#not quite sure what happened here but i needed a break from the defying gravity sprint

[karamell-sweetz]

do they have outfits like these in the game yet or can i manifest them

[bloody-bee-tea]

Beetober 2024 Day 14 - Bottom of the well

Shouta sees the silhouette on the ledge of a roof long before he can make out any details. He's still familiar enough with occurrences like this to not question his instincts and so he makes his way over as quickly as he can, deciding on the way what the best possible approach would be.

All his careful planning comes to a raring stop when he spots a second figure on the roof, though. Shouta curses under his breath because while he is good, he's not that good and if they both decide to jump he's pretty certain that he can't save both.

So he needs to be even more careful now.

He silently lands on the part of the roof that's the farthest away from the two figures and creeps closer, unwilling to spook them and make them tumble off the edge anyway.

It's only when he's halfway across the roof that he slows down, taking in the sight in front of him in for more detail.

Only the woman is on the ledge; she's the one he saw from three houses back and her intent is clear. The other person on the roof can't be older than twelve, if that, and the kid is not anywhere near the ledge, and clearly more focused on the woman than ending their own life.

Something about this bugs Shouta, even as he keeps a careful eye on them, his capture weapon at the ready should anything go wrong, and it takes him a moment to place that stomach churning feeling.

No one looks up. No one ever looks up at the sky when they walk and least of all kids and teenagers. They keep their heads down, try to slip by as unseen as possible, so how the hell had this kid seen the woman on the roof?

What even is the kid doing out at this time of night, anyway?

Questions Shouta has to shelve for now, he decides, because there's still someone trying to end their own life and Shouta is not about to let that happen.

He can hear indistinct muttering, though, and he wonders if the kid is trying to do what Shouta came here for. Wonders if maybe, for once, his help is not needed at the moment.

Shouta decides to stay out of sight for now, though he makes sure that he's close enough to catch the woman should she jump, just in case. But it seems as if the kid has a pretty good handle on things, because it's not long before the woman shakily steps off the ledge and allows the kid to lead her closer to the center of the roof, closer to where Shouta is still hidden.

It allows him a good look at them for the first time and he's surprised by the shock of gravity defying lavender hair he's met with on the kid, before his attention is drawn back to the woman when she sobs.

"I just—" she gets out and Shouta watches how the kid pats her hand.

Christ, that kid can't be older than ten, now that he gets a good look at his face and that same worry from before digs its claws deeper into Shouta's stomach.

"I know," the kid whispers back and his voice sounds raspy, which makes Shouta frown. Maybe he’s sick? "But it's not worth it. You really want him to have that much power over you?"

"No," the woman sobs out. "I just don't know what I'll do without him."

"Then you'll figure it out," the kid decidedly says and it sounds a lot like they are talking about a bad break-up.

It makes Shouta relax a little bit, because while this is still bad, it's a spur of a moment decision. Those are always easier to talk down than those who have learned over a long time that there's no hope in their lives.

"You think I can?" the woman asks and the kid nods, hair flopping with the movement of his head.

"Of course you can," he tells her and then stifles a cough in the crook of his elbow.

Definitely sick, Shouta thinks, though it doesn't fit quite right, even in his own mind.

"Thank you," the woman shakily breathes out, reaching out to pat the top of the kid's head and then she allows him to guide her towards the staircase that will lead them back down to the safety of the ground.

It's only when the door closes behind them that Shouta lets out a breath of relief and he uncurls his hands from around his capture weapon. He allows himself a moment to be grateful that nothing happened in this instance before he gets up and continues with his patrol.

The night is still long and there might be other people who need his help. Purple haired kids can't be all over around the town, after all.

~*~*~

Shouta can't settle down and it's starting to affect Hizashi too, if the look he's receiving right now is anything to go by.

"What's going on?" Hizashi asks when Shouta paces the length of their living-room again and Shouta struggles for a moment to put his feelings into words.

"Yesterday there was a kid on a roof," he finally says and he immediately has all of Hizashi's attention.

"Fuck. They wanted to jump?"

"No, actually," Shouta gives back but it almost tastes like a lie. "The kid was talking someone else down from the ledge."

"What's gotten you all wound up then?"

"I'm not sure," Shouta admits, but his stomach churns and his hands shake.

Something is wrong and if he could just put his finger on it then maybe things would be better.

"You see the jumper first or the kid?" Hizashi asks, trying to talk Shouta through whatever it is that's bugging him and Shouta is eternally grateful for him.

"The jumper. She was already up on the ledge, spotted her from a few houses down. When I got there the kid was already there, talking to her. I decided not to interfere because he was keeping her calm enough, though of course I was ready. But he managed to get her to come down and he even led her down the stairs as well."

Hizashi hums at that, rubbing his chin in thought.

"And you're worried about something," he sums up and Shouta lets out a sharp breath.

"I don't know why though," he admits, completely frustrated, because he trusts his instincts, usually, but he doesn't even know what set them off this time and he's annoyed because he was looking forward to a night off with Hizashi.

"You know why the kid was up there?" Hizashi asks and just like that Shouta's stomach drops out.

"Fuck," he hisses, already on the move, jamming his feet into his boots as he grabs the capture weapon.

There was no reason for the kid to be up there, and just like Shouta thought yesterday people don't look up. The kid probably saw the jumper because he wanted to jump himself and Shouta feels sick with that thought.

The kid was so tiny, still; to think that he might have been up there to end his own life makes Shouta want to throw up.

"I'll track your GPS and bring the car," Hizashi calls after him, clearly understanding without Shouta having to say anything and he vanishes into the bedroom to get dressed and Shouta is in too much of a hurry to yell back an affirmative.

His patrol route from last night is not that far out, but it still feels like hours until Shouta spots the roof from yesterday and just like he feared, there's a silhouette up there.

And it's decidedly smaller than the woman's yesterday.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Shouta chants under his breath, pushing himself to go a little bit faster.

He still forces himself to slow down on the last stretch, because it's not going to help if he startles the kid and makes him fall off, so he lands softly on the roof opposite of the kid and then carefully makes his way over, swinging around so the kid can see him approach.

"Hey there," Shouta warily says when the kid spots him and he freezes when the kid takes a step back.

That's always bad.

"It's okay," Shouta immediately says, raising his hands to show that he doesn't mean any harm. "I'm a Pro Hero and I want to help you."

That prompts a desperate laugh from the kid and it's only when he throws his head back that Shouta sees the blood running down his face.

"You're hurt, kid," Shouta softly says and then mentally scolds himself because of course the kid would know that.

"Doesn't matter for much longer," the kid bitterly mutters out, looking back over the edge and Shouta goes cold with fear.

The kid seems to have already made up his mind and Shouta might have a good track record with talking people down from suicide but that also means he knows when his words won’t help.

And he’s afraid that this time, they won’t help at all.

Still, he has to try. He always tries.

“Why don’t you come down for a moment so we can talk?” he tries, goes right in but predictably the kid stays where he is, so Shouta lets out a long breath. “What’s your name?”

“Hitoshi,” the kid tells him and Shouta notes the lack of a family name down.

“I’m Shouta,” he offers in turn and is surprised when the kid nods.

“Aizawa. Eraserhead. I know.”

“How? I’m not supposed to be common knowledge.”

“You have a mental quirk. Of course I know about you,” the kid, Hitoshi, whispers and something sour rises up in Shouta’s throat.

“You got one of those too, kid?”

“Sure do,” Hitoshi bitterly says and looks down at the street below again. “I’m going to make a wonderful villain one day, so you shouldn’t bother. I’m just getting rid of a problem before it can become one.”

It sounds a lot like something that has been said to Hitoshi before and Shouta forces himself not to shake. He went through his fair share of bullying and quirk discrimination, as did Hizashi for that matter, but it was supposed to get better.

Things like this aren’t supposed to happen anymore and especially not to kids that small.

“I don’t know about that, Hitoshi. From what I saw you’re going to make a real good hero one day,” Shouta gives back, determined to keep his voice level and even and not let Hitoshi know just how much he’s freaking out because he’s still standing on that ledge.

It seems to have been the wrong thing to say because Hitoshi rears back as if Shouta had hit him and for one precarious moment he wobbles, balance shot to hell and his fate up in the air and then he settles again, standing firmly on the ledge.

Shouta can feel his knees go weak but he locks them, forces himself to stand upright.

“Why would you say that?” Hitoshi almost cries out, his voice hurt and desperate and Shouta itches with the need to pull him into a hug, to soothe all his hurts and make it better somehow.

“Because I saw you, yesterday. Right here. You were there when that woman needed someone and you brought her safely down. That’s something a hero would have done. What I was about to do, if you hadn’t gotten there first.”

Hitoshi stares at him with wide, hurt eyes and Shouta dares to take a step closer.

“What you did was a good thing. You saved someone’s life.”

“I was up here because I wanted to jump,” Hitoshi whispers out, and Shouta takes another step.

“I know. But instead of doing that you prioritised someone else over your own wishes and you were for her what I’m trying to be for you.”

Hitoshi only stares at him but by now Shouta is close enough that he can see the tears in his eyes, that he can see the cuts on his face and it only takes him a second to recognise the pattern and cold, hot fury lashes through him.

Someone has muzzled this kid.

“Hitoshi, can you come down here? Can you come to me?” he asks again, holding his hand out and he can’t even pretend that his hand isn’t shaking.

“You’re afraid,” Hitoshi mutters, his eyes fixed on his trembling fingers and Shouta nods.

“Yeah. I’m terrified you’ll jump and slip right through my fingers,” he admits and Hitoshi blinks in confusion.

“You should be happy,” he says, as if Shouta could be, with him standing on the ledge like that. “I’m—my quirk is Brainwashing.”

What a horrible name for a quirk, Shouta thinks but he doesn’t drop his hand.

“So? Mine is Erasure. Your quirk doesn’t matter to me, kid, just—please. Come down here.”

“I didn’t use my quirk on that woman yesterday,” Hitoshi rushes out, eyes wide and clearly desperate but Shouta only shrugs.

“Even if you had, it wouldn’t matter. Heroes use their quirks to save lives all the time, and this wouldn’t have been any different. If you had used your quirk to stop her from killing herself it would have still been a good thing.

Hitoshi’s eyes fill with tears again and Shouta dares to shuffle a tiny bit forward.

“Hitoshi, please come down here. Let me help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Hitoshi whispers but he does take one step towards Shouta and that’s all he needs to reach out and lift him off the edge, right into his arms where it’s safe.

“I’m a Pro Hero, of course I can help you,” Shouta says around a relieved breath but he lets go of Hitoshi when he lets out a pained wheeze. “You’re hurt. Let me see your face?”

“What, so you can fit on a new muzzle?” Hitoshi lashes out and then immediately ducks his head as if he expects Shouta to hit him and Shouta keeps very still until Hitoshi relaxes again.

“I want to check over the cuts, make sure they are not too deep,” he says once Hitoshi meets his eyes again and then waits for the barely noticeable nod to move in.

He gently takes Hitoshi’s chin in his hand, tilting his head to get a better look, but thankfully the cuts are superficial and don’t require stitching. Shouta does notice how after the initial wariness Hitoshi leans into his hands and he jots touch-starved down as well as abused.

“It doesn’t look too deep,” Shouta says after a moment and moves his hand from Hitoshi’s chin to his shoulder. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Hitoshi seems to be at the end of his rope though, because instead of answering Shouta he starts to hyperventilate, his hands clutching in Shouta’s shirt.

“You have to let me jump,” Hitoshi wheezes out. “Please. You have to. I can’t do this anymore.”

Shouta’s heart breaks clean in two at hearing a child like Hitoshi say something like that and he pulls him into another hug, mindful of any possible other injuries.

“I’m not going to let you jump, Hitoshi,” Shouta whispers over Hitoshi’s desperate cries. “We’ll figure something out. I’m here.”

“I can’t, there’s nothing to figure out,” Hitoshi wails. “I’m at the bottom of a well and it’s pouring and I’m going to drown anyway, just let me do this.”

“I’m not going to let you drown, kid,” Shouta gives back and simply sits down, pulling Hitoshi into his lap. “There’s no way that’s happening.”

Hitoshi doesn’t reply to that and simply cries and cries and cries and Shouta waits it all out, holds him through it until his sobs finally taper off.

“If you make me go back I’ll be up here again tomorrow,” Hitoshi finally says, his voice scratchy, and Shouta briefly squeezes him closer, can’t help himself, even though Hitoshi might be injured beyond the cuts on his face.

“I’m not going to let you go back. Did your family do this?”

It’s not important who did it, really, Shouta is going to destroy them no matter what, but it would be nice to know just how much more paperwork Tsukauchi has to do so Shouta can apologise accordingly in advance.

“Foster parents,” Hitoshi mutters, slumped against Shouta’s chest and clearly on the verge of falling asleep.

He must be absolutely exhausted and it is the middle of the night to boot.

“I have a foster license,” Shouta tells him. “You’re not going back, I’m going to take emergency custody of you. You’re staying with me and my husband.”

“Your husband is not gonna like that much,” Hitoshi mumbles and Shouta huffs out a soft laugh.

“He’s going to love it,” he gives back and gets up, hefting Hitoshi up so he can settle him on his hip. “He has a voice activated quirk, too. He’s gonna get it.”

Hitoshi is silent for a long moment, his hands still clutching Shouta’s shirt before he asks “Shouta?”

“Mh?”

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

His voice is barely audible with how afraid he clearly is and Shouta gives him his best reassuring look.

“You’re going to meet my husband, because he’s waiting downstairs with the car. We’re going to drive to a police station to talk to a Detective I know very well so we can get you out of your current foster family and get an investigation started. I’ll check you over for any injuries and clean your cuts and then we’ll decide if you’ll have to go to the hospital. And then you’re going to come home with me and Hizashi.”

“And then?”

“You’re going to stay with us. I wasn’t joking when I said that.”

“Are you sure I didn’t jump? Cause this feels a little like a dream,” Hitoshi mumbles out and Shouta can’t help it, his hands tighten almost without his input on Hitoshi.

“You didn’t jump. But things are going to be better now, I promise you that.”

“Sounds fake, but okay,” Hitoshi gives back and Shouta supposes that’s fair.

With how Shouta found him and what little he learned already it doesn’t seem as if he ever had any reason to hope for anything in his life and of course he wouldn’t simply trust a promise from a virtual stranger.

But Shouta—and Hizashi—will make sure that Hitoshi knows that he can always trust them. And getting him away from here and giving him a place where he can be without being afraid is the first step for that, so Shouta opens the door to the stairwell and starts his descent, Hitoshi in his arms, head pillowed on his shoulder.

Shouta already knows that he’s never going to let him go again.

[gliyerabaa]

Wicked but as an ABBA jukebox musical

Here it is.. the playlist absolutely NO ONE asked for

I am a musician. I love applying music to works of fiction (kind of like in Per Aspera Ad Astra which you should totally read)

was created with gelphie in mind but can really be viewed through any lens

WHOLE ASS ESSAY about song choices and analysis under the cut

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2w03fG5eWUxADqpyLNqQLg?si=bd038f76f8cc447c

Waterloo: I picked this song to match up with no one mourns the wicked. it’s a bit upbeat for NOMTW, but the general vibe of reflection and comparisons to a battle kinda fit

Thank You for the Music: essentially serves as Glinda’s character introduction, in the same way that her little aria does in Dear Old Shiz. Essentially it’s all about being beloved and musical. There’s literally a line about being ‘the girl with the golden hair’. Is Glinda Song

I Have a Dream/Eagle: both these songs capture the dynamic of TWAI, the first song being the ‘I want’ aspect and the second really capturing that vision of being up there with the greatest

So Long/Voulez-Vous: These two capture the general essence of what is this feeling. So Long, being Elphaba’s pov getting stuck with some rich brat, and Voulez-Vous being the general tense dynamic of it all. (for VV I drew inspiration from the scene in Mama Mia!)

Dancing Queen/Honey Honey: This is for dancing through life. Dancing queen needs little explanation. It is about dancing. Honey Honey pretty accurately captures the flirtiness with Glinda and Fiyero.

Head over Heels: Kind of also fits in with dancing through life? also melds a little bit with I’m not that girl. Essentially Elphaba’s observations that Glinda is a flirt and fiyero is pretty

Lovelight: This song captures the budding friendship in Popular, and also encapsulates the unseen Shiz-era gelphie dynamic. Could also be read as the romance between Glinda and Fiyero, or as a secret relationship between Elphaba and Fiyero

Take a Chance on Me: now THIS is for sure I’m not that girl. this is very much Elphaba being all like ‘well... if you change your mind, I’m the first in line...’ WHO this sentiment is directed towards is open for interpretation

Our Last Summer: matches up with one short day. it’s the end of Elphaba and Glinda’s time together but they don’t know it yet...

I Wonder (Departure)/Tiger: captures both sides of Defying Gravity; I Wonder is the sadness of leaving, the lingering doubt, wondering what you’ll be leaving behind. Tiger is more that fury, that fear, that defiance. Neither song quite lives up to the epicness that is DG but both songs together at least capture the emotions

Super Trouper/I’m a Marionette: Super Trouper may seem a bit upbeat to be filling in for Thank Goodness, but I feel like the upbeatness really emphasizes the fame and the joyous facade that Glinda has to put up. Plus, I am a firm believer that Elphaba would hide in the crowd during Glinda’s speeches, fitting with the line somewhere in the crowd there’s you.

I’m a Marionette takes a COMPLETELY different tone, focusing on Glinda’s frustration at being little more than a puppet for the Wizard, and how her being forced into a corner leads her to losing those she loves most. Which leads us to...

The Winner Takes it All: this is very much the reprise of I’m not that girl. Glinda’s missed her chance to break from the Wizard, and now she’s lost both Elphaba and Fiyero... Again, the relationship dynamics are very much up to interpretation here. Could be viewed as gelphie or fiyerabba (get it?) or as glinda/fiyero (gliyero?). Personally, I see it as Glinda realizing her fate and losing people she loves, regardless of romantic connections

Lay All Your Love on Me: You know the scene in Mama Mia where this song happens and the two main characters are making out on the beach? Yeah. ALAYM substitute.

S.O.S: this fits in well, I think, for No Good Deed. Yes, it’s a little upbeat, but it fits as that sort of cry for help/mourning. Particularly the line: when you’re gone, how can I even try to go on?

Soldiers: march of the witch hunters. not a lot to say about this one

I Still Have Faith in You/The Way Old Friends Do: TWO SONGS FOR ‘FOR GOOD’ okay so the first song made me SOB the first time I heard it. it was the debut single from ABBA’s newest album, released just last year. Hearing that song after FORTY YEARS of no new ABBA music felt like reuniting with an old friend. and funny thing is, that’s exactly what the song is about!!! ‘I Still Have Faith in You’ can be interpreted either way- as Glinda having faith that Elphaba can return from her past mistakes, or as Elphaba having faith that Glinda can take over and lead well. either way it makes me SOB

The Way Old Friends Do is about finding comfort in each other and being prepared to face whatever comes next. Literally For Good. Fun fact about this song is that all the releases on the album are live recordings, so they have this really cool rawness and genuineness to them. Almost sounds like a chorus at points. very cool 11/10

Disillusion: GLINDA ANGST GLINDA ANGST like she’s lost everyone that’s gotta hurt man. also midway through the song, it becomes a duet, much like the finale reprise of For Good

Chiquitita: okay, Disillusion was too sad of a note to end on, so Chiquitita kind of represents Glinda wanting to heal, wanting to be better. Also, the piano outro in this song is one of my favorite things ever, it has a feeling of representing hope and sadness at the same time

WELL there you have it, a whole entire Wicked inspired playlist of ABBA songs

pls share if you enjoyed, feedback is much appreciated

[southslates]

like an angry god

@kanejweek day four: darkness (corrupted ambition) / kanej / canon divergence - soulmates - one-shot - rated T / read on ao3! / 2007 words

Inej Ghafa comes to Ketterdam as part of a traveling circus. She doesn’t mean to enjoy the city, with its sharp architecture and cold edges, with its people who pray to kruge, but she does. There is something haunting in its corridors, something which whispers to her in its alleys. Inej is a gravity-defying girl, she is an acrobat and nothing more, but these late-night Kerch streets set fire to her bones. It is as if Ghezen has come alive to speak to her and tell her she could be more.

It's strange because she thinks she has everything. She also feels like she is missing something—not something that needs to be there, but some defining feature of her. She feels like she is spinning a wheel with a loose axel.

Ironically, she stumbles upon the Crow Club when Malik takes her in, wanting to try his hand at Makker’s Wheel. She indulges her cousin and lets him drag her into the lively business in the darkest hours of the night, knowing that they’re on break tomorrow. The Suli do not forbid fun, and they drink, Inej has drunk, but she does not want to in this strange city.

She ends up drinking anyway. She is caught up in the moment, caught up in the lights above the table, the large, large gambling hall, and almost in Salim, the friend Malik had brought with him to the club. Inej likes him, has always liked him, and the sight of him loosens her inhibitions. They loosen her inhibitions so far that she forgets him.

Inej wanders off across the hall, stopping to see the sheer variety of people who habit it: a white splatter of the upper-middle class of the Kerch, lazing away a Saturday; a collection of young children from Novyi Zem, laughing away in the corner; even a splashing of Fjerdans, staying away from alcohol and looking distrustfully at the numbers in front of them. It’s an experience, she can admit even halfway down her glass, eyes shining.

At some point she wanders over to a setting of Kerch men and women playing a game she doesn’t quite understand; they’re holding chips and laughing, cards dancing in front of their eyes. Inej has always been a quick study with these gambling games, though she detests playing; it’s something else the city has whispered into her mind, perhaps. It is the Ketterdam in her blood, though she’s certain she has never been here before. She has never been here before.

She sits at the table and picks up another glass. She will be fine; Malik and Salim are truly not that far away, she can see them from here. A women smiles at her with shark-teeth, daring her to down the cup in accented Kerch. Something in Inej does it, and then when she’s slid another one, she downs it again. Her eyes are uncharacteristically bright at the table, her head muddy.

It's only a moment later she’s in someone’s lap, between two people. It is the Kerch woman and another man, fitting her in the space between them. The woman’s hair is a rusty gold and the man has black hair and a gold tooth.

Inej may have drank too much, but she isn���t stupid. She blinks and sees that Malik and Salim are gone from her line of sight—then she promptly sits up, a bit more aware of her surroundings. This is not a situation she is new to; she’s almost been taken by slavers as a child. They had ransacked her family’s caravan near the Ravkan shore and would have stolen her away from her family had she not woken up early. She has learned to be suspicious of people, and she let her guard down. It’s this saints-forsaken city, she thinks briefly. It is affecting some part of me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the man whispers with whiskey breath, and Inej pulls herself into the space between the bodies she is caged in, ready to pull one of her acrobatic feats—twist her body, do the unimaginable. But before she does and the woman’s vodka-laced breath rushes across her face, something hard clangs down on the table in front of her.

Inej is only human, so the sound makes her lurch. The tablecloth moves forward, and something shatters and then leaks onto her on the bench. She groans, because alcohol will not go well with the cottons she’d donned for a night out.

“Peter,” a voice says crisply. “Lotte. You are not welcome here. Did I not make that clear enough last time?”

The bodies next to Inej scramble away from her, and she looks up in her disorientation to see a man who can’t be much older than her, a cane in his hand bisecting the table and separating her from Lotte on her left. On her right, Peter has shifted away from her and is now standing up, raising his hands above him. “We didn’t mean nothin’, I promise—”

“I don’t give second chances,” the man says, and his voice is cold, so cold it almost crawls into Inej’s spine and then leaves her body, but icy enough that it wants to make a place there. His voice is the city’s whispers in her ears, the biddings of greed. She is buzzed, but she still looks at his sharp suit and glaring eyes and thinks: Who are you?

Or perhaps she voiced that thought out loud. No matter; the man ignores her, watching as Peter and Lotte stand up and try to leave the premises. Inej lets the whiskey on the table, cold as it is, leak into her shirt as she watches two large men grab the two vermin by their collars and drag them away to some corner.

“Wow,” she says out loud at the brief spectacle—some patrons have turned to see the two get carted off, but more seem unsurprised. “I was fine.”

“Who said anything about you?” the man bites. “There are no games here. There is no place for cheats.”

Inej is straightforward, and her filters are off as she wrings out her shirt. “You could at least pretend to be chivalrous.”

The man glares at her, his gaze dark and intense and dangerous—but for whatever reason, Inej doesn’t feel like it will cut through her. Maybe that is just the stupidity of being drunk. The longer he stares at her, the more she wants to laugh. “You cannot kill me by looking at me, you know.”

He says nothing, just takes his cane off the table and begins to limp away from her. Inej bites her lip and stares at his receding back—that moment had felt strangely powerful.

“Yer brave,” the girl next to her says after he has disappeared from sight, into a door at the club’s side. “To talk to Kaz Brekker like that.”

“Who?” Inej asks, and the boy next to her, keeping his distance after what had happened to the woman in his previous position, looks almost affronted.

“He is Kaz Brekker, Ja. They say he has played cards with the devil and won,” he says, like he is speaking of a myth, and not the twenty-year-old man with a ridiculous glare Inej had faced just moments ago. “He used to be better, ja, growing up on the streets. But he culled his boss right las’ week, he did. Hung his body from the lighthouse by First Harbor. They say he will commit any sin, without a price. Bloodthirsty.”

Inej leans in close to him, feels something lock into place, the gears of her heart. “Really?” she asks. “He just seems like a man.”

“He is no man, he is a demon. A quick thief, too,” the girl nods to her, and Inej grasps at her pockets. Her coinpurse is missing.

“An immature demon,” she says, stepping up, her head spinning just a bit. “Cheap tricks, for shevrati.”

Inej Ghafa leaves them there and takes the path that the man with the cane had followed; he couldn’t have gotten too far from her, with his disability. Ostensibly, she knows she should not be trying to pick a fight in the middle of the night with a man who just hung another in a public display, but the city is speaking to her; the club is, as though it has a heart. Inej believes in saints, and they are leading her a certain way, giving her the want to get her coinpurse back. It had a sizeable amount of kruge, and she refuses to be made a fool of.

The hallway is dark and she follows its walls to a set of stairs, and then walks up them. At the end there is a door, and to its side, when she moves her hand a certain way, another small alley; a trick alley. She follows that aisle to another door, wooden and locked and in the pitch dark. She shoves her body weight against it.

She doesn’t know what she is planning on doing. Do demons give you back your money if you ask them nicely? What is inserting this drive into her veins?

“What?” a voice roars from inside the room, and then a moment later, as Inej pushes herself against it, it opens. She almost trips onto a cold metal floor, but she doesn’t—she is an acrobat, even sheets to the wind. So she rights herself and turns to the man with the cane—Kaz Brekker.

“You,” he says, distaste coating his mouth. There is no good intent hidden in that word, nor in the hard lines of his face. Whoever this man is, he is not good.

“Me,” Inej agrees, then holds out her hand. “My coinpurse, please.”

“Your . . . coinpurse,” the man says, her face twitching. He is wearing a hat and a suit perfectly tailored to all his edges, a glass man. Inej wonders if she could break him. “Why would I have such a thing?”

“You do,” Inej insists. Of this, she is certain. She’s had it until he was just a foot behind her. “Give it back.”

“You’re very demanding,” he says. Inej wonders if he can feel a pull towards her, like she does for him. His face is surely not giving anything away. “You must be new.”

“I’m visiting,” Inej says, some sort of fear starting to creep into her voice. Perhaps the liquid courage has left her soul in a flush—perhaps the city is no longer with her. She can feel it drifting around her bones, maybe leaving. It is as though it has filled the strange place in her soul with something, not left her empty.

He leans into her—he doesn’t leer, not in a way that is lewd, but in a way that is certainly dangerous. “Well, then, my dear visitor,” he says the word like a curse, “you would do well to leave now, before I break your legs for coming to my office without permission.” His eyes scan her, perfunctorily, and Inej can only dream she sees something below the surface. “You need your legs. Or perhaps you can walk a rope with your hands,” he sneers.

Then he slams the door in Inej’s face. The city escapes her, returns back for its sins, disturbs her edges. I have shown you a story, she can feel it whisper, from the wrong end, wrong beginning.

She slides out of the secret corridor and down into the busy club. The Crow Club, it’s called. The largest building in the Stave. She wonders if the foundation was built on a demon’s work. She wonders why she feels like she should know, why there is a haunting space in her mind.

Inej wonders who Kaz Brekker is. She wonders why her saints guided her towards a demon, what they were trying to tell her.

She wonders how he knows she performs on the rope.

[pixiebuggiewrites]

Sorry Wrong Number!

Masterpost - Previous - Next - Ao3 link

Chapter 2:  Hawkmoth has really bad designs and perhaps even worse timing

Since it was her off night from patrol, Ladybug was the last one onto the scene. She landed down on a building next to Viperion, who was observing the akuma’s skillset as Kuro Neko played distraction down below them.

The villain of tonight's look was... interesting to put it nicely. They were a boy around the same age as the heroes that seemed to be wearing a slightly oversized purple and blue three piece suit with a not-so-subtle lightning pattern running up the arms. His hair was shock white and seemed to be defying gravity while his eyes were protected by bright blue goggles-possibly where the akuma was residing. More importantly, he seemed to be covered in electricity, which was gonna make it difficult to get any hits in. He also had a laptop with him- another contender for the akuma’s hiding place but most likely just a weapon.

Not Hawkmoth’s worst design, but it definitely wasn't his finest work either. Though to be fair she had run around in spotted spandex for two years before she found out she could change her costume, so those in glass houses she supposed.

Viperion, noticing the team leader's arrival began to fill her in on what they knew so far.

“They're calling themselves ‘Elect-Trick’, keeps sending out shockwaves to try and knock us back which is frustrating but our suits seem to take the brunt of it which helps but Neko’s staff is a no go at the moment since there's no way to know if it’ll conduct the electricity.”

It likely would, something they had found out the hard way during the last weather akuma they had to face. While magical it was still metallic in nature sadly, which meant she needed to also be careful with her yoyo. She still isn't really sure what it’s made of besides magic, but this was not the way she wanted to find out.

“Alright, in that case we’ll continue to keep him away from the Eiffel Tower, it’s likely the akuma’s going to try and use it as a large conductor. I’m gonna head down, stay up here and be ready to use your second chance at the signal.” She instructed

Viperion nodded and went back to watching the fight just as Ladybug swooped down to join in. She was just in time as the akuma had begun to corner Neko, who had no choice but to rely on playing defense while her staff was out of the mix. The two heroes nodded their heads in greeting as Ladybug yoyo-d her cat themed friend over putting the duo back on even ground with the villain, who seemed to be ranting about school elections of all things.

Which would be a probable explanation for the first half of his name.

The two continued to fight back against the akuma, neither side quite able to grab the upper hand. Ladybugs yoyo-as it turned out, did not conduct electricity afterall. And, seeing as it's practically indestructible she was able to land hits on the akuma without getting shocked. But the akuma had realized the issue with Neko’s staff and was using that to their advantage, aiming a decent chunk of their attacks at the cat hero which forced them to go back on the defense.

As the fight had been going for over an hour at this point, the spotted heroine decided to bring out the big guns. After doing a silent signal letting Viperion know to start his timer, she got in position to call on her lucky charm.

But she didn't get a chance to. Just as she went to throw her yoyo in the air, Viperion called out a warning that sent a feeling of dread through her.

“LB watch out, There's an amok headed straight for the computer!”  

Sure enough, there was an all too familiar purple feather floating through the air on track for the laptop that she quickly caught and purified it before it could land. Thank the Kwami for the power of second chance, nobody wanted to deal with a sentimonster on top of everything else tonight.

Keeping Kuro Neko on the lookout for anymore feathers, She finally activated her lucky charm. Throwing her yoyo up she manifests… a slingshot! She could work with that, just needed to find ammo. Looking around her eyes land firmly on the window of a small toyshop.

Bingo!

Having Viperion keeping an eye out in case he was needed temporarily as backup, she sneaks over and breaks the window with her yoyo. Typically, the heroine would feel bad about causing this much property damage but tonight she’s tired and wants to get this over with so she can make a plan of action for the whole ‘Mayura seems to be back’ thing with her team and maybe get at least a couple hours of sleep. Anyways her miraculous cure would fix the window and return the bouncy balls she was actively stealing so no harm done? After finishing committing what was technically a misdemeanor, she made her way over to the roof Viperion was on and handed off the slingshot supplies before making her way back down.

Luckily Neko had managed to keep Elect-Trick distracted enough for the team to catch him off guard. On Ladybugs call Viperion began to pelt the Akuma with rubber balls, drawing his sight away for long enough to tie him up and take his glasses. One cataclysm later, the teen had been successfully deakumatized and she was able to cast her cure, fixing the decent chunk of property damage caused that night. After making sure the teen was okay to get home safe and getting his address for the interview she would have to conduct later, she turned to her team.

“Good work today guys, let's meet back at base in 30.” Her eyes communicated the urgency of the meeting despite the neutral tone of voice she tried to maintain.

From there the teens all departed in separate directions to recharge their powers and head to the team's secret base.

----------

Okay so secret base was a bit of an overstatement. It is a secret place that the team uses as a base of operations but it was less of a Batcave and more of a repurposed hotel room in Le Grand Paris.

Chloe had brought up the idea after one too many close calls with Marinette's parents while the girls were investigating Hawkmoth. They needed a place to discuss hero work safely without having to talk in code but the question was where. Obtaining an apartment would be difficult as all of them but Luka were still underage, not to mention the issue of trying to pay rent without any parental suspicion. Luckily for Chloe, it's surprisingly easy to just claim a hotel room without being questioned when your Father owns the hotel.

And while it was no Batcave, it wasn't anything to scoff at either. The four teens had been able to pool together enough money in the beginning for the basics, which meant that now any small snuck away chunks of commission money, music gig payments, competition winnings, and allowances were all able to go to improving things bit by bit.

The room was already quite nice, having a separate bedroom that they used as a gym and a kitchenette that was kept well stocked with kwami snacks. Then there was the  main area, which had been split down the middle. The first side was dedicated to the investigation and housing Marinette's Guardian materials, While the second half was a hangout zone where they could chat or decompress after any particularly rough fights.

The base was also secure, Marinette had put so many spells and protections on the room with the help of the kwami that it might as well be a pocket dimension of sorts. The magical security system of sorts was extremely complicated, being tied to the teams auras in a way so that the only way to even find it without being one of them was to be taken there by Ladybug herself. It had taken weeks to pull off but was well worth it to give her team a place that was safe from the outside world.

Ladybug was the first to arrive this time, having flopped down into a chair at their meeting table as her two friends entered the room and joined her. They all sat there for a moment, processing the fact of Mayura’s return. Of course this would happen when they were down a member, it wasn't a complete surprise that the peacock miraculous would come back into play at some point but it was really bad timing.

“So what exactly is the plan?” Viperion asked, finally breaking the silence.

Ladybug sighed, knowing that their workload was going to increase once again. At least it was close to summer vacation.

“First we need to increase patrols- especially around the typical hot spots, Neko do you think we’ll be able to finish those jars by this time next week?”

The cat hero nodded “They're almost done, we’ll need to test them somehow though.”

The two of them had recently been working on a variation of an object enchantment technique mentioned in the grimoire. The original object was dubious in nature, having been used as a cage of sorts that kwami wouldn't be able to phase through. Marinette was disgusted by the thought, further feeding into some suspicions she had about the old order. As she was ranting about it to Kagami about it, her fencer friend got an idea for a way to repurpose the spell to trap akuma when Ladybug couldn't easily get to a fight. It would also allow them a new way to prevent possessions when Ladybug wasn't actively on patrol.

“That's good. Lastly I need Bee’s new number, I was going to ask you for it tomorrow but I need to give her a heads up to start on a new case file. We also might want to move up our plans to contact the heroes there.”

Kuro Neko quickly jotted down the number on a nearby notecard and handed it to Ladybug. After hammering out a few last details about their new patrol schedules the heroes were all free to head home for the night.

The trip home was uneventful, and she arrived home to see that it was just past midnight. She also noticed that her bath bomb had been fixed! It was sometimes a gamble on if something like that would count as akuma damage so it was a nice victory after the day she’s had.

Marinette quickly put in Chloe's number, eager to get to bed. She sent her blonde friend a summary on what happened and let her know to be on the lookout for an email tomorrow with the information to assemble a case file. And with that, Marinette drifted off to sleep.

She had made a small mistake though. In her tired state the young designer’s finger slipped, putting a 5 where there was meant to be a 4.

Meaning Chloe Bourgeois was not the recipient of her intended message.

Good thing she wrote the message in code?

----------

Across the ocean, Damian Wayne received a strange text message.

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

Taglist (open!!): 

@queencommonsense

[catxsnow]

if you don't have too many of the halloween number requests in - can you do 10 with dick ? 🥺

10."Stop touching me" "...that wasn't me"

This was longer than it was supposed to be but ya know... that’ll happen. 

Dick Grayson wasn't afraid of anything.

Even from a young age he had no fears. Gravity-defying flips and trick up with his parents in front of large crowds than the eye could see. Train hopping, leaping from person to person and out running monsters before he even knew what a monster truly was. Becoming Robin? That only defied his fears even more.

Dick lived his life with his head held high and a smile on his face no matter the circumstance. He lived for defying the odds and proving that there was nothing that could stop him. That was something that only got greater and greater as he got older and so more of the true evils the world had to offer.

And there was nothing you loved to do more than prove him wrong.

Dick had to have gotten scared in his life. Sure, there were times that he thought that he wasn't going to make it out alive but he had never truly been scared. It was frustrating that he wouldn't make a single movement when scared while there were times that you screamed out in fright.

It didn't matter. This was the year that you were going to get him absolutely petrified. You wanted to hear him scream in fear. There had been so many times that he had laughed at your 'insensible' fear. This time, it was time for him to be scared.

Unfortunately, that meant for you that you had to sit though several hours of the scariest movies of all time. Dick didn't think anything of it, you guys often watched scary movies together that time of the year. Usually, it was him that would suggest it but he never said no if you did. These were the times that he got to enjoy you cuddling up against him and hiding into his chest.

It was a horrible experience for you. Sitting through those scenes were terrible, even when Dick promised to keep you safe if there were ever such an occurrence. His arm was tightly wrapped around you, making it easy to cower into him when scenes became too scary. He'd kiss the top of your head while stifling a laugh.

As soon as the second movie ended, you had enough - and you wanted to put your plan into action.

Dick slept on the opposite side of the bed - something that happened quite often when he ran hot at night. As much as he enjoyed cuddling you, it was impossible to sleep on hotter nights. He kissed you a final time, whispering that he loved you before curling up. You laid flat on your back, waiting for everything to fall into place.

"Babe," Dick grumbled not even twenty minutes later. "Stop touching me. You know I'm ticklish there." You could feel him shuffle around on his side of the bed, trying to slap away the hands that touched his bare sides.

"That wasn't me," You informed, completely on your side of the bed. Dick flipped around again, reaching for your hands that were in fact no where near him. He jolted against as a distinct cold palm pressed flat over his heart. This time, he jumped up and turned the night light on. "What's wrong babe?"

"Nothing," Dick surveyed the room. "I thought I just felt something. Come here," he turned the light off again and pulled you against his chest. Your hands were clearly trapped between yourself and him, unable to do anything - not that you needed to. Dick held you closer than before, and you could feel the bump of his heart.

This time, he felt the cold hand trail up his spine and a icy breeze against his neck. Dick shot up again, this time he knew for sure that there was something that touched him. You looked confused at him as he turned the light back on. His hair was disheveled from the flipping around and he looked worried.

"Did those movies get to you, babe?" You asked, reaching out for his hand. Your touch was warm, nothing like the freezing cold one he felt only moments ago. Dick ran a hand down his face and tried to shake off the feeling that there was someone - or something - was in the room with you.

"No," he shook his head. "Just cold."

It took all your effort not to break out in laughter. Everything was going perfectly. Dick was unsettled - something that didn't happen very often. If ever. Now, after just a few simple touches and the idea of paranormal horror filling his mind, he was rattled. This was better than anything you could imagine.

Dick turned the light off once more and slid down on the bed. His arm was tucked behind his bed and the other around you as you cuddled into his side. His heart rate was far more erratic than it was before and you were sure that his eyes were wide open, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Fake, quiet snores past your lips. It was believable enough that Dick truly thought you asleep. He 'woke' you when an ear splitting scream rattled into him. He jumped up so fast that you nearly fell off the bed. This time he was standing up, frantically searching your room for whatever the hell was in there.

"What the fuck, Dick?" You groaned, pretending to wipe sleep out of your eyes. The light above your bed was flicking on and he was rummaging through everything in the room.

"Did you not hear that scream?" He looked at you with wide eyes. Of course you had - probably everyone of your neighbors had as well. However, you feigned confused and shook your head. "What? It sounded like a child screaming. How did you not hear that?"

"There was no scream, Dick," You shook your head. "Babe come back to bed, I'm sure it's just the movies getting you worked up. There's nothing here besides me and you."

"No, no there was definitely a scream," Dick argued. he continued to ransack your room until reaching the closet. His hand hovered over the handle as if he was scared to open it. A grin was on your face - knowing exactly what was about to happen. Finally, he gripped the handle and whipped the door open.

And there it was. Dick's most perfect, horrified scream.

HIs voice went high-pitched and he fell backwards at the fright. Dick crawled away from the closet and towards your bed. It was at that point that you couldn't hold your laughter any longer. He looked at you as if you were crazy.

It was M'gann that came out of the closet - well a version of her. She had morphed herself into being the same kind of horrific ghost from the movie you had just watched. However, she too couldn't stop her laughter, and changed back to herself. Dick suddenly understood everything. You had planned this.

Watching the movies to get him deep in though. Getting M'gann to turn invisible to get him worked up through ghostly touches. The scream. Hiding in the closet, knowing damn well that he would search it. You had pranked him, damn well too.

Dick felt as if his heart was going to pound out of his chest. He sat up on the edge of your bed and sighed in defeat. You wrapped your arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. "Sorry, babe. I had to! I've never seen you scared before and let me tell you - it was worth it.

"M'gann that was awesome!" You grinned at her. "Thank you, so much."

"Hey, it was fun for me too. Sorry, Dick," She giggled a final time before giving her goodbyes. Dick fell back into your bed. After everything that he's faced in life, how did something like that give him the scare of his life? And how did he not know that you were this sneaky?

"You're cruel," He pouted. You kissed his lips as an apology. Dick grabbed your hips and kept you hovering above him. He deepened your kiss, needing your touch to calm his heart - and excite it in a new way that he was far more comfortable with. Then, he spoke between kisses, "awful. Mean. How do I put up with you?"

"You love me."

"That I do."

[dutchforstrangers]

Weightless - a Yamato songfic one-shot

A/N: Gosh, I should be focusing on completing the last one and a half days for Digiweek 2021, but instead I’m here getting this idea out of my head. (While writing for Digiweek I came up with 8!! more WIPs to write in the future… @digiweek really sparked and boosted my creativity)

Last night I’d sent @tangledupblue this ask/message about this amazing Icelandic artist called Ásgeir. Really, his music is incredible and both soothing as ‘hitting’. The song I attached to the message is his newest release and after I had sent it, I found out the song is based on an experience the singer had and it’s so sad… I’ve been thinking about it before I fell asleep, in my dreams and when I woke up. It gave me all the Yamato inspiration I needed.

I always find myself having a hard time understanding the complex blonde, but in all honesty I have some serious things in common with the guy and he does remind me of both my best friend and boyfriend (hence why I always headcanon him to be a Cancer Sun regarding Zodiac)… So I try to understand this musician a bit better through my writings. And it’s sad and heartbreaking, but also… you have to find out for yourself. Keep in mind: I want all the best for all the Chosen Children and thus for Yama too! But this just wrote itself… Don't worry, it ends on a good note, kind of.

Characters: Yamato Ishida (background Ishida family, including Takeru)

Genre: Angst, hurt (without the comfort), family

Rating: T(+)… or maybe even M, I’m not sure

Wordcount: 1.476

Song used: Sunday drive – Ásgeir

!Trigger Warnings!: Angst, arguing, car accident, near death experience, blood

I usually say 'happy readings', but it’s a little inappropriate. So I’d say calm readings this time. Please stay safe everyone <3

xxx

Weightless

Yamato looked to the audience from where he stood on stage. Tonight was the release of his new EP full of original songs. He had decided to take the softer singer-songwriter turn with this one, instead of the sulky rock songs he usually wrote. They had already played three songs and now the fourth would come. He glanced over to his friends, his unknowing friends, giving them a small and careful smile. Then his eyes met Takeru’s, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. Yamato swallowed, then mouthed a sorry before taking his place behind the mic. His guitar playing bandmate taking his seat on the elevated stool next to him and the first chords filled the room.

Inhale.

Sunday drive

Memories flooded back.

Like we always used to do

In an attempt to safe their marriage, his parents had agreed on taking a trip to Shimane.

Park the car in the panoramic view

Stopping for a little break they parked the car on a hill with a panoramic view.

I stayed inside, while you photographed the lake

Young Yamato didn’t feel much for going outside, so he stayed inside of the car with his dad while his mother and little brother went outside to look at the lake and take some pictures.

After a little while his father grew impatient and left the car to go for a smoke. That frustrated his mother, turning her attention to his father to argue.

“You can’t just leave the car to smoke! Don’t be irresponsible, go back in!”

“I’m irresponsible? Look at yourself, leaving Takeru there all by himself!”

Yamato knew it were just words, he had heard them a thousand times by now. Each and every night he heard them scream, yell, bicker, argue. Yamato slumped back into his seat in the car, his eyes trying to find Takeru to make sure he was safe. Standing there with the camera in hand, still taking pictures, shielding himself from the arguing. All the while Yamato still heard the words his parents were throwing at each other.

He squeezed his eyes close, his mind going both dark and blank at the same time. His hands balling into fists, sending the tension into and through his whole body. He needed a distraction too, just like Takeru had his camera. So he unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled to the front of the car and into the driver’s seat.

Pretend to drive, I pulled the parking brake

Taking a seat, he placed his hands on the stirring wheel, pretending to drive. He tried to think what his parents did when they drove and he remembered them pulling the handle on his left. The arguing from his parents faded to the background, fully focused on the speed the car would make when he would be actual driving. He pulled the handle.

As he pulled the handle, Yamato felt the car starting to roll, still thinking it was part of his imagination. Though in reality the tires started to go round, making the car move forward towards the railing that divided the spectators from the lake.

Tires turn and slowly crush the ground

I still hear a terrifying sound

Luckily Takeru stood a little further from where the car would crush the rail. But Yamato could hear him screaming anyway. He had never heard his name like that, in the most agonizing way filled with an incredible amount of fear. Fear of losing him…

With the car still rolling towards the edge Yamato tried to search for help. His body was stuck in both the car and his body itself, frozen in the moment, in the middle from what was happening. In the rear view mirror he could see his father chasing the car, failing to reach it. He could see his mother rushing towards Takeru, running along with the car. As soon as she had reached the little blonde boy, making sure he was safe, her eyes turned towards Yamato in the car.

I search for help and meet my mother’s eyes

She stares back completely paralyzed

Their eyes locked, but instead of acting or moving towards him to help next, she was completely frozen in her place. Holding onto Takeru with dear life while the car with Yamato in it broke the rail. And the car started slipping down the hill.

In that one moment everything rushed in front of Yamato’s eyes like a movie of his own short life. Moments he wanted to hold on to, moments he wanted to forget as soon as he got the chance. The sun blinded his eyes, a bright light reflected by the lake flashing in front of his eyes. Even though he could feel the car slipping, rolling, falling and floating, he felt like he himself was standing still. Unable to move. Not wanting to move.

Felt like time was standing still

Sun was pouring on the hill

And I weightless in the air

His body surrendered to the weightlessness that came with the car crashing down due to the gravity. His weightlessness defying the gravity, it was the first time since a while he felt so free and light. The first time he could leave behind the heaviness present in his life. All while falling.

Floating far away from here

He turned his head, seeing his parents looking over the railing to the flying car. His parents fading away, the distance between himself and them getting larger and larger. He couldn’t quite tell if that was what he wanted, but for now he felt at peace with it. If it was among the possibilities, in that moment Yamato would have chosen to float on a little longer, not wanting to part from the weightlessness.

Closing his eyes he embraced the flying and floating a little longer…

… A dream that unfortunately couldn’t go on forever. As he opened his eyes and was met with the bright light of the sun again, he sighed. Weight had flowed back into his body, feeling heavy and present. He felt dizzy, his eyes scanning the car for an opening to get out.

Suddenly the wreck is lying flat

Pull myself through the shattered window glass

He could feel the sharpness of the shatters in his hands as he pulled himself out. Giving him the confirmation he could still feel pain, he was still alive. He felt his heart race.

By the speed of light all his thoughts came rushing back to him, pushing him down with both legs on the ground. Filling his head with the heaviness he so desperately tried to get rid of. No weightlessness anymore, only heaviness. In his head, in his body and in his heart.

An avalanche is running through my head

Body bruised and my clothes are painted red

At the same with the arriving from his thoughts, blood seeped down from his head. Barely able to stand anymore, he let himself fall on his knees, back to surrendering to the gravity. The heaviness consuming him. His body aching, his hands and clothes covered in both liquid and dried red. However the odd feeling of being freed lingered on in his whole being.

Holding on to that free feeling Yamato once again looked up to where he last saw his family. He could see his parents bicker as if they only cared about each other and their arguing and a sadness overflowed him. Then his eyes shifted to Takeru, tears streaming down his face, but his blonde hair colored golden by the touch of the sun.

Feelings of guilt towards his little brother overtook him. And as he followed the rays of light touching Takeru’s hair, his eyes now meeting the sky lit up by the sun, Yamato couldn’t shake the longing to that free feeling of weightlessness.

“Thank you,” he softly says into the mic after the last chords die down. It leaves the audience silent for a second, before a careful applause sounds. But Yamato doesn’t care, his eyes immediately scanning the audience like he scanned the car for an opening to escape back then. He’s met with his friends who watch him in awe.

Felt like time was standing still

Sun was pouring on the hill

And I’m weightless in the air

Floating far away from here

Then his eyes are met with Takeru’s, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. His own hair now golden from the stage light, while Takeru’s hair seems dark. He sees a single tear escaping his brother. Yamato reassuringly nods a single nod which Takeru answers with a small and gentle smile shaping his lips. Soon he is flooded with reassuring nudges, hands on his shoulders, side hugs and other positive touches Yamato is unable to give, the distance keeping the brothers apart.

But Yamato feels the reassurances from their friends through Takeru, for a tiny moment feeling the same weightlessness he so deeply desired.

[deaddovecoterie]

butterflies

marinette dupain cheng x adrien agreste || ladybug x chat noir

fandom: miraculous ladybug

rating: T (maybe R to be safe for next chp? ahaha jk jk,,, unless?,,,) 

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst. just pure angst. maybe fluff if you squint real hard

warning(s): swearing, vaguely unedited, blood mention

a/n: heyyyy :DD im back on my writing bullshit with my favourite personnnn (guess who) @whoseblogsthis cause me and this talented mf co-wrote this :’) ky i just wanna know what it feels like to carry every ff we write together on your back because of my linguistic incompetence. anyway this is my first mlb fic so i hope yall like it i guess !!

——————————————————————————

——————————————————————————

“...Bystanders have not been hurt, although Paris’ superheroes have not made an appearance yet…”

There was unrest among the students of Francoise Dupont High School as Adrien listened to his friends talk quietly amongst one another. Thunder rumbled in the distance as heavy, chilling rain poured down from the skies. There was a gloomy eeriness that clung to the air, a quiet that made the high schoolers feel like they were just waiting for something to shatter the silence. Grey clouds were collecting, casting the city in shadow-like darkness. 

Another Akuma attack had been reported yet again. The Parisian superheroes were more than glad to help out, but it was obvious they were tiring: their moves became sloppier, their conversations shorter, and their patience thinner. 

Adrien listened to the chatter exchanged between Alya and Nino, while Marinette remained quiet. She looked tired, which really wasn’t that uncommon, but her fatigue seemed to spill into all of her activities. She had less “pep in her step,” as Alya had said, and her eyes weren’t nearly as bright as they used to be. Not that he meant to pay attention to such things, of course, but it was hard to not notice. Even Chloe, who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but herself, had laid off on the harassment. Adrien chalked up his attentiveness to Marinette as nothing more than being a good, concerned friend, but as of late that excuse was becoming harder to sell, even to himself.

It started about four months ago when they came back from summer break. Everyone had gone back to school and while Adrien was physically there, he was mentally absent. Kagami had just gone abroad for school again after they’d broken things off. He would have liked to say it was a mutual breakup, but she was the one who brought it up. Kagami was wise beyond her years so when she told him that his heart wasn’t in the relationship, he knew she was right. He expected his first heartbreak to be gut-wrenching, but it wasn’t. He felt sad, sure, but not in the way that leaves you paralyzed in bed for weeks on end. At the time, he wondered why that was, but the answer was obvious: Marinette. 

When he got to school, it was almost as if she could see the gloomy cloud over his head. She was there for him when no one else seemed to notice, her stuttering and fumbling hardly present in their conversation. In the beginning, he felt almost guilty for confiding in her. It would’ve been ignorant of him to believe she didn’t have problems of her own (who didn’t?), but it was a fact known by many that Marinette Dupain-Chang was one to do whatever she could to help the people she cared for. 

It was then that he noticed it: the butterflies. It was like a tsunami of anxiety, excitement, and shyness all rolled into one whenever she did anything: the way her hair moved in the breeze, her clear laugh that dared him to smile, but most of all, her kindness. Marinette was one of those people that you couldn’t hate. She was that person who helped others even when no one was looking. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself when he started falling for her every move. 

She didn’t know, probably never would, but she had him whipped. 

The blonde was snapped back into reality when his best friend nudged him: “You coming?” Nino’s brow arched in question.

He looked across the street, where his bodyguard was waiting for him, standing by the driver’s side door of the sleek black Audi. Though it’s been the same car since Adrien was like thirteen, it still looked brand new. 

“I forgot my homework,” he said to Nino, calling out to his bodyguard to repeat the same thing. With a barely discernible nod of approval from the bodyguard, Adrien turned back toward the school doors.

Adrien grumbled as he jogged away from his friend group: “Well, Nadia, Paris’ superheroes happen to have vaguely normal lives too if you weren’t aware.”

Plagg floated up from Adrien’s pant pocket and did circles around his owner’s head. “You put too much faith in humans, they don’t think about that kinda stuff. To them, you and Ladybug are untouchable.”

“Yeah, well we’re not,” he mumbled frustratedly. He pressed his palms into his eyes tiredly and took a deep breath before dropping his arms back down to his sides. 

“Plagg claws out,” he muttered. 

Plagg liked to think he knew his miraculous holder quite well. Despite the kwami’s demeanour and seeming distaste toward anything non-cheese related, he did have feelings. Yes, he loved cheese, but he also loved Adrien. He had spent the last two years with Adrien, and he knew something was terribly wrong with his owner. 

He’d ask later. The cat-like kwami entered the ring miraculous, and with that, Adrien Agreste was gone, replaced by Chat Noir. 

The leather-clad hero headed toward the disaster zone, the rain not doing anything to help his vision. He landed on a rooftop near the Akuma attack and swiftly surveyed the scene. Upon not seeing Ladybug anywhere, Chat Noir sent a quick message to Ladybug, highlighting the damage, before swooping in to hold off the Akuma.

xXx

To put it simply, Marinette was struggling. It had been the fifth Akuma attack that week and after two years of being Ladybug, her excuses were becoming weaker and weaker as time went on. Adrien’s abrupt exit was odd, but she didn’t have time to think about it as she felt the ground shake slightly. It didn’t matter how exhausted she was, she couldn’t put off her duties any longer. 

“I uhm, I forgot I had a question for Miss Bustier. I’m going to go see if she’s still around and I’ll uh just stay here until Ladybug and Chat Noir get everything taken care of!” she flashed her friends a thumbs up and with that, she ran back inside the school, toward the locker room. She opened her tiny purse in order for Tikki to emerge. “This is bullshit,” she muttered to herself. 

Tikki gasped in shock. “Marinette!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled half-heartedly, “You wouldn’t happen to care if I maybe just happened to not show up and let Chat handle it?” 

The glare that the small kwami sent her way told her otherwise. “Something about this one tells me that you’ll need all the help you can get,” she told her owner. 

Her stomach twisted with anxiety, both confusion and shock washing over her face. Tikki had never talked about the dangers of an Akuma before, which alarmed Marinette. Shit.

“Tikki, spots on.” 

Ladybug swung with all her might as her trusty yoyo grabbed onto buildings and chimneys, the sounds of destruction nearing. A black blur, undoubtedly Chat, streaked the cloudy, grey sky as an akumatized villain screeched out. Her eyes skimmed over the cobblestone streets in front of her, but nothing could prepare her for the screams of terror and bloodied civilians that scattered the scene below. 

Her feet had only touched down on the ground for a second when she heard him. 

“Nice of you to drop in,” Chat purred, startling her. “You’re late,” he added, his voice icier than expected. 

“Cry about it,” Ladybug responded coldly. 

“Meowch m’lady,” he said in mock hurt. 

“Sorry,” she muttered to her partner as she took him in. His blonde silky hair was plastered to his head from the pouring rain, the droplets permeating the black leather. If the suit wasn’t skin-tight before, it certainly was now. She had to tear her eyes away from the sight of him, her sensibility screaming at her to focus while her eyes wanted nothing more than to drink in every inch of him.

Literally what the fuck, she said to herself. Now was no time to pine for her partner. 

The Akuma that stood before her was physically underwhelming in stature, but her clothing made up for it. The girl in front of them held herself at around 5’3 and couldn’t be more than 18, but her wicked smirk sent a chill through her spine. The girl was clad in an array of green from forest, sage, to mossy shades, the dress that adorned her body looking like that straight from greek mythology. It was made up of grand silks, almost entrancing Ladybug and Chat with the way that the fabric moved like rippling water. It was ethereal, really, but the closer she looked at it the deadlier it became. 

From around the waist and shoulders, long strips of silk floated behind her like the snakes on the head of Medusa. They almost seemed to bend to her will, the fabric defying gravity. Not only were pieces of the dress floating, but so was her long dark hair. In her hand was a staff made from tree trunk like material. Resting atop her head was an obsidian black crown with spikes the length of Ladybug’s hand. 

After looking around at the already distraught state of the street, their evaluation was over: she was not going to be another walk in the park.

“Shit,” Chat breathed out. It was at that moment that the villain opened her mouth to address both the heroes and bystanders. 

“Citizens of Paris, I am Gi Mágissa. I am not here to compromise with your heroes. Others in the past have failed to retrieve what Hawk Moth desires, but I will not: today will be the day that you remember as the fall of Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Her voice resonated as if it was echoing off the walls. She shifted her gaze to the left, her eyes locking with the two of them. 

“Give me your miraculous and I may decide to spare you and your city,” she said in a dangerously low voice. Her voice was smooth, yet it cut right through the two partners like a freezing wind in the dead of winter. Under any other circumstances, her words would be humorous, cheesy even, but this was not like anything else they faced.

Chat laughed as his trademarked smirk appeared. “Funny, because I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he said in mock thoughtfulness, almost like he was trying to recall a memory.

“Chat,” Ladybug hissed, “I’m starting to get the feeling that you won’t be able to joke your way out of this one,”

“C’mon m’lady, live a little.” 

“Yeah, well I might not be alive to do so if you keep being an idiot.” Ladybug could feel the frustration rising in her as Chat continued to appear so casual and relaxed. How could he not sense that this was so much worse than before?

Chat turned to her and she could finally see his eyes. Despite his outward appearance, she saw the nervousness in his gaze. There was almost a buzz in the air, a metallic smell that made them wrinkle their noses: blood, iron maybe. 

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” 

[kilesplaysthings]

classic songs for the IkeSen boys~

from a playlist compiled by yours truly ;) Was a bit iffy about the Mitsunari and Yoshimoto ones, but I think there’s some fitting lyrics there! What do y’all think? :D

Nobunaga: Back in Black by AC/DC

Back in black, I hit the sack. I've been too long, I'm glad to be back. Yes, I'm let loose from the noose that's kept me hanging about. I've been looking at the sky 'cause it's gettin' me high. Forget the hearse, 'cause I never die. I got nine lives; cat's eyes; abusin' every one of them, and running wild. ‘Cause I’m back, yes I’m back. Back in black. Yes, I’m back in black.  

Hideyoshi: Hearts on Fire by John Cafferty

Time will not allow you to stand still, no. Silence breaks the heart and bends the will, and things that give deep passions are your sword. Rules and regulations have no meaning anymore. Hearts on fire. Strong desire rages deep within. Hearts on fire. Fever's rising high. The moment of truth is here...

Mitsuhide: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears

It's my own desire. It's my own remorse. Help me to decide. Help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure. Nothing ever lasts forever. Everybody wants to rule the world.  

Ieyasu: Carry on, Wayward Son by Kansas

Masquerading as a man with a reason, my charade is the event of the season. And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know. On a stormy sea of moving emotion, tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean. I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say 

Carry on my wayward son. For there'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more.  

Masamune: Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf

I like smoke and lightning, heavy metal thunder, racin' with the wind, and the feelin' that I'm under. Yeah Darlin' go make it happen. Take the world in a love embrace. Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space.  

Like a true nature's child, we were born, born to be wild. We can climb so high. I never wanna die. Born to be wild...  

Mitsunari: Beautiful Loser by Bob Seger

He’s your oldest and your best friend. If you need him, he’ll be there again.

He’s always willing to be second best. A perfect lodger, a perfect guest.

Beautiful loser, read it on the wall and realize you just can’t have it all.

Shingen: Eye of the Tiger by Survivor (you know I had to use this for him lol)

Risin' up, back on the street. Did my time, took my chances. Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet. Just a man and his will to survive. So many times, it happens too fast: you trade your passion for glory. Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past. You must fight just to keep them alive!  

Kenshin: Behind Blue Eyes by The Who (ok so he has one blue, one green, but you know what I mean lol)

No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings like I do, and I blame you.  No one bites back as hard on their anger. None of my pain and woe can show through. But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be. I have hours, only lonely. My love is vengeance that's never free...

Yukimura: Fire in the Twilight by Wang Chung

Taking a break from the role of the everyday boy; the man who leads the way, the man who leads the way. Is he for real or is he back to the old way boy? Can he lead the way, oh can he lead the way? He's searching, but he's lonely, and he's hurting, but he's only, waiting for a chance just in time to live a life. Does he need ya, does he want ya, does he listen to what you say? Is he only waiting for the simple way?

Sasuke: Deja Vu by Dave Rodgers (gotta give our memelord a meme song lolol)

Déjà vu! I've just been in this place before, higher on the street, and I know it's my time to go. Calling you, and the search is a mystery. Standing on my feet, it’s so hard when I try to be me, woah! Déjà vu! I've just been in this time before, higher on the beat, and I know it's a place to go. Calling you and the search is a mystery. Standing on my feet, it's so hard when I try to be me, yeah!

Yoshimoto: The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel (I find Yoshimoto to be quite a sad and resigned figure. I feel like this song kind of fits him with how useless and silent he feels as a fallen leader...in a way? Plus, this is kind of artistic and hipster-ish which seems to be fitting for him lol)

Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again, because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence.

"Fools" said I, "You do not know silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you.Take my arms that I might reach you." But my words like silent raindrops fell and echoed in the wells of silence...

Kennyo: Man in the Wilderness by Styx

Another year has passed me by. Still I look at myself and cry, what kind of man have I become? All of the years I've spent in search of myself and I'm still in the dark, 'cause I can't seem to find the light alone. Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness. I'm a lonely soldier off to war sent away to die - never quite knowing why. Sometimes it makes no sense at all...

Ranmaru: Ooh Child by The Five Stairsteps

Ooh child, things are gonna get easier. Ooh child, things’ll get brighter. Someday, yeah, we’ll get it together and we’ll get it all done. Someday when your head is much lighter. Someday, yeah, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun. Someday, when the world is much brighter...

Motonari: Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen

I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky like a tiger defying the laws of gravity. I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva. I'm gonna go, go, go, there's no stopping me! I'm burning through the sky, yeah! Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit. I'm travelling at the speed of light. I wanna make a supersonic man outta you! Don’t stop me now!

[succulentsunrise]

Where the Fire Lilies Grow

Content: SFW!

It took me a while, but it’s here! The first meeting of Tani and Mereo 🥰 I hope you guys like it!

Note: I am using the manga’s timeline, where as far as I’ve understood, the Royal Knights are gathered and sent out during the same day.

Tag list: @thoughtfullyrainynightmare, @lyranova ❤️

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Chapter 5: Petunias & Peril

“So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.” Paulo Coelho

Three days had passed since the Royal Knights Examination. Tani had headed to her parents right after it had ended, and had stayed there for the whole time. Her family had happily welcomed her. Her parents, Kinra and Gawi, were childhood sweethearts, having bonded over strong work ethics and love for gardening. Tani’s mother was never still: whether it was gardening, working, cleaning or knitting, she was always doing something with her hands. Gawi, Tani’s father, was a talkative and cheerful man out of work, and grim and quiet while mining. Helee, her younger sister, had inherited their mother’s need to be constantly doing something, but instead of gardening, she crafted things. As iron was her attribute, like it was their mother’s, she found great joy in smithing and working with metals. It had been a while since Tani had been home. There were many questions, but she avoided telling why she had come to visit. Instead, she kept in contact with her friends, having told them to forward her any letters that arrived in her name. Icree had promised to keep an eye out, and so Tani had nervously waited every day for any news.

On the third day, while Tani’s family was working, the fateful letter arrived - but it was not an invitation to the Royal Knights. It was a letter written by Icree, telling her that Fragil had been chosen. No letter had arrived for Tani. She slowly put the letter on the table, not wanting to look at it. Irrationally, it took her less than a minute to pick it up and read through it again. A sinking feeling in her stomach brought tears alongside it. Tani wiped them quickly away and got up,  desperately trying to find something to do that would stop her from thinking too much. She tried several things: cleaning, reading, looking at the letter again. Nothing worked. Eventually she wandered to the small garden that her parents kept. Determined to push her frustration and sorrow somewhere, she began picking weeds from the garden. It was simple, something she knew how to do. It allowed her to let out her frustration in peace. She just wanted to be distracted from her failure. Her powers had not impressed anyone. She had not impressed anyone. Maybe if she had had a better team - maybe if she had not needed to use all her mana - maybe she would have succeeded. Tani inhaled sharply and wiped her nose. She wanted to go and be part of the strike team, to protect Clover Kingdom. She wanted to be sure that she could tell the scared citizens that the threat would have been at least minimized in some capacity. She wanted to take action. Sitting still had never been a talent in her family. Tani picked at the flowers for quite some time before rising her head to look around her. The sun was slowly moving behind the horizon, colouring the sky in shades of red and orange. Somewhere in the streets, children were running and playing together. People passed by in peace, talking to each other. It was comforting. Tani’s tense posture relaxed a little as her gaze passed over them. Even if she wasn’t chosen, she’d stay ready to protect this place. These people. She would keep them safe. Her gaze moved to the potted petunias that were drooping. Mother had probably watered them too much again. The bright petals were beautiful, but the collection of brown leaves and stems were worrying. Tani moved her fingers over the stems, gently healing and nurturing the flower. Its dying parts were reborn with magic, restored to their previous glory. It was something her magic excelled in.

A sudden exclamation caught Tani’s attention. Rising her gaze from the flowers, she saw something move in the sky. Blinding lights had appeared all above the town, if not further, in the shape of swords. They were everywhere. For that split second, they seemed to just hang there, defying gravity. Then, they began to fall. Time seemed to stop for Tani. Her heart was caught up in her throat at the sight. People stared above them in wonder. There was no time to react. There was no time to run or become properly scared. The swords’ descent was incredibly fast. Tani could barely begin lifting her arm before the light reached her. Then - nothing. The swords above her, ready to plunge and slaughter, had stopped mere inches away from her. Slowly, almost mechanically, the light began to retract. Another glyph of magic in the sky seemed to be sucking them back in, forcing them to repeat their previous trajectories in reverse. Tani’s magic caught up finally to the motion of her arm, creating a wall of ivy where she stood, way too late to protect her if the lights hadn’t been dispersed. Her heart was beating fast - she felt like the only thing she could hear were the cries of the children and the rush of her own blood. Hastily, stumbling over her own feet, she left the ivy out there in the garden, rushing to the entrance of the house. There she grabbed her broom and hurried out, giving the sky a quick glance. The sun was still setting. If not for the commotion in the streets, the view would have been as peaceful as before. There was no sign of the swords or any other magic. Tani quickly mounted her broom and rose to the air. Her hands shook violently. She had no time to consider what had happened - she had to get back to her squad and figure out what orders they had. She needed to figure out what had happened. The wind felt good against her face, even as the broom trembled with her usually careful magic now in turmoil. The fear that had settled in the bottom of her stomach was not leaving. She did not know anyone who used light magic. She had a feeling like she had forgotten something - something important. She couldn’t remember what it was. Perhaps someone at the Azure Deer would have answers.

When Tani landed on the front courtyard of the headquarters, the sun had already fallen behind the mountains. There was an eerie light coming from beyond the horizon, paler than any sunlight. Perhaps whoever created those swords of light before was now there, fighting someone else than the kingdom. It was wishful thinking. A loud sound of breaking stone and clattering from inside the building made her twitch. Tani abandoned the broom where it was and began running inside. It sounded like there was trouble even here. Her legs felt shaky still. As she approached, she could only hear a pained scream from inside, as if someone was suffering immensely. The strange thing was - it did not stop. It was constant, grief-stricken wail. There were no breaks for breath, no sobs, nothing. The moment Tani stepped inside, it assaulted her ears with its piercing shrillness. She managed to wonder how she hadn’t heard it better in the courtyard, before another barely audible impact cut her thought short. It came from the direction of the mess hall. Tani hurried there, rising her hands over her ears. The screaming became louder and louder the closer she got. Through the door to the hall, she could see two bodies lying near a wall, crumpled to the ground. She was about to rush to their side, but the origin of the piercing noise entered her view as she stepped properly into the mess hall. In the middle of the space stood a girl with long, purple hair floating freely, out of its usual ponytail. Her soft, dark eyes were filled with disgust and contempt. Two red, tattoo-like lines were drawn from her eyes to her cheeks, as if tears. Her mouth was open in a horrendous, almost desperate scream. Blood was splattered on her face and clothes, most likely from her own injuries. All around the girl were thrown around bodies of magic knights. Only three were left standing: Francis, Icree and Luka. They were protected by a large, golden sculpture of a pheasant that had unfurled its wings to protect them. Orange and black butterflies were fluttering above them. All three of them were holding hands over their ears. Tani tried to shout to them, but her voice was drowned out. The noise was quite frankly giving her a headache and nausea. Even as she tried to take a step towards them, her vision wobbled.

“Stop it, Kliodna!”, she shouted, futilely.

The girl’s cold eyes turned to her. There was such hate in them - it made the girl not look like herself. Then, she stopped. Tani could see that she was out of breath from the shouting, her panting loud and pained in the sudden silence. Then, rather quickly, she started to advance towards Tani.

“Tani, be careful!” Francis shouted, and a wall of water appeared between her and the girl.

“Don’t!” Icree’s voice cut sharply, stress and annoyance clear in it.

The purple-haired girl opened her mouth again, the grimoire in front of her opening to another page.

“「Shockwave」,” her hoarse voice whispered with transparent malice.

Tani’s grimoire flew open in front of her, as she attempted to counter it, but she wasn’t quick enough. She could hear the scream begin again, starting to manipulate and force Francis’ water wall towards her with violent force  - and then, a swarm of monarch butterflies wrapped around her and protected her.

“「Ginkgo’s Embrace」,” Tani shouted, holding her ears.

The strong roots of the ginkgo tree wrapped around her own legs, holding her in place even as the scream created waves that threatened to send her flying. Behind the girl, the sculpted pheasant divided into two jackals. Luka’s magic was elegant as always, but he looked battered. The purple-haired girl turned her head instantly, picking up on his mana. The butterflies that had swarmed around Tani flew back to their caster, Icree, as the screaming stopped again.

“You humans,” the girl said suddenly, her voice grovely and angry. “You think you have the right to fight for survival, when you didn’t give us the chance.”

“Kliodna, what are you talking about?” Tani asked, her heart still racing from the danger she had been in. “Why are you fighting us?”

Icree did not wait for an answer. She cast another spell behind them, rising to air with large butterfly-like wings. Tani knew that this spell of hers was often used in countering other types of magic. Icree was most likely planning to try to mitigate the effects of the next scream. Luka’s jackals began running towards the girl, hunting their prey. Tani started to carefully mask her mana, hoping to be able to bind the girl without hurting her while the other two had her attention. To do so, Tani would have to catch her by surprise. If she was allowed to scream for long, the fight would turn ugly for all of them.

“I hate all of you,” the girl continued, her voice raising. “I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!”

The last word turned into a loud screech again, as if she was letting out decades of hate and grief. The sculpted jackals, bouncing towards her, were shattered in an instant. Another wave of sound washed over all of them, pushing even Icree with her wings further away. Only Tani stayed near, her roots stable and enduring. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing, however. She was too close - the scream caused immediate dizziness to her, gnawing at her concentration and consciousness. As she pressed her fingers against her ears, she could see Icree force her way through the waves of sound. Small flakes of mana began falling from her wings, as Icree’s spell activated, dampening the effect of the screech. Tani acted quickly. The roots slithered from her own legs to the girl’s, climbing and twisting around her body to form a thin tree. It covered the girl completely, wrapping around her tighter than the spell usually did. Its thin, fan-like leaves moved only slightly in the newfound silence. The four of them looked at each other in brief relief.

“It’s not Kliodna,” Francis said quickly, getting up from where he had fallen. “She said so, at least. Said she was an elf.”

“We’re not sure what happened, exactly, other than that she began glowing suddenly,” Luka added, worry plastered over his face. “It wasn’t long after the advisor to the King sent us a warning.”

“A warning?” Tani asked, pressing her hand against the tree’s trunk.

She could feel the girl struggling against it. Though it had constricted whoever was in Kliodna’s body, the spell would not allow harm to come to her. Eventually, she’d break out.

“We were told to follow our captain’s instructions,” Luka continued. “The Wizard King is apparently fighting the leader of the terrorists.”

Francis moved to check on their fellow squadmates. There were several of them, flung all around the mess hall.

“It sounds like we are under attack,” Tani commented worriedly, slowly starting to move away from her tree to help Francis.

“We’ll need to knock her unconscious,” Icree declared, landing next to her. “We’ll bind her, take care of our wounded, and head to the capital. If there’s any disturbances on the way, we’ll take care of them.”

A groan followed her words, and the group turned to look at its source. Francis was helping up a brunette man to stand, his water magic swirling around their head.

“Shouldn’t we look around if anyone else nearby has been affected?” Eric asked with a pained voice.

“If you can wake up someone else still, we could divide into two groups,” Icree began, but was interrupted by Tani.

“Guys, the bind won’t hold for long.”

The sturdy tree had begun creaking and groaning as the girl was about to break free, her muffled voice starting to emerge again. A sculpted jackal appeared suddenly nearby the tree, ready to pounce.

“Don’t hurt her,” Tani pleaded quietly, but Luka shook his head.

“I can’t knock her out without a little bit of pain.”

Tani let the tree fall away and watched as the man’s nimble sculpture rammed against the girl, not giving her time to begin her magic again. The hit was strong. The young girl fell to the ground, unconscious. Luka’s jackal wrapped around her, turning into stone shackles. Kliodna looked more like herself without all that anger in her eyes. Tani felt a sting of guilt. They’d have to figure out what to do with her, but for now, they had to make sure the kingdom wasn’t in danger. Tani leaned down to examine the girl’s wounds, making sure that her life wasn’t in danger. She could see Francis also moving from person to person, checking their injuries and healing those that required it. A lot of them were still knocked out, but some were waking up due to his magic. Tani joined the efforts quickly. Most people seemed to have been hurt by the loud sounds or an impact with a wall. It would take a while to learn if Kliodna had caused lasting injuries. After everyone had been tended to, Icree, Tani and Luka left for the capital. Eric and Francis would help others to come to, as well as check the perimeter for further threats.

The flight to the capital was silent. Darkness had fallen a long time ago, and now there wasn’t even a light in the horizon. They were all tense and wary. Luka muttered something under his breath, and beautiful bird sculptures appeared to fly by him. He often used them for reconnaissance, as he could see through their eyes. They all flew to different directions, spreading across the capital. The flashes of light and mana were visible to them all, but most seemed to be already engaged by magic knights. Tani tried to seek out people that weren’t being protected yet.

“There’s a hole in the gate,” Luka said suddenly, his posture tensing.

“In the gate?” Tani repeated.

“In the castle gate. Someone has invaded the Clover Castle.”

Icree looked at him, shocked.

“Is no one else there?” she asked quickly, setting a course towards the castle.

“I only saw a glimpse. Someone is fighting next to the gate, but I couldn’t see who,” Luka answered, following her lead. “The bird got crushed.”

A sudden eeriness filled the air around them. Almost out of nowhere, a floating rock seemed to have appeared in their vision. In its face had been created house-like structures with openings, and its bottom seemed to have been fully carved out. It shone with unnatural, pale light, as it sailed far away from them. Tani saw the same uncertainty in the other two’s eyes. The amount of mana all around them was enormous.

“What is that?” she asked with a shaky voice.

Today’s events were starting to catch up with her. She had promised to protect people from this, but could they really stand up against such a widespread attack?

“I don’t--I don’t know,” Icree answered, her eyes wide. “Let’s follow it for now. Perhaps we can--perhaps--we can do something when whoever is in that thing is outside of it.”

“It’s going towards the castle. There’s more of them likely there,” Luka reminded, calling his remaining birds to him. “The mana is interfering with my spell. I can’t see properly.”

“We are Magic Knights. We must protect them.”

“We must also protect the common people!” Tani interjected, looking below them, where battles continued. “We don’t have to pick the biggest target.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Icree confessed, her hands shaking. “I’m hoping that whoever is fighting at the castle will be able to tell us where we are needed.

“We can see where we are needed: right here!” Tani argued.

All around them were destroyed buildings, fleeing citizens and bodies of magic knights. If they went down there, they could help people evacuate and protect them. However, Tani recognized that look in Icree’s eyes - she had made her decision, and there was no turning it. It wasn’t a selfless decision. Icree’s family was visiting the Vermillions, and there was a possibility they were still there.

“Look!” Icree shouted suddenly, pointing towards the moving rock.

Further away, a silvery bird was rushing towards it. No, not quite silvery. The Captain of the Silver Eagles, Nozel Silva, was known for his mercury attribute. The bird - eagle, in fact - was known for anyone who had seen him cast his magic. The three of them began to follow in silent agreement. Captain Nozel Silva had been part of the Royal Knights that had gone to strike at the base. He would know what they should do, and where their own captain was. His silver eagle was a bit faster than their brooms, but hopefully they’d be able to catch up in time.

Luck was not on their side, however. Even as the three of them rushed to catch up with the Captain of Silver Eagles, he seemed to be rushing to defend his home. When Icree, Luka and Tani finally landed, all they could see were the tailcoats of six people dividing between the three main royal houses inside the castle. Tani could recognize the Captains of Black Bulls and Green Mantis’, as well as the Vice-Captain of Coral Peacocks among them.

“We are too late,” Icree cursed.

She was tense, as if she was considering running after them. Yet, her gaze lingered in the bodies around them, moving back towards the lower parts of the mountain.

“The castle is secured, I think,” Luka said silently. “Lord Silva is certainly going to take care of anything that is inside there.”

Tani looked around them. Most of the bodies belonged to the Golden Dawn, but they all had those same red marks as Kliodna had had. Had they all been taken over as well? One body was different, set aside to rest against a wall. Her eyes widened. Red hair, matted with sticky, blackened blood, was framing a bloodied and beaten face. The white cape was tattered and torn, showing multiple wounds and bruises. Tani leaped the few steps she had to take to get to the woman’s side. Captain Mereoleona looked like she had gone through hell. Her eyes were barely open, as if held so by willpower alone, but there was no life in her empty gaze. Carefully, with shaking hands, Tani set out to examine her injuries. She had to remove the cloak from her to properly see the extent of her injuries. Luckily, someone else seemed to have healed them to some extent.

“「Ginkgo’s Embrace」,” she whispered, watching the gentle roots hug the woman’s form.

Originally, the spell had been a recovery spell. Tani had modified it into a binding spell as well with hard work. Nowadays, it doubled as both.

“Tani! Let’s go help--” Icree called out, but stopped in her tracks as she saw who Tani was taking care of.

“You go, I’ll follow you soon,” Tani replied, giving a brief smile to her teammates. “You’re descending to the city, right?”

“Yeah,” Icree confirmed, her eyes lingering on the unconscious captain. “Will she--you--be alright?”

Tani nodded.

“You just go ahead.”

A sculpted bird landed on Tani’s shoulder, and with that, Luka and Icree flew away on their brooms. She’d be able to find them with the help of the bird - or know that they were in trouble. For now, she concentrated on helping the lady in front of her to regain consciousness. This was not exactly the first meeting that she had planned. The sounds of battle from nearby made Tani twitch a little. It was clear that something huge had happened in the royal mansions. As she looked back to Lady Vermillion, she found the sharp blue eyes looking back at her. The gaze was still slightly unfocused, but it was much faster recovery than Tani had expected.

“Who are you?” the Captain’s weak voice growled.

“My name is Tani Chartreuse, 5th Class Intermediate Knight of the Azure Deer, ma’am,” Tani stated quickly, standing up straight and giving a small bow. “The roots are not to hold you down, but to boost your body’s natural regeneration.”

The Captain looked at her as if evaluating her with her blank gaze. Slowly, with every passing minute, clarity seemed to return to the woman. As she opened her mouth to speak, one of the sharp canines poked out. It was in a way adorable. Tani found a small warmth rising to her cheeks - this was not the time to be staring at someone much higher ranked than herself.

“Where are the others?” the Captain asked, adjusting her position.

“The others?”

“Royal Knights.”

“We--I saw Lord Silva enter the castle, ma’am,” Tani answered. “With him were five others--I believe Captain Sukehiro and Captain Jack, at least.”

The woman made an effort to get up, but the roots held her still. Once more, the small canine poked out, as the Captain’s brows furrowed. Tani changed her weight to another leg nervously.

“What do you know of the situation?” the Captain questioned next.

“Not much, ma’am,” she admitted uncertainly. “We were attacked by one of our own, who claimed to be an--an elf. We don’t know what it means.”

“They have been taken over, that’s it,” the Captain remarked. “You managed to defeat them?”

“Yes. They are bound back at our headquarters.”

“And?”

“And--? And we don’t know much of the situation. The Azure Deer is helping those near our headquarters and in the capital.”

“Useless,” the Captain scoffed under her breath.

“Excuse me?” Tani asked challengingly before she could control herself.

“The information is useless. Something is happening over there--”

Captain Mereoleona stopped suddenly, her gaze fixed to the castle. Tani turned to look there as well - but there was no castle to speak of. There was something dark, taking a caricature shape of the previous castle. Someone was clearly fighting between the castle and the floating rock. She heard a grunt, as the Captain once more attempted to move.

“You’ll be on the way in this fight,” Lady Mereoleona told frankly. “Go join your team and help them.”

Tani looked at the roots that still bound the lady gently.

“Your wounds--”

“Shut up.”

“Ma’am, I think I am justified in worrying for a captain that cannot break such a weak spell as mine.”

“Who said I couldn’t?” Captain Mereoleona challenged with a wicked smile, fires bursting from her body.

The tree and bark burnt in an instant, Tani’s spell disappearing from her. There was something inhumanely powerful in the woman. Her wounds were severe, and Tani’s magic was too slow to treat them this quickly. Yet she was standing, passionate fire in her eyes, ready to act.

“I can sense some elves coming this way, so you better leave, Tani Chartreuse,” the Captain of Crimson Lion Kings said with a smile. “Elves, and someone else.”

Tani shot her a quizzical look, not sure what to make of it. Still, she didn’t have her own captain to listen to, so she simply saluted to show she had understood the order. The bird on her shoulder took to the air, as she grabbed her own broom and masked her mana. The fires behind her intensified, as if a beacon to lure out the elves.

Tani could not help but feel a small joy in the Captain remembering her name, at least. Perhaps, if she was accepted to that special training of the Crimson Lion Kings, she could speak more with the fascinating Mereoleona Vermillion.

[kyleys-empty-mind-shit]

butterflies • i

pairing(s): marinette dupain cheng x adrien agreste || ladybug x chat noir

genre(s): angst; drama

fandom: miraculous ladybug

rating: g・t・r

rated t for language, violence

word count: 1.9k

warning(s): blood mention

chapter two || chapter 3

“…Bystanders have not been hurt, although Paris’ superheroes have not made an appearance yet…”

There was unrest among the students of Francoise Dupont High School as Adrien listened to his friends talk quietly amongst one another. Thunder rumbled in the distance as heavy, chilling rain poured down from the skies. There was a gloomy eeriness that clung to the air, a quiet that made the high schoolers feel like they were just waiting for something to shatter the silence. Grey clouds were collecting, casting the city in shadow-like darkness.

Another Akuma attack had been reported yet again. The Parisian superheroes were more than glad to help out, but it was obvious they were tiring: their moves became sloppier, their conversations shorter, and their patience thinner.

Adrien listened to the chatter exchanged between Alya and Nino, while Marinette remained quiet. She looked tired, which really wasn’t that uncommon, but her fatigue seemed to spill into all of her activities. She had less “pep in her step,” as Alya had said, and her eyes weren’t nearly as bright as they used to be. Not that he meant to pay attention to such things, of course, but it was hard to not notice. Even Chloe, who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but herself, had laid off on the harassment. Adrien chalked up his attentiveness to Marinette as nothing more than being a good, concerned friend, but as of late that excuse was becoming harder to sell, even to himself.

It started about four months ago when they came back from summer break. Everyone had gone back to school and while Adrien was physically there, he was mentally absent. Kagami had just gone abroad for school again after they’d broken things off. He would have liked to say it was a mutual breakup, but she was the one who brought it up. Kagami was wise beyond her years so when she told him that his heart wasn’t in the relationship, he knew she was right. He expected his first heartbreak to be gut-wrenching, but it wasn’t. He felt sad, sure, but not in the way that leaves you paralyzed in bed for weeks on end. At the time, he wondered why that was, but the answer was obvious: Marinette.

When he got to school, it was almost as if she could see the gloomy cloud over his head. She was there for him when no one else seemed to notice, her stuttering and fumbling hardly present in their conversation. In the beginning, he felt almost guilty for confiding in her. It would’ve been ignorant of him to believe she didn’t have problems of her own (who didn’t?), but it was a fact known by many that Marinette Dupain-Chang was one to do whatever she could to help the people she cared for.

It was then that he noticed it: the butterflies. It was like a tsunami of anxiety, excitement, and shyness all rolled into one whenever she did anything: the way her hair moved in the breeze, her clear laugh that dared him to smile, but most of all, her kindness. Marinette was one of those people that you couldn’t hate. She was that person who helped others even when no one was looking. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself when he started falling for her every move.

She didn’t know, probably never would, but she had him whipped.

The blonde was snapped back into reality when his best friend nudged him: “You coming?” Nino’s brow arched in question.

He looked across the street, where his bodyguard was waiting for him, standing by the driver’s side door of the sleek black Audi. Though it’s been the same car since Adrien was like thirteen, it still looked brand new.

“I forgot my homework,” he said to Nino, calling out to his bodyguard to repeat the same thing. With a barely discernible nod of approval from the bodyguard, Adrien turned back toward the school doors.

Adrien grumbled as he jogged away from his friend group: “Well, Nadia, Paris’ superheroes happen to have vaguely normal lives too if you weren’t aware.”

Plagg floated up from Adrien’s pant pocket and did circles around his owner’s head. “You put too much faith in humans, they don’t think about that kinda stuff. To them, you and Ladybug are untouchable.”

“Yeah, well we’re not,” he mumbled frustratedly. He pressed his palms into his eyes tiredly and took a deep breath before dropping his arms back down to his sides.

“Plagg claws out,” he muttered.

Plagg liked to think he knew his miraculous holder quite well. Despite the kwami’s demeanour and seeming distaste toward anything non-cheese related, he did have feelings. Yes, he loved cheese, but he also loved Adrien. He had spent the last two years with Adrien, and he knew something was terribly wrong with his owner.

He’d ask later. The cat-like kwami entered the ring miraculous, and with that, Adrien Agreste was gone, replaced by Chat Noir.

The leather-clad hero headed toward the disaster zone, the rain not doing anything to help his vision. He landed on a rooftop near the Akuma attack and swiftly surveyed the scene. Upon not seeing Ladybug anywhere, Chat Noir sent a quick message to Ladybug, highlighting the damage, before swooping in to hold off the Akuma.

xXx

To put it simply, Marinette was struggling. It had been the fifth Akuma attack that week and after two years of being Ladybug, her excuses were becoming weaker and weaker as time went on. Adrien’s abrupt exit was odd, but she didn’t have time to think about it as she felt the ground shake slightly. It didn’t matter how exhausted she was, she couldn’t put off her duties any longer.

“I uhm, I forgot I had a question for Miss Bustier. I’m going to go see if she’s still around and I’ll uh just stay here until Ladybug and Chat Noir get everything taken care of!” she flashed her friends a thumbs up and with that, she ran back inside the school, toward the locker room. She opened her tiny purse in order for Tikki to emerge. “This is bullshit,” she muttered to herself.

Tikki gasped in shock. “Marinette!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled half-heartedly, “You wouldn’t happen to care if I maybe just happened to not show up and let Chat handle it?”

The glare that the small kwami sent her way told her otherwise. “Something about this one tells me that you’ll need all the help you can get,” she told her owner.

Her stomach twisted with anxiety, both confusion and shock washing over her face. Tikki had never talked about the dangers of an Akuma before, which alarmed Marinette. Shit.

“Tikki, spots on.”

Ladybug swung with all her might as her trusty yoyo grabbed onto buildings and chimneys, the sounds of destruction nearing. A black blur, undoubtedly Chat, streaked the cloudy, grey sky as an akumatized villain screeched out. Her eyes skimmed over the cobblestone streets in front of her, but nothing could prepare her for the screams of terror and bloodied civilians that scattered the scene below.

Her feet had only touched down on the ground for a second when she heard him.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Chat purred, startling her. “You’re late,” he added, his voice icier than expected.

“Cry about it,” Ladybug responded coldly.

“Meowch m’lady,” he said in mock hurt.

“Sorry,” she muttered to her partner as she took him in. His blonde silky hair was plastered to his head from the pouring rain, the droplets permeating the black leather. If the suit wasn’t skin-tight before, it certainly was now. She had to tear her eyes away from the sight of him, her sensibility screaming at her to focus while her eyes wanted nothing more than to drink in every inch of him.

Literally what the fuck, she said to herself. Now was no time to pine for her partner.

The Akuma that stood before her was physically underwhelming in stature, but her clothing made up for it. The girl in front of them held herself at around 5’3 and couldn’t be more than 18, but her wicked smirk sent a chill through her spine. The girl was clad in an array of green from forest, sage, to mossy shades, the dress that adorned her body looking like that straight from greek mythology. It was made up of grand silks, almost entrancing Ladybug and Chat with the way that the fabric moved like rippling water. It was ethereal, really, but the closer she looked at it the deadlier it became.

From around the waist and shoulders, long strips of silk floated behind her like the snakes on the head of Medusa. They almost seemed to bend to her will, the fabric defying gravity. Not only were pieces of the dress floating, but so was her long dark hair. In her hand was a staff made from tree trunk like material. Resting atop her head was an obsidian black crown with spikes the length of Ladybug’s hand.

After looking around at the already distraught state of the street, their evaluation was over: she was not going to be another walk in the park.

“Shit,” Chat breathed out. It was at that moment that the villain opened her mouth to address both the heroes and bystanders.

“Citizens of Paris, I am Gi Mágissa. I am not here to compromise with your heroes. Others in the past have failed to retrieve what Hawk Moth desires, but I will not: today will be the day that you remember as the fall of Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Her voice resonated as if it was echoing off the walls. She shifted her gaze to the left, her eyes locking with the two of them.

“Give me your miraculous and I may decide to spare you and your city,” she said in a dangerously low voice. Her voice was smooth, yet it cut right through the two partners like a freezing wind in the dead of winter. Under any other circumstances, her words would be humorous, cheesy even, but this was not like anything else they faced.

Chat laughed as his trademarked smirk appeared. “Funny, because I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he said in mock thoughtfulness, almost like he was trying to recall a memory.

“Chat,” Ladybug hissed, “I’m starting to get the feeling that you won’t be able to joke your way out of this one,”

“C’mon m’lady, live a little.”

“Yeah, well I might not be alive to do so if you keep being an idiot.” Ladybug could feel the frustration rising in her as Chat continued to appear so casual and relaxed. How could he not sense that this was so much worse than before?

Chat turned to her and she could finally see his eyes. Despite his outward appearance, she saw the nervousness in his gaze. There was almost a buzz in the air, a metallic smell that made them wrinkle their noses: blood, iron maybe.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

[blackdiamondwrites127]

First Meeting (Sibylle's Perspective)

My girlfriend @ellielovesdrawing and I decided to do a collab fanfic about Sibylle and Kath's first meeting! Mine is in Sibylle's perspective while hers is in Kath's perspective which you can find here. Hope you guys like this!

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

Sibylle exited her office at exactly noon. She had double saved her work on her laptop and crossed out the 8 am - 12 pm slot on her daily schedule chart. She made sure to lock the office door and put up the sign that read:

'Out to lunch'

She started doing this to avoid anymore stolen ledger incidents. The last this she needs is hunting someone down who took her ledger and throwing her entire schedule off. Sibylle exits through the employee door and makes her way to the theatre cafe next door. She ducks as she enters to avoid hitting her head on the door frame.

'One concussion is enough in both of my lives,' she thought. Adjusting her thick glasses.

She goes over and gets in line. Waits until it was her turn at the counter.

"Hey there, Sibylle. What will it be today?" Arthur Tudor, the cafe owner, and fellow reincarnated historical figure greeted.

"Hi, Art. I'll be having my usual iced coffee and club sandwich. Take away thanks," she said.

"Coming right up."

As Arthur made her order, Sibylle looks at the pastries displayed behind the glass display by the counter.

"Hey Art, do you carry any other pastries aside from cookies and cupcakes?" she asked.

"Sometimes I have slices of cheesecake and a box of cinnamon buns that EB loves," Arthur replied.

"Do you make cakes? My Papabär is coming over to visit tomorrow and he loves cakes. I was thinking of buying one for him."

"My sister baked the pastries that I sell. She owns a bakery across the street and I just buy from her."

"I didn't know you have a sister."

"I have three sisters. The youngest one is the one who owns the bakery. Here's your order."

Arthur comes back to the counter with her take away order and Sibylle pays for it.

"Why don't you go check it out. See if you fancy any of her cakes and other pastries. The bakery's called Tudor Rose Bakery," he suggested while counting her payment and giving her her change.

"I think I will after work. Thanks, Art," she said. She took her to take away and exited the cafe before making her way back to the theatre and in her office.

Around five, she saves her work on her laptop, crosses out the 1 pm - 5 pm slot on her daily schedule, and packs up her things in her backpack. She picks up her helmet then shuts the lights before shutting and locking the door. She clocks out and leaves through the employee door. Sibylle goes over to her motorbike parked at the employee parking and hangs her helmet on one of the handlebars before crossing the street.

She walked a few paces until she was standing in front of a small bakery with the sign 'Tudor Rose Bakery' on top. She ducks down a bit as she enters the bakery. The bell above the door rang as she entered. As soon as she was inside, the smell of fresh pastries hit her senses. The bakery was small but the place was beautifully simple with rose themed decorations, mostly murals of roses on the white walls. She smiled a bit when she hears the song 'Popular' playing on a Bluetooth speaker propped onto the counter.

She hums along to the song while looking around the few shelves that carried the packed pastries displayed there and their corresponding prices.

"Welcome to the Tudor Rose Bakery! What can I do you for?" a woman's voice cheerily said behind her.

Sibylle straightened up and turned around to face the owner, greet her back and tell her about her intention in buying a cake but all words, even german words, escaped her when she faced the owner.

The very pretty owner.

The very pretty owner looking up at her with icy blue eyes.

The very pretty owner with freckles decorating her very pretty face.

The very pretty owner that was smiling sweetly at her.

The very pretty own-- okay we get it! You're gay!

"Um...ma'am? Are you okay?"

Sibylle snapped out of her flustered stupor by shaking her head, clearing her throat and adjusting her glasses.

"Uh ja! I was wondering if you have any cakes?" she asked.

She hit herself internally for that ridiculous question. Of course she has cakes! It's a bakery for crying out loud! The owner chuckled and Sibylle got even more flustered upon hearing her laugh.

"Yes I have cakes. My brother, Arthur, told me that you would be coming. Sibylle correct?"

"Yes. Sibylle La Marck."

"I'm Katherine Tudor but just call me 'Kath'. Nice to meet you and you don't happen to be related to Anna, William and Amalia are you?"

Sibylle chuckled. "I am actually. I'm their older sister," she said.

"I can see the resemblance! Anna and William loves to come here every other day and orders everything that's either chocolate coated or chocolate flavoured."

"All four of us loves chocolate everything to be honest."

Kath smiled at her again which almost made her heart skip a beat. "No wonder! Now, would you like to order a custom made cake?" she asked.

"Um no. I would like one that's already made. My father loves cakes and he's coming over to visit tomorrow," she replied.

"Of course! This way please."

She follows Kath to the display counter where several cakes and pastries were on display.

"I have madeira, heavy fruit cakes, light fruitcakes. Heavy sponges. Light sponges. And red velvet," the baker listed off while pointing to the cakes in the glass counter.

Sibylle looks at the wide variety of cakes on display. Contemplating which one to get for Papabär. She herself prefers chocolate but her Papabär loves red velvet.

"Found anything you like?" Kath asked.

"Hmmm...I think I'll take one chocolate cake and one red velvet," Sibylle said.

"Sure! Which one? There are a few to choose from."

"Anything is fine as long as it's chocolate and red velvet."

"Coming right up!"

She goes to the back to get two boxes for the two cakes that Sibylle picked. While she waited for her cakes, she noticed the song playing on the Bluetooth speaker had changed and was now playing 'Defying Gravity' and Kath was quietly singing along to it while she ties neat red ribbons around the boxes.

Should she test the waters?

See if this beautiful baker is a fellow Wicked fan?

Might as well do it then.

"I can't help but notice your playlist consisting of songs from Wicked," Sibylle said. She internally patted herself on the back with that start.

The baker seemed to blush shyly and she decided at that moment that she loved the way she blushes. This thought makes blush a bit in turn.

"Oh! Yeah, I'm a major fan of wicked, I prefer the books to the musical though but the music in the musical is bopping!" Kath said. A big, excited grin on the baker's face.

This made Sibylle have an excited grin of her own.

"Same actually! I love the songs from the musical but the books are my preferred canon! The musical all but removed the political commentary and that's what I loved in the books."

"I know! The political commentary in the books make it much more interesting and in depth! Not to mention the lack of Glinda and Elphaba romance in the musical which was very abundant in the first book."

"I know right!"

She noticed her blue eyes had lit up while geeking out with another Wicked fan. She herself is quite happy to discover that this beautiful woman shares the same interest as her.

"You know, you do kind of remind me of Elphaba," Kath said.

"Oh? How so? Do I have green skin or a water allergy?" Sibylle asked.

"More like tall, lanky, glasses and the long braid."

She blushed a bit and absentmindedly played with the tip of her braid.

"The braid is actually the intentional nod to Elphaba in my appearance. The rest is just...me," she said.

Kath smiled at her and yet again, her heart skipped a beat. She rings up her order and gave her the price to which she paid with a bit of extra.

"Keep the change," She said as Kath started to count her change.

"Are you sure?" the baker asked.

"Ja. It's a tip for having the lovely conversation with me." She smiled at her.

Kath smiles back. "Thank you, Ibby."

"Ibby?"

"Oh sorry! I just thought 'Ibby' would suit you as a nickname."

Sibylle smiled at this. "Funny enough, my Papabär gave me the nickname 'Ibby' when he first met me," she said.

"Oh! Well do you mind if I call you that? Because I kind of want to see you more and get to know you," Kath said.

At this point they were both blushing now. Sibylle more so than Kath.

"I-I would like that," she said.

The baker seemed to lit up more at this. She rushed out back before running back out again and handing her a business card with a number written on the back.

"Here's my number! Let's talk more when you have the time!" she said.

Sibylle smiled and graciously took the card. Putting it in her left pocket where her wedding ring was in.

"I'll text you when I get home then. That way you can save my number," she said.

"I'm looking forward to it!"

"Thank you for the cakes, Kath."

"No problem, Ibby."

With that, Sibylle took her cakes and left the bakery. A small smile remained on her face as she drove home to her flat.

Perhaps she can modify her daily schedule to fit in the new 'Go to the bakery' slot with as much break time as she can fit in there as possible.

Yeah. She would definitely do that.

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

Featured/Mentioned Sixtended OCs:

@ellielovesdrawing 's Katherine Tudor

@djts-arts 's Arthur Tudor

@spooner7308 's EB

@pandora-dusk 's Mali von Kleve

@lexartsstuff 's William Jülich-Berg-Cleves

[delicrieux]

Please i’m begging you a continuation of that poe one shot please 😔❤️

ask and thy shall receive. also i lowkey snapped lol

part 1.

It is pathetically easy to grow attached when you two are, quite literally, the last people on this planet. In the strange domes of sand and heat mirages he had fallen from the sky as a gift — or a curse, depending who’s perspective one takes. Though, despite your grim fate, both of you secretly let a thought blossom: at least, even if stuck, you are together.

Together. Such a binding word. You noted it’s peculiarities once you heard it leave his lips for the first time. Together. It wrapped around you like a vine, springing hope, or a snake, warning of venom and heartache. Alas, together you will face everything head on. There is no other option. You both would crumble otherwise.

He is curious and chatty and he finds this planet fascinating with it’s three suns and seven moons. He had wondered aloud one evening how long does a day last. You, without missing a beat, in a pensive tone, had uttered: 20 hours. He, at first night, did not believe you. Evenings, then, he pried. 5 hours, you said. Mornings? he questioned once again. 3 hours. He was shaking with disbelief. Night? he asked lastly. 11 hours and 37 minutes.

“That’s...” He started with a smile, uncertain whether you were joking or not, “Very specific.”

“It must be—“ You countered calmly, meeting his gaze under the pale moonlight, “—if we are to survive.”

Daytime is useless to us, you had warned him, so sleep during the day. You will burn if you leave. Night’s best place to tinker and look around. Morning is fine, but the temperature rises drastically, so best thread carefully. Evening was when I found you. Had it been day... Well, let’s not think of it.

A full 117 hours had passed when he could not take it anymore. It was daytime, a heatwave, the air so palpable it looked like silk fluttering in the wind; the sand was bright and burning; sky bluer than his eyes. He watched through the ship’s window, it being warm enough inside to make him sweat but not enough to have difficulty breathing. When asked how did you manage not to cook like the scorpions in foil you urge him to eat, you had, with a shrug, said: air conditioning, it has solar panels. Alas, he was fidgeting, and glancing at your still form by the makeshift bed. He figured you might be sleeping. Though, he also knew that you were most likely not.

“Water.” He broke the silence, and your head twitched in his direction, hazy eyes meeting his, “Where do you get water from?” This question had bothered him a while, you knew, and it surprised you that it was not the first thing he had asked once he awoke.

“There is... something. I’ll take you there when evening sets. It’s about ten miles west from here. If we make it in time, then... Well, you’ll see.”

It was a painful wait of 14 more hours till finally you urge him outside. The air is hot, it burns your throat, and you pull your scarf over your lips and your hair so only your eyes can be seen. Fixing your backpack and making sure the straps won’t dig into your skin and create blisters, you glance at him. Soft, warm breeze ruffles his hair as he looks at the horizon. The sky is already turning pink. He looks handsome, you think, though you refuse to entertain the thought further.

You trek forward, over mountains, and hills, and odd flat terrains that stretch for miles. You point at certain spots and say, in a matter-o-fact, teaching tone: quick sand there, turn east there and you’ll be eaten by snakes, we’re entering scarab territory, so I hope you’re not squeamish. But after the long journey with small breaks in between — nothing profound, just a stop to drink water and catch your breaths — you climb the last hill, your leg muscles contorting as you do. But the view presented to you takes your breath away. It takes away his, too.

Ways down, against the violet-pink sky with the last sun peaking just slightly on one side and two moons already up on the next, stands a grand palace of sandstone, chipping, ancient, massive: columns, arches, pillars that reach for the sky. You turn to him with a smile, breathless, heart beating rapidly in your chest. He stands humbled, mouth agape, lost in wonder. You had seen a great many things, traveled to many planets, secretly rode in the most modern of spaceships... But you, as he, had never seen anything quite as opulent and lonely as this.

No words are needed. He looks at you and you share the strange delirious thought. He starts to laugh, amazed at first, his smile more beautiful than the sun. You join him, still out of breath, giggling, renewed somehow, abloom with happiness. You grab his hand and rush downwards, sliding down the hill, almost tripping and tumbling. The sky dyes darker when you finally reach the entrance.

“Ready?”

“Uh—Should I be?” He replies uncertain, still holding your hand. You can’t stop smiling. Tugging him forward, you enter.

It is never dark here, not really. Where the suns burn in a treacherous light of fire, the moons provide a pale sickly glow that makes everything appear white and gray. Inside is only one hall, a vast empty room with pillars holding up a second floor with no stairs to reach it. Vines and leaves and grass poke out the sandstone and wrap around columns and arches like pretty ornaments. At the center stands a well covered with a heavy lid. In the deafening silence you hear the sound of water.

“Is that a—“ He points at the well and you nod, letting go of his hand and throwing your backpack near a bush of sweet brier. He lets out another laugh, this one humorless, more shell-shocked than anything.

“It is the only place I know of.” You explain, stalking to the well and motioning upwards, “When the moons align...” There is a scar in the roof, a crevice from which light spills and sets everything aglow, “It looks... Well... magical, I suppose.” You finish, feeling a bit silly for the comparison.

“Why not just stay here then?” He asks, joining your side when you beg him for assistance to remove the lid. With combined strength, you push it just enough to reach a hand in and fill the flasks you brought with fresh, cold water.

“We wanted to.” You start, forlorn, glancing around the area with a burdened gaze, “We saw it before we crashed, from way up above. It was evening when we did, just the start of it. We figured that someone might live here. Might help us. Three of us set out, two stayed. Me, Nine, and... Murphy.” You take a much needed seat, your bones aching with relief. He fills up the flasks, listening, “We were so... stunned. Really. Even when we found no one here, we found water. We got lucky. We thought we will set up camp and stay for as long as we needed. Until we figured out how to get out. The plan was to look around and report back but we took our time to get here and then we stayed. We thought we had all the time in the world. We didn’t even realize dawn was breaking. And then the suns rose...” You turn your head slightly, eyes landing on a pale pillar with four names engraved onto it, “And then everything started to burn. Murphy was lounging by the well and once sunlight hit him his skin turned to boils. We retreated but we had nowhere to run. So we hid behind the pillars. In the only shadows this place had. We stood there for...” 20 hours you want to say, but you don’t manage. 20 hours of tension and pain, 20 hours back pressed against hot stone, 20 hours of hearing Murphy sob and screech at his open wounds. Poe lands a hand on your shoulder and you jerk, then offer him a crooked smile. You point at the pillar, “They left their names. All who went and vanished came through here.”

It was meant as a checklist of those who passed onward, leaving clues as to where to find them in case they didn’t return by morning. Now it stands as a silent grave of those forgotten, lost in the sand. The only reminder that they ever existed. Murphy. Nine. Sindra. Ribbon. They were not your friends, merely scavengers that you met on a quest to get richer. The five of you teamed up. And subsequently, one by one dispersed into nothingness. You don’t know what happened to them. And in whole truth, you don’t want to either.

“Do you... think my ship is still intact?” He breaks the silence, his voice gentle. You shrug. It’s the best answer you can give him. “Can you take me to it, tomorrow? If it hasn’t exploded, then maybe we can find a way to fix yours. Or mine’s still working.” He adds with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

You barely manage to not roll your eyes, “Ah, yes, how can I forget, the Resistance’s greatest pilot and his most certainly greatest ship. Gravity defies you, Poe.”

“I’m know to have that gravity defying effect.”

It is, absolutely, the silliest thing you had ever heard said in a smug tone. You laugh. He chuckles and takes a sip from his flask. “You good at anything?”

“Rude.”

“That’s... not what I meant— what I was trying to say is if you’re good at tactical things. You’re clearly a good navigator.”

“I’m also a fantastic thief. And huntress. And mechanic.”

“Really?”

“Well I wasn’t before I came here. Except the thief part. I’m mighty good at stealing things. And scavenging. You’d be surprised.”

He looks at you, really looks, not in a shallow, glance-about way, but takes you in, every feature, every nervous blink, every uncertain quirk of your smile. Your throat runs dry and this time it has nothing to do with the lingering heat. No one has ever regarded you in such a way. It is both liberating and frightening.

“Yeaaaah...” He finally says, turning away, taking another sip, “You look like a fox.”

You snort, “Mischievous and sly?”

“Definitely untrustworthy.”

“Have I led you astray yet?”

“No, but I’m almost certain that that wouldn’t benefit you at all.”

He’s partly right. And he knows it. But he must also know that you genuinely favor his company. He must. He definitely noticed the way you look at him. Anyone would.

“How about...” You start slowly, “Once we leave this place, we go gambling. Cards. Slot machines. All that shabang. I’ll teach you every trick in my book — and trust me, I have many. But only if you can out drink me.”

He laughs. You wait for his fit to end. Once he’s just chuckles and breathless mutters, you nudge him, “So? What you say?”

“I say, there is definitely a catch. And it’s probably not as easy as it sounds but... Deal.”

You shake on it, smiling like two idiots. In the pale moonlight you catch his gaze, a certain tenderness within it, longing. And a thought springs forward before you can dismiss it, that perhaps he might kiss you. Your heart almost stops when he does.

[kasplode]

Love.

Fandom: Steven Universe

Words: 1,700

Summary:

Steven with his family, in the days following his break down.

(Set after Steven Universe Future Episode 19, ‘I Am My Monster’)

—

Hey, you, show me that solvable problem

We can get through this

I'll do the hardest part with you

[READ ON AO3]

Steven is exhausted.

For the first time in several days, he’s actually alone. He’s sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window at the beach and the horizon beyond. He’d been playing games with Amethyst all morning, and now she’s left the house for her class at Little Homeschool. It’s nice to finally have a moment of quiet.

The Diamonds and Spinel went back to Homeworld a few days ago, at the insistence of Steven and the gems. He appreciates that they care, but Spinel was right, back then. Sometimes you need to not see someone for a while.

The rest his family have been all but smothering him in love. It seems that every moment of every day, there’s at least one aggressively loving person by his side; be it Dad, Connie, Pearl, Garnet, Amethyst, Bismuth, Peridot or Lapis.

‘That’s so many,’ Steven can’t help but think, sometimes. ‘So many people here. So many people I love, who love me. How did I ever feel so alone?’

But smothered as he is, it feels like he’s never been able to breathe quite so easily.

They’ve kept him busy, made sure he doesn’t do too much.

/-/

The day after his breakdown, Steven forces his tired body out of bed, where Connie is curled up beside him, passed Pearl, who has apparently taken up the whole ‘watching him while he sleeps’ thing again, and downstairs to make himself breakfast.

“Good morning Steven,” Pearl greets him, following him downstairs. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m-” Steven stops before he can say ‘fine’ and stares at the kitchen counter for a moment. Saying that will never be the same again, he thinks.

“I’m tired. I feel better than yesterday, though,” he says.

It’s true. Every move he makes is weighed down as if gravity is pulling at him harder than usual, trying to push him into the ground. But still, he can stand, and his emotions seem to have finally settled after the riotous rollercoaster of the past few days.

Pearl claps, rewarding his improved mood with a smile. A spark of happiness lights in Steven, but.

How long has it been since he’s made one of the gems smile? How long has it been since he’s even seen them smile, without sadness there to corru- ruin it?

Steven turns back to the counter. He’s so tired, but it’s no good if he goes back to bed now. He needs to get something in him, and with his current lack of energy, that ‘something’ may as well be a protein shake.

“Oh, Steven,” Pearl says, when Steven grabs the protein powder, “you need something with more substance than that to keep your strength up! I wanted to make breakfast for you and Connie.” She glances at the couch, “And Greg too, when he wakes up.”

Steven’s face falls against his wishes. He’s already caused so much trouble, he doesn’t want the gems to feel like they need to take care of his every whim and will just because he couldn’t handle himself!

Pearl looks at him, and her expression becomes a little less sure. “That is, if you’d like me to. I understand if you’d prefer to take care of it yourself, I just…”

And heck, he’s made Pearl lost for words. Not what he wants to do.

Steven forces himself to take a deep breath, breathing out the muggy smokiness invading his lungs. “No, it’s okay. If you want to, I’d love to eat your cooking again. It’s been a while.”

Pearl gives him a crooked smile and pulls him into a quick hug. “Excellent! I have so many recipes I’ve been meaning to try out. Maybe you can hang around and be my taste-tester today?”

He’d wanted to start helping the clean-up at Little Homeworld, but he supposes he can wait for an hour or two. For Pearl.

“Yeah. Sounds great.”

Steven convinces Pearl to let him help cook, needing to keep himself occupied. Connie comes down when she wakes up, and the noise of their conversation proves to be enough to rouse his dad.

Amethyst comes in from her room and is ecstatic to see so much food cooking. It takes Steven, Connie and Pearl’s combined efforts to save their breakfast from the voracious gem.

Garnet appears when the food is laid out on the table and makes herself comfortable, Cat Steven sitting in her hair.

Steven sits down with them all, feeling light for the first time in weeks.

/-/

He had eventually managed to sneak away to go to Little Homeworld, but as if she had future vision of her own, Bismuth was waiting at the warp when he arrived.

“You’ve been cleaning up everyone else’s messes for so long, Steven. You can sit this one out,” Bismuth had assured him, ushering him back onto the warp pad and taking him back home herself. He still felt bad, but in the end, he appreciated it.

He still isn’t ready to face everyone after wrecking Little Homeworld.

Tears well up in his eyes. He wipes at them frantically, but it’s no use. He’s been crying with startling frequency, and when he starts, it’s hard to stop.

And lately, when he cries, he is soon comforted. Before the first tear reaches his chin, there are big, multicoloured hands picking him up and carrying him to the couch.

When he’s put down again, he finds himself sat not on well-loved upholstery, but the strangely warm lap of a gem.

It’s way, way too comfortable to sit in Garnet’s lap, cradled in loving arms.

“I’m sixteen, Garnet,” he protests weakly. “You don’t need to- to put me in your lap like this anymore.”

“Nonsense,” Garnet says, giving him a little squeeze, “you’re never too old for affection.”

“Heh. I guess you’re right.” Steven’s voice comes out a little wet, as it often tends to do these days.

“I hope you’re prepared to not move for the next hour,” Garnet adds.

“What?”

A furry warmth climbs into his lap, and Steven is delighted to see Cat Steven making herself at home there.

“Oh.” Steven melts as Cat Steven begins to pur, and he scratches gently behind her ears.

As predicted, they remain that way for an hour before Steven’s tears dry and the void in his chest closes up, at which point Cat Steven stands, stretches, and walks away with a little miaow.

/-/

Connie returns to the house in the afternoon. She’s been spending an hour or so each day at the library, getting in some college prep while she’s away from home. Quite conspicuously, she’s only been studying when Dad or the gems have some kind of activity planned to keep him occupied for that time.

They sit down together for lunch, holding hands over the table, as Connie tells him about how she thinks gem technology defies physics. She asks after Steven’s day, and he tells her about the doctor’s appointment he’s booked and his impromptu cuddle session with Garnet and Cat Steven.

They fall into a comfortable silence, which of course is when Steven’s brain decides to throw everything in his face again. He doesn’t cry this time, but he feels the wrinkles of his frown.

“What is it?” Connie asks.

Steven bites his lip. He doesn’t want to bother her with it. But he can’t keep everything bottled up. If nothing else, he’s learnt his lesson about that.

“It’s just… I’m thinking about what happened. I’m worried that you’re still here. You should go home! I don’t want you to risk your future for me. You need to study, not look after me.”

“Steven, I’m here because I want to be,” Connie says. “Some things are more important than studying. It’s really not going to hurt for me to be here a bit longer. But that’s not all you’re worried about, is it?”

“Yeah. My…” he takes a deep breath, has to accept it, has to say it, “corruption. I really could’ve hurt people. You and Dad, all of the gems. And Beach City, Little Homeworld! I’m- or at least. My powers are dangerous. It’s scary. And I don’t know if I can ever make up for everything I’ve done with them.”

Connie gives him that look. That warm one, where her eyes go all soft, the one she gives because she’s concerned and she loves him and she wants to make everything better. Her other hand comes up to sandwich his own.

“Whatever happens from here,” Connie says slowly, “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. There’s no one, instant way to fix everything, or control your powers, or get better.” She squeezes his hands. Her sword-calloused hands, smaller than his own, are firm and strong.

“I know it was scary, and I understand why you’re scared. But what-ifs won’t help, okay? No one was hurt. The house wasn’t damaged, you didn’t get anywhere near Beach City.

“You can’t change what happened. But you’ve done so much good you shouldn’t ignore, and you can keep doing good. You aren’t alone, and we will never let you feel alone again. We’ve all learnt from this, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure you don’t break down, or become corrupted again.”

Connie looks him in the eye, holding his hand tight. “And if, somehow, things go wrong again? We will make it better. Crystal Gems always find a way.”

The tears come again, and Connie holds him tight as he clings to her.

“Thank you.”

/-/

Steven sits at the table, surrounded by his family.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen from here. He isn’t sure he’ll ever be okay again. He’s terrified he’ll break down again one day, and won’t come back.

The future is a foggy, unknowable mystery ahead of them all. There are still so many questions and uncertainties plaguing him.

But now, Steven’s pretty sure he has the beginnings of the way forward, a start for the answer.

He looks between his family members, so full of compassion and life, looks around the house, adorned by years of soft memories and tough decisions and firm, unending determination. He smiles.

Yeah, Steven’s pretty sure.

The answer… is love.

[yootipweek]

Yootip Week 2019 Day 6 "Perspective"

By Kimione (Yootip Amino)

"It's okay. Thanks for the ride."

His eyes narrowed at her dismissive tone and he couldn't help the raising suspicion that she was lying. He always had a remarkable talent of detecting lies and this intuition had never failed him so far. His eyes followed her receding back, that stubborn set of shoulders, the disheavled hair but the girl didn't even spare him a backward glance.

Kousuke's eyes narrowed to a slit. She was a stubborn person but he wasn't someone who easily gives up either. He wasn't a force to be underestimated. If one thing is true about Kousuke Hirahara, it is that he gets his way once he sets his mind to it.

With a firmer resolve, he swerved the car towards a nearby parking slot and killed the engine. Within moments, he found himself inside the hospital lobby and it didn't take him long to determine that the girl in question was nowhere in sight. He slowly made his way to the reception counter in the rear part of the room where a nursing staff was engaged in a deep conversation with the receptionist, his eyes still scanning the area for a silhouette in black dress.

"Excuse me, but could you tell me where Mr Yoo is currently posted? I've been told that he works the night shift in the capacity of a nursing staff of this hospital." Kousuke queried.

He was momentarily taken aback by the brief gasp that ensued from the man in green scrubs.

"You.. You.. I mean.. How on earth..?!" he sputtered incoherently.

Kousuke frowned. Has he seen this man somewhere? The face did look vaguely familiar but he couldn't quite place it. His patience was already growing thin at his sluggish response. For all he knew, he was wasting valuable time over some incompetent employee.

Thankfully, the receptionist chose that moment to intercede on the nurse's behalf.

"I'm afraid Mr Yoo is on a leave of absence in light of his recent medical condition. It is difficult to say when he'll report back for duty"

Kousuke took a sharp breath.

So he was right all along. The girl is a terrible liar.

He couldn't help the momentary disappointment that surged inside him. She really didn't trust him enough. But again, he couldn't exactly blame her after what had ensued in the hospital hours earlier.

"Can you at least tell me where he's been admitted?" he inquired.

The lady raised an eyebrow at his presumption but smoothly denied the request since it's against the hospital policy.

"That's alright. I understand", Kousuke nodded briefly. Frustration and impatience was waging a war inside him. If only he had managed to convince her in the car. He should have known better. Her pride is like a double edged sword.

Sparing a transitory glance at the other person in the vicinity (who was slowly getting redder with some kind of indignant expression), Kousuke directed his attention to the visual sign board to the right. And his breath caught in his throat. He could have sworn that he saw a trail of black skirt disappearing around the corner.

"If you'll excuse me", he hastily murmured before chasing that brief glimpse. Shin ae still must be feeling quite sluggish to still be around. He rounded the corner to find a stark white corridor paving the way to a set of private rooms. His mind raced, quickly assessing his options as he made his way down the passage in a near frenzy. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. That girl wasn't Shin ae afterall. Frustration engulfed him at the thought of hitting a dead end. He was nearly at the end of the aisle when he heard a familiar voice seeping out through the door ahead. He probably wouldn't even have caught it if it wasn't for the near complete pin drop silence in the vicinity.

To his surprise, the door was partially ajar, letting some light seep in while the rest of the room was plunged in darkness. The girl he was seeking had not even bothered to turn on the lights. Her back was facing the doorway and Kousuke had never seen a more defeated silhouette as Shin ae cried inconsolably over her father's supine profile.

"Who am I kidding? I should have never gone. Everything was supposed to be fine after yesterday night but nothing is! I should have been truthful to you from the start instead of trying to handle things on my own! I should have never gone behind your back to work! You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me! " her cries pierced the still air with a heart wrenching pitch.

"I'm so sorry."

She looked so small and so completely, utterly defeated as her tiny frame rocked with tears and despite Kousuke's every attempt to remain detached and clinical, his heart couldn't help but ache at such a despondent sight. . He clenched his fist as it almost defied logic and wished to reach out to her.

Behind that carefully preserved strong facade, lied a lonely girl who could also crumble easily to pieces. The shoulders that defied even gravity itself were forced to droop down. Hopelessness, despair and loss engulfed her in a tight vice like hold. It's a sad sight to see anyone break, but one as headstrong as Shin ae who faces every challenge head on? The sight is borderline tragic. It felt like a cruel mockery by fate.

She slowly quietened down to incomprehensible sobs as she laid her head on the only family she had in the world, the only person she could count on. Unknowingly to her, there was a shadow enveloping her from behind. A shadow that noticed her in her weakest moment, when she poured out her real self. A shadow that symbolically had her back when she cried herself to sleep, that slowly receded from the room to do some tinkering with the fate itself, for her.

Kousuke drove away that night but his mind was buzzing with words and memories.

"He still has feelings."

"You had me think your son would face backlash from everyone. I couldn't let that happen. Especially if it was due to me in the first place."

"Can't you see your son is uncomfortable?!"

"You took advantage of my situation."

"All this time I thought your son will lose his job because of me."

"But you should talk to him about these things. Let him have a say."

"Would you have given me a job as a favour?"

She had reached out to him in her moment of need and he had proved that her hope was misplaced.

Her words replayed in his mind. She had subjected herself to utter misery so that he could keep his job. She had fought for him, stood up for him when he never even asked her to, when the thought of someone caring for him never even crossed his mind. He had thought that every person has to look out for himself for so long that he himself had forgotten how deeply impactful it is to realise someone cares. No one ever thought he needed that, least of all he himself. Until she came along.

She had tried to shield him in her own way. And it was time that he returned the favour. He could make sure that she's shielded from harm as long as he's out there looking after her from the shadows.

His mind started formulating possible steps to achieve the goal.

A phone just for her. A post right under him. A social help organization.

The rational part of him reasoned that he owed her that much at the least and a small, unreasonable part of him cared enough too.

And knowing Kousuke, he always gets his way when he sets his mind to it.

Fin.

[welllpthisishappening]

To Be Totally Locked Up By You

It’s not a big deal.

So, Clarke and Bellamy are sharing a Spotify account. They share plenty of things already. An apartment. A school. Buying rounds at the bar four blocks away. This is basically the same thing.

Until. Octavia tells them about the playlist. Joint music and both of their listening habits on full display, some ridiculous algorithm that leaves Clarke, quite suddenly, feeling more exposed than ever, sharing emotions and feelings, all set to a soundtrack.

—-

Rating: Teen Word Count: Nearly 8K AN: It’s happening! Admittedly sooner than I expected (I’m still only in season five, but the feelings. I’ve got them) and this is almost too autobiographical to be entirely fair, but I wrote this in like…four hours. So, here it is. Long-time Bellarke fic-reader, first-time Bellarke fic-writer. With lots of thoughts on Bellamy Blake’s curls. Joining a new fandom is exciting and terrifying.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—-

“Why are you and my brother sharing a Spotify account?”

Clarke nearly breaks the pencil in her hand. She lifts her head slowly, not entirely surprised to find Octavia staring expectantly at her, arms crossed tightly enough that it’s very likely doing permanent damage to her ribs. 

Possibly her lungs. 

It’s been a very long time since Clarke took those anatomy classes. 

“Well,” Octavia prompts, one eyebrow arching perfectly. “Yes or no question.” “How did you get in here?” “Did you not hear me come in?”

Clarke makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she can rest her chin on her knees. She’s genuinely impressed with the state of Octavia’s right eyebrow. It appears to be defying gravity. 

She doesn’t really know enough about gravity either. 

Maybe she should make a list of the things she doesn’t know. 

That seems inevitably depressing. 

And Octavia is very clearly not going to move until she gets a response she wants, that stupid eyebrow and a pile of papers resting against her hip. Her phone is just barely hanging on in her back pocket, the soft vibration barely audible over the music coming from Clarke’s laptop speakers and the creaky pipes in their bathroom. 

Bellamy is in the shower. 

Clarke is at least sixty-seven percent positive Octavia planned her ambush that way.

“How do you even know about Bellamy’s Spotify account?” Clarke asks, burrowing further into the corner of the couch. “And seriously, did you pick our lock?” That eyebrow should be studied. 

“I have a key,” Octavia drawls. “Obviously. So, your lock is fine and you can stop trying to deflect the important part of—” “—Why are you here?” Octavia gnashes her teeth, but there’s not really any threat there and Clarke only huffs slightly when she tosses her sketchbook on the coffee table. Because she knows that expression. The phone stops ringing. Only to start again. 

“How many places are you going today?” Clarke asks knowingly, pointing at the open spot next to her. 

There’s another round of huffing and flailing legs, Octavia’s left foot nearly colliding with both of Clarke’s knees, but that’s also impossibly familiar and nearly comfortable and—

“He thinks I should have a wedding cake,” Octavia mumbles. “Like an actual cake. Apparently it’s very historic—” “—Oh my God what an idiot.” “—There’s ancient nonsense involved and something about how that proved you were rich or something—” “—In Rome?” Octavia hums, eyes falling closed like she’s resigning herself to the horrendous ordeal of her older brother buying her a wedding cake. And, really, it’s almost nice. That’s a lie. It’s better than nice and just as expected as Octavia’s flailing limbs. 

Because for as long as Clarke Griffin has known Bellamy Blake, since she met Octavia in an intro to stats class they both hated, she’s known several things about him. 

One, he loves his little sister. More than anything. Two, he likes taking care of people. Octavia, especially, but at some point that also started to include Clarke, which is another nice thing and another vaguely overwhelming thing and—she doesn’t think about that. It is fine. Three, that same protective streak makes him certain he has to do things and provide things and that means driving Octavia crazy with possible wedding ideas. 

And that leads to thing four: he’s an idiot and a nerd in an endearing sort of way that makes Clarke sure he didn’t have to look up that fact about Roman wedding cakes. 

It also makes Clarke smile. 

She ignores whatever happens to Octavia’s face. 

“In Rome,” Octavia echoes. “Anyway that’s what we’re doing. Traipsing around the city and taste-testing cakes and—” “—That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.” “Stop interrupting me, it will not distract me from my ultimate goal.” “Which is?” Octavia props herself up on her elbows, ignoring Clarke’s groan when she moves. “Do you know how expensive real wedding cakes are?” “That feels like a trick question. In Rome or—” Octavia sticks her whole tongue out when she responds, a noise that Clarke is sure will get stuck in her head for the rest of the day, The shower shuts off. 

And Clarke’s mouth doesn’t go dry, per se, but she’s only momentarily worried that everyone in the apartment can hear the way her heart speeds up, falling into rhythm with her perfectly curated Spotify playlist and it hadn’t been much more than a suggestion, a monetary decision that made sense because—

“Jesus fuck Bell, put clothes on!”

Bellamy grins, another shift of eyebrows that Clarke is genuinely starting to resent, rivulets of water falling down either side of his face and dripping towards the towel wrapped around his waist. “Did you break in here, O?” “Used her key apparently,” Clarke mumbles, hoping the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks isn’t obvious. 

Because thing number five Clarke has always know about Bellamy Blake is that she’s kind of..into Bellamy Blake. In a passing sort of way. That’s just happened to linger for years.

It’s his hair. 

It’s far too curly. 

It’s not—it’s more than that, it’s things one through four and a whole slew of other numbers she hasn’t come up with yet and how easy it’s been to live in the same space, both of them looking for roommates at the same time, mixing lives and remembering to buy creamer and always keeping an extra box of strawberry Special K in the back of the cupboard for breakfast-type emergencies, but Clarke likes to lie to herself and—

“Right, right, right,” Bellamy chuckles. “Well, she’s also ridiculously early.” Octavia scowls. “And standing here. Having a conversation you’re not actually a part of. Or invited to.” “Wow. Scathing.” “Do you wander around your apartment naked all the time?” “That’s not what’s happening. Obviously. Also, I live here. Why are you here so early?” “Just super psyched about cake.” “You’ll want to practice that some more before we leave. You might insult the baker in Brooklyn.” “You’re going to Brooklyn?” Clarke balks before she can stop herself, another noise out of Octavia that cannot possibly be good for her throat. 

“The bakery got really good reviews.” “Oh my God you looked up bakery reviews.” Bellamy tilts his head, more drops of water that are equal parts horrible and far too distracting to be fair. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“No, no, I am not even remotely surprised that’s exactly what you did.” Endeared, maybe. Perpetually. But not surprised. 

Clarke doesn’t say that. 

Octavia is far too busy swinging her feet back on the floor, a slightly different look than earlier and Clarke glances down to make sure her stomach hasn’t actually dropped. She’s still retained enough anatomical knowledge to know that it is supposed to stay in her body. 

No drop. 

And yet. 

She can’t stop the butterflies or the nerves that rise up the back of her throat, another expression she’s far too familiar with. 

“Fine,” Octavia snaps. “We will go to Brooklyn. We will taste test all the cakes—there better be hummingbird cake—” “—Who do you think I am, O?” Bellamy mumbles. It gets him a well-deserved eye roll. 

Clarke’s going to bite her lip in half. 

“You and Clarke are sharing a Spotify account!” Bellamy blinks. Once, twice, runs his fingers through his hair and maybe it’s just a Blake thing, this seeming ability to twist their bodies in wholly unnatural ways. “Do you know what that looks like?” “Like I wanted to save a couple bucks a month? So it would be easier to do cake-type things?” “Phrase that differently,” Clarke suggests, but Bellamy just smirks and the towel thing is really starting to become a problem. The whole liking him is becoming a problem. But she’s just as unsurprised that this is what Octavia wanted to talk about as she was that he looked up bakery reviews, so. 

“Also,” Bellamy adds, “Clarke already had Spotify premium. It made sense.” Octavia shakes her head. “You’ve got to live together to be on the same account.”

“I thought we already covered that you have a key to this apartment. The one where Clarke and I live. Together.” “It looks romantic. It looks—” Octavia waves a pair of clearly frustrated hands through the air. “—Domestic. Partnered and, like joint playlists and—” “—You know he gets unlimited skips now, right?” Clarke interrupts, a desperate attempt to end this conversation and, maybe, get Bellamy to put a shirt on. 

“Don’t forget the no ads,” Bellamy grins. “That’s been a godsend.” “What an old sentence. Also, you’re a podcast dweeb.”

“Informed, princess. There’s a difference.” “Yuh huh. Whatever.” “As always, your arguments are well-structured and articulate.” She flips him off. He grins. Octavia makes a noise previously unheard by human ears. 

“You two do know,” she hisses, “that everyone is talking now and—” “—You all need to find a hobby,” Bellamy groans. “And I did not tell you this to make you lose your mind.” Clarke perks up, something in the back of her brain startling at that particular string of words. “You told her?”

“Yeah. I mean—well, I know it’s not a ton of money saved, but it’s something and…” He trails off, dots of color on his face and eyes that are suddenly very preoccupied with the floor. “It was nice of you to offer. So, I looked up Brooklyn.”

The music gets louder. 

Clarke is sure. She’s not sure how, but it seems to swell, the beat settling under her skin and in between her ribs, wrapping around a stomach that refuses to stay where it’s supposed to, flipping and flopping and feeling and, for a moment, she forgets Octavia is there. 

For a moment she smiles at Bellamy and he smiles at her and there’s no smirk, nothing except the way his eyes crinkle slightly, half a head tilt and damp curls falling and it’s good and great and then—

Octavia coughs. Pointedly. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “Well, I think it’s dumb and you guys should opt out of the joint playlist. It’s the absolute worst and definitely embarrassing.” “What?” Clarke asks. 

“Do you not know?” “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Does Bell know about your secret Jonas love?” “What?!” Octavia throws her whole head back when she laughs, a sudden shift of emotion and the water falling off Bellamy’s elbow is starting to leave a small puddle on their floor. “Lincoln and I had it at first,” Octavia explains, “when we got it.” “You don’t think it’s a little hypocritical to be judging our Spotify purchases when you’ve got your own family plan?” Bellamy mutters. Octavia ignores him. “It’s some algorithm or something. I don’t know how it works, only that it takes all the songs you listen to all the time and turns it into a playlist that the entire family can listen to. In this case, that’s you guys. It’s very telling. About you know—you personally.” “I know Clarke personally,” Bellamy reasons. 

“Do you, though?” “I really don’t know how many times we can talk about this apartment.”

“You don’t have to. Because you didn’t know about the Jonas Brothers, did you?” “I really don’t—” “—Exactly,” Octavia says. “Music is...emotional. Certain songs for certain feelings, things that were playing in specific memories. It’s—it’s a whole new avenue to getting a person. Listen to this. Clarke, tell me the truth, how long did you spend making this playlist?” Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. Not long, but it’s all kind of the same theme...Fleetwood Mac, Clapton, Jefferson Airplane. Good music to draw to.” “What’s the name of it?” “Of the playlist?” Octavia nods. Clarke scrunches her nose. “Music to sketch and avoid stress to,” she grumbles. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bellamy’s staring at her. Gaping. Like he’s never seen her and it would be overwhelming even with a shirt on. As it is, Clarke swallows back the emotion taking up residence in the back of her throat, ignoring just how exposed she feels and— “You’re stressed?” he asks softly. 

“Not really. Just end of the quarter and you know parents at the school—always think their kid deserves a better grade and I’ve got meetings all next week. So. It’s—” God, she’s going to kill Octavia. And write a strongly worded letter to Spotify. “I knew you guys were going out today. The music is a lot of my dad’s favorite stuff. Calms me down.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything else, a blessing and the single worst thing in the world, but the ends of his mouth curl up slightly and Clarke should stop looking at his mouth. Octavia grins like she won something. 

“You should put clothes on Bell,” she says. “Don’t want to miss the baker in Brooklyn.” He salutes, all sarcasm and snark, eyes flitting back towards Clarke’s before he and Octavia leave and she lets the playlist repeat three times. He brings her back a slice of cake. 

Octavia texts them both the next day. 

Bellamy grumbles, cursing under his breath about the sanctity of Sundays and Clarke resists the urge to make jokes about the New York Times crossword puzzle or his obsession with finishing it every weekend. 

She reads the text instead. 

Octavia Blake, 11:42 a.m.: I think you guys should stage a bet. A music bet. About the joint playlist. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:43 a.m.: Stop calling it that.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Bellamy murmurs, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. There’s a pen stuck behind each one of his ears. 

Octavia Blake, 11:45 a.m.: No. I won’t. It’s weird and you guys are weird and if you're going to commit to Spotify, then I think you should bet to see who can control the playlist. 

“Don’t answer,” Bellamy suggests. 

Clarke grunts. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:46 a.m.: What kind of bet?

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: You guys can set terms. But basically see who can annoy who first with their musical tastes and seize control of the playlist. 

“Why is your sister so violent at all times?” Clarke asks, but Bellamy just fills in another clue and it’s an admittedly interesting idea. She’s nothing if not perpetually competitive. 

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: One musical genius to rule them all.

She kind of forgets about the bet. 

Or, whatever. 

Clarke’s too preoccupied with those meetings and the Wallace family continues to be the worst family at Mt. Weather, old money and far too many expectations, even for art elective classes that she promises won’t affect your child’s changes at the Ivy League, I swear, and her spine does not appreciate the way she’s sitting in her desk chair. 

She’s got a free period, is seriously considering slumping forward and taking a nap when she hears footsteps moving through her doorway. And Clarke’s got every intention of telling whoever it is to fuck off, but she also knows those footsteps and she can hear a soft beat playing in the background, so her curiosity is piqued. 

“Have you listened to it?” Bellamy asks, brandishing his phone and his tie is a little crooked. 

“What are you doing here?” “Isn’t this the same conversation you had with Octavia?” Clarke rolls her eyes at the same time he drops onto the corner of her desk. She lets out a noise — a warning about paint and half-finished projects she’s got to move to the back of the room, but Bellamy just gives her a steady look and the beat is coming from his phone. “Plus,” he continues, “we just got back from the Museum—” “—Did you geek? “I was a responsible adult figure, princess.” She hums, doing her best to infused as much disbelief into the sound as she can. It’s an old nickname—older than the joint lease and breakfast emergencies, a past Clarke doesn’t always like to think about because they hadn’t always gotten along, but at some point the word had lost its sneer and gained its own look she’s started to covet just a bit. 

She really needs to move those eleventh-grade acrylics. 

“So, like on a scale of one to three-thousand, how much did you geek, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “I’d never been to the Morgan. 3,000 B.C.! They had stuff from 3,000 B.C.! Scrolls and artifacts, actual jewelry. That is—” “—Old?” “Ancient,” he corrects. “Proper ancient.” “I’d give this geek out a two-thousand, six-hundred and forty-seven. Out of the previously discussed three thousand.” “Yeah, that seems about right.”

“And you had a soundtrack to go with it?” Clarke asks, nodding towards the still-musical phone. 

“Kind of. Spotify caught up.” “To?” “Us.” It takes a moment for Clarke to figure out what he means, but then she’s taking a deep breath and trying to remember what she listened to in the last five days. A ridiculous amount of My Chemical Romance. 

It’s been a week. 

“I didn’t peg you for pop punk,” Bellamy laughs. “Or is MCR a different genre? I was never really sure how that worked.” Clarke groans, sliding further down her chair until his smile threatens to stretch the muscles in his face. She can’t flip him off in school. 

“I think, technically, they’re more power punk,” Clarke says. “Or maybe emo—depending on what album the algorithm picked up on.” “What have you been listening to more of?” “Mostly Welcome to the Black Parade on loop.” “Is it Wallace? All your stress and—am I missing out on jam sessions?” “God, not if you call them that,” Clarke exclaims. He blushes again. She may make a list of all the times she can get Bellamy to blush. “But kind of. You’ve had those Model UN meetings after school, so I’ve been blasting music when I get home. I think Pike’s going to rat me out to the super eventually.” “Yeah, well, he’s a dick neighbor. So.” “And my options are limited. No scream-singing in the car when I take the Subway every day.” “You could start singing on the Subway.” Clarke chuckles, sitting up a little straighter. Her spine appreciates it. “Showtime on the downtown six.” “You might be able to make some money. Learn how to flip on the polls.” “I’d donate it to your cake fund. Also, did you call them MCR?” “Is that not right? O went through a very serious Hot Topic phase when she was in high school and I remember some of the lingo, so—” “—You are seriously the oldest man alive.” “Who’s your favorite Jonas Brother?” Clarke scoffs, the song changing and she doesn’t think it’s one of hers. “Frank Ocean?” “A genius.” “You know we don’t have to do this. The sharing playlist thing. It’s—well, O was being crazy, especially with that bet idea, and there’s got to be a way to opt out of it.” “Do you want to opt out of it?” The question seems to hang in the air around them. 

And Clarke isn’t sure why it sounds impossibly important, like some line they’re crossing and can’t come back from, but she can’t shake the feeling or the admittedly lyrical genius of Frank Ocean. She turns the music up. 

“It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” Bellamy asks. “Seeing what changes it picks up on and how the playlist evolves with what we’re into.” “Please stop talking about the playlist like it’s a sentient being.” “Fair, fair. But, uh—what do you say?” “To?” His fingers find the back of his hair, pushing curls away from his eyes and he’d left earlier than her that morning. That explains the glasses. He only wears his glasses when he’s tired. 

Clarke knows that. 

She knows...a lot about Bellamy. And not. Nothing about Frank Ocean, at least. 

She’d like to. 

She likes Frank Ocean. 

She loves—

“If we only listen to the playlist, we’re not going to change it,” Clarke points out. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.” “At the risk of giving O any credit, it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? That we keep listening to our own music during the day or night or whatever, but when we’re coming home from school we listen to the joint playlist. See what happens with it.”

“And are we trying to influence the playlist?” “That’s up to you, I guess.”

“Yeah, ok. Try to influence the playlist, see what we can force the other person to listen to and—” He tilts his head, a forced casualness that makes Clarke widen her eyes. “—Whoever eventually seizes control of the playlist with the majority of their songs by...O and Lincoln’s wedding wins.” “Wins? Wins what?” “I don’t know. Something at home. Or one of us can just pay for the other’s Spotify account.”

Clarke twists her lips, considering it. Bellamy’s eyebrows fly up expectantly. “Yeah, ok. We judge the playlist based on what we hear when we’re leaving school.” “Makes sense. And what happens if we leave school together? You going to share headphones with me?”

“Only if you’ll join my showtime brigade.” “Good name.” “Is that a yes?” He grins — another one of hers, which is vaguely possessive and a little insane, but Clarke’s heart is doing its best to beat its way out of her chest as well, so she figures the whole thing is kind of a wash at this point. “I will definitely join your showtime brigade,” Bellamy promises. “If only because I’m pretty confident in my ability to flip from the top bars.” “No you’re not.” “I’ve got upper-body strength you couldn’t even imagine.”

“Sure, sure. When do we start with our musical experiment?” “Today.” “Today?” “Today,” Bellamy repeats, as students start to file into the hallway and Clarke’s not all that upset with how her free period turned out. “I will pick you at exactly 3:15, Ms. Griffin. Be prepared for an introduction in modern classics. And 90s hip hop.” “I’m going to listen exclusively to pop punk for the rest of the week.” “May the algorithms ever be in your favor.”

“Idiot,” she calls, but he’s already walking away and none of her students look remotely surprised.

Raven slides the glass across the bar without a word. She doesn’t have to use words. Her face is judgmental enough. 

Clarke sighs. “What?” “Did I say anything?” “Did you have to?”

Raven waggles a finger, more opinions and very obvious thoughts and Clarke knew it was only a matter of time. She blames intro to stats. It’s how she met Octavia, after all. Which is how she met Bellamy, which is how their friends group grew and evolved and there’s been good and bad and this bar and she’s fairly certain Raven has a very detailed bet with both Monty and Murphy about her and Bellamy. 

They all know about the Spotify playlist. 

“I guess not,” Raven admits. “Has anyone ever told you that your psychic tendencies are both terrifying and impressive?” “Not in so many words, no.” “What about your weird flirting rituals?” Clarke downs the drink — not sure if it’s actually meant for her and not worried either way. It burns the back of her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thump, right next to her ever-expanding knowledge of Bellamy’s musical taste and his determination to shift the playlist. He’s been listening to nothing except It’s Tricky radio for the past three days. 

She’s got to figure out how to fix this. 

On several levels. 

“It’s not flirting,” Clarke argues. “Or a ritual. That’s weird.” “You’re telling me.” “Buy me another drink.” “No,” Raven says. “Tell me about the ritual.” “Stop calling it that!” Clarke’s voice rises of its own accord, drawing more than a few curious glances and Bellamy looks up from where he’s talking to Lincoln and Octavia. She smiles. She doesn’t mean to. 

Raven cackles. 

“Oh God,” she mumbles, the words barely that, “so, how screwed are you? Like ballpark.” “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Have you figured out that he secretly loves the Goo Goo Dolls?” “How do you know that?” “You don’t?” “Oh my God,” Clarke groans. 

Raven reaches a hand out, a move that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but feels far too heavy when it lands on Clarke’s forearm. “Slow down on the liquor, Griffin. You’re a lightweight. And I know that because the one night I was there—don’t make that face.” Clarke definitely makes a face. She’s a little buzzed. Cage Wallace is setting up a meeting with the school board. About her art classes. “Anyway,” Raven adds, “I was kind of...looking to get out of there quick, but he had music playing and—” “—He played music while you guys were hooking up?” “Nah, he let me shower. He was reading.” “Oh my God.” “Anyway. I don’t think he knew that I could hear the music and it was definitely an entire Goo Goo Dolls album. Straight through. Not even a mix.” “Huh.” “You act like you’re not fascinated by that.” “Should I be?” Clarke questions, but it’s another badly formed lie and the energy under her skin is starting to make her restless. 

Raven nods. “Yes. Eventually that’s going to show up on the playlist too. I know. Or you could ambush him with the Goo Goo Dolls.” “What a sentence.” “Matchbox Twenty?” “Those are two different bands.” “Similar genres,” Raven reasons, Clarke waving down Miller for another round of something, anything. “And I’m trying to help you, here. Rule the playlist, rule the world, right?” “Or at least part of our roommate budget.” “Say roommates again like you don’t want to make out with his face.” “Jeez.” “Not an objection,” Raven points out at the same time Miller decides to show up. Clarke does her best to melt. It does not work. 

“It is not,” Miller adds. “And—just in case you were looking for some more information. He’s been asking about your musical tastes too.” Maybe Clarke is drunk. 

She wishes.

“Why?” “Search me,” Miller admits. “But a lot of it seemed to revolve around your favorite Jonas.” Clarke refuses to look at Raven for the rest of the night. 

It goes. Days, weeks, the rest of April. 

The music keeps on playing. Or, whatever. 

She listens to more My Chemical Romance. Bellamy goes through a pretty serious ten-day spiral over Weezer that leads them both down some 90s-alt rabbit hole, both of them bobbing in rhythm while they do the dishes on a Thursday night. 

At one point Octavia threatens to ruin it all, grabbing Clarke’s phone while they’re at the bar and announcing, “I am getting married, so I pick the music.” It ends with Carly Rae Jepsen on loop and a playlist that refuses to recover for the next two days. 

Clarke comes home to Bellamy humming Run Away With Me while he folds laundry in the living. She spends no less than five seconds processing that before she starts matching socks. 

They play the song fourteen times in a row. 

He counts. 

And she learns things. Raven had been right about the Goo Goo Dolls and Clarke girts her teeth when Bellamy asks “why are there so many Frozen songs on here now,” but that leads them to debating the merits of twisting traditional mythologies in Disney movies until Monty tells them to “shut up and drink.”

So, they do. 

And then, May happens. 

It’s not that Clarke often finds herself stressed enough to burst into tears as soon as she closes the apartment door behind her, but her stomach is churning and between self-important parents at school and her own parents—parent, singular—she’s an emotional, exhausted mess and—

“Oh, shit,” she sighs, sliding onto the floor. She hasn’t listened to the playlist all week. And she knows Bellamy won’t really care, but Clarke has started to depend on the structure and the ever-increasing knowledge and while she might not admit it, Arcade Fire probably would have done a pretty good job of psyching herself up for an afternoon with her mom. 

As it is, Clarke spent the better part of the last six hours listening to backwards compliments and questions about that school of yours and not-so-humble brags about the cardiac center at Lenox Hill and the “opportunities you passed up, sweetheart.”

That sentence played on loop in Clarke’s head the entire train ride home. 

She sniffles, a quick lip of suddenly dry lips because she’s started breathing out of her mouth too and—

“Clarke?” Her head bumps the door when she snaps it up, Bellamy standing there with curls that desperately need to be cut and glasses and he’s wearing socks. It makes Clarke’s pulse speed up and slow down at the same time. 

She’s very glad she’s not a doctor. 

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, rushing into her space and there are already tears on her cheeks. She hates that. Bellamy drops in front of her, knees cracking and a hand on her shoulder, staring at her like she’s going to fall apart or break in half and neither is true. Clarke is just mad. 

Pissed off, really. 

She’s angry at her mom and the cardiac center with its looming benefit, Clarke’s lack of a date some black mark on the whole thing, apparently, far too many veiled suggestions that her own choices are less structured and real, because Clarke has made her own choices since she was eighteen and hated stats and she’s got a schedule and she can’t believe she forgot about the playlist. She’s harping on that. “And how was the esteemed Dr. Griffin today?” Bellamy asks knowingly. Clarke isn’t sure what sound she makes at that, but it might just be the audible version of gratitude, and he grins. 

Exactly like she wants him to. 

“Chock-full of opinions as always.” “Mmhm, I figured. You want to talk about it?” “Not really. She just—” Clarke grits her teeth, fighting against another wave of disappointment and could have been and every one of her muscles tightens when Bellamy’s lips ghost over her forehead. 

That’s absurd. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. Or her. Quick displays of affection when things went well or things went bad and she can remember every single one. Which, honestly, is pretty telling, but she spent most of the day lying to her mom. 

This shouldn’t be any different. 

This is the complete opposite. 

“Go ahead,’ Bellamy mutters. 

“She’s just—God, Bell, she’s the worst and she’s so positive she’s right and I’m wrong, but she doesn’t even have the decency to really tell me I’m wrong and—” Clarke runs out of air. Bellamy brushes away the tears on her cheeks. “They’ve got this gala coming up and she wants me to come. She’s getting an award.” “Prestigious.” “Self-absorbed,” Clarke corrects. “The hospital she works at is awarding her for her work at the same hospital. I know it shouldn’t get to me. I do, but she kept talking, like she was going down a list of make Clarke feel like garbage and—” “—You don’t deserve to feel like garbage, princess.”

“Tell me mom that.”

“Here, give me your phone.” Clarke’s skull can’t cope with much more of this, but there’s an earnest edge to his voice that she’s never heard before and her phone suddenly feels impossibly heavy in her pocket. She pulls it out, willing her fingers not to tremble. 

It takes him exactly twelve seconds to start playing music.

There’s no Arcade Fire. No Goo Goo Dolls or 90s hip hop. 

“Fleetwood Mac?” Clarke whispers, Bellamy’s soft hum of agreement in her ear and she’s sure, eventually, they’ll get up. She’s not in a rush. “If you play Landslide,” Clark warns, “I will cry even more.”

“I can cope with that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds like another thing in a way that things shouldn’t be things. Not with roommates and weird bets and—“You know I do have some rhythm. I could...if you don’t want to show up to this thing by yourself.” Clarke doesn’t pull her head off his shoulder. She’s not sure when her head landed on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” “It wouldn’t suck so bad.” “That's not true at all.” “I’m serious. We could make fun of people. Come up with ridiculous backstories. Wow them with our Fred and Ginger ways.” “You sound very confident in your dancing talent.” He kisses the top of her hair. 

“That’d be nice,” Clarke says, voice a little scratchy and she’s not sure if that’s because of the day or the week or how goddamn comfortable his shoulder his. “And you’re going to ruin the playlist algorithm with this.” “I’ll live.” “Good.”

Dr. Abby Griffin’s eyes get very wide when Clarke and Bellamy show up at Gotham Hall. 

They dance. They drink undoubtedly expensive champagne. They dance some more. 

She smiles. 

A lot. 

And Bellamy doesn’t ask before handing Clarke one side of his headphones as soon as they slide into the Uber back home, her eyes fluttering shut while the music drowns out the sounds of the city on their way home. 

She gets really annoyed with him one week and plays the original Broadway cast recording of Cats every night while she’s asleep. 

He hates that she can’t ever remember to turn the AC off when she leaves the apartment. So, he plays Bizet from Carmen every time she walks in for a four-day stretch. 

It takes another two days for the playlist to realize neither one of them is mad anymore.

At some point around Memorial Day they both realize they love Ben Folds. 

Bellamy plays a ridiculous fake piano. 

Clarke sings the Regina Spektor parts on all their duets. 

They blast Killer Queen on a Saturday afternoon in June after Cage Wallace’s kid graduates. 

Clarke stands on the couch, hands thrown in the air and something akin to joy leaping up her spine, Bellamy shouting lyrics from the kitchen while he blends...something. 

It presumably has alcohol in it. 

Or, more alcohol. 

It’s a celebration. 

And it doesn’t take long for Pike to start banging on their shared well, but neither of them move to to turn own the music, just sing louder. Bellamy grins when Clarke throws a pillow at the wall, shouting “take that dick,” like Pike can hear them over Freddie Mercury. 

She almost falls over. 

It is...patently stupid and inherently romantic and Bellamy is impossibly solid behind her, cotton t-shirt not doing much to distract from the planes of his chest and—

“What was that about upper body strength?” she breathes.

Bellamy laughs into her shoulder blade, nosing at the top of her shirt, and there must be hair in his face, but he doesn’t seem all that upset by it, which is only messing with her head a little bit. His fingers splay across her hip, tugging Clarke back to the floor. 

His glasses are falling down the bridge of her nose. 

Clarke presses up on her toes, suddenly aware of how much bigger he is than her and how clear his eyes are when he looks at her — more earnest energy and a flick of his tongue between his lips, like he’s waiting for whatever she does next and only a little impatient. 

“A solid save.” Bellamy barks out a laugh, head falling close to Clarke’s, and it takes everything in her not to card her fingers through his hair. That lasts about four seconds. 

If even. 

Her calves are still aching, but she doesn’t back down and she doesn’t think and for one of those four seconds she’s absolutely positive Bellamy is going to kiss her. He doesn’t blink, just stays impossibly still, except for the flutter of his fingers and the way they push under the hem of her shirt and—

“Turn your fucking music down!”

They both jump back, like they’ve been shocked, Clarke wincing when her legs slam into the front of the couch. 

“Are you ok?” Bellamy asks, but she’s already nodding and any sense of joy has rather quickly morphed into something much worse. Regret. That’s the word for it. 

She’s neither a doctor nor an English teacher. 

“Fine, fine,” Clarke stammers. “I, uh—I’m going to turn the music down, ok?”

“Nah, Clarke—fuck that guy, c’mon, it’s…” “It’s really loud, Bell.” He’s setting a record for not blinking, she’s sure. He stares at her—a little appraising and just a hint wary, the moment drifting away as the song fades out. Clarke swallows. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy agrees. It still doesn’t sound like the words he’s saying. “What do you think about celebratory David Bowie?” “Good call. You going to keep mixing?” “10-4, princess.”

“Idiot.” He grins, a quick twist of eyebrows and squeeze of his hand, but Clarke can’t help to think that the end of the school year may also be the end of something else. 

Octavia’s getting married in two weeks. 

Her dress is blue. 

And it makes her boobs look great, which Clarke isn’t focused on, but Raven’s mentioned it enough that eventually she agrees and she’s happy. 

Octavia is getting married. 

It’s sunny. It’s warm. There’s already music playing, soft and melodic outside the door where they’re waiting, Raven’s far-too-knowing stare boring into the back of Clarke’s head. 

“Don’t do that,” she warns, and she doesn’t have to turn to know Raven rolls her eyes. 

“I’m still not saying anything.” “Again, you didn’t have to.” “The experiment ends today, right?” “You say that like you don’t know. “And what did we learn?” Clarke turns around. It’s a mistake, she knows, but part of her has also been dreading today, which is pretty fucked up. All things considered. Octavia looks gorgeous. 

She’s got a five-dollar bet with Murphy that Bellamy will cry. 

Bellamy’s definitely going to cry. 

“You’re supposed to learn something in an experiment,” Raven says. “Even one as weird as this one. With all its flirting. You seriously haven’t made out with him yet?” “No.” Raven crows, Clarke grimacing at the admission that isn’t really that because everyone knows and she’s always known and—she bets he looks very good in his tuxedo. “Oh, god you’re an idiot,” Raven exhales. “But seriously, did you learn things? That he—”

“Yes to the Goo Goo Dolls. Slide is a very predictable favorite, but it’s been on the playlist since the get. He knows way more lyrics than he should. O had a pop punk phase too and he’s way too confident in his own rhythm, but sometimes he’s good at dancing. His mom used to listen to a lot of ballads and Karen Carpenter makes him feel emotions, but mostly at Christmas, so that hasn’t really affected the playlist and—what? You’re doing that thing with your face.” “Am I just?” “Nothing’s going to change, Rae,” Clarke cuts in. “We’re going to keep our musical preferences and our separate playlists and one of us will pay for no ads.” “Seriously, tell him how much you want to kiss him.”

“Shut up.”

And the photographer sounds like he’s on his way back. With Octavia. Who certainly does not want to hear about Clarke’s unrequited feelings for her brother. On her wedding day. 

Priorities, Clarke’s got them. 

“We had some fun and—well, O was kind of right. It was like getting a chance to…” “See into his music-loving soul?” “I really like Arcade Fire now.” Raven hums noncommittally and Clarke can practically hear the gears in her mind turning, but she’d been right about the photographer and maybe they’ll all just cry over Octavia. 

She’s beaming. 

And there will be hummingbird cake at this reception. 

“You guys ready?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke nods, ignoring Raven’s expression. “Definitely.”

He cries. 

Clarke gets five dollars. 

She doesn’t have any pockets in her dress. 

That feels like a sign. 

Strictly speaking, Clarke hasn’t been to too many weddings. A family friend when she was a kid. Her mom’s. This one. 

And yet. 

She’s positive that this is the most beautiful wedding she’s ever been to or could ever go to and part of that is because of the music and part is because of how often she’s noticed Bellamy smiling and most of it is because he keeps glancing her way. 

It’s a very blue dress. 

She’s still holding a five-dollar bill. 

And there is a whole schedule — toasts and more tears, posing for photos and ignoring the way her stomach flutters when she spends an inordinate amount of time glancing Bellamy’s direction. Octavia laughs. She and Lincoln flit from table to table, a hint of tradition in a wedding that is still them and this family and—

“You want to dance?” She’s sitting at the head table, a glass of half-finished champagne in front of her and they haven’t cut the cake yet, but Clarke figures that's soon. Bellamy doesn’t blink. Again. One side of his mouth tugs up, fluttering his fingers in her space until she feels her own smile stretch and maybe her stomach should just be studied. 

There’s color on Bellamy’s cheeks. 

Clarke never got around to making that list. 

“Don’t leave hanging, princess,” Bellamy says. “They’re playing good music.”

He’s not wrong. 

It is good music. It’s...oddly familiar music. And Clarke had been too happy to really notice it before, but now that she’s listening, she hasn’t heard anything that’s not hers and—

“Oh my God, you idiot.” He laughs. Loud. And honest. And one-hundred percent hers. The sound sinking into the very center of her, where everything else she’s ever loved has taken root, a foundation for the rest of it, for all of it, for a family. 

A Spotify premium family plan. 

“You keep complimenting me like that and—” “—Did you do this?” “Did I do what?”

Her hand finds his, warm fingers and slightly callused skin. Clarke can’t stop shaking her head. It’s absurd. It’s vaguely romantic. 

“Is this…” she starts, but Bellamy smirks and she’s a lost cause. 

In a far more romantic sort of way. 

She jumps up, closing the already minimal amount of space between them and, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. He might still be smirking. Clarke can feel the curve of his lips as soon as hers land on them, a little cautious at first, but that lasts about one verse of whatever Jonas Brothers song is playing and then it’s all mingled breaths and an arm slung around his shoulders, fingers in his hair and the sudden swipe of his tongue. 

Clarke arches her back, desperate to feel as much of him as she can, like that will ground her or remind her that it’s really happening. 

He tilts his head, changes angles and cups her face. It’s soft and bruising and a perfect contradiction that leaves her pushing up further in her heels, pulling on Bellamy’s curls until he groans against her and she’s going to think about that on loop for the rest of the night. 

The room spins. 

Clarke’s only seventy-two percent certain she’s not the one spinning. 

It doesn’t seem to end. They don’t seem to end. She can’t tell where his hands stop, moving across the expanse of her back and tracing across skin, as if he’s memorizing every shift, every way she rocks against him, trying to fill the space with him and them and— “Oh my God, finally,” Octavia cries. 

Clarke snickers, Bellamy’s head dropping to the curve of her jaw, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Still smirking. “Huh,” he muses. “Look at that.” “Don’t be smug,” Clarke chides. “I’m wooing you, was that not obvious?” She leans back, expecting a wholly confident expression, only to be met with something slightly hopeful and a little young and yearning and, really, the only thing to do is kiss him. Again. So, she does. Again. 

And it’s good and great and exactly what she thought it would be when she thought about this, far more often than she ever would admit to. 

But it’s also...something else. It’s the perfect chord and a well-constructed bridge and the song she wants to play on repeat forever, a favorite she knows she won’t get sick of, until the melody finds its way into her memory and her. 

Full stop. 

“Yeah, it was,” she whispers. “Is this—” “You know when you first offered to go half on this premium thing, I really was in it for the money.” “It’s like an extra ten bucks a month,” Miller yells. Both Octavia and Raven swat at his side.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy admits, “But I wanted to help O and I was sure this would help and then the playlist thing came up and I just—” He shrugs, another brush of his fingers over Clarke’s arm. “—Well, it was...you know you hum under your breath? Constantly. Every song. Even the ones you said you didn’t like. And you’ve got drawing playlists and I can’t believe how strongly you feel about All Time Low.” “They’re good,” Clarke shouts. More than a few members of the peanut gallery let out exasperated sighs. 

Bellamy kisses her hair. “I know. I know. And that’s been—the first time O talked about you, I figured you were some uptight—” “—Am I still being wooed? I am a fun person!” “Let me finish. You were old money and plans and structure and I thought I had to hate you on principle. But then. Clarke, you’re—ok, yeah, you like some structure and plans, but there’s so much more and it’s...every single time you start dancing to David Bowie I think I love you a little more.”

She’s not sure what sound she makes. 

An exhale and a sigh and a give — into the feelings and the want and he’s not done. 

“So, uh, it hasn’t been easy. It took a lot of repeat plays. But yeah, to answer your question. This is the playlist and it’s our playlist, with...mostly your music because—” He scrunches his nose. It makes the freckles more obvious. “You’ve gotten under my skin, princess. So has your music. And the Frozen soundtrack isn’t that bad.” “Get that in writing,” Octavia demands. 

“Shut up, O,” Bellamy grumbles. She flips him off. The photographer takes a picture. “Anything to add?” he asks, an undercurrent of misplaced nerves that she doesn’t understand at first. She hasn’t said anything back. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s—” she starts, shaking her head and she kisses him before she answers. Third time’s the charm, or something. "I love you too.”

There are cheers. And louder music. A ridiculous bass line and shutter snaps and—

“We going to dance?” “Did I not ask first?” Clarke hums, already tugging him towards the floor and she’s got high hopes of his hand never leaving hers. For the rest of the night. If not longer. “Semantics,” she says. “C’mon, this is definitely a good song.”

Her favorite Jonas Brother is Joe. 

She tells him while they’re tugging clothes off, stumbling down the hallway of their apartment. 

“Don’t mention that again.” “10-4,” Clarke laughs, but the words get caught between them and she very quickly forgets about anything other than the noise Bellamy makes when she moves her hands into his hair. 

They never opt out of the family playlist. 

And it takes a few weeks for the algorithm to catch up, but eventually it’s a pretty even split, his and hers and theirs, all perfectly curated in replayable format.