfect time of day of a dance party. The worst part was that neither Roman or Logan had the heart to argue with him.

Instead, they both began to sing together as Patton bounced and smacked his hands. “When you smile, I fall apart. And I thought I was so smart.”

The music changed a little bit, and Roman and Logan both knew what came next. It was a part that hit them both close to home, but they’d practiced that section way too many times to not be prepared. Roman took the part of Alexander first. “My father wasn’t around…”

Logan held a dancing Patton tighter. “My father wasn’t around.”

“I swear that I’ll be around for you. I’ll do whatever it takes…”

“I’ll make a million mistakes…”

Roman stood up from the rocking chair and strummed louder as he stood beside Logan. Both him and their son smiled as the two came back together for the song. “I’ll make the world safe and sound for you...will come of age with our young nation.”

Roman laid his head on Logan’s shoulder and Patton was merciful enough to stop slapping and put all his energy into bouncing up and down instead of smacking Roman in the face. “We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you. If we lay a strong enough foundation...we’ll pass it onto you. We’ll give the world to you, and you’ll blow us all away. Someday, someday...yeah, you’ll blow us all away. Someday, someday…”

The two parents held the last note as Roman strummed out the ending of the song. When Roman finished with that final strum, Patton still danced until the note had become too quiet to hear. Once he stopped his bouncing, Roman set his guitar down on the floor long enough to grab Patton’s hands and make him clap. “Yay, bravo, bravo! A wonderful musician and his beautiful dancer!”

Patton squealed nonsense in response as Logan moved to steal Roman’s place at the rocking chair, being careful not to rock it in case it only riled Patton up even more. “I don’t think he’s been calmed down by your song, Roman.”

“Well…” Roman grabbed his guitar again and sat on the floor in front of the rocking chair. “That just means we have to let him dance out the energy, right? Then tomorrow, we’re absolutely recording him dancing to this. I would do it now if I wasn’t tired.”

Logan chuckled. “I will try to remind you.”

“But until then…” Roman placed his fingers back on the strings and strummed the first note. “Care for another round, my love?”

The smile Logan gave off mixed with the happiness of their baby was an image Roman swore to cherish forever. “Of course, my prince.”

When Roman began to strum, their precious baby boy started to dance once more.

[moth-song-archives]

The Insatiable Flow of Time (1/8)

I remembered that I can make posts here too huh! Anyways, I wrote a post-MAG200 fic <3

I’ll reblog it again with the link to ao3 if you’d prefer reading it there :D

Rating: Teens and Up Archive Warnings: Choose Not To Use Categories: F/F Relationships: Georgie/Melanie, Georgie & Jon, Jonmartin (mentioned) Characters: Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Jonathan Sims, the Admiral, Basira Hussain (mentioned), Rosie Zampano (mentioned), Martin Blackwood (mentioned)

Additional tags: Diary/Journal × post mag200 × Post-Canon × Canon Compliant × Rated for swearing and me doing my best to write a fitting epilogue for my most fave story of all time × Bittersweet × Hurt/Comfort × Grief/Mourning × Gentle-Sad-Soft × Fluff × Non-Sexual Intimacy × Tenderness × Generally Hopeful Ending × Ambiguous/Open Ending × Catharsis × You know how TMA is a tragedy? ... yeah × Hope Punk × dealing with the fallout of surviving a literal apocalypse × Moving on and letting go × Trans Georgie Barker × Nonbinary Melanie King × Melanie uses any pronouns but needs to (re)discover this first × and is then mainly referred to with they/them pronouns for diary-simplicity × Melanie is ace in my heart ♡ × Jon is also enby but it only gets referred to in passing × Georgie has a Type™ × Character Study × i love them all so much × Nonbinary aspec author × it's very hope punk and somft BUT ALSO VERY SAD × in like a cathartic way × because i like causing pain :') × pre-written and updates every 2-3 days

I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

As the world tries to piece itself back together, Georgie grapples with her past, her present, and her future by keeping a diary. She also keeps having this strange, recurring dream that involves Jon. Post MAG200.

Finished at ~12k, will upload over the next couple of days <3

Day 3 - Evening

Melanie is sleeping. Basira is also sleeping, on the sofa in the living-room. She doesn’t really know what to do with herself, these days, so for now she’s staying with us.

I am not sleeping. I’m so far beyond tired that I can’t sleep anymore. It’s been... how long? More than a day, certainly. I’m at the kitchen table and the night outside is darker than any I’ve ever seen. There are no street lights and a million more stars than I could’ve ever imagined. I wish Melanie could see them too :(

Back before everything in my life went wrong, I used to be really good at this. I think I got my first diary when I was... seven, maybe eight? I used to be obsessed with it. I guess I stopped writing in college, after the incident, because it felt... wrong? Like I was lying to myself, trying to fabricate emotions that just weren’t there, keeping up with things that no longer seemed important or note-worthy. Mainly, I couldn’t make myself care about anyone or anything anymore.

I think I want to find that person again, now that it’s over. Try and… move on? And Melanie encouraged me :) I guess that’s the main reason. I found this notebook in one of the domains when we were rescuing people. I don’t know what I originally wanted to do with it, but I did end up forgetting about it until I went through my bag again today. It smells like fire and is a bit singed in places, but I kind of like that? I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. ...that sounds very pretentious, but this is just for me, so...

And I like that it’s just cheap paper scribbled on with a shitty biro. Maybe I’ll just burn it when all the thoughts are on the paper instead of in my head. When I can sleep again. And the prize for the most dramatic way of closure goes to Georgie Barker! But yeah. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

But I don’t feel any different. Shouldn’t I feel different, now that they’re gone? The entities, I mean, though Jon and Martin seem to be gone, too.

I keep remembering Martin’s expression when he told us to go early, how upset he was.

Honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised. As long as I’ve known Jon, he’s always done what he thought best. It used to drive me up the walls, but I also admired it, I think? I never would’ve told him that, but… Well. He’s gone now.

It’s over, all of it.

And I still can’t sleep.

And Melanie is still blind, and I still feel empty, and my fear still hasn’t come back. Everyone who died is still dead, and the trauma is still there. There were angry mobs in the streets, and people got killed.

I can’t quite believe that Jon and Martin went with them. I can’t believe they left us behind to explain the entire mess.

 We’re back in our old flat. It’s so weird to be back home. Everything looks the same, as though no time passed at all. Nobody knows what date it is. How long were we caught in there?

Outside, it feels like spring. There are birds everywhere, singing their hearts out. Sounds like more birds than there used to be, too. The trees are leafless and dead-looking, but Basira pointed out that they’re getting there... and it feels like spring.

I haven’t slept properly in 3 days because the questions keep me awake. It’s not that I’m worrying, really, just… thinking? I think I could sleep better if the worry had come back, but it hasn’t.

As far as we can tell, all modern devices are broken, too. Computers and phones and such, digital cameras, generators... we don’t even know what the rest of the world looks like. I hadn’t realised how much gets controlled by computers these days, we don’t even have central heating or water access in our flat. Rumours and news are spreading person-to-person, like in the Olden Days. We only have emergency systems that were installed in case of nation-wide blackout. I guess I’m glad we don’t actually have a blackout, we just need to get the computers back to work. (If I understood it correctly.)

Melanie thinks it’ll all come back to life in a few more days. I certainly hope so. I also hope I’ll stop feeling like this. Or rather, not feeling like anything. It’s so strange. Like in the first days after the incident, when I just felt numb?

They’re gone! I want to feel like a person again! What if I never get myself back?

 They’re actually gone.

 What will we do with our lives now? Basira isn’t the only one who feels uprooted. I think the whole world feels like that right now.

I hope my computer comes back soon. I miss music, and making things. My photos, all those memories.

I don’t want to lose all of that. I want to start fresh, but not without records of the past.

…I’ve had a lot of time to think about that, specifically. Records, and futures.

What the Ghost is done, right? There’s no fun in creepy ghost stories if you’ve been through an actual, living nightmare.

I think I want to start new with that, too. When everything works again, that is.

New world, new future, new podcast. I like that. I think. Make a record of what happened through eyewitness accounts? Or is that too similar to the Statements… then again, it’ll be more like interviews. And I think we shouldn’t forget.

We owe them that much.

I’ll have to talk it over with Melanie tomorrow. Maybe.

We’ll see.

God, I think maybe… maybe I can actually try and sleep tonight. Writing does seem to help.

 Note to self: thank Laverne for suggesting it. (Also for being there for Melanie. And listening to us. And stopping with that culty nonsense. She’s the only one we found so far, but she actually listened to us. Strange to think that in this world, I have to be grateful for someone not worshipping me for some dumb reason?!)

   Day 4 - Morning

So. Three things.

1) I did manage to fall asleep after all! I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac, especially after the incident, so actually getting some proper rest felt really good.

2) I somehow woke up right as the sun went up! I think I’ve never seen a dawn this beautiful? I watched it from the bedroom window and I’ll definitely describe it to her in detail when she wakes up! The Admiral was sleeping on our pillow, right next to her head, snuggled up against the back of her neck and shoulder... it was so cute. I can’t believe my phone and camera still don’t work! Melanie has that old polaroid camera somewhere but we haven’t found it yet, and I wish my art skills were any better. I did draw a sketch of the two of them though. I’ll cherish it forever, no matter how shitty it is :’)

After everything that happened, the Admiral is still a bit weird around us. He started out really aggressive, calmed down a bit, and now… now he’s weirdly skittish? Meows a lot. Keeps walking around the flat. The only thing that even remotely returns him to how he used to be is tuna. It’s weird.

But seeing him like that, with Melanie? I love him so much.

I think he’ll be okay.

But before I forget, and why I actually got out the diary at this ungodly hour instead of trying to go back to sleep now that the sun is up…

3) I had a really nice dream. And... I don’t even know. I think I want to try and hold onto the feeling? I don’t think I’ve felt that… deeply… in a long while. Maybe the last time was before all this, when we decided to move in together. Before all of this happened.

For a moment, I felt like I was whole again :’)

It didn’t even have Melanie in it, which is very rude tbh. I think Jon was there? The Admiral, too. We were just chilling on the sofa, watching netflix I think... It felt so... mundane??? Casual, somehow??? Like it was normal to feel like that and I just... I want THAT. I want to feel like that again, instead of this weird… blank nothingness? I want that all the time, not just when I’m riding a high or feeling so terrible that it pierces through.

I don’t know if that makes sense but this is just for me anyway so I suppose it doesn’t have to.

 I think I should feel bad about Jon being gone, but I still don’t even feel relief at it being over. Just this vague numbness.

I hate it so much, except I don’t, actually, I just know that I should?

Melanie keeps saying that I need a therapist but if we’re being honest here, I guess I need one the least? The whole goddamn world needs therapy right now. Including the therapists. And I’ve been dealing with this for a long time now.

I guess I keep hoping it’ll just go away somehow.

 Anyways. Enough introspection, I’m going back to bed. I hope I don’t wake them! :)

  Day 4 - Evening

 It’s night now, the sun went down hours ago. We have a bunch of candles, but I’m trying to use them sparingly, so I just have one lit. I put a glass of water next to the candle so now the light gets magnified a bit more. It’s a weird atmosphere, but I kinda like it? Feels… cozy! :)

I’m still not over how everything looks the same, but nothing works like it did before, and there’s this… burden? This collective trauma everyone went through. It feels so surreal. So many things are still broken… it’s like we woke from a collective nightmare, but pieces of it still remain, floating around.

And we just sent it away with the tapes. I really hope those other worlds are doing better than us, but what else could we have done? I… try not to think about it. I know I should, but I still can’t really bring myself to care, or even feel overly guilty for that? …

 Melanie fell asleep with her head in my lap half an hour ago. I was reading to her. She says she loves the sound of my voice, so I’ve started doing that in the evenings. (I still love that we had separate crushes from a distance on each other for ages because of youtube and WTG. We’ve been talking about that a lot, too.)

She still has nightmares, but apparently she’s also been having good dreams, and she looks so peaceful right now. The last few days have been a lot, but in comparison to before, and even before then…

It’s over. We made it out. We get to have a future together. I still can’t quite believe it. :)

 I guess I’m writing again (despite already having done so in the morning) because it somehow helped yesterday and I’m hoping to replicate that. And I have a lot to think about. It’s been a long day.

Basira is still out there, helping out where she can. I think she feels guilty. Melanie says she doesn’t because there was no other choice, but I know her, and I know that she’s lying.

There’s always another choice. We just say that to make it easier to bear.

I hope she knows she can come talk to me when she feels ready to tackle it.

I hope I ever feel able to tackle it myself. No. I will talk to her when I’m ready.

We did talk a bit about things, of course. Melanie doesn’t really remember her dreams, most of the time, but apparently she’s been alternating between horrifying nightmares and a really nice, recurring one that sometimes happens after the nightmares. She doesn’t really remember much of it, but she mentioned it after I told her about the Jon dream. Not what it was about, just… in general.

From the way she talked about it, I think her dad might have been in it? I’m actually not sure, but the way she smiled…

She has that little smile on her lips again, even now, dreaming. The soft one she gets when she talks about good things. About him.

About me.

(I still can’t believe she chose me. How impossibly lucky? How did I ever deserve her? But then, it’s not about that, is it? She is mine, and I am hers, and… life will be good. I know it will be.)

 She’s been smiling a lot more, these past few days.

[the-river-person]

F.A.Q.

AO3 HERE

Who are you?: I am a person. I live in a boat that is on the river. I am The River Person. If you must, you can call me River. He/They is fine. 

Do I actually have enough followers to warrant a F.A.Q. Page?: No. But I’m doing it anyway cause I will forget.

Can I send you asks?: Sure. Here are the Guidelines.

When do you update?: I’m not great with schedules. Its whenever I feel like it. But I’ll try to be fairly regular.

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Do you like so and so ship? No Fontcest, Incest ships, or child ships. If you send me asks about things like that, or tag my work with it, I will block you. Go away. But I enjoy some of the Sans AU ships. Of course Alphys and Undyne. Maybe Errorink. Also something called Nicepants? Nothing NSFW. Idk. Ships aren’t really something I have much interest in.

Do you do writing requests?: Send in an Undertale related prompt and If I’m inspired enough I might write some small piece for it. Even if I can’t or don’t feel like writing that for some reason, well... asking won’t hurt.

What is Aeontale?: Its an Undertale AU and the first story of a series I’m working on. The world starts out pretty close to the Undertale world we know, and begins to diverge over time. You can read the full thing on my Ao3 account (see link above).

Can I draw Fanart of your story?: Sure! As long as you tag and credit me for the AU, don’t use any of the ships I warned against above, and keep it SFW... then knock yourself out. I’ll probably cry out of bewildered joy for fanart.

Can I make an AU based on Aeontale?: What? Like how Underfell was based on Undertale, then other Fell AUs were based on that? Mmmmm. Lets wait until I’ve finished the story first, okay?

Can I include your AU characters in MY fanfic story (Comic, etc)?: Currently only Mistral Sans is Community Shared. However there might be more characters in the future you can use.

Wanna do an Undertale Collab with me?: Dunno. Depends on the project. DM me and we’ll talk.

Do you have other AUs?: I have some ideas for them, yes. Also some plans for one shot stories and some other bits. But one thing at a time.

Do  your stories have Dark Themes?: Sometimes. I like Psychological Horror, some violence, emotional suffering, death, reflections on mortality and immortality, and whatever the trope would be for Gaster’s unfortunate accident with the falling into the Core thing.

What is the Rating of your blog?: There may be some minor swearing, perhaps blood and death as mentioned above, but no excessive gore. Trauma, and mentions of things such as depression and occasional mental illness. There will be some romance, as I feel it necessary to the narrative, but I’m not hugely into ships so it won’t be a main focus. There will be nothing NSFW (explicitly sexual) ever, though brief non-human and human nudity might be mentioned in passing as a matter of course.

Do you tag triggers? Will you tag this trigger for me?: On the occasion something big pops up, I’ll try to tag it accordingly. If you need me to add a tag, do not hesitate to send me an ask requesting it. 

My question isn’t on here?: Send me an ask. Fastest way to get things done. I don’t bite, promise.

Want to be friends?: I’ll gladly chat with you, providing all interactions remain pg. I’m quite the friendly Monster. But this is still the internet and I don’t actually know you, so I do still have to be careful. I probably won’t be sharing any personal info about myself. Doesn’t mean I don’t like you, I just gotta be careful, you know? Thanks for understanding.

[wheresmynaya]

Lopez’s 8 Ch.10 | Brittana

And that's a wrap! It's been fun & I've really appreciated all the engagement this story has received, really brought me back to the good ole Brittana days. THANK YOU, THANK YOU to everyone that has commented, reviewed, kudos'd(?), sent asks, PM'd, DM'd, MADE A WHOLE AS TRAILER and FIC ART etc... It really has been a pleasure writing for you all.

Maybe I'll see you again in the near future when I finally publish my Quarterback!Britt and Cheerios!San verse? Look out for a little something called Lost in the Lights *smirky smirk, wink wink*

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

Sugar let’s out a dramatic sigh as she stares longingly out of the front window. She’s surrounded by the others – minus Rachel, Santana and Brittany – and they’ve been doing their best to keep themselves busy.

Quinn considers it a nice break before she has to return to her boring life in the ‘burbs and has been catching up on some reading. So lame, Sugar thinks.

Emma’s busy scribbling new designs inspired by the heist in her sketchbook like non-stop and Sugar’s sure that Santana would confiscate it if she knew what the so-called designer was coming up with. Sugar’s not going to tell though, she’s no snitch bitch.

Mercedes is up to something shady for sure. Sugar thinks she has an online gambling addiction, but like…do you, boo. She considers asking if Mercedes would hook her up with an account too, because she thinks she’d probably be good at scamming people online. Afterall, she’s an ace doing it in real life! Maybe that’s her next venture?

Tina’s trying her hand at Tinder and failing miserably. Sugar’s tried to help, but Tina’s got such questionable taste in men that she loses interest.

So now, Sugar just stares longingly out of the window waiting for the day Santana finally gives them the okay that it’s safe to come out of hiding. She lets out another dramatic sigh and this time Quinn gives her a pointed look from over the top of her book. The bossy blonde really has that mom-glare thing down pact, but Sugar’s seen worse.

“I’m so bored,” Sugar grumbles and knocks her head against the window to rest there.

“It’s been two days,” Quinn points out as she turns the page.

“That’s so long,” Sugar pouts, “I hate it.”

“Me too,” Tina pipes in from the couch, “I didn’t know we’d be stuck in this musty old loft after everything.”

“Mercedes?” Sugar calls out as she turns away from the window, “Can you put on Run Joey?”

Mercedes pokes her head out from behind her laptop where she sits at the poker table and her brow is raised high, “Hell no.”

Sugar frowns, “But it’s so good.”

“It really isn’t,” Mercedes replies.

“Speaking of Run Joey, I’ve been thinking…” Tina wonders aloud, “How come Rachel gets to leave while the rest of us are stuck on house arrest?”

“Because she can’t draw attention to us by skipping out on her previous engagements,” Quinn responds, “She has to continue with her life as normal.”

“What about Santana and Brittany then?” Sugar questions.

Quinn rolls her eyes and shuts the book in her hands in favor of sitting up from where she was lounging near Tina. She can feel the other’s eyes on her, she knows they’re also curious as to why the rules don’t apply to Santana and Brittany too.

“They’re doing a lot more than you know,” Quinn replies and she makes a point to glance at everyone, “This job didn’t just end at the Gala like it did for all of you. There’s still working being done in order for us all to get paid and stay out of jail. They’ve both got a lot on their plates so be grateful all you have to do now is lay low.”

That seems to shut Sugar up for the moment.

Quinn’s quite pleased with herself for that so she rests back and reaches for her wine glass before opening up her book again.

“Besides,” She says in a calmer voice, “Being in here isn’t so bad, it’s kind of peaceful.”

Tina eyes her as she takes a sip, “You just day drink and read all day.”

“And it’s amazing when you have a kid at home and a husband who sometimes acts like a kid too,” Quinn replies before she’s lost in her book again.

“I like it too,” Emma speaks up from her work station. She smiles with a little shrug, “I’ve been so inspired by all of this and all of you. I’ve been using this time to sketch out designs. I’m thinking about using my share to open up my own place.”

Everyone nods and starts to wonder what they’ll do with their share after all of this too.

\\

A moment later, Brittany’s pulling open the heavy loft door with Santana close behind her. They’re holding hands – which is new – and talking excitedly about something until they realize that everyone but Quinn is staring at them.

Santana frowns, “What? You all look like we just walked in on you talking shit about us.”

No one speaks. Quinn she keeps her eyes on the page she’s reading but there’s a hint of a smirk there that Santana notices. The brunette narrows her eyes at the others.

“Wait, were you?” She questions and there’s a slight edge in her voice.

“No,” Tina says a little too eagerly, “We were just talking about how much we appreciate having this little break while you two are out there doing…whatever it is that you’re doing.”

Santana doesn’t know if she believes her or not, but she doesn’t really care at the moment. She’s still high on how great of a day she’s had with Brittany. She was intending to attend these auctions alone just so she can observe their hired actresses at work, but Brittany offered to keep her company and Santana figured who is she to deny her girlfriend of that? In fact, it kind of worked out in her favor because if Brittany hadn’t come then she would’ve had to eat lunch alone and there would’ve never been a quickie in the car between auctions.

Even though they were technically working, it was nice to be out and about together as an actual couple. This whole hand-holding thing is also pretty awesome too!

“Well good,” Santana responds with a smile, “As a matter of fact, I have some news that you might like.”

The others perk up and gather around Santana while Brittany takes a seat next to Quinn.

“Our merry band of lovely old ladies that we’ve hired are making great progress with selling off the pieces of the Toussaint,” Santana explains, “Sales should be finalized tonight so once everything’s deposited in Dani’s account then we’ll be golden.”

“Wait. Dani’s account?” Tina asks.

“What are we getting paid with then?” Emma asks too. The others look around at each other confused and begin to talk amongst themselves.

Santana catches Brittany’s proud little grin and matches it before turning back to the others, “You’ll get your money, don’t you worry about that. Just have a little patience.”

\\

It’s late in the morning the next day when Brittany gently wakes Santana with kisses all over her face. Santana blinks away the sleepiness with a content smile while Brittany hovers over her whispering, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Santana mumbles back. This little cocoon of warmth that’s a combination of being wrapped up in the comforter and Brittany’s arms is the perfect place to spend all day, but she knows she can’t. At least, not today.

“What time’s your meeting?” Brittany asks as she dances her fingers along Santana’s hip.

“Two,” Santana replies with a sigh. When she glances over at the clock on her nightstand, she groans at the time there, “I should be getting ready.”

“Yeah you should,” Brittany says but she only holds her closer.

Santana nods, “A few more minutes.”

“Okay.”

So Santana cuddles further against Brittany for a few more minutes. Leaving this bed is the last thing she wants to do, but there’s a lot riding on this meeting and she knows it needs to be done. She knows there’s not much to worry about, she knows what she’s doing, but she’s still nervous about it.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Brittany asks like she’s inside Santana’s head.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

A moment later Santana’s tilting her head up to kiss the hinge of Brittany’s jaw. There’s a little flinch and Santana smiles at how Brittany so easily fell back asleep, “I have to get up, Britt.”

“Yeah okay,” Brittany nods a little sleepily.

Santana smirks as she plays with Brittany’s hair, “You can stay. I just need to shower.”

“No, no. I’ll get up too,” Brittany says as she begins to stretch her tired limbs, “A hot shower sounds like a good idea.”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Santana agrees and plants one more kiss to her lips before she’s going to get the water started.

They’re a little sluggish as they strip down and step in to the shower. It’s a stark contrast to the chill in the air, but it helps ease them both out of their slumber.

But it’s not the temperature of the water or the freezing air of the loft that Santana focuses on. It’s how Brittany offers to wash Santana’s hair for her, how they take turns standing under the warmth of the spray to wash off, how the wet kisses pressed to bare shoulders elicit moans, how hands disappear between slick thighs, how whispers of I love you can’t help but leave their lips as if they’re the only words they can remember.

Before they became a couple, showers involved hot, dirty sex. There was a common goal of getting off and making the other person come just as hard. Knees would ache from kneeling on hard tiles and there was always that threat of someone slipping and busting their ass. It was always quick, always rough in the best possible way, and sometimes it’s still like that, but most of the time it’s not. Now it’s softer, gentler, and there’s this care…this love they share and it’s like they’ve reached a whole new level.

Don’t get them wrong, they’re still always down for some hot, dirty shower sex but they’ve also realized that with feelings it’s so much better too.

\\

Once they finish with their shower, Brittany slips into her trusty overalls and heads downstairs to see who else is up while Santana continues to get ready. Thankfully, Quinn’s made a fresh pot of coffee and together they sit at the poker table just chatting about nothing too important. Quinn reads the morning paper because she likes the nostalgia of it and hands Brittany the comic strips because she knows they’re her guilty pleasure.

“Can I see that after you?” Sugar asks when she peeks over Brittany’s shoulder to see what she’s reading.

“Totally,” Brittany smiles and reaches for her coffee cup, “Almost done.”

“Morning all,” Emma greets cheerfully as she finally steps away from her desk to top up her tea.

“Morning,” Quinn and Brittany say in unison while Sugar’s got her mouth full of donut holes.

They make a little small talk while Emma waits for her tea to steep and in that time, Tina and Mercedes wander over.

“Sup y’all,” Mercedes says with a head nod before heading to the coffee pot. She notices how much is left and looks to Tina, “You want some?”

“I think I’ll have tea today,” Tina answers politely and goes to sit with Brittany and Quinn at the poker table, “You mind if look at the real estate ads?”

Quinn quirks her brow and hands them over, “Thinking of buying yourself a place?”

Tina nods, “I love my family but I can’t stand living with them. It’s time for a little space of my own, especially if I’m still single. Mom’s the worst matchmaker of all time.”

They all laugh at that and fall into this comfortable lapse of chatting about nothing in particular again. Brittany takes the moment to appreciate this; how just a few weeks ago they were all strangers to each other strung together by a common goal and now look at them. She doesn’t know if she’d go as far as saying they’re all friends, but they do make a pretty good team.

And for a moment, Brittany feels a little sad that it’s all going to end soon. They’re going to get paid and go their separate ways and continue on with their lives. Maybe she won’t hear from them ever again – aside from Quinn – or maybe they’ll keep it in touch? Maybe someone will devise a master plan of their own and try to rope her and Santana into just like they did to them?

Who knows, but for now she just enjoys the company.

“Where’s Santana?” Emma asks before she sips at her tea.

The others look around for her too then look to Brittany for an answer.

“She’s getting dressed. She’s got a big day ahead of her,” Brittany replies. She doesn’t want to give too much away just incase this plan happens to fall through and they need to devise another one.

Quinn looks to her curiously though like she’s trying to connect the dots on her own. She probably can and that’s what’s great about their friendship. Quinn just gets it most of the time and they don’t need to do much explaining.

The others on the other hand look around at each other like they’re trying to understand Brittany’s cryptic words. Surprisingly enough though, no one asks Brittany to elaborate. Instead, they get whatever they need from the kitchen and disperse.

Brittany’s brows rise at that, “I thought I was going to be interrogated.”

Quinn just chuckles, “They know better now.”

Brittany looks impressed but doesn’t ask. She just downs the rest of her coffee before passing off the comics to Sugar then heads to the garage to keep herself occupied.

\\

Upstairs, Santana spends a little longer on making herself look presentable. Not that she has to try very hard – she always looks presentable – but today’s going to be different and maybe she needs the extra confidence boost that comes with looking smoking hot. Her hair falls over her shoulders in perfect waves, her make up is on point, her outfit hugs her curves perfectly; she’s like a damn superhero and looking this damn good was her superpower!

She gives herself one last glance in the mirror before she’s grabbing her purse and heading downstairs. It’s no surprise that everyone’s spread out in the common area and Quinn’s already got a wine glass in her hand and it’s barely half past noon. She can’t really judge her though, she’d totally do the same if she was in her shoes.

“Going somewhere fancy?” Quinn questions as Santana appears by the poker table.

She just shrugs casually, “Not really. I just needed this.”

“You look like you’re on a mission,” Quinn nods.  

“I am,” Santana smiles proudly and looks around, “Where’s – “

“Garage.”

“Of course,” Santana chuckles, “Later Fabray.”

\\

In the garage, Brittany’s crouched beside her motorbike looking over something when she hears the door close behind her. She turns to find Santana standing there and her jaw drops.

“Woah,” Brittany breathes out as she slowly rises. A little chuckle escapes her as Santana saunters over, hips swaying rhythmically, “Now this is a look.”

“I try,” Santana smirks although a warmth rushes over her.

Brittany’s eyes drag up and down Santana’s frame and it’s like she’s seeing her for the first time all over again. Her heart swells and beats hard in her chest because she loves this woman, this beautiful, beautiful woman, and crazy thing is…she loves her too.

Brittany licks her lips and sighs, “You look beautiful, baby.”

And that’s what creates a crack in Santana’s cockiness. She can be all big and bad and drop dead gorgeous, play the role of HBIC like no one else can and run a whole girl gang practically on her own…but whenever Brittany calls her baby it just does something to her. She feels like this giddy, silly love-sick girl and as much as she finds it a little embarrassing how one word can have her walls coming down, she also kind of loves it too.

“Thanks,” Santana smiles before she’s leaning in for a kiss. It feels like a sigh of relief and she does it again and again until Brittany’s mumbling against her lips.

“I really can’t get over how good you look,” Brittany says a little dreamily before she teases, “Sucks you’ll be wasting it on a meeting with someone trying to lock us all up.”

Santana throws her head back with a laugh, “Please. You’re the only one I dress up for.”

Brittany quirks a brows as Santana draws even closer until her lips are brushing the shell of Brittany’s ear.

“Wait until you see what I’ve got on underneath,” Santana whispers huskily.

It sends a shiver down Brittany’s spine and settles low between her thighs. She has to bite her lip to keep from smiling too big, but the anticipation just eats her up. She can’t wait for Santana to come back and she hasn’t even left yet.

Santana looks pretty pleased with herself as she watches Brittany’s thoughts drift and her pretty blue eyes become darkened with lust.

“Such a tease,” Brittany mumbles as she pulls herself back from drifting too far off. She wants to touch her but her hands are already a little greasy and she doesn’t want to wreck Santana’s dress – at least not until she comes back – so she twists her rag in her hands instead to keep them busy, “You positive you don’t want me to go with?”

Santana smiles fondly, “Yes Britt, I can handle him on my own.”

“I know you can. Just thought I’d go for like emotional support or something,” Brittany replies with a shrug.

“I love you,” Santana tells her, “But I got this.”

“Alright,” Brittany nods then glances over at her bike, “Need a ride then?”

“With this dress on?” Santana laughs, “Not on that thing.”

“Fair enough,” Brittany giggles and goes over to grab the keys to the Fastback before handing them over to Santana, “How about this one?”

Santana recognizes the keys and smiles, “You know me so well.”

Brittany buffs her nails on her overalls and grins coyly, “Duh.”

“Okay well, I’ll be back later,” Santana says, “Stay out of trouble.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Brittany winks as Santana walks the short distance over to the Fastback and gets in.

“Well in that case…,” Santana smirks and beckons Brittany down to her level. The blonde obliges happily and leans on the frame of the door so she can be pulled in for a kiss.

“Good luck,” Brittany mumbles against soft lips before she’s pulling away and closing the door after Santana.

Santana only parrots back the words Brittany once said to her, “Don’t need luck when you’re this good.”

\\

The meeting place decided upon is some random diner Santana and Brittany have walked by countless times. When Santana pulls open the door, the bells above jingle and alert everyone of her entrance. She sees the double-takes from the older men lining the bar and curious glances from the waitstaff. She knows that all eyes are on her, she’s the hottest bitch in the place so that’s a given, but she’s there for business and quickly glances around the place for the man she’s meant to meet.

“Miss Lopez,” Someone calls out to her and Santana turns towards the voice.

The insurance investigator smiles brightly and Santana has to fight the urge to roll her eyes as she makes her way over to him. She can already smell the hair product wafting off of him and the way he smiles at her just makes Santana want to punch him.

Blaine Anderson; just an overachieving, annoying little weasel that has somehow managed to climb ranks stupidly fast and has been breathing down the necks of her family for years. The Anderson and Lopez rivalry is a tale as old as time and here Santana is upholding that legacy.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lopez,” Blaine greets politely once Santana’s close enough and goes to shake her hand.

“Anderson,” Santana nods and slides into the booth so that she sits across from him.

“Interesting place for a meeting,” Blaine notes as he looks around, “Why not my office?”

Santana scrunches her nose, “And finally see what kind of hideous bow tie collection you probably have set up there? No way.”

Blaine’s smile falters as he presses a hand to his bowtie.

“Besides,” Santana adds as she looks down at the menu, “Apparently this place does the best tiramisu and my girlfriend loves that stuff.”

Before Blaine can ask anything further, a waitress comes over and tops up his coffee.

“You want anything, dear?” She asks Santana.

“Coffee and one of those tiramisus to go. Please.”

“Sure thing, hun,” The woman nods and she’s off. It only takes her a few minutes until she returns with a warm mug and fills it close to the top with fresh coffee.

The pleased smile returns to Blaine’s face, “Girlfriend, huh? Maybe you really are on the straight and narrow.”

Santana quirks a brow, “Not so much the straight but yeah. I’ve been keeping myself out of trouble. That’s why I’m here. Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

Blaine laughs and shakes his head as he pulls out a few pictures, “Oh? Then explain this.”

Santana knew this was coming. She didn’t spend all night at the Gala in the camera’s view for nothing, so she leans forward to admire the pictures of her.

“Damn, I look hot!” Santana says as she looks over each one, “Can I keep these?”

Blaine’s easy-going demeanor begins to shift into something a little more serious, “Santana please. This is very serious. Millions of dollars worth of diamonds are missing and it can’t just be a coincidence that you were there the night of its disappearance.”

“Why not?” Santana questions as she sits back and cocks her head to the side, “I love a good party as much as the next person. You’ve got the receipts. Does it look like I was up to something? Because to me, I look like I’m having the time of my life.”

“And I wonder why that is,” Blaine questions with narrowed eyes.

Santana shrugs and averts her eyes to the pictures again, “Look at me, surrounded by beautiful people with a drink in my hand just as the good Lord intended. Who wouldn’t have a good time?”

Blaine let’s out a tired sigh.

Santana can tell he’s at a crossroads and getting frustrated so she’s pretty damn pleased about that. It makes her swell with pride because she really has this thing wrapped up so tight that not even Blaine can figure it out. But she knows he’s a smart son of a bitch so she doesn’t get too cocky just yet.  

Blaine continues to stew while Santana brings the mug close to her lips. Riling him up is a lot easier than she suspected. She figured he’d have way more on her than just a couple of pictures and she’s surprised considering his merit.

“Honestly, with your track record and your family history I don’t know what to believe,” Blaine admits. He looks up at Santana – like really looks at her like he’s trying to see something beneath the surface.

Santana’s a pro though so he’s not going to find anything there. She’s not going to crack and deep down Blaine knows that.

“Well, one look at these pictures I think gets me off the hook,” Santana explains and taps at one of the pictures, “Solid alibi right there, don’t you think?”

Blaine crosses his arms and Santana feels as though she’s almost won.

“Can I go now?” She asks even though she knows she’s not yet finished with him.

“I still have questions,” Blaine replies, “And don’t you need your tiramisu?”

“You’re right,” Santana smirks and lifts her mug to her lips, “You’ve got until the waitress brings it over and then I’m out.”

“Fine,” Blaine sighs, “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how the hell this happened. How such a valuable necklace practically disappeared in thin air. I’ve got suspects who should be guilty but aren’t and then there’s you who had been smiling for the camera all night.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a real shit show on your hands,” Santana dismisses, “Doesn’t concern me.”

“But it does,” Blaine urges, “I know you had something to do with this but I just can’t…I can’t connect the dots.”

“Because like I said,” Santana replies, “I didn’t do it.”

Blaine laughs again before he sighs, “Listen Santana, I don’t want you.”

“Never heard that one before.”

“Let me clarify,” He says, “I don’t want you, I want the necklace. I don’t care how you get it back to me, I’ll make something up. I’m just tired of doing this.”

Santana perks up; this is going way better than she anticipated.

“I honestly don’t get paid enough so just tell me,” Blaine adds, “Where’s the necklace? That’s all I’m after. The sooner I wrap this case up the faster I can get back to my life.”

Santana smirks, “Which I’m sure is very bland and boring, just like you.”

Blaine doesn’t take her bait, “I’ll ask again. Where’s the necklace, Santana?”

“The whole thing?” Santana questions before she shrugs, “No idea, but I might no where some of it is.”

“Some of it? Some?” Blaine looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Hypothetically, yes,” Santana replies, “Maybe like ten percent of it? Give or take?”

Blaine mutters to himself beneath his breath while his face goes a little red. It takes him a minute to get himself together and then he’s turning to Santana and calmly asking, “Where?”

Santana doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she slides her phone across the table. On it is a picture of Dani from the Gala and it all begins to click for Blaine.

“Right,” Blaine nods, “A classic case of revenge. An eye for an eye so to speak.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“You know this isn’t healthy, right?” Blaine says worriedly, “It’s not good for the heart to hang on to so much pain, Santana. I know a great counselor that specializes in –“

“I process shit my own way and it’s working just fine for me,” Santana brushes off as she slips her phone back in her purse,” Now, for argument’s sake…how does one get a search warrant?”

Blaine bobs his head from side to side as he thinks, “I’d need probable cause.”

“That’s what I thought,” Santana smirks. In that moment, the waitress brings over her takeaway box and Santana smiles up at her in thanks before looking back at Blaine, “This was productive.”

“I suppose,” Blaine frowns as Santana stands and throws down a couple bills on the table.

“Wait for my call,” She tells him before walking out.

\\

Back at the loft, Brittany’s trying her hardest to keep busy while she awaits Santana’s call. When her phone finally does ring, she practically lunges for it.

“Hey San!” Brittany greets eagerly, “How’d it go?”

“Perfectly. He’s got nothing on us which I was really surprised about but I’m not complaining.”

Brittany feels like a weight has been lifted, “That’s so good. Did you find out about the warrant?”

“Sure did and you were right! It’s absolutely genius, obviously.”

Brittany blushes, “He’d need probable cause?”

“Yup and that should be easy to get.”

“It should,” Brittany nods, “I’ll make the call now.”

“Great, I’m on my way back. I’ll see you soon.”

They say their goodbyes and then Brittany’s dialing another number.

“Hello, Rachel Berry speaking.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “Hey Rachel. It’s Brittany.”

“Oh!” Rachel’s voice turns chipper, “Hello Brittany, how are you?”

“Good. I’ve got a job for you,” Brittany says, “It’s a very important task.”

“Of course, I’m ready. What do you need me to do?”

“We’re going to need a certain picture taken of an item,” Brittany begins to explain, “But this item currently resides in Dani’s jacket from the Gala. We’re going to need you to get in there and take a picture of it.”

Rachel’s quiet for a moment and Brittany begins to wonder if the call disconnected on accident.

“Hel – “

“This is amazing. Oh my God!”

Brittany bites her tongue while Rachel excitedly rambles. Really, she starts to tune out the more she talks but it’s one question that reels Brittany back in.

“You want me to seduce her?”

“I don’t really want to know how you do it,” Brittany responds, “Just get it done.”

“I’m on it. This is so exciting! My first job. I can play this so many ways, but which to choose? Maybe I can use those handcuffs I bought? I’ve been wanting to try those out on someone. They’re authentic.”

Brittany frowns with disgust. Imagining Rachel Berry seducing Dani with a pair of handcuffs is not an image she wants or needs.

“Gross,” Brittany mumbles.

“I see why you people do this! God, the thrill of it is invigorating.”

“Yeah. Okay. Well, text me the picture when you get it.”

“Of course. Should I wear a lacy – “

Brittany hangs up on her immediately.

\\

Later that night, most of the team has headed off to bed aside from Mercedes who spends hours on end on her laptop doing who knows what. Santana and Brittany wander up to Brittany’s room but neither of them are tired. They know Rachel’s out there doing whatever she can to get this picture and they can’t really settle in for bed until they receive it.

Instead, Brittany lounges on the bed with a motorcycle magazine in her lap while Santana lazily watches her turn the page. She’s got her head on Brittany’s shoulder and their legs tangle together for warmth. It’s a nice way to end the night, wrapped up in each other like this, and Santana basks in how easy it is to feel so comfortable around Brittany.

“I never thanked you for talking to Rachel,” Santana mutters like she’s lost in thought.

Brittany snickers, “That’s okay.”

Santana tilts to look up at her, “No, seriously. You came up with the search warrant idea and using Rachel…I never would’ve thought to do that.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Brittany shrugs.

“Not without you guiding me,” Santana replies and leans up to kiss the underside of Brittany’s jaw, “So thank you. Thank you for having my back.”

Brittany smiles fondly, “For you? Always.”

Santana blushes, “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

Brittany pretends to ponder, “Once before I think? But tell me again.”

Santana giggles and whispers I love you between sweet kisses.

\\

Brittany gets the text from Rachel shortly after. The picture shows a piece of the Toussaint Santana planted on Dani the night of the Gala and it’s perfectly framed alongside the necktie Dani wore.  

Rachel B. – Is this acceptable? I’ve got her handcuffed to the bed so I can take another if you need.

“Oh wow,” Santana laughs once Brittany shows her the text, “Rachel really does move quick.”

“Apparently,” Brittany nods, “And she found a use for those handcuffs she told me about after all.”

“She told you what she was going to do?” Santana scrunches her nose cutely.

“It was against my will,” Brittany sighed.  

“I’m so sorry,” Santana teases then glances back at the picture, “This is perfect though. I’m going to forward it to myself. Tell her I said thanks.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very happy that you approve,” Brittany says and gets to work typing a reply while Santana hurriedly sends off the picture to Blaine.

Santana L. – This should do it. Have fun!

Blaine texts back almost instantly and showers Santana with gratitude. All she cares about though is that she and her team are off the hook. Blaine assures her that they are.

Now, it’s only a matter of time before everything falls into place like pieces of a puzzle.

\\

Within a day she gets word that Dani has been arrested. It’s not looking good for her ex considering the amount of evidence pinned against her, but that’s what you get when you fuck over a Lopez.  

Santana hopes Dani feels everything she did when she got picked up. She hopes Dani squirms under the hot lamp in the interrogation room. She hopes Dani feels regret set into her bones for what she did to Santana. It’ll only be then that Santana finally feels like she can move on with her life, like that chapter is done and dusted.

Maybe she’s petty for setting Dani up like this, but she doesn’t care. In the end, Karma’s a bitch and so is she.

\\

“It’s official,” Brittany exclaims as soon as she finds Santana lounging on the couch with Quinn.

“What? What’s going on?” Santana sits up while Brittany dances around in front of her. The others notice the commotion and come in for a better listen.

The blonde has her phone in her hand and starts to read off some article for all to hear that explains the Toussaint debacle and how Rachel Berry’s mysterious last-minute date was the one who made off with the necklace and is now looking at a long time in jail.

“You hear that, San? She’s looking at a long sentence,” Brittany says excitedly before she’s wrapping Santana up in a tight hug. The others cheer too and exchange hugs.

It’s the best news Santana’s heard in awhile because this is it. This is the end. They did the job and Dani’s paying for it just like Santana planned and now all there’s left to do is celebrate!

\\

Similar to the day after the Gala, Santana and Brittany grab pizza and alcohol and let the team go wild. Mercedes sets up the music this time and everyone dances like crazy with a slice of pizza in one hand and their choice of drink in the other. Even Santana and Brittany let loose and the others can’t get enough of them.

“You’re so much better when you’re tipsy!” Sugar cheers as she clinks her bottle with Santana’s.

The brunette just laughs and continues to dance on Brittany until Rachel arrives with a box of champagne. Everyone flocks to her and for a moment Rachel thinks it’s because of her, but she’s quick to realize it’s only because she brought the expensive stuff. Still, she doesn’t really mind and pops a bottle to catch up to her new friends.

“You guys started without me!” Rachel looks somewhat offended but Tina just pats her back while Sugar takes the box of champagne off her hands then comes back around to give her a drink.

“Got you a whole box to yourself,” Tina says as she pushes a box of pizza into Rachel’s hands too.

“Is it ve – “

“It’s vegan,” Quinn assures her with a small smile before she clinks her glass with Rachel’s.

“You can never be too sure,” Rachel explains and shoots a weary glare in Brittany’s direction, “I’ve been poisoned before.”

Quinn just snickers into her glass.

“Wait, wait!” Santana stops before everyone gets too wasted. Mercedes stops the music and the others look at her curiously. Santana just climbs up on the coffee table with Brittany’s help, “I want to say a proper thank you.”

“Here we go,” Quinn chuckles to Brittany, “She going to turn into a weepy, hysterical drunk again?”

“She just has a lot of feelings,” Brittany giggles then slaps at Santana’s ass.

“Hey, quit it down there,” Santana swats away at Brittany’s hand.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Sugar starts to chant and soon the others are joining in.

“Okay, okay! Shut up, I’m going,” Santana laughs before she tries to compose herself. “I just wanted to say that you guys are fucking awesome,” Santana says with a raised bottle, “Thank you for being apart of this. Really, couldn’t have do it without you. We make a pretty awesome fucking team.”

Everyone starts to clap and cheer and Santana laughs as she steps down, bracing herself on Brittany’s shoulder.

“You’re cute,” Brittany whispers and plants a kiss on Santana’s cheek.

Santana just blushes and goes to reply but it’s drowned out by Rachel who’s still pretty sober.

“I do have one question. Really it’s an observation,” Rachel says and everyone turns to her, “I believe there’s a small discrepancy in the amount of money we’re all receiving. Something’s just not quite adding up? Not that I’m complaining, but…”

The others start to panic but Santana just smirks at Brittany.

“You want to tell them?” Santana asks and there’s this Cheshire grin spreading up to her cheeks.

Brittany shakes her head, “You do it.”

“Alright,” Santana shrugs and turns a proud smile to the others, “You thought we were only going after one necklace?”

Brittany chuckles, “You don’t know us at all.”

Now everyone’s even more confused than before, but their eyes follow Santana and Brittany as they walk away from them.

“While everyone was so focused on the Toussaint, no one even bothered to check on the other exhibit,” Santana explains simply.

Brittany moves to open the door of a fridge that had been moved off to the side of the kitchen. It’s filled to the brim with the crown jewels of eight different royal families that just so happened to be on display at the Met and the best part is…they aren’t replicas.

“Woah,” Sugar breathes out.

“All or nothing!” Brittany cheers while the others scramble to get a closer look.

“Oh my God!” Emma gasps, “They’re real?”

“Oh they’re very real,” Santana nods.

“I was wondering why we suddenly had two fridges,” Sugar mumbles, “It makes so much sense now.”

“Wait, how did you manage to do all of this?” Emma asks.

Santana glances over at Brittany and smiles proudly, “The floor’s yours, B.”

“Well like Santana said, everyone was distracted with the Toussaint missing and being on lockdown. We used that to our advantage and decided to go on a little private tour for ourselves,” Brittany explains simply, “Why go through all that trouble just for one necklace, you know?”

“Exactly,” Santana nods, “We weren’t just printing off the diamonds needed for the Toussaint either. Tina made replicas of all the jewelry on display in that particular exhibit.”

“I’ve never worked so fast in my entire life,” Tina admits quietly.

“And it’s very much appreciated,” Santana commends, “After that, it was all acrobats.”

“Yup! And that’s where I called in a favor,” Brittany adds then cups her hand around her mouth and calls out, “Yo Chang!”

Everyone turns as Mike Chang enters.

He’s looking dapper in his dress shirt and vest but his rolled up sleeves make him look just a little more casual. There’s this charming smile on his face as he strolls over to the others.

“Dibs!” Tina, Sugar and Rachel all yell out at once. They glare at one another when neither of them backs down.

“I said it first,” Tina urged.

Sugar waves her off, “No, I did!”

“Neither of you stand a chance,” Rachel turns up her nose, “I’m famous.”

“Just barely,” Sugar frowns.

“Mike here is a former Olympian,” Brittany introduces as Mike joins her side.

“Interesting. I too am award-winning,” Rachel comments.

“It’s nothing special,” Mike replies with a chuckle, “I didn’t win a medal or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Sugar and Tina say in unison with these too-sweet smiles on their faces.

Santana rolls her eyes; the three of them look absolutely ridiculous fawning over the guy but she guesses that’s what happens when you’re cooped up in a house for weeks without sex.

Santana obviously wouldn’t know about that though, she’s lucky enough to get it on the regular.

“Anyway,” Santana pulls their attention back, “He used his sick gymnast skills to help us clean the place out.”

“Being flexible has it’s perks outside of the bedroom too, right Mike?” Brittany jokes with a nudge to his arm.

“Uhhh…sure. Yeah,” Mike shrugs awkwardly.

“You’re so hot,” Tina practically drools over him.

Santana looks embarrassed for her, “Jesus. Get it together, girl.”

“You have no game,” Sugar shakes her head disapprovingly at Tina.

“What?” Tina gasps, “He is!”

“Yeah, but you don’t just blurt it out,” Sugar argues, “It’s like you’ve never talked to a hot guy before.”

“Sorry Mike,” Brittany says coolly, “They haven’t been around a guy in awhile.”

Mike smiles, “That’s cool.”

“Like I was saying,” Santana continues, “While Mike and Brittany did that, I kept an eye out incase any guard decided to take a peek. It was a tight time frame but we made it work, clearly.”

“That’s amazing,” Emma applauds.

Santana smiles proudly, “So with this little diversion, everyone’s cut is now up to about 38 million.”

“Holy shit!”

Santana chuckles at the outburst and turns to Mike, “Mike, you’ll get a good chunk from me and Britt’s share.”

“Appreciate it,” He bows his head.

Santana sinks into Brittany’s side and the blonde wraps her arm around her shoulders while they watch the others implode.

“Spend it wisely, ladies,” Santana tells them and cuts her eyes to the only guy in the room. She gives him an apologetic smile, “And Mike.”

\\

In the coming days, one by one the girls on the team return to their lives with their bank accounts a lot fuller than they arrived. There are whispers of road trips and extravagant gifts to themselves and the start of small business ventures and Santana feels kind of proud that she’s funding that in a way.

She doesn’t really care what they do with their cuts, she just hopes that they enjoy themselves.

Quinn’s the last to leave and she joins Santana and Brittany for breakfast before she goes. She’s not really sure when she’ll see them again, so she makes the most of what’s left of their time together.

They talk, they laugh, they reminisce and then they say goodbye.

Santana actually gives Quinn a hug and she’s sure Brittany’s going to tease her about it later for being an undercover softie. She doesn’t mind though, she knows Brittany happens to love that part of her even if she teases her about it sometimes.  

“Don’t be strangers,” Quinn tells them as she gets into her car, “Beth misses you both dearly.”

Santana snorts, “I bet she doesn’t even remember us.”

“She’s a sharp kid,” Quinn replies, “She’s remembers everything.”

“We’ll visit,” Brittany says and hugs Santana to her side, “We’re her god parents after all.”

“Still don’t know why you picked us,” Santana jokes, “Don’t you have any other friends besides us?”

“You think I consider you fools my friends?” Quinn teases right back.

Brittany lets out a laugh, “Let us know when you get home, okay?”

“Will do,” Quinn nods, “And you two…be good.”

Santana and Brittany exchange a look and smirk.

“We’ll try,” Santana lies and they way goodbye as Quinn backs out of the driveway.

They watch from the garage until they can no longer see Quinn’s taillights. It’s weird how quiet it is now after so many weeks of having a full house. Santana can’t tell what that feeling is under the surface but when she looks over at Brittany beaming, it eases.

“So,” Brittany hums as she turns to Santana and sets her hands on the brunette’s hips, “Got anymore grand plans in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” Santana flirts as she melts into Brittany, “But I think I’ll take a little break for now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Santana nods, “I’ll probably do some of the things I told my parole officer I’d do.”

“Gonna get yourself settled down with a wife and pop out a couple kids?” Brittany jokes with this sparkle in her eye.

Santana smirks, “Is that a proposal?”

“Well I do have a shit ton of diamonds now,” Brittany ponders aloud before glancing down at Santana, “You can take your pick.”

Santana lets out a laugh, “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Brittany winks.

“In the meantime though, there is something I’ve been wanting to try…” Santana husks.

Brittany quirks a brow, “Finally giving the armpit thing some thought? You won’t regret it, babe.”

Brittany starts to unbutton her top and Santana laughs as she stops her, “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh. Well, what’d you– “

Brittany’s words fall short as Santana walks over the short distance and slings her leg over Brittany’s bike. It’s probably the hottest thing Brittany’s ever seen and she watches in a daze as Santana run her hands over the handlebars. She has played this exact scene so many times in her dreams, but never would she have thought Santana would finally agree to it in real life.

Then again, Santana’s kind of been on a streak when it comes to doing things out of the ordinary. Just look at their relationship, they’re actually in one! Who would’ve seen that coming? Definitely not Brittany.

Santana clears her throat and it pulls Brittany’s attention back to her. There’s this sexy, sultry smile on her lips and this mischievous glint in her eye when they catch Brittany’s.

“Take me for a ride?” Santana asks but it sounds more like a demand that Brittany’s all to willing to participate in.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Brittany smirks before rushing off to grab their helmets.

[thesaltyoceanwaves]

Good Intentions

Ao3

Based off this post. You guys really seemed to like it, so here you go.

The plan to ruin Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s reputation and credibility was well under way. And while there had been a bump in the road with Bustier undoing her seat switch plan at the end of the day, Lila still considered the day a victory. After all, she managed to sow the seeds of distrust, and the class managed to believe her over Marinette. She gave the baker girl maybe a month, tops, before everything came crashing down on her, and with no way to prove that Lila had anything to do with it.

Of course, there was still the issue of Adrien, but he was a pushover. All he wanted was to make friends! He had no spine, and it would only be a matter of time before she had him twisted around her little finger.

That night, maybe an hour or so before retiring to bed, she hatches her next plan and hits up Alya with a text:

L: Hey, Alya? Could I have Marinette’s number? I’d like to work things out with her and maybe even get her opinion on some clothes??

Usually, for texts like these, she gets a pretty immediate response. She even gets the animation indicating that Alya is typing a message, only for it to stop and no message to be sent. Frowning, she places the phone down on her desk as she goes about browsing social media profiles of her classmates and the stars she’s supposedly schmoozed with, checking to see if there are any new updates. About thirty minutes pass when Alya finally responds, and Lila can’t help but roll her eyes at what might have possibly kept Alya for so long.

A: heyyy, i think it’s great u want to get along w Mari, but i think it’s better 2 give her some space after 2day. but if it’s an emergency, i can ask her 4 u!

Squinting her eyes, she gives the text a long, hard glance before realizing that it’s real. It has to be some sort of joke. There’s no real reason Alya should be hesitant in giving her something like this. 

L: I was worried about this. Marinette must really hate me if she doesn’t even want to give me her number!

A satisfied smirk spreads across her face as she waits for the inevitable anxious reply. Surely, Alya wouldn’t want her new friend to feel so left out and targeted, right? Once again, the texting animation is quickly evident, and she can practically hear Alya apologizing for making her feel so bad about it. 

A: i swear it’s not like that!!! just give her some time & she’ll warm up, i swear!! so how about those outfits!?

Scowling, she quickly responds with a half-hearted “never mind, I’ll ask Clara’s designer instead,” and tosses the phone across the room onto her bed with a sigh. Perhaps it’s just a fluke, and maybe tomorrow, when Lila comes face to face with Alya, she can corner her into giving up Marinette’s number. It’s not something she should be this worried about anyway, but if she’s going to forge fake messages, she needs to make it look like they had contact with each other.

For now, that idea is on hold. Still, there’s plenty of ways to shake things up the next morning.

---

While having a position of power made you respected, it also made you stress out over every other little thing, and put you in a position of criticism. Thankfully, Lila doesn’t have to contend with the responsibilities of Class Rep, and can instead content herself to push Marinette’s buttons instead.

“...And the class vs class picnic will be happening next Friday,” she says, finishing the morning announcements, “Please make sure to bring athletic attire to change into, because we will  be getting messy. Does anyone have any questions?”

Oh boy, does Lila ever. She meekly raises her hand, making sure at least one or two other classmates note the wary expression on her face. Biting back a sigh, Marinette points to her and asks, “Yes?”

“Um, well, I’m not sure I can handle anything outdoorsy,” she pouts, holding out her hand, “My wrist is busted and I can’t really throw anything.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Mylene interrupts, smiling cheerfully, “We made sure to include some non-athletic activities, like making friendship bracelets and writing nature haikus! If you don’t want to use pen and paper, you should be able to bring your tablet!”

With her lips curling inward, Lila has to bite back a dark glare. Something was definitely up. She’s not sure what, but Marinette must have told them something about the previous day. It’s difficult to tell because Marinette doesn’t have a very distinctive expression, but Lila would be a fool to believe otherwise.

And she would certainly not be that.

“That’s very nice of you to think of me,” she says, trying to bite back tears, “But, um, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to go that day, anyway. I’m supposed to be volunteering at a charity event to help reduce carbon emissions. Is it possible that we could have the picnic a day earlier? Or the next week?”

Some glances are exchanged in the rows before conversation breaks out. As she expects, Marinette’s face contorts with annoyance, and she opens her mouth to say something, but she’s cut off by Alya, who places a hand on her shoulder, and shakes her head. Turning to Lila, she says, “Actually, me and Mari spent a lot of time organizing this event with the other student reps, and it wouldn’t be fair to suddenly reschedule like that. But I assure you that we have some other events in the future that we’ll be more easily able to take your schedule into account, just as long as you tell us ahead of time, Lila.”

“Oh,” she pouts, blinking as rapidly as she can. “That’s too bad. I was really looking forward to going too…” she says with a sigh.

“Well,” Mylene offers, “We can always throw you a picnic another day. That way, Marinette and the other student reps don’t have to worry about all that rescheduling, and you can still have fun hanging out with us. Right, guys?”

The chattering, the annoying, annoying chattering grows more excited, as if they already have it planned in stone. As though they no longer have to give Lila anymore thought or concern. Of course, she’d have to be gracious and just accept it, right?

There’s still no sign from Marinette that she’s in on it, or that she’s satisfied with the turn out. For someone who hates lying so much, she must be pretty good at it. There’s no way she’s innocent.

Still, Lila has no choice but to playfully bat her eyes and practically coo at the suggestion. “You’re all just so wonderful! I would love that, of course!”

A pen snaps in her hands, and the ink covers the knee of her leggings. But her forced smile doesn’t falter for a second, lest she want to draw unwanted attention.

---

Marinette is naive to leave her backpack by itself, without a single eye to watch it. It seems that Chloe failed at her job at instilling fear in the school, if Marinette was going around carefree without any sort of protection. But that leaves Lila free to sneak into her bag and plant the answers for the test that they finished taking-

A sudden, squeakish voice interrupts, causing her to drop the paper.

“There you are, Lila!” Rose says cheerfully, “What are you doing?”

Jumping, it takes her a moment to realize she’s dropped the paper. She unfortunately can’t see where it landed, and she finds herself sputtering, sputtering, her response, “O-Oh, Rose! I-I was just… I found Marinette’s backpack!”

“Oh, she was looking for that!” Rose says, picking it up and hugging it to her chest, “That’s awfully nice of you, Lila! Marinette was looking for that.”

“It’s not a big deal! I just wanted to help out a friend, you know?”

“You really are a sweetheart, you know?” Rose says, patting her shoulder, “Still, I think we’re better off just telling Marinette it was in the lost or found.”

She blinks. “What? Why?” 

“Well, we don’t want to give Marinette the wrong idea,” Rose points out, “You might be trying to help her, but knowing her, she’ll probably think you tampered with her stuff.”

“I can’t believe she thinks so little of me,” Lila sniffs, “I’m only trying to help.”

“Oh, we know,” Rose says, patting her shoulder, “And someday she’ll be able to see that. But I think she’s really coming around. Just a little more time and she’ll see just how cool you really are!”

As they leave the area, Lila waits for a moment to sneak back into the backpack, but the opportunity never presents itself. Soon enough, Marinette is reunited with her backpack, and Lila knows from her narrowed leer, she’s bound to search through the bag to make sure it wasn’t tampered with.

--

There is no doubt in her mind that this is deliberate sabotage. Marinette said something to get these goons to follow her around and interrupt at the most opportune and least convenient moments. Plan after plan, ruined because they “don’t want Marinette getting the wrong impression of her!” 

Well, with any luck, that was going to stop today.

She is quick to follow Marinette into the bathroom and pin her against the walls.

“So, you think you’re so smart, huh? Getting your friends to keep an eye on me and keep you out of trouble?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stop lying!” Lila shouts, “Playing stupid isn’t your forte! I know you said something about me to them to ruin my plans! Well, guess what? I have plenty of methods that’ll get you expelled.”

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Lila?” Alya’s booming voice calls out, holding a phone in front of her. Behind her are Alix, Mylene, Rose and Juleka, who all share darkened expressions and are ready to voice their distaste. She has to think of something quick if she’s going to recover and get control of the situation again.

“A-Alya,” she stammers, trying to force a smile, “M-Marinette was just, um, she was bullying me! Can you believe it?”

“No, I can’t,” Alya retorts, “Because I just captured footage for the past few minutes of you attacking Marinette in the bathroom and threatening to get her expelled! And after everything we did for you, trying to help you get along with her, especially at Adrien’s suggestion!” She clicks her tongue. 

Blinking, she looks from Marinette back to Alya. Adrien? Adrien was the one to calculate this plan? She supposed it would make some degree of sense - Adrien was hardly the type to get his hands dirty when he had assistants and money to do that for him. Still, there was no way the boy with the least amount of backbone in the entire school would go out of his way to sabotage her, especially not for Marinette.

“You’re a liar,” Lila hisses, before trying to smile again, “Adrien would never suggest something so diabolical.”

“Since when was trying to help people get along diabolical?” Alix points out, “If anyone is headed toward the realm of villainy and bullying, it’s you. Anything else you want to confess to?”

And for once, Lila’s out of stories to spin.

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 10

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Follow this story’s IG account ‘whenihaveyou.romione’.

If you’re interested in participating in a fanfiction writing competition for Harry Potter, playing in a Quidditch team and in a Quidditch position (Keeper, Chaser, Beater or Seeker) follow this link here. It’s super fun and well run, as it has been going on for 9 seasons now. 

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Chapter 10

Ron didn’t pry, but he was pleased to see that his words had made some kind of impact on Harry, because on moving day, Ginny appeared the happiest Ron had seen her in a very long time. It seemed Harry had taken his very vague and inexperienced advice and done something to assure Ginny that she was important to him. 

Cheerfully, she offered her assistance in their move. 

Ron didn’t have much to bring over. Just his clothes (which, once he had his own money, he was going to replace), and everything he’d had pinned to his wall. It almost felt a bit childish taking all the Chudley Cannons things he’d collected over the years, but he couldn’t allow his mother to toss them out either, which he knew would happen if he didn’t take them. Perhaps it was time he got a new bedspread, but he could at least store the other stuff away somewhere as keepsakes. 

He’d just watched the last of his possessions fly into a large cardboard box when Ginny came into his room and sat down on his now bare bed. She looked around at the empty walls, where all of his posters had once been, and smiled. “Ah, so that is the colour of your walls?”

“Ha, ha.”

“Hermione will be disappointed,” Ginny continued. “She actually told me she thought your obsession with the Cannons was endearing; even when I told her you’d had it that way since you were five.”

“Really?” Ron asked, his mind suddenly picturing an even bigger room for more souvenirs. “She likes my room?” 

“Yeah,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “She loves a lot about you, Chudley-Cannons-obsession included.” She looked at the box on the floor and smiled. “But I’d still think of a new way to decorate.”

“You’re being unnaturally nice,” Ron said, suddenly suspicious. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. I just assume I have you to thank for Harry’s sudden change in attitude.”

Ron flushed. “Er, he told you about that?”. He really didn’t want to engage with Ginny in a conversation about this. It was one thing giving Harry advice; it was a whole other thing to have to talk to his sister about her lovelife. Though, from what she had just told him, it seemed that Hermione and Ginny didn’t seem to have an issue discussing theirs.

“No, but it was such a sudden change, I assumed someone was in his ear, and you were the one I told about my frustrations, so I figured… well, thanks, Ron.”

“Anytime,” Ron mumbled, not meeting her eye. “Someone needed to say it. I don’t want him messing you around.”

“Funny, isn’t it?” Ginny continued, as if she was oblivious to his awkwardness. “You and I, being friends. I mean, you’re my brother and I love you, but it’s almost as if we’re friends now, too.”

“I guess,” Ron said, the thought only just occurring to him that he had, in fact, been spending a lot of time with his sister since the war. “It makes sense, I suppose. I’m friends with Harry, you’re friends with Hermione, I’m with Hermione, you’re… with Harry.” The last part came out in a squeak.

Ginny snorted. “It really makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Me being with Harry?”

“Well, you are my sister,” Ron said, “and he’s my best mate, and… you’re my sister, and it just feels… weird. But I’m alright so long as I don’t hear about the intimate details —”

“Says you, who shares that with Harry!” Ginny scoffed. 

“That’s different,” Ron said. 

“How?” 

“Hermione isn’t his little sister.”

Ginny laughed. “You being my brother doesn’t seem to stop her…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Ginny stood up from the bed, grinning. Then, catching Ron completely off guard, she hugged him. Ron hugged her back, and he realised that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even hugged his sister. They must have been really young…

“What was that for?” he asked when she pulled away.

“For standing up for me,” Ginny said. “Even when I don’t need it, even when I resent you for it, even when it’s to your best friend. Thank you.”

“Er, anytime.” Ron picked the box up from the floor, and Ginny followed him down the many flights of stairs until they reached the bottom. Harry was already waiting, with even less stuff than Ron had. 

It was a stark reminder for Ron that while Harry may have been famous in the wizarding world, he had grown up with less than Ron had. It had taken Ron a very long time to work it out; that his best friend in the whole world had had a miserable life growing up thanks to his Muggle relatives, and most of the time, Harry had never sought the attention he got. 

Ron got that now, and he no longer envied Harry. In fact, he felt sorry for him. Ron wanted nothing less than to ever be in Harry’s shoes. 

Harry eyed the box Ron carried in his arms, then smiled. “Plan on decorating the house?” he asked.

“No,” Ron said. “I just don’t want Mum throwing them out. Although,” he looked to Ginny, “apparently Hermione finds it endearing, so you never know.”

Harry snorted and then nodded to the fireplace. “You ready?”

“Yep.” 

It felt very odd to be leaving the Burrow, knowing that he’d never be back. Not to be living there, anyway. He’d probably still come over for dinner often, and to visit. This had been the only home he had known, and as small and as crowded as it was, it was still home, and, if he was being honest, always would be. No matter where he lived in the future, he’d always remember the Burrow. 

Molly gave them each a hug, wiping her eyes and carrying on like it would be the last time she’d ever see them. She then placed a container of food on top of Ron’s box. 

“That’s so you boys don’t go hungry tonight.” She sniffed, gave them both another hug, and finally stepped back to give them access to the fireplace. 

“It’s alright, Mum,” Ron said, throwing some Floo powder into it. “We’ll come back to visit often. You’re all good.”

Ron let Harry go first, considering it was his house. Ginny said goodbye to him in a way that forced Ron to look away. She said something about seeing him tomorrow, letting him settle in. Then Harry was gone. 

With one last goodbye (to his family and his home), Ron followed and was soon stepping into the much darker room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

He looked around, a strange feeling settling upon him, and it wasn’t because this was now his home; Grimmauld Place had always made him feel a little uncomfortable, even when it had been bustling with the Order.

“The Blacks were a miserable sort, weren’t they?” he said to Harry. “We definitely need to brighten this place up a bit if we’re going to be living here.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Yeah, definitely can’t live here with house-elf heads all through the house. Hermione would have a fit. They’ll be the first to go. Maybe some new furniture, too. Something more…”

“Colourful?” Ron offered, looking down at his box of Chudley Cannons stuff again. “I mean —”

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Harry promised. “For now, let’s just sort out what’s what.”

Ron followed Harry up the creaky staircase, stopping on the landing with the covered portrait of Walburga Black. “I really wish that could go,” he said. “Not sure I fancy coming down for breakfast every morning and having to see her.” He shuddered, still remembering the times she’d screeched for hours at a time when he, Harry and Hermione had stayed there for a brief time on their Horcrux hunt. 

“We’ll work on that, too,” Harry said. “Maybe Auror training will teach us some new tricks that we can use.”

“If Moody couldn’t do it, do you think we can?” Ron asked. 

Harry shrugged, continuing up the stairs until they reached some of the bedrooms. 

“You can have that one,” Ron said, indicating the one Harry had lived in for a bit after the war. “If you want, I mean. I guess we have plenty to choose from.”

“Nah, this will do me,” Harry said. “Which one will you pick?”

Ron contemplated some of the wooden doors. One had belonged to Sirius’ parents, which he flat out refused to even consider. Another was the one he’d stayed in just the other year. “That one, I guess.”

Harry nodded. 

Ron pushed open the door to the room slightly down the hall and opposite Harry’s room. It was just as he had left it before; cold, dark and rather gloomy. At least this time he had the means to change it. 

He set the box down and turned to Harry. “Are we crazy for living here?” he asked. “It’s not the best place in the world…”

“It’s the only other home I know,” Harry said. “It’ll be alright for a while, won’t it?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I guess. It’s huge for the two of us, though.”

“Would have been even bigger with just me.” And Ron saw the grateful smile Harry gave him. It warmed Ron; he was welcome here. 

“So,” Ron began, “what should we do on our first night here?”

…

The answer to that question was to have a quiet night in. That evening, around dinner time, Ron fetched the food his mother had given them, and they sat in the large kitchen at the end of the table to eat it. It wasn’t much, but it was more than what either of them could have cooked for themselves.

“So, maybe shopping for food is the first step tomorrow?” Ron asked as he sent his empty plate flying to the sink. “Where is Kreacher, anyway?”

“I… dismissed him,” Harry said. “When I first came back. He wasn’t too pleased about it, but he’s free now. Who knows where he’s gone, but I’m sure if we ever need him, he’ll be glad to come back to the house of his old master.”

“Right, so I guess we’ll be doing our own dishes then?” Ron said, and Harry smirked.

“Don’t let Hermione hear you saying that,” he said. 

“Don’t plan on it,” Ron said, yawning. To his surprise, he realised that that was the first time since that morning that he’d thought about Hermione. In the hours leading up to dinner, he and Harry had attempted to brighten up the place, but to no avail. “I hope she’s alright,” he added after a moment.

“Percy said she was fine, didn’t he?” Harry asked. “That it was all going to plan?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, but I’d love to hear from her personally, you know? I guess it takes a while for an owl to get here from Australia.”

“I guess…” Harry looked around the empty kitchen, frowning. “Hey, you don’t fancy a Butterbeer, do you?”

“Sure,” Ron said. “You got any?”

“No,” Harry said, “but I can get some. Why don’t we really celebrate our first night as housemates?”

“By getting drunk?” Ron asked. 

“No, by, just… celebrating?”

Ron grinned. “Sounds like a plan, mate. Listen, you get them this time, and once we start getting paid for the training, I’ll do the next one.” Once again, he felt a thrill rush through him over the thought of making his own money. There were so many things he wanted to do with it that he doubted he’d be able to do it all on the first go. 

“Agreed,” Harry said and he clambered from his seat. “Won’t be too long,” and he vanished down the hall, where Ron heard the whoosh of Harry disappearing via the fireplace. 

The house immediately became quieter the moment Harry was gone. Ron got up from his own chair and wandered back down the hall and to the stairs. He contemplated writing to Hermione while Harry was out and letting her know that he wasn’t at the Burrow anymore. But then he decided against it. She had far more important things to worry about than him telling her that he’d moved house. He’d mention it in a reply whenever he received an update from her. 

Instead, he moved into the living area, which — like the rest of the house — was dark and bland. Sirius had hated this place growing up and as an adult, and Ron had never been a fan of it. It held a lot of memories for him, good and bad, and he hoped that eventually he’d be able to erase the bad ones entirely. 

He moved into the drawing room and sat down on the sofa, smiling slightly to himself. Here had been a good memory for him. It hadn’t been that long ago, though it felt like a lifetime. It was the first night here after escaping the wedding, and they’d all been terrified of being discovered after the attack in Muggle London. 

Ron remembered how he’d insisted he sleep on the floor and let Hermione sleep on the cushions. It seemed silly now, considering all that had happened, but it had felt right at the time. He’d been so desperate to prove himself to her despite having just fled an attack on theirs — and everyone else’s — lives. In fact, it had seemed even more important in that moment to give her some sign about how he felt. How many more days would they have together?

And it had kind of worked, too, for not long after Harry had fallen asleep she’d shifted on the cushions, her head turning slightly to face him. She’d been so close in that moment, and even with his own fear for his family, his father’s Patronus the only word that they were safe, her presence soothed him. 

“I’m scared,” she whispered. 

Those two words put everything else aside then, and he reached for her hand and squeezed it. 

“Me too,” was all he said. 

He had expected her to let go after that, but she didn’t, and he had absolutely no intention of letting go if she didn’t want to. They’d fallen asleep like that, and it had been the calmest he had felt in a very long time. 

In the present, he sat there for a long while, until Harry returned carrying some bottles of Butterbeer and one large bottle of Firewhisky. He held them up. “All ready to go!” he said.

The remainder of the evening was great, Ron thought. They chatted, mostly about Quidditch and what would happen once the new season started. Ron, as usual, had higher expectations for the Cannons than he should have, while Harry said if it was possible, he’d really like to attend a game or two. His only experience in watching the professionals was in the World Cup, which had been years ago now.

“I hear Oliver Wood is actually getting a chance to play this year,” Ron said. “So the Prophet says, anyway.”

They both smiled at that, and as amusing as it was, Harry and Ron agreed that they were genuinely pleased for the old Gryffindor captain. 

“Though, I’ll be honest, it would be a sweet victory if the Cannons beat Puddlemere,” Ron said. 

As the evening wore on, and the Butterbeer bottles slowly emptied, Ron found himself contemplating what life was going to be like in the coming months. The day after next he’d be all consumed with training, but what would happen after that? Once training was complete? Would he become a real Auror? Someone who could go on missions, catch Dark wizards? 

And what of his life with Hermione? She wanted to finish school, and he had no doubt that once she got her one hundred NEWTs or whatever exceptional result she was capable of, she’d be highly sought after in whatever career she chose to pursue. But then what? 

“You alright there?” Harry asked, snapping Ron from his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“You looked as if you were lost in thought,” Harry said. “And you had a stupid grin on your face.”

“Oh, right.” Ron felt his ears burning. “I was just thinking.” He wasn’t sure Harry would appreciate him talking about how he just simply could not imagine a future that didn’t involve Hermione in it anymore, so to change the topic, he said, “This’ll be great, won’t it?”

“What will?” Harry asked.

“The two of us living together?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a small smile. “I think it’ll be fantastic.”

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

So What If We Grow Old Together?

Tony is insecure about his age after Stephen returns from the Snap and no longer seems attracted to him. Stephen sets it right.

|

Tony dipped his razor into the cool stream of water, shaking it off. "Doc, you wanna hurry up? There's an Avengers meeting we have to be at in twenty minutes, and you're usually the one telling me to get ready. Are we in the Upside Down?"

Stephen huffed from the shower. "As soon as I get out, I'm going to dry and dress myself and five seconds then portal us over in less than a minute. I have plenty of time."

"Since when do you even take long showers?"

"Since my entire body is sore from fighting interdimensional monsters all the time. I get as much hot water as I want."

Tony chuckled. "Fine, you win this one." He finished his morning routine, applying deodorant and aftershave and the cologne that Stephen liked. It was amazing the difference that having his husband back had made. During the five years after the Snap, it had been a chore just to get out of bed in the morning, nevermind put in effort. Now he did it happily. The other day, he even hummed.

When Stephen got out of the shower, absently wrapping a towel around his waist, he thought that there was something else he would do happily.

Before Stephen could magic his clothes on, Tony stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around the sorcerer's waist and kissing his neck. "Well, if we still have fifteen minutes . . ."

Stephen moved his hand away. "You were just telling me to hurry up."

Tony shrugged. "We saved the universe, we can be late if we want."

In the next moment, Stephen was a foot away from and completely dressed (He even coiffed his hair, that dick). "I don't want." He opened the bathroom door so the Cloak could fly to him. "Come on."

| |

Tony picked his starkpad up, tried to read the article he was on for five seconds, then put it back down. He couldn't concentrate. Well, no, that wasn't accurate. He could concentrate, just not on what he was supposed to. 

He didn't know why he was so stuck on what happened that morning. It was nothing, really. Stephen probably hadn't even thought about it.

But still . . .

"Hey, gummy bear?" Tony began when meeting with Rhodey later in the day to work on upgrades for his leg braces.

Rhodey immediately had his put-upon-but-ready expression on. "Something going on, Tones?"

Tony hesitated before voicing his fears. "Do you think things are different between Stephen and me?"

Rhodey looked at him like he was stupid. "Damn, considering he died for five years then immediately went to being in a coma for five months, I'd expect so."

"That's not what I meant! It's just . . ." It’s just that lately Tony had become more aware of his graying hair and the wrinkles around his eyes.

He shook his head, deciding to bring it up with Stephen later. No point in raking himself over the coals in the meantime. "You're probably right."

| | |

When Tony saw his husband that night, he made sure he was wearing the cologne Stephen liked and the outfit — blue shirt, cardigan, reading glasses — that Stephen deemed his 'sexy professor look'. By all accounts, he should be utterly irresistible.

So it was kind of disheartening when Stephen found him resistible. 

He thought they might be getting somewhere when he started kissing Stephen's neck, gently sucking hickies into the pale skin and running a hand over his thigh. 

Stephen smiled. "Oh, hello." 

"Hi." He played with the hem of Stephen's tunic. "Wanna get out of these stuffy clothes?"

Stephen paused before shrugging. "Sure." He reached to take off his husband's shirt, but Tony grabbed his hand to stop him. "What?"

Tony stared at him. "Sure?"

Stephen frowned. "What?"

"Sure. Just sure. Like, yeah, okay, if you want, I mean I'm not really into it, but whatever . . ."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Okay, now it's a thing."

"Yeah, it's a thing!" He tried moving away, but since they were still on the same bed, it didn't have the dramatic effect he wanted. "Is it the hair? Because I can fix that, but I'm not getting Botox! It's not happening!"

"Okay, I think I get what's happening." Stephen took Tony's hand, holding onto it despite Tony's attempts to wrest it away. "Tony—"

"No, I get it," Tony lied. "You think I don't know I'm in my fifties now? Technically, you're fifteen years younger than me now! I could be your dad! I could be on 15 And A Baby Daddy!"

"Please tell me that's not a thing."

"God, we never even had so-glad-you're-alive-sex after your came back! We've only had sex TWICE since you got back!"

Stephen blinked, for once seeming genuinely "Oh. I . . . actually hadn't thought of it."

"That's worse!"

To his irritation, Stephen smiled. "Tony, I know that 'it's not you, it's me' is a joke at this point—"

"Oh my God, are we getting divorced?"

"—but this actually is my problem, not yours." He sat up some more, crossing his legs. "Tony, after using the Time Stone so much, things are just . . . different for me now."

Tony stared at him. "Is your dick different?" A beat passed. "I can work with that."

"Tony, I promise you it's not that. But I use a lot of magic and I've seen millions of timelines and possible futures. And it's affecting me. Beetroot tastes delicious to me now and I used to hate it. I hear so many high-pitched sounds I didn't before. My perception of time is shot to Hell. I keep thinking it's next year. We're in Spring."

It was more like late-Winter, but Tony let him have that one.

"And this . . ." He took Tony's hand and covered it with both of his own. "This is different. I love you just the same, and you are as beautiful to me as the night we met. I hardly see the change."

Tony nodded along, still a little confused. "Then what . . ."

Stephen sighed. "It's not the . . . aesthetic attraction, I guess, that's different. It's sex. I just don't get aroused on my own anymore. It's like it just doesn't occur to me."

Tony thought about it. "So, what, you don't want to have sex anymore? You could've told me that instead of making me think I had a problem—"

"I still enjoy sex. I just have to think about it more now. It doesn't just happen."

Tony looked at him. "You've gotta give me more information than that."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Like, maybe we'll have an hour or so where we don't have anything we need to do, and you'll be looking at me like you want to read my clothes off with your teeth, and I'll think, 'Oh, now is a good time'. I never feel like I should need to, but I can still want to." He pulled Tony closer, pressing their foreheads together. "And even if it had been you, isn't it 'til death do us part'? Not 'perfectly normal and natural aging causes a change in appearance that you find unattractive?"

"Technically that wasn't in our vows—"

Stephen kissed him to shut him up, then kept kissing him because he wanted to.

Tony ran a hand through his husband's hair, caressing his face and idly running his thumb over the soft skin under his ear. "Is, um . . . is this a good time?"

Stephen chuckled. "Yeah, why not."

- - -

Part of the From the Top au, also on ao3

[alexannah]

Just Keep Digging PART THREE

Chapter One | Chapter Two | FFnet | AO3

Summary: Lila makes a big mistake when showing off one day to the class. But her mistake may turn out to be not such a bad thing for Marinette and Adrien. From a prompt by @countingdowndays

Author Notes: Okay since this is no longer a one-shot, I discovered (thanks, Keyseeker) that I need to clarify where this fic stands canonically. Most of my fics I actually ignore season three, but obviously I can’t do that entirely here since we’re post-Chameleon.

So … This fic takes place shortly after Chameleon, and obviously we’re now AU because of the reveal, but it takes into account season three up until and including Startrain. (Whether I’ll get as far as events in those episodes actually occurring, I have no idea.) However Kwami Buster onwards is NOT taken into account. So no worries about our heroes having to give up their Miraculouses, or future Hawk Moth, or any Cat Blanc stuff. None of that exists here!

And for the record, I’m a fan of Gabriel and Nathalie and a supporter of the redemption arc. Whether this fic will go there or not, I don’t know. Still improvising here!

Just Keep Digging

By Alexannah

Chapter Three: Just Keep Intimidating

“Do you have any idea how lonely Adrien gets, Mr Agreste?” Marinette blurted out.

Gabriel Agreste blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “I’m sorry?”

“You’d better be. He spends most of his time shut up in this house, not allowed to leave except for school and classes. I get that you want to protect him, but all too often you cross the line between keeping him safe and keeping him a prisoner. He hardly ever complains because he’s used to it, it’s his norm; but that doesn’t mean it’s right or best for him. People need social interaction, sir. He hates being so isolated; you may not mean to, but you hurt him so much by doing that to him.”

“He told you this?”

“He doesn’t have to. We can all see it a mile off. Which makes me wonder why you can’t.” Marinette paused. “No, actually I know why you can’t. Because while you keep him physically close, you keep him emotionally distant. You don’t give him any quality time, or make him feel like he can approach you. I understand that you’re a busy man, but surely you can spare some time to spend with him, instead of always palming him off on your staff. It would make him feel so much better to at least know you’re trying. Instead there’s this massive wall between you and it’s growing bigger every day. And wrapping him in cotton wool isn’t the answer. You know what happens to people when they’re wrapped in too much cotton wool, Mr Agreste? They suffocate.”

There was a long, long silence once she finally stopped talking, wondering if she had completely blown it. Mr Agreste was still staring at her, no recognisable reaction on his face except extreme surprise.

Finally he broke eye contact, removing his glasses and polishing them. “I see you care deeply for my son,” he finally said, quite quietly.

“Yes, I do.”

“Hmm. Most of his fans desire him because he’s handsome and famous.” He replaced his glasses and looked back at Marinette. “But not you.”

“I’d love him just as much if no-one had heard of him and he had a face like a gorilla’s butt.”

Mr Agreste’s mouth twitched. “So I assume your intentions towards him are of the … more long-term variety.”

“The forever kind of long-term,” she agreed. “The ‘till death do us part’ kind of long-term.” For a moment she thought something weird flickered in Mr Agreste’s eyes at the ‘death do us part’ bit, but a second later she was sure she had imagined it. “The ‘married with three kids and a hamster’ kind of long term.”

“I see. And what do you imagine Adrien would be doing, other than helping you look after three kids and a hamster?”

“Whatever makes him happy. Whether that’s modelling, or his music, or tap dancing in the street.” Marinette tried not to giggle as she remembered him actually doing that as Cat Noir. “I’m sure you have your own grand ideas about what Adrien should do with his life, sir, but he’s his own person who deserves to make his own decisions. Even if you think they’re the wrong ones. Maybe I don’t meet your high standards; maybe none of his friends do. But we all love Adrien and want what’s best for him.”

Silence fell for a long moment as he gazed at her thoughtfully. “Tell me, does Adrien share your very specific vision of your future?”

“Well, I don’t know if he wants the same number of kids and a hamster, but I know he wants to spent the future with me. We should probably work out the details after we’ve been a couple for more than a few hours.”

Again, Mr Agreste’s mouth twitched, and Marinette dared wonder if he was actually amused by her words. Whether or not that was a good thing, however, remained to be seen.

“I will allow your relationship with Adrien,” he said finally. “But I have conditions.”

“So do I,” Marinette said before she knew what she was saying.

His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“I already told you, Mr Agreste, that there are areas of your relationship with Adrien—well, the whole thing, really—that you need to work on.” Marinette folded her arms decisively. “So if you really want him to be happy, then I expect you to be willing to do so.”

She received a speechless gape in return.

“I expect you to choose presents for Adrien yourself and put thought and care into them. I expect you to make it up to him whenever your work gets in the way of spending time with him. I expect you to find time to actually tell him you love him, because to my knowledge he’s never heard that from you. I expect you to consider Adrien’s feelings and consult with him when making decisions for his protection or whatever, and if necessary reach a compromise you’re both happy with. I expect you to be more open to suggestions from other people who care about him on what’s best for him and what he needs to be emotionally healthy. I expect you to try, Mr Agreste. I expect you to want to be a better parent and be willing to learn.”

It was impossible to work out what he was thinking, but for some reason she couldn’t explain, she thought her words might actually be getting through to him.

“And this isn’t just about Adrien,” Marinette continued boldly. “Assuming that our future progresses as we both hope it does, then one day I guess I’ll be your daughter-in-law.” The expression on his face was suddenly beyond laughable. “And I may as well make this clear now so there are no surprises in the future, so you can’t possibly have any reason to withdraw your approval of us later on.”

“I’m listening.”

“I expect you to learn not to be such a control freak, so that when he’s an adult, you don’t make him feel like he has to do everything you want him to rather than what he wants, in order to keep you happy; because that’s not healthy—it’s not healthy now—and you can’t regulate his life decisions forever. I expect by the time he and I are married for you to have let go and let him have his own life. Assuming you take on board everything I’ve said, I’m hopeful the two of you will have a much better relationship by then than you have now; and if, as I think, you really do love him, then I can’t see any reason why you wouldn’t want that.”

“I do love him,” Mr Agreste said quietly.

“Good. So we’re in agreement.”

He still looked a bit stunned, but didn’t disagree.

“I haven’t finished,” Marinette continued. “Our future children.” He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I expect you to make an effort. I expect you to actually have a relationship with them, not be this distant figure they hardly ever see and barely know. You will respect that Adrien and I are their parents, and therefore our decisions are the ones that go; and while we’ll be open to advice, at the end of the day we’ll be the ones making the decisions we feel are best for them. You will do your very best to be present at every single special occasion; and I won’t accept any excuses, only the most valid, out-of-your-control reasons. Every Christmas and birthday, every school play and concert, every fencing meet or whatever interests they end up pursuing, regardless of whether they meet your approval or not. You have been absent from the important things in Adrien’s life for way too long and I won’t stand for you treating your grandchildren the same way. I want them to have a grandfather they can actually have a good relationship with, someone they will love and look forward to spending time with. And I know Adrien would want that too.”

Once again, the room was dead silent once she had finished.

“So what were your conditions, Mr Agreste?” Marinette asked, almost sweetly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Er …”

~*~

In the next room, Adrien was trying desperately to resist the temptation to listen at the door. His father and Marinette’s voices were muffled, so he couldn’t work out what they were saying, but they sounded quite heated.

If he were alone, he probably would have listened, but Nathalie was there. While he wasn’t entirely sure she would stop him, he didn’t want her to mention to Gabriel later that he had overheard whatever was going on in there.

“Thanks for letting me tell him myself,” he said finally to break the awkward silence.

Nathalie nodded. “Do you love her, Adrien?”

“Completely and utterly,” he said with no hesitation. He thought about adding “I’d die for her,” but stopped himself just in time, thinking that might not have the right effect.

Her expression softened. “I very much hope she can win your father over.”

“So do I. She’s so wonderful; and if anyone can, she can; but … Father’s so stubborn.”

“He is,” Nathalie agreed. “And overprotective. But he does have a heart, Adrien.”

“He has a funny way of showing it sometimes,” Adrien muttered.

Nathalie sighed. “I know.”

There was an awkward pause.

“So … how did the two of you …?”

Adrien hesitated, quickly sorting through the memories and censoring the superhero identity stuff in favour of a simpler version of the story. Marinette coming to comfort him after what Lila had said, and him realising she felt the same way about him than he did her … yes, that would do.

“Well, it started with us all talking about our favourite movies …”

~*~

Marinette opened the door, and saw Adrien sitting talking with Nathalie, who looked quite angry for some reason. She quickly schooled her expression to be more neutral as she saw her, and stood up. “How did it go?”

“Er … well, he’s happy for us to date.”

Adrien beamed. “He is? Yes! I knew you could win him over, Marinette!”

“You sound quite relieved nevertheless,” she teased, drawing up to him.

“Well … maybe I was a bit worried,” Adrien admitted. “That’s not a reflection on you at all, though.”

“I know. Anyway, it’s all okay. Though he has set some conditions.”

Adrien frowned. “Conditions?”

“Nothing bad. Just, you know, sticking to curfew, bodyguard, stuff like that.”

“That was an awfully long conversation for just going over ground rules,” Nathalie said, in a tone which made Marinette sure she suspected a lot more had been discussed.

“Other subjects may have come up,” she said vaguely.

“Oh? Like what?” Adrien asked.

“Well … er … your dad’s lousy parenting …”

“What?” he gasped, and Nathalie choked.

“You’re the one who told me to be honest!” Marinette said to her.

“Sheesh, Marinette, what did you say to him?”

“Basically, everything I and the rest of your friends have wanted to say to him for the last few months.”

Adrien groaned. “I can hardly believe you’re still breathing! Let alone that he actually approved us dating?”

“Apparently I proved to him that I’m not after you because you’re a famous model.” She kissed his cheek, and he blushed. Aw, she would never get used to that. “And on a completely unrelated note, he’s made a resolution to have dinner with you at least four times a week, let you attend at least one social thing a week (three in the holidays), and he’s coming to see you in the school talent show next Friday.”

And when you turn fifteen, you’re getting a surprise birthday party, she silently added.

Nathalie raised her eyebrows. “Goodness,” she said, sounding very impressed.

“Wow,” Adrien said, sounding just as much so. “Marinette, you do realise that apart from my mom, you and Nathalie are the only two people who have ever been able to get my father to change his mind about something like that?”

“Um … no, I didn’t.” Marinette looked at Nathalie. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, Adrien, here’s your phone back.” She handed him his phone, then looked between them. “Is Marinette staying for a while, or do you two have other plans?”

“Er, I think it might be a good idea to give Mr Agreste some space from me for the rest of the day.”

“And we do have other plans,” Adrien agreed, taking her hand. “I promised her ice cream at Andre’s.”

“Ice cream?” Nathalie glanced out of the window. “Are you sure? It looks like it’s going to start storming again soon.”

“Oh,” Adrien said, sounding disappointed.

“We could go to my house instead,” Marinette suggested. “Only fair you get to meet my parents now.”

“They’re not going to interrogate me, are they?”

“Not like that. My dad is a very different kind of intimidating.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows. “Er, what kind of intimidating?”

“You’ll see.”

Someone cleared their throat in the doorway, and they all looked over to see Mr Agreste had appeared. “Nathalie, could I have a word?”

Marinette gulped, wondering if this was about Adrien’s birthday present.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Adrien said, frowning slightly after Nathalie had followed her boss from the room.

“Er …” She cast her mind around quickly for a change of subject. “Yeah, um … there’s someone else we need to talk to. Master Fu,” she said in a low voice.

Adrien paused. “Oh. Right. We know our secret identities now … Do you think he’ll be upset?”

“I don’t know, but whatever his reaction, we shouldn’t put it off.” Marinette took out her phone and selected the turtle icon in her contacts.

~*~

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Nathalie said after closing the door behind her.

“They’re dating, not engaged,” Gabriel said quickly, though he couldn’t help silently adding yet. He shook himself and remembered what he had actually intended to talk to her about.

“I think you made the right decision, sir. Marinette seems a sweet girl. And Adrien is clearly absolutely smitten with her.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it goes both ways. She was very …” Gabriel paused, searching for the right word. “… specific about her feelings for him.”

“Really?”

He knew from her tone that it was not actually a surprise, and wondered what she had said to Marinette before the meeting. “Yes. Very bluntly honest.”

That was putting it mildly. Marinette Dupain-Cheng had let him have it with both barrels. Gabriel thought the last time he had been that intimidated by a teenager, he had been the same age himself. Fortunately he didn’t think he had let it show.

“I see. Good for her.”

“Yes.” He paused. “The thing is, she did bring up something which I should ask you about.”

“Oh?”

“I understand that the present she intended to give to Adrien for his birthday, was somehow mistaken for being from me.” He arched an eyebrow at Nathalie, whose eyes widened.

“Oh. Er … d-did she tell Adrien?”

“No. And she stated she has no plans to do so. Apparently he was delighted to think it was from me, and she doesn’t want to disappoint him.” Gabriel fixed his assistant with a sharp frown. “I don’t suppose you could shed any light on how this misunderstanding occurred, Nathalie?”

She sighed. “On Adrien’s birthday, Marinette dropped off a gift for him, shortly before you … asked if I had got him a present from you. I … didn’t remember you having asked me to before, and … I panicked.”

“You told Adrien that Marinette’s scarf was from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you not simply go out and get him something?”

Nathalie fixed Gabriel with a surprisingly hard look. “Because that would have required leaving Adrien to eat lunch alone on his birthday, Mr Agreste. Which I didn’t want to do. Nor did I want to have to tell him that his father had either not got him a present, or asked me to and that I had forgotten. I knew any of the above would hurt him.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And as it happened, because of the Bubbler, he had lunch alone on his birthday anyway.”

The accusation was impossible to miss, and a long, very tense silence fell between them.

“I … will not akumatize anyone on Adrien’s birthday again,” Gabriel finally relented.

“Especially not friends of his who only wanted to do something kind for him,” Nathalie added.

“Er … yes. I mean … no, I won’t.”

Her expression softened slightly. “Marinette really got through to you, didn’t she?”

“You put her up to that, didn’t you?”

“All I did was advise her to be honest. The rest was all her.”

“Well, it worked,” Gabriel admitted. “There are some … changes I need to make.”

Nathalie nodded slowly, frowning again. “Talking of honesty … did you by any chance sense any negative emotions from Lila Rossi earlier today?”

Gabriel blinked, completely taken aback. “Yes, actually. She’s been very emotional for most of the day, but you know I’ve been tied up with work I couldn’t delegate. It’s been quite frustrating having to wait; I was planning to seize the opportunity once Marinette had left. How did you know?”

“Adrien told me about something that happened this morning between the two of them. And … well, you’re not going to like it …”

~*~

Lila checked her text again.

We need to talk.

She didn’t know why she had come to the meeting place Adrien had specified. What more did he want to say? Adrien was the forgiving type, but she was certain this was beyond even him.

One little miscalculation, and everything had been ruined. Usually Lila planned her stories with care, but from time to time had simply grabbed an opportunity. And now she’d had the horrible misfortune of picking the wrong person to lie about.

How the hell was I supposed to know she was his mom???

If she transferred to a new school (Lila was already formulating an argument to present to her mother why it was necessary), then she would be more careful. At the very least do an internet search before opening her mouth.

She turned as she heard the car pull up behind her. The back window rolled down, and her eyes widened in surprise as it revealed not Adrien, but his father.

“Get in, Miss Rossi,” Gabriel Agreste said shortly.

She did, hesitating as she realised he was alone in the back. “Where’s Adrien?”

“He did not send you that text. You are not the only one with the ability to deceive.”

A cold chill went down her spine as the car pulled off, and Lila was suddenly very aware of the fact that no-one knew where she was.

“S-sir? What do you want?”

He didn’t look at her, face set in grim determination as he stared straight ahead. “Adrien told Nathalie what you said about his mother.”

Lila had guessed he’d found out, but still felt the blood drain from her face. “Sir, I swear, I never meant—I had no idea he was talking about his mom!”

“That is not the point. Your story could have severely hurt him, and the only reason it didn’t was because he believes something tragic happened to her.” He suddenly fixed Lila with a glare so fierce, she wished he was still looking straight ahead. “I wanted to tell you personally that if you ever do or say anything that could hurt Adrien again, regardless of whether or not you meant it to, you will severely regret it.”

Lila waited for the car to stop, but it didn’t. She glanced at the driver. It wasn’t Adrien’s bodyguard as usual; it was the aforementioned secretary. For some reason this felt foreboding.

“Um … wh-where are we going?”

He did not answer her question. “Miss Rossi, your relationship, in any sense, with my son is over. You are not to go near him again. You are not to talk about him or to him, and the same goes for his friends, because when they are hurt so is he. You are toxic and I will not have your poison harming my family.”

“I understand, Mr Agreste.”

“I’m not sure you do. You have been akumatized … how many times?”

“Er …” Lila said, taken aback at the question.

“Four, as I understand it. And you have a deep hatred of Ladybug which has made you valuable to Hawk Moth.”

“I’m not sure I understand—Wait, how do you know?”

“I am very well informed, Miss Rossi. Especially about the people around my son. I want to make one thing absolutely clear. Should you be akumatized again, no matter what Hawk Moth wants of you, Adrien and his friends are off limits. You cannot use that as an excuse with me.” His eyes sent icy daggers of fear through her. “You will find I can be a much more dangerous enemy than Hawk Moth.”

Before she could register the movement, his hand had crept around her throat and started to squeeze.

Lila choked, struggling to draw breath, and grasped weakly at his strong fingers, trying to pull them off. They were immovable. He wasn’t blocking her airways, but it hurt. She saw Nathalie glance in the mirror but merely look away, showing no sign of mercy.

Mr Agreste finally let go. “Is that absolutely clear?”

“Y-yes, s-sir,” Lila gasped, massaging her throat.

“Now you are going to get out, and you are going to tell your parents about every single lie you have told. If I find you have missed any out, I will tell them myself.”

They stopped, and Lila saw they were outside her home. She had never been so relieved to be able to get out of a car. She would take being grounded for the rest of her life over spending one more second in that man’s company.

“This is your only warning,” Gabriel Agreste said darkly, before closing the door again. The car pulled away.

Lila braced herself, and approached her front door.

~*~

“Don’t dawdle on the way home,” Gabriel said to Nathalie, settling back in his seat, satisfied and in anticipation. “I will not miss this opportunity.”

“Of course, Mr Agreste.”

He could already feel Lila’s anger and frustration, but once her parents found out everything, it was bound to increase. Her next akumatization would be her most powerful form yet.

“Do you think she’s afraid enough to leave Adrien alone?” Nathalie asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “She might have thought you were bluffing.”

“She didn’t. I can tell.” Gabriel looked back at his assistant. “Do you think it was too big a risk?”

“As long as you left no visible mark on her—”

“I didn’t.” He had been very careful not to.

“—and she’s convinced that you really would hurt her if she hurt Adrien again—”

“Which I will. And she is.”

“—then no. Even if she tries to tell someone you attacked her, no-one is going to believe her now.”

Gabriel nodded. That had been the plan. His Miraculous glowed as Lila’s emotions suddenly spiked. “Faster, Nathalie. I mean … Catalyst.”

To Be Continued …

Author’s Note: Thanks to phantombullets240 for your idea; it’s what turned this into a multi-chapter fic.

I initially drafted the penultimate scene with Gabriel ending his deal with Lila, then remembered it hadn’t happened yet in canon. Which is a shame because it would have been so much more tense. But I’m happy with the rewrite.

Part of the scene between Marinette and Gabriel was inspired by a conversation from Monster In Law, but it’s been years since I’ve seen the film so I’m not sure how close it is to the original.

I have a plan for the next chapter, but action isn’t my strong point, so it might take a little longer than the others to write!

[hopetofantasy]

‘Wandering Romance’ - Part 3

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans   Trigger Warnings (if applicable): mentions of abuse, toxic relationships, minimal self harm. Created for @skamevents

Summary: “A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.”

In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past.

So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good?

Also available on AO3

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CHAPTER 3: 'No one feels the same'

——————————————————

It was the sound of crying that woke him up.

He wasn’t dreaming anyways, because his dreams were reflections of his mind. And his mind didn’t want to cooperate, at least not for the last few hours. He knew why, though. He just didn’t wanted to acknowledge it. He wasn’t even entirely aware of drifting back to awareness. He didn’t want to face the world. The world was filled with empty pain and love lost. True love felt like an illusion, even when he tasted it for a while. 

It all tasted sour now...

He slowly hauled his tired body of his yellow, crumpled sheets and tried to identify where the sound came from. Some lingering thoughts forming on the outskirts of his empty mind. ‘Why was this happening?’ ‘Why did it sound like such an agonizing heartbreaking thing?’ ‘This feels so deep, too deep...’ 

He simply didn’t know.

He acted on instinct, when he crawled towards the mop of curls, bouncing on top of a blubbering mess. Legs tangled into the soft blanket, a hollowed ball of sorrow on the barely fitting mattress, nails unconsciously scratching the arms, leaving deep red marks. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be permanent. Even when the pain felt like it was. But he simply couldn’t ignore it. 

He felt it too.

His own heart broke at the sobs.

A mirror to his own feelings.

“Robbe...”

No answer. Just the sound of pain put away for too long, underneath multiple steel layers. A sudden halt to the loudest sobs. Softer tears streaming down the angelic face. Him even crawling deeper into himself. Unclear mumblings. A nail struck harder into the white skin. 

A slight drop of red.

Sander couldn’t ignore that. He immediately grabbed the other’s hands, pulling them towards the side. As a result, causing the soft body to fall into his own. An older pattern from days long before. When they looked at each other for hours on end, forgot the world ever existed and their bedroom air was filled with laughter or passion. Sander didn’t want- he didn’t try to reflect. 

He tried. But he failed.

“Robbe, wake up! WAKE UP!”

Dark brown eyes shot open to meet the green. Teary, tired and hollow. Things Sander knew best. He felt like somewhat of a specialist in these feelings, unfortunately, not by choice. Fate had dealt him a bad hand. But never for this love. True love, his mind whispered. For the silent boy staring at the deep green of his soul. The one who immediately crawled closer to his warmth. 

Who brushed softly over the broken, red skinned knuckles of his right hand. 

Who silently whispered “sorry” to him.

Who didn’t even need to do that.

Who pulled his face closer.

Laid hands on his side.

Breathed on his lips.

Took one second.

And eventually...

Made Chernobyl happen.

  -^-

  Only few hours earlier, they were met with different feeling: enthusiasm.

“God, I missed you two”, the raven haired boy exclaimed, while grasping at  both his and Robbe’s arm. It had been too long, though, when they truly had a boy’s night. A real night of good clean fun. Just with the five of them. 

Unfortunately, life happened. Jobs happened. Kids happened. Well, maybe not unfortunately, gratefully, but it was just hard to say goodbye to your youth. And say hello to responsibilities. To unpaid bills on the counter. To tired days alone.

To broken minds in the night. 

Yeah, okay, Sander, time to tone you down a little. 

“Yeah, boys, we really need to do that trip we’re always talking about. That road trip to nowhere. Just a week without anything, like we said right?”, the beach blonde answered. His answer lighting up all the faces around the table. 

Aaron was bouncing his head to the idea, always eager to explore more, to learn more. Robbe looked at him with puzzled eyes. Thank god that their son had a sleepover, because this was probably going to be an eventful night.

Moyo barked out his roaring laugh. “Like we don’t keep planning that thing, over and over again. Last time we brought it up, it was right before Robbe started dating someone else again. The time before, Jens decided to spew out a couple of kids. And then that time we came up with it, the whole thing with N-”

The brown skinned boy suddenly stopped, winching at his unfinished sentence. They all knew what he meant, though. It had been just a couple of nights before Noor’s death. One of the few magical ‘before’ moments they collectively remembered. Like they could survive anything. Knowing that they were there, filled by drunken laughter, silly jokes and endless teasing. The prologue to the rest of their lives. They didn’t know at the time.

He tried to examine his friend’s face, catching Robbe doing the exact same thing. They had conversations about this. Maybe Moyo never truly knew, what she had meant to him, himself. There had been lingering somethings in the past. Treaded paths not taken. Careful whispers, loaded glances and brushed lips, too subtle if you didn’t had the knack to pick it up. But the ex-couple did. 

He saw how Moyo gripped his glass tighter, urging the gold liquid through his throat. He coughed, asked the rest if they needed anything and walked away with the platter of empty drinks. A glimpse of shiny eyes. Leaving an awkward silence between the squad. 

It was Jens, who eventually broke it. 

“I think he never got over it, you know?”, looking at his trembling hands. 

“Who ever did?”, the other curly boy answered hoarsely.

“We never did. It wouldn’t have been fair to her.” 

Sander nodded along. 

Sometimes, he caught himself looking at his son, with a heavy breath, seeing her in his features. Reopening all the old wounds from before. But then, his heart would fill with unconditional love again, because, thank god they still had a part of Noor on this world. Readily to love. To see how he would grow. How he would blossom into more than he already gave today. Pride.

“I miss her.”

“Me too.” 

“Me too.” 

“Me too.”

Loss is a part of you, it never leaves. 

“Guys...”, Jens choked out next. “... I need to say... I’m sorry...”

Again, a curveball they hadn’t anticipated. The boy’s eyes were slowly filling up with tears. They all remained silent, nodding along, knowing that this was something Jens needed to say. The group were never big on feelings, but this sure felt like a beginning. Therapy. Catharsis. A peace of mind.

“I’m sorry.”, the dark haired started rambling. “This is hard for me to admit. But, I should’ve never kept David a secret for you all. I mean, it’s just... Noor wanted to have some time... to deal with all of this, right? She panicked the moment the stick turned blue. I never knew who the guy was and she never told me, either. But then she made me promise never to tell anyone, even you all. 

Noor tried to fade into the background more, so nobody would ask what was happening. I shouldn’t have supported that decision... But it’s what she wanted. Trying to set up a stable life. A 9 to 5 job, a savings account and an own apartment. She even took the crappy job at the art school, that paid less than her talents were worth. But she was happy, you know?”

Sander felt the urge to lay a hand on Jens’ shoulder. Robbe seemed to have the same thought, because he was already doing it. They really needed to stop with this telepathy thing. It was starting to freak him out. They weren’t a couple anymore.

“I... I loved her like a sister. I thought she was going to be a great mom. And I was there as the fun uncle, not necessarily the father figure. Noor didn’t want that. She could do it on her own. “I can change the diaper myself, idiot”, she’d yell at me, while throwing some of the baby powder in my face. “I don’t need a babysitter, Jens.” “Go live your life.” She would laugh at the things I did. She was always stubborn like that, you know?” 

A collective, watery smile.

The way Jens told this story, though, it felt as if she was standing right next to them. Her presence felt so tangible. Sander could feel her, rolling her eyes, screaming things like “Are you really all crying over me, now, almost a decade later? Dude, wtf, have some fun. Talk about tv shows. Cars. Beer. Idk. Not death. What the hell, people? Get some shots!”��Hands would be thrown. 

He wanted to revel in that ghostly warmth. Celebrate her life. Find a perfect spot to spray a huge, damn mural. Instead, he said: “Jens. We know how she was. Please, don’t say sorry. We know how you tried. We know she was stubborn. She would say the same if she was here. You never did something wrong. Sometimes fate is just an a-hole. She shouldn’t have died so young. You couldn’t have known.”

He pinched the raven boy’s arm, trying to make him look up. He was met with a face filled with pain. “One day, we will tell David about her story. All together. He’s smart, he knows a lot of biology already and next year, he’ll get sex education in school. We’ll have to tell him some time how he came to be, who he is and what he means to us, right? We can do that.”

“Together”

The deep brown found his, exactly like they should. He knew Robbe said those words, before his mind registered them. As if he was thinking with his heart. As if he ever stopped thinking with his heart. His other hand trailed towards the other, knowing it would be there without question. And their fingers intertwined. 

Then he saw that a certain someone had eavesdropped on their conversation. 

Moyo had took a while to come up for air again...

They had let him.

Because they understood. 

  -^-

  Conversation had become more of an option rather than a necessity. Faces started to blur, music roared in his brain and sweat drops rolled from his skin. After the bar, they’d found their way to the city centre, to some obscure underground club Moyo said ‘was the bomb’. The atmosphere felt invigorating, as if a painting came to life. Filled with colors, vibes and feelings. Much more of an extreme Bosch than a calming Monet.

A few shots in, Aaron somehow caught the eye of a beautiful brunette. Since he’d never truly grown out of his awkward phase, it had been a blast to see that train wreck happening. And in no way, they were gonna save him from that situation. It was too funny to let it slide. 

It almost felt like the old times. Almost.

Because as intoxicated as he was, he felt his burning gaze. He didn’t had to look. He knew what he would see if he decided to turn towards his ex-lover. An excruciating mix of hurt, pining and lust. A reflection of his. They knew each other better than any other soul on the world, so it came as no surprise that they felt similar about the whole situation. 

He just didn’t know if he wanted to open that can of worms.

Ever since the David Bowie performance by their son, there had been something more. Even more longing, even more hurt, even more doubt. But Robbe had a boyfriend. The exes shared a beautiful son. They were divorced. They couldn’t just do what they wanted, without consequences. There were others involved. Sander just didn’t know how long he could it hold off anymore.

On cue with his thoughts, the boys suddenly decided to ditch them both, to buy some stuff from a backdoor dealer. Something to take the edge off, he guessed. They’d eventually come back, but that wouldn’t negate the predicament they’d put him in. He didn’t dare to move inside his ex’ neighborhood. He didn’t want to leave him alone either. So he was stuck either way.

The answer came in the form of a drunk body colliding with his, punching him right off the barstool. The helping hand, the held breath, the brown eyes. His soulmate’s eyes. What was it with them? What made them so interesting? So filled with love and passion and hurt and just so many emotions at the same time. He once tried to put them on paper, but he never got them right.

His brain couldn’t function anymore.

He let his hands do the work. They grasped the shirt in front of him, a vaguely familiar black one, and pulled hard. His shiny lips just one breath away and Robbe was already closing his eyes, moaning loudly. Moaning his name. Sending all kinds of emotions through his body. He just needed to take that next step. Slowly... pulling... in...

Before Robbe was roughly pushed away from him.

“I need to talk to you, NOW!!!” A rough voice yelled. 

“Okay...” The other answered carefully.

And Robbe was pulled away, leaving a nauseous Sander behind.

  -^-

  He didn’t meant to eavesdrop.

He didn’t.

Really.

He never thought he was gonna hear Robbe argue with his boyfriend.

It clicked in his brain, the minute he bought some water and went outside for some fresh air. Sobering him up a little. Second guessing what he was about to do, a few minutes ago. To maybe ruin the careful friendship they developed, after so much pain and memories. Maybe it was better to be saved by the bell than to make that mistake again.

But then he heard him. 

“... kissing your ex!”

“I wasn’t kissing my ex, Wouter!”

“You were about to! Don’t bullshit me, Robbe. This is one of the reasons you broke up with me, didn’t you? To get back together with that lowlife?”

Excuse me?! What was he insinuating? He was a productive member of society, thank you. His work brought in enough to pay his bills, take care of his son and even save some up for later. He wasn’t a lowli-

Hold up, did Robbe’s boyfriend just say that they BROKE UP?!

“He’s not a lowlife! He’s my ex, he’s the father of my child and he’s not the reason we broke up either!” Robbe retaliated right away. 

“Then why did we, Robbe? I don’t get it. I thought we were good together...” Wouter seemed to try another approach. Whispers instead of yelling. He could see the body language changing from a harsh, defensive stance to a softer approach. It made Sander’s skin crawl. He didn’t know why. It was some sort of vibe that was just... off.

“We weren’t good together. I don’t know if you noticed, but we were NEVER good together. And you know exactly why...”

Wouter held up his hand, trying to touch Robbe’s cheek, wanting to calm him down. Yet, that last one immediately slapped the hand away. He could see how it affected the now-apparent-ex. How the hands started to form fists. The eyes started to flinch. Similar to a bull preparing to strike towards the matador.

“Oh yeah? You thought we were never good together, huh? What are you insinuating? I picked you off the metaphorical street, Robbe, because you were so heartbroken over someone who didn’t even think twice about dumping you. Even with your collective history. I build you back up to the man you are now. I made sure you were loved, that you had your needs filled, that you could call me whenever you wanted. And I did that, didn’t I. Right?!”

A flash of doubt on the other’s face. His expression filled with contradictory emotions, his body freezing at the featherlight touch of Wouter’s finger trailing his cheek and his eyes... Sander never saw them this pained. Eventually, after a short silence, the brown haired boy whispered: “You did that, yes. And I’m grateful for that. But you did other things too. I... I just can’t anymore. I can’t.” 

“What can you do anymore, Robbe? What? US? YOU MEAN US?!”, the other started yelling again. 

“Stop yelling, Wouter”, the other said calmly. (Fearfully?)

“What’s wrong, baby. You used to love when I yelled at you. You used to love to be yell to. My name, over and over again. After I made you come, over and over again. You never begged me to stop, remember? You wanted more. More of the harsh words, the cuffs, the pushing, the burn inside, the pain, right? I remember not having a safe word at one time. That time was fun, no?”

Sander suddenly felt furious. What the actual f? Was this dipshit really saying what he was thinking right now? No safe word? Pain? Burn inside? What the hell did Wouter do to him? He saw how the expression on the man’s face changed to a cold, emotionless look. The look of something dangerous. Something that rang all the alarms in his brain. His whole body started to prepare, to release inner anger. To fight.

“I... I...”

“You want me, right?”, the other said, with venom in his mouth. “You still want me. You can’t stop thinking about me. Even after what I did to you. You keep coming back for more. You want it, Robbe, face it. You want the pain. You love the pain. You love receiving it. 

Even when you say ‘no’, 

I know you want it. 

Last time, last time was a mistake, you know that. You shouldn’t have said ‘no’. You didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t have drank. I wouldn’t have trying to go to your son’s room. You wouldn’t have fell by pulling me. Then you wouldn’t have had the bruises, the cuts. The broken bones. If you just had let me, I could’ve-”

He never got to finish that sentence.

Because, after that, a flash of beach blonde hair moved into the man’s vision.

An ex-lover. A father. A man with bottled up agony, hurt and anger.

Someone who needed a perfect release.

And Wouter?

Seemed to be the perfect victim.

Excellent even, to liberate him from that pent-up energy.

So for Sander, the world temporarily turned black.

Until only the color red was left.

  -^-

  Chernobyl was beautiful at first.

Chernobyl was love second.

Chernobyl was warmth as a third.

But then Chernobyl was also pain.

Agony.

Heart breaking.

A nuclear disaster.

Which Sander discovered the following morning.

When he turned around to kiss his boy.

His beautiful ex-turned-lover-again.

  And found the bed empty.

[ceealaina]

Title: Caught Somewhere in Time Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square R2 - Time Heist Ship: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Rating: Teen Major Tags: Avengers: Endgame - Alternate 2012 Timeline, Team Bonding Summary: There was something weird about the aftermath of the Battle of New York, too many coincidences and Tony hasn't been able to stop poking at it. Turns out, Steve's been noticing some weird things too. Word Count: 1703

SOMEWHERE IN AN ALTERNATE 2012

Tony frowned, watching the footage from the Battle of New York aftermath yet again. Something about that entire thing wasn’t sitting right with him. Tony wasn’t a big believer in coincidences at the best of times, and this was entirely too many of them. The arc reactor randomly malfunctioning, the Tesseract somehow ‘falling’ out of the locked case, Loki getting his hands on it and then using his newfound freedom to wipe the floor with Rogers, grab the scepter, and then… Disappear entirely? None of it made any damn sense. And there was something else niggling at the back of his mind. He barely remembered it, on account of being in the middle of dying at the time, but there’d been a SHIELD agent, someone he hadn’t been able to track down, calling for a medic in a voice that was painfully familiar but in a way that he couldn’t quite place. 

Unfortunately, information from that day was seriously lacking. Half the lobby security cameras had gone down in the battle, and since the tower wasn’t supposed to be open to the public yet, and it wasn’t like he kept proprietary information in the lobby, he hadn’t bothered giving them backups and failsafes yet. Which meant he had exactly one angle that would show how the supposedly secured case spontaneously opened, and that was blocked by a view of Thor’s gorgeous rear end as he restarted Tony’s heart with a bolt of lightning. In addition to that, there was absolutely nothing on the mysterious SHIELD agent that nobody seemed to remember — although, there was an audio file of him calling for the medic, so at least Tony wasn’t making it up. He did have a clear shot of the Tesseract sliding to Loki’s feet only to have him pick it up and vanish, but there was nothing of Steve’s fight with Loki. 

And that was something else too. Steve had been weird after that fight, obviously unsettled in a way he hadn’t been since Tony had met him in Stuttgart. The man had just woken up to find himself seventy years in the future a week ago, Tony had expected him to freak out any number of times. And sure, it didn’t take a psychologist to see that his mental health probably wasn’t the greatest, but he’d been fine — certainly as good as Tony on some of his better days. So what was it about that five-minute fight that had finally been the thing to throw Rogers off? 

“Sir, you have a visitor requesting entry.” 

JARVIS’ voice pulled Tony from his thoughts, and he blinked down at the camera feed only to startle at the familiar form of Steve standing at parade rest as he waited in front of the lab doors.

“God, I hope I’m not suddenly developing psychic powers,” he muttered before waving at the door. “Let him in, J.”

The last that he’d heard, Steve was supposed to be in Washington. After the mess following the battle, SHIELD had lost their shit, Alexander Pierce throwing a hissy fit and pulling rank. They couldn’t actually do anything with Tony or Thor, and Tony had managed to get Bruce tucked away before they could even try anything with him, but in revenge they had recalled both Clint and Nat. Then they claimed that Steve was one of their assets too, and while Tony had been ready to fight them on it, Steve hadn’t argued. Tony had let them all know that they had an open invitation to stay at the tower if they got tired of SHIELD’s bullshit, their biometrics already inputted in the system, but he hadn’t heard a peep from any of them in the six weeks since. So what the hell was Steve doing here now?

He swiped his hand, flicking away the surveillance footage just as the sliding doors opened and Steve stepped through. He was dressed in civilian clothing, a pair of well fitted jeans (thank god, Tony might have cried if he’d been back in those khakis with the grandpa pleats) and a grey t-shirt, but it didn’t stop him from standing at parade rest. Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Steve tilted his head in a slight nod. “Stark.” 

Tony gave an enormous, exaggerated sigh, letting his entire body heave with the force of it. “Jesus,” He drawled. “You’re killing me, smalls. Kick back a little, relax, cool it with the American soldier routine. We saved the world together, Cap. You can at least call me Tony.”

Steve gave him a crooked smile, some of the tension easing out of his body. “Tony,” he corrected himself, his voice a little warmer than before. “Sorry,” he added after a moment. “Washington has been… Hectic. Sometimes it’s easier to just fall into routine, wear it like an armour, you know?”

Tony arched his eyebrows, a little weirded out by how well Steve seemed to know him sometimes without even realizing it. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” he said with a rueful grin. “Still,” he clapped his hands together, titled back precariously in his wheely chair. “You’re among friends here, Steve.” He shifted forward again and hooked his ankle around the leg of another chair, hauling it away from the table. “Sit down, take a load off. Tell me what’s troubling that star spangled mind of yours.” 

That earned him an eyeroll, but Tony could tell Steve was fighting back a smile as he dropped into the offered seat. “So the thing is…” He trailed off a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tried to work out what he wanted to say. “I’ve been working with this new team, out of SHIELD? I think they were one of the teams that stepped in here, after the Battle?” 

“And what, you’re missing the old crew already? Wanna get the gang back together?” 

“No. Well…” Steve huffed out a soft laugh. “It’s not quite the same,” he admitted. “But that’s not why I’m here. There’s… There’s something up with the STRIKE team.” 

Curiosity piqued, Tony leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “Oh yeah? What’s up?” 

“They keep saying weird things to me.” Steve met Tony’s gaze steadily. “Like, ‘Hail Hydra.’” 

It took a minute for Tony to even process the words, and when he did he let out a low whistle. “Shit,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Shit.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know who in SHIELD is compromised, who we can trust… how this is even possible? I haven’t seen Natasha or Clint since we arrived in Washington, and well... “ He shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t think who else I could come to with this.” 

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “You trust me?” 

Steve gave him a pointed look. “We saved the world together, Tony,” he said, echoing Tony’s earlier words. “Of course I trust you. And whatever I think of your methods, I’m damn sure you’re not a fucking Nazi.” 

Tony grinned, trying to ignore the ten-year-old Tony in his head losing his shit over the fact that Captain fucking America trusted him. “Definitely not,” he promised him. He hesitated a moment, and then flicked his hand again, bringing the surveillance he’d been purviewing back up. “You’re not the only one who’s noticed weird stuff, for what it’s worth.” He offered him a smile. “I’ve been busy, since you’ve been gone. We’ll figure out what the fuck is going on.” 

Steve grinned, kicking his foot against Tony’s. “Glad to have you on my side, Iron Man,” he told him, and Tony couldn’t help grinning back at him. Then Steve’s smile faded slightly, a frown crossing his features instead. 

“What?” Tony asked. “What is it?” 

“There’s something else,” Steve admitted. “When I was fighting Loki, after he escaped?” He drew in a slow breath and Tony leaned back, waiting for him to finish. “I know you read my file, Tony. You know about the Commandos?” He waited for Tony’s nod before continuing. “He told me that Bucky’s still alive.”

“He… What?” 

“Yeah.” Steve gave him a helpless look. “I just… I can’t get it out of my head. If it’s not true, why would he do that? If he was trying to throw me off to get an advantage, how would he know to use Bucky? That’s not how Loki’s powers work -- is it? And if, if it is true…?” He trailed off, looking so lost for a moment Tony felt like he should give him a hug. 

“Okay,” he said instead. “So what we need is a team. People we can actually trust.” He hummed consideringly. “Thor and I have been working to try and track down Loki, not that we’ve gotten anywhere, but I don’t know how much help he’ll be. I feel like this’ll require a level of… subtlety that he doesn’t usually manage.” He grinned when that got a huff of laughter out of Steve.”Bruce is still lying low, which is probably for the best right now. I can find Clint and Nat, don’t worry about that, but we’re gonna need someone else, someone we can trust.” 

Steve considered this, nodding slowly. “I maybe know a guy,” he offered. “Back in Washington. He’s sort of my running buddy?” 

Tony arched a skeptical eyebrow. “You found someone who can keep up with you?” he asked, second eyebrow joining the first when Steve laughed at some kind of private joke. 

“Nah,” he admitted. “But that’s kinda what I like about him. Anyway, he’s good, I know he is. I mean, I know it know it, but also I ran a background check on him?”

“You know how to do that?” Tony teased, laughing when Steve kicked the leg of his chair in retaliation. “Okay, okay, sorry. So we’ll bring in your Washington running buddy too. I know it’s not much, but it’s the start of a plan. And you are the man with a plan.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.” 

Tony just shrugged. “What do you say, Steve? Time to bring the team back together? Take down the bad guys?” 

 Steve grinned back at him. “Avengers Assemble.”

@tonystarkbingo