#or dare i say like a weird house cat that stares at you wide eyed down a dark hallway at 3am

[grimdarkmatt]

my gender these days is just “a creature of a man” and honestly, loving that.

[hq-cuties-pls]

THE LOVE SCRATCHES SCENARIO WITH TSUKKI, SUGA, KAGEYAMA, IWAZUMI, AND AKAASHI? PLEASE AND THANK

We have decided to combine these two asks because there is a lot of overlap. Please enjoy the final hours before Haikyuu’s Return!~The Admins 

—–

Tsukishima: 

“Tsukki…” Yamaguchi shot him a wry smile from the other side of the club room. He nodded at Tsukishima’s back, indicating the mirror with a flicker of his eyes. 

“Oh, shit…” Tsukishima ran his hands over the deep, vivid scratches on his back. 

“You and ___ have a good time last night?” Yamaguchi shot him a wry look out the corner of his eye. His smile was borderline smug, and the way he ruffled his short bangs in the mirror was definitely an attempt to bait him. 

It worked. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he growled, yanking his practice shirt on with perhaps a little too much force. 

“Mm-hm.” Yamaguchi shrugged, taking a seat to wrap his sprained ankle. “Whatever you say.”

 Tsukishima had never been more thankful for getting in the habit to show up first for practice, because he didn’t even want to think about what Kageyama or Hinata would say about all this. He’d talked to you about it, but in the moment, when you were under him and arching beautifully and blissed out and delirious, well… let’s just say he was a little distracted. 

“When did you turn into such a shit?” Tsukishima tugged his shirt down as if in effort to further conceal his back, smoothing carefully over the tender bits. 

“Once I was made Captain. I never knew why Daichi-san and Ennoshita-san were the way they were. Now I know it’s less a sports team and more a colony of feral cats. But I’m getting used to it.” 

“That’s good.”

“Just like I’m getting used to you and ____ and evidence of you two getting frisky.” Yamaguchi kicked at his hip with his good leg. “Seriously, you need to cut it out. What if the children saw? What if Yacchan saw?” 

“If Yachi-san is in here, then that means someone has had a stroke and no one is paying attention to my sex scratches.” Tsukishima neatly dodged Yamaguchi’s attack. “Seriously, Yamaguchi, you need to stop with the protective Dad schtick. You’re worse than Sawamura-san.” 

Yamaguchi scowled; “Just for that, I’m encouraging Hinata to slap your back later. As hard as he can. And you’ll deserve it.” 

Suga: 

“BWAH! Su-suga-senpai! What… what happened?!” 

Suga absently followed Hinata’s gaze, reminded of the evidence of your weekend alone with him on his back. He shrugged, trying to pass off the minor wince of pain as one of his shit-eating grins; “Oh, nothing. A Kitten got to me, is all.” 

“A kitten?” Kageyama poked his head out of his sweater, looking almost comically innocent. Suga hated to ruin it… almost. “Did you get a cat, senpai?”

Suga shrugged, his smile sharpening as he fought the ugly cackles that threatened to come out; “You could say that…”

Daichi groaned; “Oh, my god, Suga, Kitten is ____’s pet name, isn’t it. Don’t you fucking lie to me, you pervert.” 

“Such language, Daichi!” Suga put his hand over his (bare) chest in a pretense of scandal. “And in front of the children!”

“Says the guy who came into practice with SEX SCRATCHES? Suga, we talked about this–no marks in front of the kouhai!”

Asahi chose that moment to chime in, rubbing at his eyes like he had a migraine coming in; “And there goes all pretense of plausible deniability.” 

Suga packed up his neatly-folded school uniform, zipping into his team jacket with a definitive and sharp movement; “Bold of you to assume I ever had deniability. Besides, I said nothing. Daichi’s the one who outed me as a deviant.” 

“You are a deviant.” Daichi shot a narrow look at him, even if whatever rage may or may not be coming from him was basically nonexistent. “Why are you like this?” 

“Have to maintain my status as the pretty one, don’t I?” Suga ran a hand through his bangs, checking the tiny mirror on the wall before sauntering out. 

“How did anyone ever think you were Karasuno’s angel?” Daichi called after him.

Suga answered with a shrug, followed by a wince–you’d really done a number on him, regardless of how satisfying it was to aggravate Daichi’s Housewife Instincts.

Kageyama: 

“Hey, Kageyama! Nice sex scratches!”

“Hm?” Kageyama peeked over his shoulder at the long, bright red scratches running down his back. He scowled. “Those aren’t sex scratches. They’re cat scratches.” 

“Oh wow, that was a weak excuse, even for you, King,” Tsukishima said, pushing his dumb sports glasses higher up his face. “Sure those are cat scratches, and Tanaka-senpai is top of his class.” 

“Oi!” It was Tanaka-senpai’s turn to scowl. “That sounded like disrespect, Tsukishima.” 

“It was disrespect, Tanaka, keep up,” Ennoshita-senpai added. 

“RIP Ryuu,” Noya said with a smirk. “Don’t mind, don’t mind.”

“I feel like we’re getting off topic,” Kinnoshita said. “Suga-senpai is going to be heartbroken he missed this.” 

“The baby is growing up.” Narita wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Kageyama went and got himself laid all on his own.” 

“What…” Kageyama blinked, unsure why the conversation was steering in this direction. ‘Laid?’ Like… laid down? Like a nap? “I don’t… yeah, I laid down at ____’s house and that’s how Tama got me.”

“Tama?” Hinata tilted his head, looking a bit like Tama when you opened a can of tuna fish. “Is Tama your weird pervy nickname for ____?” 

“No! He’s ____’s cat, you idiot!” 

“Ah.” Yamaguchi shrugged. “Seems he’s sticking with the cat scratches story.” 

“They are cat scratches!” 

“Sure, sure.” Yamaguchi patted his back, which just hurt… like a lot. “Come on, Kageyama. Get dressed. We won’t bother you about your…ah… “cat scratches” again.”

Kageyama scowled as he watched his teammates file out of the club room. Why did no one believe him about his cat scratches!? He’d have to ask you about it later…maybe you understood why everyone was laughing about it.

Iwaizumi: 

He should have known better.

He really, really should have known better. 

He’d even thought about it last night–he’d made sure you didn’t leave any marks that would show above the neck of a t-shirt, and he’d made a mental note not to change with the rest of the team.

A mental note that he completely forgot about until he’d gotten his shirt of and Oikawa let out a shriek.

“I-IWA-CHAN! MY EYES!”He dramatically slapped a hand over his eyes, covering them. “My poor, virginal eyes! How could you–no, how dare you besmirch this sacred space with your sex scratches!”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes, heaving a sigh and resigning himself to wait until Oikawa got it out of his system.

“Wait, sex scratches? For real?” Hanamaki said, and Iwaizumi groaned. Of course. Of course it wouldn’t be enough for Oikawa to see. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were like hounds on the scent, and once they got wind of it, they were never going to drop it. 

“Niiiice, vice-captain,” Matsukawa drawled. “She really got you good. Never took you for the kinky type, Iwaizumi.”

“MAKKI! MATTSUN! How dare you encourage this–this perversion in our sacred club room!”

“Ah, yes,” Hanamaki said, “The baked-in smell of sweat and dust. The pinnacle of sacredness, I’m sure.”

“The disrespect,” Oikawa said with a dramatic flair of his hand. “What about our kouhai, Iwaizumi? What kind of example are you setting for them?”

“D-don’t worry about us, captain!” Kindaichi said, though his cheeks and ears were bright, flaming red. “I mean, what Iwaizumi-senpai and ___-chan do in their spare time is none of our business, right?” 

“EXACTLY!” Oikawa shrieked. “None of our business. So he shouldn’t–shouldn’t make it our business by coming in here with his… his sex scratches!”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” Matsukawa said with a wicked grin.

“I–WHAT?! Mattsun, how dare you imply–I would never–I… you… GAH!” 

Oikawa, now red-faced himself, pulled his t-shirt forcefully over his head and stalked out of the room in a huff. As he left, he shouted over his shoulder–

“ANYONE NOT DRESSED AND ON THE COURT IN THE NEXT MINUTE IS DOING DIVING DRILLS!” 

Akaashi:

“Wow, Akaashi, your cat got you really good!” Bokuto said, staring wide-eyed at Akaashi’s bare back. 

Akaashi blinked twice, looking to the side and clutching his shirt in his hands. 

“Wait…”  Bokuto said, frowning. “You don’t have a cat. Did you get a cat?”

“N-no, Bokuto-san, I–”

“Oh! Does ___ have a cat?”

“No, she–”

“AKAASHI, WAS IT A STRAY?” Bokuto asked, grabbing Akaashi’s arms. “That’s really bad, you should go to the doctor! What if it had rabies?”

“Rabies was eliminated in Japan, like, 30 years ago,” Komi said, biting down a delighted smirk. “Don’t worry, Bokuto, I’m sure Akaashi is being safe. Right, Akaashi?”

“Y-yes!” Akaashi said, his cheeks flushing.

“Oh, so you went to the doctor?” Bokuto said.

Komi snorted into his fist, and Konoha slapped his hand against his forehead. 

“No,” Akaashi said, scrubbing a hand over his forehead. “Bokuto-san, there was no cat.”

“I–wha?”

“You see, captain,” Komi said, slapping a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, “when two people love each other very much…”

“It was ____, Bokuto-san. _____ left the scratches, okay?” Akaashi said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Now, if it’s alright, I suggest we start practice.”

Bokuto stared blankly for long enough that it became genuinely concerning. Akaashi could almost hear that weird, scratchy dial-up sound.

Konoha laughed; “I didn’t realize it was possible for a human being to Blue Screen, but wow, Bokuto continues to surprise.” 

A solid 15 or 20 seconds later, Bokuto exploded into the most brilliant blush ever seen in nature, sputtering dramatically as he tried to shove his head through the arm hole of his t-shirt. 

“Ah…” Komi said with a shrug. “And there he is. Really, Akaashi-kun, you should do something to protect his innocence. He isn’t ready for that.”

“My apologies,” Akaashi replied with a small smirk. “I’ll try to get ____ to be less…affectionate next time.”

Semi:

“I see you have been enjoying your… extracurricular activities, Semi,” Ushijima said in his usual near-monotone.

Semi stared back at him, his brow creasing. “I–I’m not in any other extracurriculars, though? Just volleyball. I mean–I am enjoying that, I guess?” He blinked in confusion, but Ushijima’s ever-stoic face gave nothing away.

“Eita-kuuun,” Tendou crowed, popping up over Semi’s shoulder. “I think Wakatoshi-kun was making a joke.” A catlike smirk spread across his face, and then one of his long fingers jabbed directly into the largest gouge you’d left in Semi’s back. Semi jumped, wincing at the pain, and then his eyes went wide.

“Oh–fuck.” Semi groaned, the memory of last night flooding back into his brain.

“Ahaha, there it is! Good for you, Semisemi. Make sure you put some ointment on those though, yeesh. Maybe tell ____ to trim their nails next time!” Tendou said before he pranced off to finish changing. 

Semi stared at Ushijima, who was–if he wasn’t very much mistaken–smirking. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi was smirking. 

“I keep antibiotic ointment in my bag, if you would like to borrow some,” Ushijima said simply, an almost-imperceptible twitch to his eyebrow the only indication he wasn’t utterly earnest. 

Oikawa: 

A low wolf whistle interrupted the typical chatter in the club room, causing everyone to fall silent. Matsukawa was leaning against the door wearing a wide, lecherous grin. 

“Wow, Captain, color me impressed. I really thought you were all talk, but you and ____-chan have been busy, haven’t you?”

It was clear what Matsukawa was talking about–Oikawa’s bare, pale back was ravaged, the bright pink of the scratch marks all the more stark against his fair skin. Oikawa blinked twice, his eyes going wide as saucers before he abruptly spun around, putting his back to the lockers.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mattsun–”

“Well, Captain,” Hanamaki interrupted, “it would seem ____-chan has left some rather impressive marks…”

“THERE ARE NO MARKS,” Oikawa screeched, his face going as pink as the scratch marks curving over his shoulders.

“Come on, Captain,” Matsukawa drawled, “just yesterday you were bragging about you and ____’s escapades.”

“A gentleman doesn’t tell, Mattsun,” Oikawa said, his voice wavering as he sidled awkwardly along the wall. 

“Funny, because they say a picture’s worth a thousand words,” Hanamaki interrupted with a devilish grin, brandishing his phone. “And this one’s got plenty to say.”

“MAKKI!” Oikawa shrieked. Hanamaki darted out of the club room, and Oikawa lunged after him–still dressed only in his track pants. 

“Three… two… one…” Iwaizumi counted down under his breath, and right on cue a chorus of girlish screams broke out outside the club room, followed by Oikawa dashing back inside and slamming the door behind him. He fell forward against the wall, his head hitting the locker with a metallic thunk. 

“My life is over,” he moaned dramatically. 

“There, there,” Iwaizumi said, patting him firmly on the back right where the scratches were worst. “At least you had pants on.”

[dearchikkie]

Truth or Dare

MARICHAT MAY 2020

Day 5: Dare

A/N: I.LOVE.TENSE.TRUTH.OR.DARE. The drama, the divide, just everything!! jskhdakjhd I had fun writing this one, you can probably tell by now but I really love when Chat and Mari are just chilling together as friends and being dorks. You'll probably see them geeking out on my day 7 fic, so watch out for that ;) Anyway: hope you enjoy this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Marinette was bad- no, scratch that- terrible at sleepovers. From the age of nine, she could barely sleep in her own room without crying out for her mother or father in the night. Tom and Sabine had tried everything ranging from nightlights to singing toys, but none comforted her fears. When she finally made a friend at school to have sleepovers with, she ended up vomiting in their sink after drinking too much soda and begging her mom to come pick her up.

She had been apprehensive to try again, but after being begged to attend a classmates slumber party, she dedicated herself to getting over her fears and having a fun time. Unfortunately, she hadn't trained hard enough. A few hours into when she should have been sleeping, she thought she had heard a ghost. Young Marinette had tiptoed down the stairs to investigate, and saw standing in the kitchen a deathly zombie.

In her defence, she didn't know the birthday girl had an older brother, so seeing a mysterious boy lit only by the fluorescent lights of their fridge, it seemed perfectly acceptable to scream as loud as she could.

In the end, her father came and picked her up. Marinette would have preferred to stay, but after awaking the entire house at 3am, she decided it was best if she just went home.

After that, there wasn't really a strong desire to embarrass herself anymore, so she avoided sleepovers entirely. She didn't go camping with Mylene, she didn't jam out with Juleka, she couldn't even braid her hair with Rose! By the time Alya transferred, everyone knew Marinette just didn't do sleepovers, so when Alya invited her to one it came as a shock to the young teen. Although anxious, Marinette gave sleepovers one last chance.

She didn't cry. She didn't vomit. She had fun.

Alya introduced her to all the iconic sleepover traditions: gossip, movies, snacks, skincare, more gossip and [most importantly] sleepover games. Marinette fell in love with them instantly. Of course, she had played these before, but never in her pajamas at 1 AM loaded on sugar.

So with her parents out of town and Alya stuck at a convention in the states, it seemed only fair she throw a slumber party with her second best friend.

✧✬✧

"What brand did you buy? This is taking forever!" Marinette glared at the sizzling pan. She had trusted Chat to bring the popcorn since bulk-buying packets would have been suspicious to her parents [the same parents she promised could rest easy knowing she wouldn't have people over] but he had shown up wielding a fancy looking packet of kernels. Marinette frowned at the pan's foil; it should be rising, but instead stayed pathetically flat no matter how high she raised the heat.

Chat snatched the packet off Marinette's kitchen counter, "Some brand called 'Papa's Organic Snacks', the store clerk said it was the best!"

"Let me see that," the noirette left the stove, the popcorn wasn't going to pop any time soon so she felt safe leaving it unsupervised, "Chat! This was 70 euros! You shouldn't waste money just on some popcorn,"

"It's not wasting money, this is our first super fun sleepover and I didn't want to just get some cheap popcorn!"

"You sound spoiled."

"Maybe I am." not maybe. He was. He didn't want to admit it, but Adrien knew he was spoilt. He had all the video games he wanted, all the clothing he tried, all the books he read, he got them no questions asked. Hell, look at his room! Flatscreen TV's, a rock-climbing wall and a personal library, no one even cared when he suddenly required masses of expensive cheese.

As Adrien, he was spoilt with material objects. Unlimited amounts of money and recognition, celebrities knowing him by name and fangirls flocking him as he walked down the street.

"Yes! It's popping! After I butter these up we'll finally get this sleepover started!"

As Chat Noir, he was spoiled like this.

✧✬✧

"Chat, truth or dare?" the leather-clad hero pondered for a moment, before replying,

"Truth!"

"What? Boring," Marinette threw a handful of popcorn at Chat. She laughed as he tried swatting it away, "aren't you supposed to be brave or something?"

"Who says I'm not being brave? Who knows what dastardly questions you'll ask," the cat feigned a horrified gasp and fell back onto Marinette's chaise.

The noirette grinned at him, tugging back on his tail, "I'm sure you can handle an innocent teen girls question. Sit back down, I'm gonna get serious."

Slowly, Chat slid off the chaise and regained his place besides Marinette, munching on another large chunk of caramel popcorn. The teenage girl slowly gestured for Chat to lean in closer. Then closer. The closer, eventually, he was so close he could feel her warm breath on his ear, the hairs on his neck sticking on end.

"Chat Noir..." she whispered, Who's your civilian identity?"

"WHAT?" in a rush, Chat fell back. Popcorn spilt all over the ground as Chat stared wide-eyed at the giggling girl in front of him. "P-Princess, I c-care about you and you a-are one of my closest f-friends, b-but I- I can't just- my i-identity has t-to be, Ladybug would kill me!" Chat stumbled over his words, eyes sporadically moving back and forth. 

His rambling stopped when he heard a quiet laugh. When he looked up, he saw Marinette barely able to contain her amusement, but a single look at Chat's flustered face broke her control as she burst out laughing.

"Oh, Chaton- I'm kidding! There's no way you'd just be able to reveal yourself to a civilian," before Chat could object Marinette spoke again, "My REAL question is this: Why do you keep coming over?"

Chat frowned, "And here I thought you enjoyed my company." he huffed. Marinette set a hand tentatively on his shoulder,

"Silly cat. I do now! But even back when we barely knew each other, you still showed up to chat; why?"

"Nice pun,"

"Not the point." Marinette scoffed, but Chat now grinned eagerly as he sidled up beside her.

"Well, It's kinda complicated," Chat shoved another handful on popcorn down his throat, causing Marinette to have to wait another minute before he could start speaking again. After taking a long sip of soda, Chat continued,

"I don't really know why I kept visiting you. I just, I didn't feel like being my civilian self and talking to people as myself. But the only person I could talk to as Chat Noir was Ladybug, and you know she's never out late unless there's an akuma. Then I remembered the Evillustrator and Wereded akuma's."

"When we first met,"

Chat nodded, "You didn't put me on a pedestal and suck up to me, nor did you completely ignore me and just ask about Ladybug. You were just... yourself. Now that I look back at it all, I have no idea why I chose you. I just saw you gardening, munching on a cinnamon roll and decided to talk to you. While I severely regret being so weird at first, that was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made."

The room became eerily silent. Chat could feel his face redden, desperately avoiding eye contact with the girl beside him. "...And, I'm probably the biggest sweet tooth in Paris; befriending the Bakers daughter was bound to happen at some point!" he chuckled nervously. When Chat finally got the nerve to look Marinette in the eye, he saw just how badly her flushed face matched his.

"Ah! I forgot! Papa made some snacks earlier and I snuck some away- let me go get them!" Marinette bundled down the stairs, slamming her hatch behind her. Chat exhaled after he heard Marinette's footsteps fade into the background. Good job Chat! Go ahead and gush all about how 'amazing' she is and make things awkward! He gulped down a full glass of soda, chugging it all in one go.

After a few minutes, the bedroom hatch burst open, startling Chat. Marinette reappeared at the top holding a tray filled with sugary macarons. Chat drooled at the sight of them, pupils dilating as he gazed over the pink and green desserts, "They're raspberry and green tea, I hope you like them,"

"They're incredible, Mari! Thank you so much, thank your père for me." Marinette smiled as Chat grabbed a pink macaron.

"You haven't even tried them yet,"

"I have trust in your father." hesitantly, Chat took a small bite. After chewing for only a few seconds he shoved the rest of it into his mouth, eyes shut with pleasure. "These are incredible, Princess," Chat moaned.

Marinette's cheeks glowed a similar colour to the macaron Chat was so affectionate of. She pulled him back to their seating arrangements, "C'mon, It's my turn to be asked,"

After licking the tips of his fingers, Chat turned his attention back to Marinette, "Fine, follow up question then, mademoiselle. Why did you keep letting me in?"

Marinette froze, "What?"

"Back then, I know why I kept showing up, but you also kept letting me into your room. Sharing sweets, showing me designs..."

"I, uh..."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe I just felt bad for the stray cat that kept appearing on my rooftop."

"What's wrong Marinette, afraid to tell me just how enamored you truly were by me?"

Chat laid his head down on Marinette's lap, ignoring the evil gaze that followed him down, "I wasn't 'enamored' by you. I just," she set a hand on Chat's hair, slowly petting it as if a blonde cat laid in her lap. Technically, one did.

"I don't know why I let you in those first few times, I guess it just seemed polite? But then after a few times of you visiting me, I got to know you. I liked hanging out with you, and I still do. You're one of my closest friends, Chaton. Truly."

Marinette stared back down at Chat. His eyes were trained solely on her, his cheeks tinged red. "You really think that?"

Marinette laughed, "Of course I do, Kitty. Why do you think you're here right now?"

Slowly, Chat sat up. He angled his face just in front of Marinettes, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly, "Truth or Dare?"

"Well, we've already had two truths in a row so I kinda have to choose dare," laughed Marinette. Her laughter ceased when she noticed how serious Chat's face had turned.

"I dare you to kiss me."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Marinette could hear her heart beating louder and louder as Chat inched closer to her face. His hot breath spread over her face as her skin tingled at the feel of it.

Suddenly, Chat's eyes widened and pushed himself away from her. His face now more red than ever, he stood up and turned around, "Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I probably just ruined everything- I should go." Chat ran to the rooftop, but Marinette grabbed his tail and pulled him back. Gradually rising to stand in front of him.

Wordlessly, Marinette forced herself forward, embracing Chat as she closed the distance between them. Their hearts burned. Chat wrapped his arms around Marinettes waist and pulled her closer, heat staining both their faces.

They never started the next round.

[psychopersonified]

Interrupted

Q’s video conference gets interrupted by a half naked man wielding a cat... 

Inspired by the multitude of wonderful fanart featuring Q and Bond in front of a computer, some clothed, some not quite 😉. And also by stories of zoom call accidents.

Tags: Freshly established relationship. Breaking the news. 

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

“…How much progress are we making in regards to the drag coefficient?” is the next question on Q’s mind as he reviews the R&D stage-gate checklist. Q has his attention on the tablet in front of him, marking up the design drawing with a stylus. The image is shared onscreen with the other three participants of the call. 

“Wind tunnel test results are back, the best we’ve achieved so far is using V308 design, but as expected it does come with some compromise to practicality—”

At R’s sudden pause, Q looks up and turns towards the screen displaying the participants’ video feed. 

“Sorry R I didn’t catch that, you might have cut out for a moment.” He adjusts the wireless earbuds in case they’ve come loose. 

Jenny’s image smiles widely and the others follow suit. “Sir, did you adopt a new kitty?” 

The unexpected question prompts him to look around his desk. He spies Spot lounging out of view of the webcam, by his favourite window perch having just had breakfast. Q assumes the other black and white cat, Jellicles must be somewhere under Spot’s large orange lump. 

“Uh, no?” he is a little discomfited, not knowing what brought on the bizarre tangent in the discussion. 

“Boss, you sure about this? He’s a big one. Might eat you out of house and home,” Nish joins in the ribbing. 

“Granted he’s a silent killer. Any unwanted gifts dropped off on your carpet yet?” Jamila this time. 

“What on earth are you all talking about—,“ in his own video feed minimised out of the way on the bottom right corner, Q finally catches sight of movement in the background. 

The problem with open plan living Q notices for the first time, is the lack of privacy. Not an issue if you’re living alone, but when you have house guests, it makes it trickier. Q’s webcam faces the dining area where Agent 007 is currently making a spectacle of himself. His shirtless muscular back is half turned to them. The light grey sweatpants he is wearing slung dangerously low on his hips - the tops of his well sculpted glutes artfully exposed.

Bond had wandered absently into the dining area, one arm cradling a restless black and white cat to his chest like a baby, but his attention is focused on the tablet held in his other hand. Jellicles is not happy at being ignored - headbutting Bond under the chin and attempting repeatedly to bop the human on the nose to get his attention. 

When the agent is sufficiently annoyed, he locks eyes with the cat for a moment before tipping his head to smush his nose against cat’s forehead - which causes Jellicles to meow loudly in reply. 

Q turns back to look at his monitor, all three participants on the call are staring in open-mouthed shock. He searches his desk for something to throw; a squishy stress toy in the shape of a cow would suffice. Q aims for the torso, but the toy bounces comically off Bond’s rock hard arse instead.

That catches Bond’s attention and he turns around - Q regrets not thinking this one through. He and his little audience are now treated to the frontal view, which is arguably even more distracting. The agent’s golden tan glows in the morning light - accentuating the definition of his well developed pectorals all the way to the rippling planes of the chiseled abdominals and the blonde trail of hair peeking out of the waistband. Further below, the soft cotton blend material of the sweatpants does little to hide the endowments underneath. 

Bond raises a quizzical eyebrow at him. He’d put the tablet down and caught one of the cat’s paws in his hand  in the interim - to stop it from trying to touch his nose and was kissing each little toe-bean before the interruption. Bond is in a fantastic mood this morning and Jellicles must adore him enough to allow such manhandling. 

Q scowls at him and mouths ‘I’m on a call’ while using a hand to gesture at his monitor and the webcam. Bond’s expression turns apologetically wide-eyed for a second in acknowledgment of his little gaffe. But in the next moment, he appears to brush it off -hanged for a sheep as a lamb-.

Instead of ducking out of view, he takes four purposeful strides towards Q’s desk, the cat still in his arms. Q can’t decide if disabling his video would cause more suspicion or if they should just cease with the charade - somehow ‘he’s just a friend who sleeps over and cuddles my cats’ defence doesn’t quite stack up at this point.

Behind him now and without a trace of shame, Bond bends over a shoulder to wink at the three familiar faces in the monitor. Q resists the urge to slap the man away, opting instead to glower at him. The agent senses a rebuke forthcoming, so preemptively uses the cat as a shield. He holds the black and white cat up to the webcam, then pushes the cat in front of Q’s face - Jellicles doesn’t disappoint, immediately latching on and playfully chewing on Q’s nose. 

“Ah! James!” Q tries to flinch away. The assault is over in seconds when Bond pulls the cat away but then unexpectedly returns to peck Q on the corner of his mouth before he can even protest. When Bond straightens again, the expansive view of naked chest and abs fills up most of the right side of Q’s video feed. 

Q has to half turn and physically nudge the agent away with a splayed hand against warm hard muscle. The touch a searing reminder of their activities the night before. Bond is immovable when he doesn’t want to be moved, but he relents after a second or two. His parting gift, was to dip down and nuzzle Q in the hair, using the misdirection to hook a finger around the collar of Q’s jumper, exposing the top of a well bruised collarbone. The hand then slips to caress a long line down his chest to his stomach. 

“James! Will you stop it!” Q hisses. His next reaction is to stab the bastard in the side with the blunt tip of the tablet stylus to salvage his ruined modesty. The man is a menace! 

The bloody peacock doesn’t even have the decency to retreat out of camera view after that, instead he claims a seat in the dinning area, beaming with a satisfied smile. The cat now balanced on his stomach and chest, he moves another chair around so he can prop his legs on it and stretch out, putting himself on blatant display. An artist would beg to paint such a perfect tableau. Q wants to taser the smile off his face. 

Q clears his throat, not daring to look directly at his colleagues - too flustered to offer an explanation as to why 007 was molesting him in his home. So he tries ineffectively for the pretend-it-didnt-happen route, “Um… Right. Where were we? Jenny, the wind tunnel results?....” 

Jamila blinks furiously. Nish makes a hoarse croaking, “Whaaaa…..” like air escaping his lungs. 

And R… well R just says, “Sir, I think I speak for everyone here that we’re traumatised by what we just saw, bloody traumatised. We don’t think we can continue with today’s discussion until a satisfactory explanation has been provided...” R forces Q into a corner. Two other heads nod their support for Jenny’s statement. None of them appear disapproving - but it is guaranteed they are going to take the mickey out of him. 

There is no way he is going to spill tea with Bond still within earshot. The agent’s ego is unmanageable as it is. “If I promise to reveal all on Monday, can we please get on with this?” Q tries to make his whisper sound imperious to no avail - a half naked man lounging in the background tends to undermine one’s authority. 

“Health & Safety would disagree. It’s an occupational hazard you know, to be distracted around dangerous lab equipment,” Jamila points out. The others agree. Mutiny from his top three.

“How is my personal life -your- distraction?” 

“When there is a not inconsiderable pot waiting to be distributed. Come on boss, there’s still time for me to collect my winnings if things go my way,” Nish begs while consulting his phone for the records. 

“So… he’s -James- now is he? Is this a one time slumber party or an extended sleepover?” R powers through heedless. 

Q considers his answer, he is marginally aware of the betting pool around the stupid game ‘Fluster the Quartermaster’ and its various derivative odds regarding which agent, the timeline, where, method of burn etc. - but he doesn’t want to know the specifics as he wants to maintain plausible deniability should it implode in everyone’s faces. 

Bond is still playing with he cat in the background, trying to teach it commands. Q doesn’t want to say it out loud, so he types it into the group chat on the side of the screen:

::We’re moving his things over later today.::

“Called it!” Jenny slams a hand on the table and punches the air in victory. Oh she knew it! Q taking the Friday off (or any day off for that matter) that had nothing to do with his cats was enough cause for intrigue. 

But after the suspiciously expensive gift in the form of the red Hyundai a few months ago, it was just a matter of time. It was not the cost that was the issue, Bond’s wardrobe of bespoke suits probably cost more than the car several times over - it was the sentiment behind it that gave Jenny the courage to place a sizeable bet on them taking the next step towards cohabitation. The car, she read correctly in Bond’s weird wooing language was tantamount to an engagement ring. 

Nish and the others weren’t as good as reading signs, so majority of the odds were still focused around the early stages “NO! What? Wait… When did this happen? What about first date? First snog? First shag?” Nish scrolls furiously through his phone. 

The bets have taken a far more intrusive route than Q had ever expected. “Well I’m sorry my personal life does not follow the path of standard operating procedure… now can we -please- move on?” He’s acutely aware that he is blushing bright pink from head to toe. 

Jenny shakes her head, the only person that would dare to override him, “Q, you took the day off - so take the day off. The prototype can wait. No emergencies at the moment, the castle is still standing. We’ll call if something pops up. Now bugger off and enjoy your day with -James-!” 

*Sigh* Q rubs his temples and gives in reluctantly, “Fine! Yes, alright…” . He knows when something is a lost cause and the news is likely to cause a buzz in Q-Branch that would last the whole weekend - there goes department productivity. He’d hoped to come up with a less sensational way of disseminating the news. He expects massive ribbing on Monday. 

“Oh! Permission to inform Ms Moneypenny about the change in status?” Jenny asks. The girls are having drinks tonight and it would be hell trying to conceal anything from Eve. 

“No no! I’ll… inform her myself... and please try to keep this within Q-Branch, for now?” Eve would find seven ways of killing him if she had to find out from someone else. She’d already ripped into him, calling him a bloody clueless twit when she’d found out about the car Bond bought him as a ‘birthday gift’. As cars go, it was a cheap one - but Bond’s logic to get him to accept it was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to him. 

When they’ve all signed off, Q shuts down the computer and lets himself be drawn back into the life inside his flat.  Balanced on Bond’s stomach, Jellicles has miraculously learned how to give high-fives on command. 

“Get dressed please. I’d like breakfast before we head over to your place.” Q tell him as he passes behind the agent. He places a hand on James’ shoulder, causing the agent to tip his head back. Q drops a kiss on his forehead.

“By the way, have you told Eve about… this?” Q asks as he combs his fingernails across Bond’s scalp. 

“Mmm… Not yet. Was thinking of letting her know on Monday.” Bond mutters, eyes closed. The relaxed blissed out look on his face was worth enduring a million papercuts. 

“Well, that’ll be too late. Since you’ve gone and announced it with as much discretion as you conduct your missions…,” Q tugs firmly at Bond’s ears as reprimand, ”…the whole of Q-Branch will know before morning tea. Which means Eve will find out by lunch.”

Just then Q’s phone on the dinning table buzzes with an incoming call. They both pause to stare at the screen. Caller ID displays ::Moneypenny:: ominously. 

“I’ll get dressed. You tell her… She called me a dithering halfwit just last week.” Bond straightens before bolting for the bedroom. 

“Coward!” Q yells at him. He steels himself to answer the phone. When he does, he all but squeaks, “Hello Eve?—“ 

——— FIN————

Notes: The mention about the car gift is from another fic of mine and can be found here - Car troubles and Not Quite Dates.

If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Enjoy!

[pluto-art]

Out of the Cold, Out of the Cavern

Type: Fan fiction (PatB) / Self-insert/Y/N/OC (sort of...) Genre: Hurt/Comfort (what else?) Words: 4,841 Rating: K+

Fan Fiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13724127/1/Out-of-the-Cold-Out-of-the-Cavern

As usual, I recommend the fan fiction version, which includes all of the italicized words.

Thanks to @shuunthenonbeliever, I was inspired to finally write this. :)

“One-sixty… one-eighty… two hundred,” the plump woman said, sliding a packet of bills off her jewel-laden fingers and into yours, like water pouring out of a spout.

“Thank you,” you replied, hesitant to pocket the load with those two, round, black eyes still staring at you, burrowing into your soul. They belonged to a young girl, nine or ten in age, perhaps, with short, auburn hair, her little white and turquoise dress bouncing up and down as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting, watching.

“She’ll need watch every weekday from three to nine,” instructed the woman, barely even looking at you or her daughter as she checked her purse for something. “If you have any trouble you have my work number.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“But you’ll be no trouble. Will you, Elmyra?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am. Nopey nopey nope! We’re gonna have so much fun laughing and cuddling and playing with all my fuzzy whittle animals!” screeched the girl, in a voice that scratched like sandpaper.

“Yes, dear. Be good to your new babysitter, all right? Mommy has to go to work now.”

“Bye byeeeeeee!!” Elmyra waved, smiling widely in mock innocence as her mother stepped out the door.

“Bye,” you called out, a bit half-heartedly.

As soon as the door snapped closed, Elmyra turned to look at you expectantly, beaming.

“All right. She’s gone. You can go play with your pets,” you said.

“Yaaaaaaaay!! I’m coming, my fuzzy whuzzies!”

And off she hopped, skipping down the hall and around a corner ever so gayly, to a spot that you knew to be her bedroom, where all manner of horrible and unspeakable things happened.

You turned, leaned against the front door, and inhaled a long, deep breath of air, practically sliding against the thing as you counted out the greens in your hand -- one one-hundred, a fifty, a ten, and two twenties. Yep. Checked out.

You pocketed the loose change, paused, then got up and stuck it in your backpack instead. It’s not like it was going anywhere for a while. Besides, you hated carrying around more than you needed to in your small pants pockets.

Tossing the backpack next to the living room couch, you collapsed onto said couch and took a gander at your new surroundings.

It was a quaint little abode. Could have done with a new paint job, perhaps, but the yellow interior and old-style furniture wasn’t completely abhorrent. The whole cottage was rather cute, in its own weird way, sporting the occasional gothic chandelier that would have looked much more at home in Edward Scissorhands’ house, or a wastebasket that was far too frilly and posh to even be used for its original purpose. But the seating was comfortable, the cable was working, and, best of all, the fridge, stuffed to its seams, was, according to Mrs. Duff, 100% at your disposal. If there was anything that solidified a job offer for you, it was free food.

Not that the job was all chipper and charm. You knew what you were getting into when you took it, and the intermittent screams coming from Elmyra’s bedroom, as well as the cat that nearly bit your finger off from earlier as you tried to coax him out from under the kitchen table, were stark reminders of that. Everyone in the city of Burbank knew who the Duff family was, whether it was personally or from the horror stories passed down the school halls. Most who visited their house, unless they were a close family friend or relative, never wanted to step back in it again. It was common knowledge that you only went to Elmyra’s if you wanted a nice, long day of yelling and suffering, and all in your dorm would have rather died than take on the job of babysitter when it was posted online. But you took it. You took it… partially ‘cause you had no choice. What with a full-time college schedule and not much else in the cupboard save for ramen and three-day-old apples, cash was in short supply and desperately needed, and even though the last thing you’d rather do was keep watch over this kid, you also couldn’t find a job anywhere else. Besides, the pay was good. Excellent, in fact. Two hundred every Friday. You might even splurge on Chinese this weekend.

Sliding the remote off the thick, wooden table, you flipped through the channels, one-by-one, finally landing on National Geographic. The narrator was deep in discussion about the living habits of bats. Appropriate, you thought, as Elmyra flitted out of the room, make-shift cape trailing behind her and blindfold on, zoomed into the kitchen and grabbed a packet of cookies before zipping back into her room, sounding very much like a bat as she laughed in a loud, screeching tone the entire time. You did a double-take as she slammed the door behind her. Were there… other voices coming from the room? No. That’s silly. You shook your head. Crazy.

The next couple of hours went by surprisingly uneventfully; so much so, in fact, that you wondered if there was any basis in the rumors that floated around about the Duff residence being a literal “house of horror”. Some even said the place was haunted. It wasn’t until 6:55 PM, when you went to remind Elmyra that dinner was almost ready, that you got a whiff that things weren’t… quite what they seemed.

Of the menagerie loose throughout the house, Elmyra owned a total of one cat, a parrot, a turtle, and two white mice. The turtle hid. The parrot squawked. And the mice? The mice… talked.

“Narf! Hello there!” the taller of the two said, as you meandered into the room. You cocked an eyebrow and hesitantly lifted a hand to wave at him.

“Hi…,” you replied, a little taken aback.

The shorter mouse didn’t look up at you. His focus was heavily trained on a notepad rife with complex calculations far beyond your intellect. He was scribbling away as if his life depended on it. He also called you a “disposable hindrance”, albeit indirectly to his associate, something you didn’t entirely appreciate, but you also didn’t dare talk back. Not yet.

“Oooo. Munchie time! Come on, little mousies!” Elmyra cheered, and she grabbed both rodents tight around the neck with her short, groping fingers, stuffing them into her shirt pocket as she ran out of the room and in the direction of the kitchen.

You stood behind for a moment, nonplussed. Okay then.

A soft shuffling down the hallway made you turn. It was the cat. He still looked quite wary of you.

“Hey, kitty,” you cooed, gently but not in a childish fashion; more like you were simply greeting a friend. “You gonna let me pet you this time?” you asked, bending down and holding out a hand for him to sniff.

Tenderly, cautiously, the cat stepped up to you, wagging its tail slightly behind him. You narrowed your eyes. A wagging tail wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when it came to cats, but this was… different. The closer he got to you the more he wagged it, as if he was… excited? Curious? He sniffed your hand… and licked it. Odd. Then he peered up into your face, lolled out a long, pink tongue, and barked.

You sat back a little, wide-eyed, as the cat-dog jumped up onto your legs and actually started licking your face. It was… weird. Cute, but… weird.

After a few hearty licks, the cat, satisfied, jumped back down, scratched itself, and ran off to play with a ball. You wondered why he hadn’t come up to you before. Perhaps he still had more of the cat than the dog in him. You also now understood why some people claimed that this house was “haunted”. Two talking mice and a barking cat. Not exactly “spooky”, under your terms, but definitely unusual. You wondered what other treasures this quirky household held. Pirate bones? Dinosaurs? You had to admit it was rather exciting.

Shuffling back into the kitchen, you found Elmyra at the table, greedily shoveling the macaroni and cheese you’d made for her into her mouth as she watched a cartoon program on tv. The mice sat beside her in a little highchair, both now dressed as infants, the big-headed one looking absolutely miserable. Now and again, Elmyra would shovel a huge spoonful of mac and cheese into one or the other’s mouth against their will. Lanky mouse didn’t seem to mind it too much. Grumpy mouse turned to look at you with an expression that read: “shoot me”.

“Elmyra, be careful with how you feed your pets, okay? They might not like too much mac and cheese…,” you suggested, cautiously, frowning a little at the big-headed mouse in pity.

You knew, of course, about this kid’s harsh treatment of her pets. Everyone knew. But her parents were rich, and could probably buy out the police station and the A.S.P.C.A. if they’d wanted to, and so no one said anything. Still, as an animal-lover, you were curious. Just how badly did she handle her critters? Maybe you could do something to relieve their pain while you were there? And the situation was bad, certainly, but you’d seen worse, and there was only so much you could say besides, at least while she was awake. Too much rebellion and you’d probably be fired. That being said, you fully intended to assist in giving the poor things a little reprieve once Elmyra went to bed in an hour, and so you let the macaroni-shoveling slide… for now.

8:00 PM came and went, with little deviation from the norm aside from Elmyra quickly popping into the kitchen again at 7:23 PM, opening the freezer, and succinctly closing it before racing back into her bedroom. You shrugged at the gesture, barely turning around from the tv, figuring she probably just went to grab some ice cream. Thankfully, Elmyra not only went to bed early, but also was a heavy sleeper, so by the time 8:15 rolled around she was already obediently in bed and snoring, needing only a reminder from you ten minutes prior. The lanky mouse opened an eye as you peeked in. He was sleeping in the bed with her.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making to close the door, but the little mouse sat up.

“Wait! D-Do you mind checking on Brain? Elmyra said he went to Antarctica, but… he hasn’t been back in a while. You’ll go look for him, won’t you?” he asked, twisting his tail as he said it.

“Sure. I’ll look for him,” you responded pleasantly, and you meant it. The mouse smiled.

“Oh, thank you!” he whispered, tucking back into bed. “Good night!”

“Night,” you whispered back, closing the door softly behind you.

You frowned. Antarctica? More than likely, cranky mouse was simply hiding somewhere, but internally you promised to keep an eye out and check a few cupboards.

Several drawers, a pantry, numerous cupboards, and a couple of closets later and you still couldn’t find the little mouse. You even checked the higher areas of the house, wondering if “Antarctica” meant somewhere scalable and colder. Your first thought, of course, had been the freezer, but that was preposterous. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Would she…?

Out of pure curiosity, you headed back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl from a cupboard as you did so. You were hungry anyway and figured that a hearty helping of ice cream before you left in half an hour certainly couldn’t hurt. You had free reign of the fridge, after all.

You set down your little blue bowl on the counter. You grabbed a spoon from a drawer and set it in the bowl. You even snatched a couple of Oreo cookies from an Oreo cookie box nearby and plopped them next to the bowl for good measure. Could never be too careful.

Noticing that Elmyra had left a box of frozen fruit pops on the counter without putting them back, you shook your head, grabbed it, opened the freezer door…… and dropped the box onto the floor with a loud plop. Hastily, you whipped off your red sweater, reached into the freezer, and pulled out a little white ball of frozen fur and whiskers.

“Oh, you poor baby,” you cooed, cradling the small mouse in your sweater as if he were precious cargo. You tittered. “Goodness. You poor thing. She actually put you in here??”

Closing the freezer door, you brought the mouse up close, pressing a finger to where his heart would be. His eyes were shut tight, and he was curled so firmly about himself that it took a little doing to get your finger up to his chest. He didn’t stir as you moved him about. There was a heartbeat… barely, faint as a whisper. It was a miracle he was still alive.

Almost instinctively, you cupped him in your hands, brought him over to the sink, and slowly turned on the faucet, checking that the water was lukewarm before carefully sticking him under the steady stream. You didn’t want it too hot right off the bat. Even a warm temperature might be a shock.

Two minutes later, after you’d let the (hopefully) stimulating mini waterfall wash over him, you turned off the faucet and proceeded to dry him off with a towel -- softly; slowly. He still hadn’t stirred, not even a little, and you gulped. Were you too late..?

8:35 PM. The stillness of the night, save for the now dimmed volume of the television, found you sitting once more on the couch, this time with a fuzzy occupant in hand. Big-headed mousie -- the… Brain… he was called? -- lay cradled in your arms, encompassed about with a very soft, very woolly blanket indeed. It was the fluffiest you could find in the house. Nothing less would suffice, in your mind. You could only imagine how frightening of an ordeal it must have been, shivering, cowering in a freezer for an hour, not knowing if the next breath you took would be your last….

A thumb gently stroked the snow white fur of the sleeping mouse, and you couldn’t help but massage that oversized head of his from time to time, muttering to him in soothing tones as you did so.

“You poor thing…. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you in there earlier,” you apologized, even though he probably wasn’t listening. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, the only indication that he wasn’t dead being the steady beat, beat, beat of his thumping heart every half a second.

“You gonna blink for me, sweet heart?”

And then, as if on cue, the little mouse sloooowly blinked, opened his eyes, and stared at you.

“Hey there, little one,” you whispered, smiling at him. “Atta boy….”

His eyes began to shift around, rapidly, and he frowned, as if trying to take in all at once where he was and what had happened.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” you reassured him, readjusting your grip a touch as you continued to hold him close to your chest. “I’ve got you. Elmyra’s asleep. She can’t do you any harm. And if she tried I wouldn’t let her.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, and subsequently shut it again, as if at a loss for words. Perhaps he really was speechless, or perhaps he was still a little stiff from having been locked up in the freezer for so long. Whatever the reason, he continued to stare at you, almost unblinkingly. As you went to pet him again, he reeled back, breathing faster than normal.

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay,” you said calmingly, pausing a mite before resuming your soft massage of his head. “It’s all right, little one. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

And slowly, hesitantly, he settled.

“‘Antarctica’,” you mused, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you survived that. Poor thing….”

You continued to talk to him; comfort him. After a solid five minutes of being stroked and cooed to, he actually leaned into your hand. You could tell he enjoyed the massage, reluctant as he was to admit it. A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little fellow, even if he had been a bit of a butt to you earlier. How often did this kind of thing happen to him? Weekly? Daily? How often did he bath in this torment? You decided to ask him.

“Does she do this kind of thing to you often?”

He nodded, gaze still trained on you.

“Like… daily?”

He nodded again. You sighed.

“I’m so sorry….”

He actually shrugged.

“It’s… my life,” he coughed out, in a deep, chocolatey voice that was a little raspy. It was almost comical that a voice that low could come from something so diminutive.

“Well, it shouldn’t be your life,” you countered. “You don’t deserve any of this.” He simply blinked at you.

“How long has she had you for?”

He shrugged again.

“Over a year..?” he guessed.

“Over a year…. Sheesh…. How are you still alive?” you asked, actually chuckling a little… and regretting it immediately after. This was no laughing matter.

“I… I don’t know,” the Brain admitted, his body vibrating for a second as it released a shiver. For once, he looked away from you. “I don’t know….”

There was something in the way that he said “I don’t know”, something in the way his voice quivered a touch as it floated off into the air, that made your heart break in two. It was as if he himself couldn’t believe they’d held out as long as they had; that they hadn’t given up all hope by this time. It was a dry admittance, a sad admittance, and he blinked rather rapidly and sniffed after saying it, as if trying to bite back tears.

Any animosity you’d had for such a creature had completely dissipated by this point. His honesty. His helpless quaver…. They’d destroyed it. With all the more tenderness, you rocked him gently to and fro, taking extra care to massage his whole little body, as best he’d let you anyway, trying to iron out every last bit of pain trapped in those delicate bones. He barely even resisted, save for asking once why you even bothered to help him in the first place.

“Because I think you needed it,” was your blunt response.

He’d looked away a little shyly at this, before turning back to look into your eyes.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and it sounded sincere.

You simply nodded, smiling at him, continuing to rub out the pain as best you could.

8:47 PM. You tossed a frown at the clock. Mrs. Duff would be back in about thirteen minutes. The time you had spent with your new charge hadn’t felt like enough. You were fully aware that you couldn’t take him back to your place for extended relief. He’d have to return to Elmyra’s room, or, at the very least, be put back somewhere in the house before the mother arrived. This posed a bit of a problem, however, for by this point he’d fallen back to sleep in your arms. You stopped rocking him back and forth for a moment to simply… look at him.

He was so small. Much smaller than expected for a pet mouse. Perhaps he’d been a field mouse in the past? A body that fragile shouldn’t be thrown around in a house by a volatile little girl. He should be cared for; comforted; loved.

8:48 PM. He was actually snoring, so quietly it was barely audible. Despite yourself, you leaned down… and kissed him on the top of his head. He stirred, but didn’t awaken.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, swallowing thickly.

You looked at the clock. 8:49 PM. You sighed.

You couldn’t do this. You knew you couldn’t do it from the moment you opened the freezer door and saw him lying in there. Two hundred dollars a week wasn’t worth it. You were going to be fired and that was that. Screw the money. The thought of leaving the two mice in such a condition as this was unbearable. You couldn’t rescue all of her animals, of course, and you hated the idea of stealing, but this one had almost died.

8:50 PM. You groaned. This wasn’t going to be easy….

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sunday morning saw you bright and early, topping off some pancakes in your dorm room with maple syrup, cutting up a few tiny pieces, and setting aside said pieces on a small napkin on a table. Two little white mice immediately stepped up. You smiled at them as you dug into your own, much larger portion of the breakfast, watching the sun rise beyond the balcony.

In the end, you’d chosen the lesser of two evils: voluntary departure. The moment Mrs. Duff had returned home, you’d politely thanked her for the payment, but regretted that you didn’t think you could continue to operate as babysitter. She’d been disappointed, but not surprised. It wasn’t the first time a new hire had quit so suddenly. The turn-over rate with Elmyra was high.

And so you left, leaving the two mice behind at the house, but had returned the next day around 1:00 PM while Elmyra was in school and her parents were preoccupied. She had a tendency to leave her bedroom window open, you see, and it didn’t take much convincing to persuade the mice to consider new living arrangements. The taller one, whose name turned out to be Pinky, was a bit uncertain, and felt bad about ditching without even a note of thanks or apology, but the Brain said it wouldn’t matter, that Elmyra would get over it soon enough and find some other tiny rodents to torture, and so Pinky relented. Not that you could blame him for being hesitant. You also felt bad about literally kidnapping them in this way, but you couldn’t think of any alternative.

Watching Pinky happily lick maple syrup from his lips, however, and observing Brain take notes on a pad while he chewed on pancake satisfactorily, you felt it had been worth it. Pinky still felt a bit guilty about ditching Elmyra so suddenly, but he seemed to adjust to change surprisingly quickly, and sweet breakfast food every morning was a-okay in his book. Brain was still getting used to you, and spoke only when necessary, but he hadn’t forgotten the freezer incident. When he did speak to you it was fairly formal and polite, and he’d even let you scratch behind his ears now and again. Pinky was undoubtedly the friendlier of the two, and you enjoyed spending time with him, talking about movies and playing board games, but there was a special place in your heart reserved for Mr. Grumpy. You figured that would always be there after what had transpired several nights prior. All you could see whenever you opened a freezer door now was an ivory, frost-bitten body trembling in your hands.

Bright sunlight was pouring into the dorm room now, alighting the chairs, the tables, the dishware…. Smiling, you stood up, plate in hand, and stepped out onto the porch, choosing instead to rest in one of the outside seats, the better to enjoy the day’s warmth.

Several minutes later, as you popped a piece of pancake in your mouth, something, or someone, crawled up into the chair beside you. You looked down. It was Brain.

“Hello,” you greeted him pleasantly.

“Hello,” he replied. He licked his lips a little timidly. “Umm….”

“Yes?”

“I…. Well, I… I just wanted to say that… you’ve…. Well, it’s… it’s nicer here than at Elmyra’s….”

“Glad to hear that. I would hope so,” you smirked.

“And… I…. Well, I… um…,” he stammered, scratching at his neck.

You smiled.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You’re welcome.”

He looked up at you, then back at the sunrise. A minute passed. Quietly, inconspicuously, he sidled up close to you, and leaned his entire body against yours, closing his eyes as he did so. Your heart warmed at this show of trust. Oh….

Gently, so as not to startle him, you brought up a hand and began massaging him.

“I love you, little one,” you whispered under your breath.

In response, he pressed closer against you. It wasn’t at all what you expected from him, but you gratefully accepted it all the same.

You both sat like that for a long time, enjoying the touch of the sun’s rays, Pinky finally joining in some moments later as he snuggled up to his friend. Brain actually wrapped an arm around Pinky... and smiled. Pinky hugged him back.

A grin tugged at the corners of your mouth as you watched them, before turning your attention back to the sunrise. Hot pancakes. A beautiful view. Soft mice. And no Elmyra. It was nice. 

As you petted the two little fuzzies cuddled up next to you, warm and full and far away from any girls who would put them in freezers, one thing became absolutely decided in your mind: no amount of money could ever substitute for this.

The End

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

Author’s Note:

I promised myself I’d never do a self-insert. Granted, that applied more to drawings, and even then I’ve made a couple of exceptions in the past, but writing out this kind of thing is still a bit embarrassing to me. I feel like it tampers too much with the canon universe, but, then again, so do AUs and even fan fiction in general. Every story is a “what if”.

This one came about, however, because I was inspired by a friend of mine, Shuun. She’d written a very sweet little story called Haven Forbid (which I suggest you check out), that was, in turn, partially inspired by a soft idea I’d had in which a young woman, taking on the job of Elmyra’s babysitter, discovers Brain trapped in the freezer and proceeds to nurse him back to health. The idea in general is one I’ve had for months and months and months. Whenever I daydream about cuddling and comforting Brain, it often comes back to this particular scenario. So, yes, it’s a flat-out self-insert. Ha-ha. I just normally don’t like sharing these things publicly, but Shuun inspired me to be brave. Heh. :)

Although this is written with a y/n perspective, the character of the babysitter is basically me. This is what I would most likely do if in this situation. Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain is a show that I not only abhor, but that hurts my heart terribly. The pain I feel regarding Brain, watching him get beat up, tossed around, thrown against walls, choked, and all manner of other despicable things, is nigh through the roof. So dearly do I yearn to rescue him from such a predicament that I’ve literally been in tears thinking about what he had to endure in that show, even though it’s technically not canon. He can be a little butt himself sometimes, but he absolutely did not deserve any of what he was put through in that series.

Hand me a little frozen Brain and I’d do exactly what you saw in the story. Let me warm him; hold him; love him; tell him he’s not alone…. He’d probably balk at a majority of it, but, deep down, he wants to be comfortable and secure as much as the next person. I have so much love for this little fellow. A lot of the time he needs a kick in the pants, to be certain, and occasionally he’d rather be left alone than spoken to, but once in a while, even though he’d never admit it, I think he also needs a kiss to the head.

(As a side note, the title of this story was… paaaaartially inspired by the famous “Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire” chapter title in The Hobbit.)

[bilgisticallykosher]

Devil On His Shoulders And Lesser Demons All Over The Place; AKA Well, There Goes The Metasphere

As a note, I actually don't believe that Mandy is that angsty. The rumors of her sadism have been greatly exaggerated. As another note, I'd just like to apologize to everyone. Inspired by Devil On My Shoulder by Lime. Or the shortened version, DOMS. Which is ridiculous; clearly Mandy is the only dom here.

Words: Just under 2000

Lime sighed, careful not to cause too much movement to his little "shoulder devil" as he secretly liked to think of her. Mandy was great, and the scenarios were fun to think about, but he could never actually write them. He loved his characters too much to ever hurt them permanently. And yet…

Well, at any rate, he was still out of ideas. And this little (heh) theoretical session hadn't helped any. Maybe he'd have to start from scratch after all. The curtains fluttered in the windless atmosphere, and a bright light flickered from beyond them. Lime squinted. What in the heck? 

"...and since he doesn't know about the others living in his house, he doesn't get them out from the flooding!" Mandy concluded her dreary thought. She looked up and blinked. "Hey, what's that-" She cut herself off with a soundless noise that might have very well been a curse, as a fire bird flew in out of nowhere, and landed lightly on Lime's other shoulder. 

He flinched, but it turned out to not be hot, just pleasantly warm. 

"Um, hi?" He greeted, bewildered. 

"I know I'm not exactly one to talk," the phoenix began, definitely actually talking, "but I think you can do a little better than Miss Not-So-Infinitesimally Angsty." Mandy gasped. 

"How dare?!" The phoenix, who Lime now realized was Phoenix, rolled their eyes. 

"I'm just saying, there's maybe an imbalance there on hurt/comfort you know?" They had a point. 

"Hey, I know how to do comfort!" Mandy huffed. "I get plenty of comfort from readers screaming in the comments." Lime groaned. Phoenix, being one of her screaming readers, slapped their face with their hand- er, wing. 

"Alright, I think I need some backup," they said, muffled through their feathers. They dropped their wing and sent out a fire symbol. Lime couldn't quite see what it was, or if they used their mouth like a dragon, or if it was a feather or something. Pretty awesome, though. 

And suddenly there was a purple butterfly hovering in front of him. At least this newcomer wasn't too hard to figure out. 

"Nyn?"

"I hear you're having trouble with some plot ideas?" She seemed excited and willing to help, something Lime was very grateful for. 

"Yes, thank you so much, I can't seem to get away from the really awful permanent death ones." Lime stared obviously at Mandy, who just shrugged nonchalantly, spinning her magic pen around. 

"Ah. Yes. Well, I've got the perfect solution!" Her voice was so sweet-sounding, it was like music to his ears. Phoenix nodded their head. 

"Yes?" Lime listened raptly. 

"Kill 'em anyways." He froze. Surely, he must have misheard. 

"Wh-" he floundered for coherent English. "What?" 

"If you wanna kill them, kill them!" There was a snort from his shoulder.

"But your stories are usually so cute! And fluffy!"

"Usually,” she emphasized. "Unless Mandy picks the wrong number." Lime turned to Mandy, horrified. 

"Whoops," she deadpanned. 

"I wrote a fic about the werewolf getting a kitten," Phoenix said reproachfully.

Then he got distracted by a voice at his feet. 

"Heya!"

"Aah!"

"Woah!"

"Geez, now I know how Virgil felt," the voice joked. Lime looked down. It looked like...a box? With little cat features? That was adorable, but admittedly very confusing. He had to contain himself from petting. His talons twitched. 

No! Big, scary dragon! Rawr! He wouldn't cave to some weird kitty box! 

… Who was he kidding? He'd be cuddling it within the hour. 

Mandy squinted, staring down at the creature. She steadied herself on Lime's shoulder before sliding down his arm. He grumbled something about safety that went unheeded. 

"Kat?" She asked, tilting her head. "Is that you?" The box- Kat, apparently- nodded. 

"Yep. I'm here to help out!" Mandy squinted. 

"Why the heck do you look like that?"

"Well, like my username. You know," she sighed, Callboxkat? Box Kat? Box cat? Yeah."

"Wait, isn't it supposed to be a callbox? As in a telephone booth?"

"Yeah, but the author doesn't watch Doctor Who." Kat watched Nyn fluttering back and forth, repressing her newfound cat urges. 

"Wait. I thought we were the authors?" Phoenix furrowed their eyebrows. 

"Listen, this is already so meta, does it really matter?" Kat raised an eyebrow. 

"Fair point." Mandy jerked her thumb back in Lime's direction over her shoulder. "So, do you have any suggestions?"

"Do I?!"

"Do you?" Lime echoed back at her.

"So I was thinking," she box-stepped over to one of the lower-set universe basins, "you take some of your tiny characters,"

"Yeah…" He considered the few universes where he had borrowers.

"Then you slap a tail on them, and have them almost drown!" She concluded triumphantly, lithely swaying her own tail at the mention of them. 

"Almost drown them?" Lime asked warily.

“Almost drown them?" Mandy asked with a gleam in her eye. 

"Okay, that's it." A new voice called out. Lime thought he recognized it, turning his head to confirm. Yep, there Allison was, dressed in her own witch outfit of purple and teal. "You," she pointed at Mandy with her magic quill "have had enough angst for the day. You're being cut off."

"No!" Mandy pouted, readying her puppy dog eyes. 

"Yes," Allison crossed her arms triumphantly. 

"Um, not to encourage her," Phoenix spoke up, turning to face her, "but haven't you been just as guilty of angst recently?" 

"What do you mean?" Allison frowned, confused. 

"Yeah!" Kat turned to her, "all those Perspectives lately have been pretty heavy and angst-laden."

"Wh- hey, first of all, recently is subjective, we wrote those a while ago. And we've had a lot of fluff in there, too!" Lime considered this. 

"Vampire Perspective, Pet Perspective…" he listed off. 

"Mandy's been choosing the wrong numbers," Nyn nodded. 

"And! And Lilliputian, Freezing, those were also recent-ish!"

"Face it," Mandy suddenly appeared next to Allison, leaning her arm on her friend, "we're in the same boat now." She flopped over dramatically into her arms. "I've corrupted you."

"Noooo…"

"Hey, Allison, what's that building on your hat, by the way?" Phoenix asked. She sighed, and threw a photo version their way. 

"Arc."

"Oh my god." There were snickers around. Mandy was still draped over Allison, shaking her head at the truly awful pun. 

"PSSSST!" Everyone turned around. There, as if summoned by the bad humor, was a stick figure, looking shifty-eyed, and unmistakably Lefay. She was wearing a trenchcoat, and hat. Of course, the hat wasn't the typical hat associated with a trenchcoat. It was, instead, an umbrella-hat.

"Um," a new voice came in before they could address that. They turned back, seeing a small snail with a dorsal fin on his back. Fin. Lime was starting to see a terrible, terrible pattern here. "I was also invited, but, I don't know, maybe I should leave? You guys are all so cool, I think I probably don't belong here."

"Fin, please!" Everyone chorused together. 

"Alright, alright!" He acquiesced, really taking in the room. "Hey, I guess not everyone's cool, you're looking pretty hot, Phoenix!" He made finger guns at them somehow, and they laughed at his antics. Lime smiled, before remembering the previous interruption. 

"Hey, Lefay," Lime started, slowly, turning back to her, "why's there an umbrella on your head?"

"The costume store was out of trench hats-"

"There's no way that's what they're called," Allison balked. 

"-so I decided to go with the rain theme. And I got this instead!" She patted the umbrella headband happily before tensing, and crouching inward, voice lowering to what was definitely not how she spoke a second ago. "Pssst. Hey, hey kid. C'mere. I hears ya need some help with your woiks."

Lime took a moment to mentally translate this. He was uncertain, but he did need help with his works. He twisted his long, scaly neck over to where she stood. 

"Yeah, alright."

She opened her trench coat wide, causing a flinch or two throughout the group, to reveal what was lined on the inside. Lime could identify a turnip, a rutabaga, celeriac, a parsnip, a yam, taro, a daikon, and jicama. "Um…" Lime was confused. "What-"

"Oh my god" Kat put her paws over her face. 

"Did youse need help wit' some titles?" Lefay waggled her eyebrows. There was absolute silence, aside from some traitorous snickering from some of the others. 

"..............No," Lime decided on as his response. "Titles I can figure out later, but I just need some story ideas to title in the first place." 

"Oh, why didn't you say so!" She responded in her normal voice. "I can totally help with that!" Lime brightened. Lefay smiled back, and then promptly fell to the floor, pillow under her head, asleep. 

Lime flinched back, and turned back to the rest of the room, slumping his head in his hands. 

"This is never going to work," he lamented. "I'll never get a new idea like this!"

"Well," Nyn cut in, "maybe that's your answer." Lime slowly lifted his head, squinting in confusion. "I mean, if you're not coming up with ideas this way, maybe this way isn't the way to go about it?"

"Right," Allison agreed, as Mandy un-flopped from her. "Just because this works for some people, or even if it's worked for you before, doesn't mean you have to use this method."

"Inspiration comes differently for everyone." Kat piped in, tail swishing in excitement. "You shouldn't feel pressured to choose one specific way and stick to it." 

"And if you're forcing yourself to come up with ideas, doesn't that negate why you're writing in the first place?" Phoenix added. 

"Heck yeah!" Fin shouted. "Writing fanfic is supposed to be fun!" Mandy gently put a hand on his arm. 

"You shouldn't feel pressured at all. If you can't think of something to write, you don't have to." Lime looked up at her, she smiled gently down at him. "You're allowed to not write. You're allowed to take a break. You're allowed to put yourself first." Lime sniffed out a laugh, before looking at all the smiling, encouraging faces of his friends and fellow fanders. 

"Okay, I give. You guys are right." He stood up on all fours, nails clacking against the wood floor. "Now let's get out of this…" he looked around again, frowning. "Wait, where are we?"

"Looks like a stage of some sort?" Kat voiced, uncertainly. A voice sounded from all around them. 

"I'm a theater, sweetheart." Brook responded. There was a rimshot.

"You know, it's things like this that make me really glad that I picked my authorsona myself." Lime deadpanned. Allison and Mandy nodded. 

Over in the corner, a shovel fell over onto a sketchpad in agreement. 

"Yeah, I don't know who's doing this," Mandy spoke a little too nonchalantly, "but these are really, really bad. Like, objectively terrible. I mean just completely awful. As if whoever did it started with zero sense of humor, and then got worse." Hey, watch it, witchy, I’m in control of this story. "And I'm in control of a lot more stories, I can make angst like you wouldn't believe," she cheerfully stated, appropriate of nothing, according to the others' perspectives. 

…I surrender. 

Mandy smirked, satisfied, before bounding over to Lime's back. "So, wanna give us a ride back?"

"Sure," Lime offered his hands out, palms flat for everyone (except for those with wings) to climb on. When everyone had settled, he spread his wings, and took flight. As he faded into the horizon, he mumbled to himself, "Maybe I'll write something with Virgil…"

About a minute after he left, Lefay jolted awake. 

"Alright! I've got like six more plausible ideas for AUs, there's this one where-" Lefay paused, looking around. She seemed distressed for a moment, before continuing. "-but I never figured out what happened with the incident with the noodles. TIME FOR MORE RESEARCH!" She pointed dramatically up to the sky, before immediately flopping back into sleep. 

BONUS!

There was a ringing sound. Every set of eyes snapped to the source. 

"Are you ringing from your body?” Allison asked Kat incredulously. 

"I've got a phone in the box," Kat blushed, fishing it out.

"Getting a call, box-Kat?" Mandy grinned wickedly. Kat barked at her. Mandy frowned. 

"Why-"

"I love dogs," she shrugged. 

@callboxkat @delimeful @hiddendreamer67 @theatresweetheart @lefaystrent @infinimay @enby-phoenix @arc852 @justanotherpurplebutterfly @eatingashovel (not by name but you make an appearance)

[hhunjins]

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral reader (with housemate Minho)

Genre: college!au, fluff, lowkey strangers to lovers

Word Count: ~4,600

Warnings: Alcohol, language

Notes: I started this almost three weeks in advance but I still ended up posting late so…oops. Hope you guys enjoy it nevertheless! Happy 20th to the buffest smol boy I know! You deserve all the happiness!

Summary: Changbin was nothing like you thought he was, and maybe, just maybe this party might not turn out so bad.

Every moment that passes by is another one spent in regret. Minho is currently getting shitfaced on the other side of the room and having the time of his life, so you’re stuck sitting in a spinning barstool as tipsy college students continue to yell around you.

Listening to Minho is always a hit or miss, mostly misses, but your housemate was so adamant about dragging you to his frat’s party that you felt like you had to indulge him this once. You regretted it the moment you heard the party from a block away. Minho’s gleeful expression as he pulled up to the curb and dragged you out of the car with a firm hand wrapped around your wrist eased the swirling in your stomach a bit but then he ditched you for his friends and now you’re lonely.

While you knew everyone here, it wasn’t like you could hold a conversation with them. They were Minho’s friends, and you were Minho’s other friend. Two different worlds that didn’t mix. But at least they were nice and offered you drinks.

You make another rotation in your seat, using your feet to spin yourself around in the chair as you fiddle with your phone. The air is hot and somewhat sticky from how many people there are packed into this house, even spilling out into the front and back yard. You’re surprised the cops haven’t been called but living in a college town where the majority of the residents were students has its perks. After all, Saturday nights are the best time to drink to forget. If only you dared, of course. Minho called you a wholesome child but, in your defense, if you went as far as Minho, there would be no one to get him into bed and deal with his whiny ass when he wakes up the next day with a massive hangover. It was more of a favor for him than anything, but Minho would beg to differ.

“Hello!”

You flinch when you feel an arm sling itself over your shoulders and a head press against your shoulder. “Hi, Felix,” you say when you recognize the familiar weight of the boy who loves to cling onto you whenever possible.

Felix grins lazily, leaning even more into your personal space and draping his entire body over your back like a cat. “I didn’t know you were into this life.” He speaks slowly, like he’s processing his words as they come from his mouth. His cheeks are warm, and his cheeks are dusted pink. “Why are you sitting here being lonely?”

“Minho dragged me here,” you say, as if it answers anything.

But it seems to suffice since Felix lets out a low hum. He swivels you side to side on the chair, twisting his body just enough to create movement. “I’m going to get something to drink,” he mumbles after a while.

“Okay.”

And then Felix’s warmth is gone from your back.

You make another round on your chair, daring to swing your legs back and forth just a bit to give yourself something to focus on. The way the zippers on your jeans reflect the dim light when you sit at the perfect angle. The way your hands are clammy as they grip your phone because you want to leave but Minho has the keys to his car and he’s not going to let you go without a fight.

Though you’re slumped over in your seat, Felix’s blond head catches your eye as it bobs around in the sea of dark hair. He appears a few moments later, walking slowly and holding his cup with two hands like he’s cradling something precious. His eyes are trained on it, to the point where he’s almost cross eyed, as he inches closer and closer to you as if walking faster than snail’s pace would spill his drink.

At this point, you’re sure Felix is at least halfway gone because normal Felix is kind of an idiot, but not like this. He looks up when he’s about two (large) steps away from you and gives you a look like a child during Christmas. “This is for you!” he says.

It’s kind of like a movie, how everything seems to move as fast as Felix did in the next few seconds. Like someone slow-moed this exact moment just to make you suffer. It takes a simple elbow to his back to knock him off balance and Felix’s drink goes flying right into your white shirt. If life were a comedy, there would be the corny recorded laugh track going off in the background because you’re stunned into silence as Felix stares at this cup on the floor.

You knew you shouldn’t have come.

Apparently all the money Minho pays for his dues doesn’t go towards decent toilet paper because your shirt is still soaked and there are flecks of it stuck to the fabric where it rubbed off with your incessant dabbing. Felix is groaning right outside, probably slumped against the wall beside the door as he mumbles apologies through sniffles. You’re not sure if it’s the alc that’s getting to him or if he’s actually so sad about the drink that he’s crying, but your desperation to go home is too high to be thinking about Felix’s hurt feelings.

It takes a moment to process Felix’s slow “hey” and the door to the bathroom suddenly opening with a loud slam against the wall, but then you’re face to face with Seo Changbin, who looks surprisingly sober as he stares back.

“Oh. Sorry, but I really need to use the bathroom.”

You wince. “Okay.” You roll out a handful of toilet paper around your hand and slip out the door.

“Ah, wait.” Changbin’s hand is warm as it wraps around your wrist and you stare at the hand for a moment before looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Changbin seems to be surprised himself at the touch but he immediately lets go of your wrist and begins shrugging off his hoodie jacket. “To cover your,” he gestures vaguely at the wet stain on your shirt and gives you a pitying look as he says, “I’ll find you some paper towels that might help better.” Then he nudges you into the dim hallway by swatting the air like he’s shooing a fly.

The hoodie in your hand is soft and still has his body heat clinging onto its fibers. You’re not sure if you’re more shocked that Seo Changbin is here out of all places, that he talked to you, or that he gave you his hoodie like you were close friends.

“Y/n?” Felix tugs at your pant leg. “I’m sorry,” he says, eyes wide and pouty like that one Puss in Boots meme floating around on the internet.

“Felix, it’s fine.”

“I tried to stop him,” Felix continues. His fist is still holding onto your jeans. “He walked in anyway.”

“It’s really fine, Felix. I think we need to get you to bed though.” The words come out with a little soulless laugh. You can’t really believe your luck. Dragged to a frat party you didn’t really want to go to and now you’re going to be D.D. for your economics seatmate because he can’t even walk straight. What a night. You squat so you’re eye to eye and put a both hands on either sides of his cheeks, wad of toilet paper forgotten. “Did you drive here?”

Light spills out from the bathroom when the door opens again and you flinch a little at the sudden brightness.

“Uh, am I interrupting something?” Changbin questions. He raises his hands in mock surrender when you raise an eyebrow. “Okay. Nothing. Sorry,” he says quickly. “Lix, you okay?”

Felix lets out a sleepy mumble and promptly slumps forward into your shoulder. Out like a fucking light.

“Umm, would you happen to have somewhere to let him sleep?” you ask as you maneuver Felix into a position where his head isn’t digging into your collarbone.

“Do you know where he lives? I’ll just take him home.” Changbin gives you a hesitant smile, just a little tug of the corner of his lip, as he squats down beside you to poke Felix’s cheek. “I don’t think leaving him here would be a good idea.”

In all the years you’ve known Changbin, this is probably the most you’ve ever talked to him since…ever. He was always kind of untouchable, but not because he was way out of your league or popular at any point from elementary to high school. Actually, he was that weird kid everyone kind of avoided because he was always wearing black, even in sweltering hot, humid summers and hunched over a desk or any hard surface while scribbling into his barely-held-together notebook.

And that was why it was so weird to see him at 11 a.m. at a party because you never would have taken awkward, quiet Seo Changbin to be a frat boy. College changes people you guess.

You let out a small noise of assent as you struggle to stand while balancing Felix’s weight against you. Your still damp shirt presses against your skin again and makes you cringe all over again at the feeling.

Without a word, Changbin lifts Felix from your grip. “Help him onto my back. My car’s just down the block.”

All the times you’ve compared Felix to a cat is nothing compared to the way he is curled up in the backseat with his head on your lap…like a cat. Your pat his head mindlessly as you watch Changbin’s eyes flitter occasionally to check his mirrors through the rearview mirror.

Changbin drives consistently, carefully, unlike Minho’s random bursts of speed and quick braking. You’re not sure if he’s purposefully going slow so Felix doesn’t throw up all over his car but you’re thankful for a smooth ride nevertheless.

“Make a right. It’s the third building. You can probably just park in the street. I’ll call his roommate.” How you seem to know everyone in Minho’s circle of friends will always be a miracle, and for once you’re thankful that he’s a social butterfly that somehow snagged every useful phone number out there.

Changbin drums his fingers against the wheel as he changes lanes and follows your directions.

To say Jeongin is annoyed when he picks up is putting it lightly, but he grumbles that he’ll be out to collect his “lightweight bother of a friend” after he finishes this round of Smash.

Changbin has found a parking spot during your lengthy call with Jeongin and has the windows rolled down. The crisp night air is refreshing to inhale and you roll up the sleeves of Changbin’s hoodie so your arms can feel it too.

“He’s here.” Changbin’s voice breaks the silence and you look to see Jeongin walking towards the car with an angry pout. It would be great teasing material if his roommate wasn’t passed out on your lap. Poor boy.

You open the door and scoot out first, letting Changbin carefully coax Felix out of the backseat when he appears by your side. “Alright, Lix. Time for bed okay? Be good to Jeongin.”

Felix’s incoherent babbling might be an indicator that he still has some consciousness but, judging from the way Jeongin has to shift his weight to balance, that might just be him sleep-talking.

“Watch my car? I think Jeongin needs help.”

You nod and cross your arms over your chest. “Okay.”

When Changbin returns ten minutes later, he finds you sitting on the curb in front of his car, bright light from your phone illuminating your face. “Do you want to go home or back to the–”

“Home. Please.” The part of you that isn’t super drained shudders at the prospect of returning to that place. Instead, you flap your arms so the sleeves of Changbin’s hoodies are unrolled and then pull them to cover your hands. “I don’t think I’d ever go back.”

Changbin laughs a little at that, offering you a hand and pulling you upwards. “Actually do you want ice cream before I take you back? I’m craving.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Somehow, ice cream ends up being sitting on the trunk of Changbin’s 2010 Civic in your driveway as you hold your half of a twin popsicle while pointing out tiny, flickering stars in the sky. Changbin has long finished it, biting through it like the heathen he is, and is leaning back on the back window with a little cup of vanilla ice cream while sucking on the wooden stick used to scoop it.

For some reason, this doesn’t feel awkward. You would expect it to be with how much, or rather little, history you share. Maybe it was because neither of you tried to force conversation and just let comfortable silence blanket the two of you. It’s nice. You would go to parties more often if it meant doing stuff like this afterwards with Changbin.

Wait. No. Scratch that last bit. Why did that even become a thought anyway?

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“When was the last time you visited home?”

The list of weird things that have happened between you and Changbin in the span of two hours just keeps getting longer and longer.

“Home?” You shrug. “A month ago or so.” Glancing over at him, you ask, “What about you?”

“I haven’t come back since we went off to college,” he confesses. “There isn’t much to come back to, really.”

“Oh.” The words could be taken as passive aggressive, but his tone doesn’t sound so.

Another glance to Changbin results in eye contact, which he breaks first to scoop his ice cream. “You know, I was surprised to see you at the party.” He nudges your shoulder with his arm and tilts his head to the side. There’s a little smile that’s threatening to form. You can tell by the way the corner of his lips twitch and how his eyes seem to glitter like the faint stars you were supposed to be looking at.

You laugh a little, finally biting a chunk out of your popsicle since you sucked out all the flavor from the end of it. “Wasn’t really my choice.”

“I’m glad you went though. Even if you ended up having to deal with drunk Lix and a dirty shirt.” He nudges you again, but there’s a smile this time.

Your heart kind of maybe flutters a bit. “Yeah. I’m glad too.”

Silence blankets you again, but this time your heart is beating a little bit faster since Changbin is that much closer. In all the years you’ve known him, he was always background noise, but now when he’s the only person you’re with and the only remnant of home, there’s something different when you look at him. It wasn’t just the physical changes from skinny, lanky Changbin to toned arms and fuller cheeks. Nor was it the slit in his eyebrow that made him look almost completely different from the boy you knew since you were in grade school. It was the confident glint in his eyes and the way he carried himself that made him feel untouchable this time.

Maybe it would be an overstatement to say that you may or may not have a little thing for this new changed Changbin, but there’s something definitely there that makes your cheeks warm and your heart palpitate.

“You little shit, you left me last night!”

You are rudely awaken by a pillow to your face as Minho smacks you roughly with it again. “What the–”

“You left me! I was looking all over for you! You didn’t even bother to check your phone!” Minho smacks you one last time for good measure and huffs. Crossing his arms on his chest, he musters up the meanest looking glare he can and watches you rub sleep out of your eyes. When the world is in focus, you find that Minho is still in the clothes from last night, though his hair is a little messy. “When did you get back? Or better, how did you get back?”

“You sound like my mom,” you grumble, pulling your blanket over your face to block him from view. “I told you I didn’t want to come and I had to take care of Felix and I got a ride home around 2 a.m.” “From who?”

Minho’s eyes scan the room and zero in on a hoodie that definitely isn’t yours draped over your chair. “Oh my god. Whose jacket is that?”

Before you can untangle yourself from your blanket and tell Minho to mind his own business, he’s already swiping the hoodie off the chair. He ignores the weird look you give him when he sniffs it and then lets out a bark of laughter. “Seo Changbin?”

“What the fu–” You wonder exactly what frat boys do that lead them into knowing who is who based on their smell, but that might be Minho? You’re not sure, but at this point you’re too flustered – and scared – to ask.

“Changbin drove you home?”

“Yes?”

“He gave you his hoodie?”

“To borrow,” you clarify. Your mind immediately thinks back to his sweet smile after bidding you goodnight.

Minho’s narrowed eyes remind you of what his cats look like when they’re sleepy. “How do you know Changbin? And exactly what did you do last night after leaving a party I took you to with another dude?” he interrogates.

“He’s from home. And we took Felix home and got ice cream. That’s literally it.” You’re going to leave out the part where Changbin gave you a playful wink after leaving you with a promise of meeting up again hanging in the air. You’re also going to neglect to mention how it totally sounded flirty and how he wrote his number on your wrist after telling you to hold onto his jacket for the time being.

“It gives us a reason to meet up again,” he said. And it totally didn’t make you go a little weak at the knees. You’re not in love with Seo Changbin. You’ve known (of) each other for far too long to fall so easily. Nope. Definitely not.

You soon find that Changbin is a fervent emoji user and meme connoisseur. He double (honestly, quadruple texts) like a monster but he never fails to leave a smile on your face. It’s gotten to the point where Minho is seriously doubting that you “just got ice cream” last week but he won’t – can’t – say anything in case you decide to suffocate him in his sleep. It’s irritating to have him peek over your shoulder whenever you walk into the room while on your phone and ask, “what’cha doing?” like the nosy shit he is. And If you answer with anything other than “texting Changbin” he’ll go on a lecture about hiding things from your housemate when you’re supposed to be best friends, and you’ve heard that spiel too many times you’ve basically memorized it by heart. So you reply with, “texting Changbin” and disregard the smug grin and eyebrow quirk on his face.

Life is good. Peaceful for the most part. And a little bit warmer now with a new hoodie and friend.

“I never would have thought this day would come.”

Changbin looks up from his bowl of jjajangmyun and blinks. “Huh?” he says through his full mouth. For anyone else (namely Minho), you would have called it obnoxious and told them off but Changbin looks kind of cute with his cheeks full.

“I didn’t think I would befriend you at all, even though I knew we were going to the same college,” you explain. “You were really different back home.”

Changbin slurps up his noodles and takes a bite of picked radish before going back to scribbling notes into his tablet. “I guess? I didn’t really have the chance to change back home. There’s no one here to stop me from doing what I want.” He finishes off the rest of his radish slice.

“What does that mean?”

“Everyone kind of deemed me the weirdo at home and I was okay with it, I guess. At least there wasn’t bullying or anything. We all had our respective groups and I did better on my own.”

It all sounds so nonchalant, but you can’t help but feel guilty for not even trying to reach out.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Changbin says, like he can read your thoughts. “It’s really nothing. I’m here now and living my life.” He smiles to reassure you. “But if it makes you feel better, you get the title of being my first friend from home.”

The words make your heart to a tumble in your chest. Your ears are tingling, probably turning the same shade of pink your cheeks have taken. “Oh. Cool.”

You rearrange your legs so you’re sitting cross-legged on your chair and resume your work. There is the occasional clinking of your chopsticks against the bowl when you eat, but no words are exchanged as you continue with your studying. It isn’t until you hear the front door open and Minho’s loud voice announcing his entrance that you realize that hours have passed since Changbin came over.

“Y/n, you won’t believe– oh hello Changbin.”

Changbin looks up and gives a little wave. “Hello.”

Minho’s eyes flicker to you, back to Changbin, and then to the mess scattered on the kitchen table. “Studying?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, recognizing the glint in his eyes. “You can join us, Minho.”

Minh grins, almost evilly, and shakes his head. “That’s okay. Have fun on your little study date.” He leaves after making fake kissy faces at you and ignoring your “it’s not a date.”

Honestly you don’t even know if it is because you migrated here after meeting up somewhere on campus and grabbing boba. And this isn’t the first time either. It’s the fifth, in fact, but it’s not like you’re keeping track of how many times Changbin has planned a rendezvous and bought you food. You’re also not keeping track of how many times you check your phone in hopes that the recent notification is a text from Changbin (at least once every ten minutes). And you’re definitely not keeping track of how many nights you’ve fallen asleep with a smile on your face after texting Changbin (every night since you texted him back the morning you were rudely awakened by your dear housemate).

Changbin watches your roommate leave and only turns back when the coast is clear. “So if this isn’t a date,” he says.

“Huh?”

Changbin tilts his head to the side and sucks in his lower lip between his teeth to bite. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. “Since this isn’t a date, do you want to go on one with me?”

What.

The word apparently gets spoken out loud in that exact, dead tone and Changbin looks amused before he shrugs and goes back to scrolling through his fancy touchscreen device. “Just a question. No is an option.”

Your heart is doing a gymnastics routine that you didn’t know it could ever do just because a boy asked you out on a date. But this isn’t just any boy. This is Seo Changbin! your mind screams. So you flounder like a fish out of water.

“What,” you repeat.

Changbin smiles to himself, ducking his head and resting his chin on a fist on the table.

Changbin’s hooded jacket has made itself at home in your closet, along with his sweater with his fraternity’s name on it and three of his t-shirts because you like oversized t-shirts but have no money of your own to buy them. He indulges you in raiding his closet every once in a while and secretly loves the fact that you wear his clothes around on lazy days and even to class if you’re really feeling lazy. What’s even better is that some of the clothes he wears himself finds a home in a special section of your closet.

It’s quite frightening how fast your lives intertwine and how he has become a constant. The first person you text good morning and the last you text goodnight. The first person to come to mind when you see something new to eat around campus. The first person you call when something funny happens and you need to let someone else hear about it. He’s just the first for anything and everything.

Changbin jokes sometimes about this being part of his lifetime master plan to make you fall for him after learning about the mere exposure effect in his psychology class, but you think it’s more than just history and proximity that pulls you to him.

There are times you wish you knew this Changbin before, because then college wouldn’t have been so terrifying. He is everything you need, even if it’s cheesy as hell to admit. Minho has hinted at (more like shoved down your throat with his unceasing lectures) how Changbin never seems to shut up about you and it’s getting annoying and how “you should get your lovesick boyfriend to stop so I don’t have to see and hear about you every moment of my life.” You pay no mind every time just to spite him.

It just feels surreal sometimes, like when you’re sitting on the passenger’s side in his car and his right hand just tugs your left one from your phone to slot his fingers between yours. Or when you wake up from a nap and find him still seated next to you on the bed while working on his homework. Or even when you brush your teeth together in your tiny bathroom with matching toothbrushes distinguished by the names you’ve stuck onto them after you got your hands on Minho’s label maker.

“Oh my god, you still have that thing?”

Changbin jerks upwards, slamming the cover to his notebook closed and pressing both hands on the cover before he realizes that you’ve finished your shower and currently have a towel over your head. “Oh, yeah. I’ve had it since forever,” he says.

“I know.” You plop down at the edge of his bed and begin to towel your hair dry. “It’s falling apart.”

It doesn’t take long for Changbin to put away this things and scooch over to you. His hands stop your movement, taking the towel from your grip, and begin to gently dry your hair. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he chuckles when you slowly lean forward after being lulled to sleep with his ministrations.

“Feels nice,” you mumble.

It’s back to being quiet again until Changbin begins to hum lowly, like he’s trying not to make it obvious.

“I’ve never heard of that song before,” you comment as you turn your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye.

Changbin looks thoughtful, biting his lower lip before letting it loose. It’s shiny with saliva and just a tad more pink and you kind of want to kiss him.

“I wrote it for you.”

Changbin leaves the towel on your head and disappears from your side before you can even process what he means. He makes a loud noise when you reach to lift it so you sit with obscured vision until he returns to the edge of the bed. From under the towel, you can see his laptop and his finger tap the spacebar. The same song he was humming begins to play, and while it’s kind of rough on the edges (you can tell he recorded with his phone mic) it sounds like a masterpiece.

“What is this?” you ask.

“For you.” Changbin lifts the towel before capturing your lips in a soft kiss.  

[everyone-needs-a-hoopoe]

Words: 788 Characters: Frisk, MK Genre: Fluff Summary: Frisk is confused, but MK is not. A little celebration of gender.

Your nimble fingers clamber up twig and branch, scuffed boots scrabbling against the trunk of the oak to push you higher. A foothold here, a handhold here, and that’s about as high as you can go. Above you wavers only the thin green growth that would sooner chuck you back down to earth in disgust than deign to hold your weight.

You plonk your butt down on your perch and grin down at MK through the foliage, waving both your arms above your head. “L-look! No hands!”

“Whoooooa!” they call from the ground, eyes wide and starry, up on reptilian tiptoes to see you. “Yo, how’d you get that high?” Their tail lashes from side to side excitedly.

You raise both arms in a shrug. “Your turn! C-come catch me!”

“Bet I’ll get there faster than you!” They back up, eyes narrowing, little forked tongue sticking out. Wiggling their butt like a cat... they race forward and leap a good few feet high and dig their big clawed feet and little sharp teeth into the bark, blunt snout smushed against it.

You wolf whistle and pump your fists in the air as with a determined growl they begin to scramble up the trunk in jumps and fumbles, all lashing tail and determined eyes. You chant their name until, huffing and puffing and glittery-eyed, they plop down beside you.

“And the crowd goes wiiiiild!” they cry as you sling an arm around them and squish them to your side. The two of you cheer in unison. Then you nearly fall off and have to return to concentrating before you both break your skulls.

It doesn’t last long, though. MK stares out over the vista; forest stretching behind you until Mount Ebott sprouts from its midst, little monster village not even a week old huddled before you with the human city looming not far beyond. “Yo, this is so cool... look, you can see my house!” They point with their snout, kicking their legs. “Oh man, haha, don’t tell my parents I’m here, okay?”

You nod when they look fearfully back at you, zipping your lips and throwing away the key in the most solemn of promises. Second only to the pinky promise, which MK is unfortunately incapable of.

“Aw, thanks, Frisk! But don’t zip your mouth up just yet, yo, I wanna play a game!”

You unzip your mouth.

“Rad! Okay, okay, how about, uhhh...” They bite their lip and kick again, staring pensively into the distance. “How abooooout... twenty questions!”

You don’t like that game. It makes your gut twist. “U-um-“

“It’s cool, I’ll start! What’s your, uh... favourite colour?”

“O-oh, uh- pink! Or... blue! I like both!”

“Yo, those are good colours!” You beam. MK grins back. “Okay, your turn!”

“Ummmm...” You drum your fingers on the branch, trying to spot something to ask in the leaves. “Um, um... are... are you a boy or a girl?” You’ve long been... confused. They talk like a boy, but they wear dresses and a bow. You don’t get it.

“Huh?” They give you a weird look. “I’m not either.”

Your eyes would widen but it’s midday and the sunlight hurts a little. “Really?”

“Yeah, yo! My sister said she was a girl when she was pretty little, but I was always like nah, yo, I’m not like that at all. Wait, are you a boy or girl? I just thought you were neither too, ‘cause you never said it was wrong and everyone else calls you they all the time.” They look worried.

“I’m-“ you start, and then stop, and then stare. You look away and hunch your shoulders and gnaw on your index fingernail.

MK waits. After a moment, they lean in and press their snout against the side of your head. “Yo?”

Your voice has left you and run for the hills. You’re so lucky MK and everyone else knows sign language. “I like how everyone calls me they. Does that mean I’m not either, like you? Can I be that?”

“Duh! Heaps of monsters are like that. I don’t get why humans can’t be too. It’s called being nonbinary, y’know.”

You think this over carefully. At last, you smile, and bump your nose against MK’s. “I’m nonbinary!” you say. Your heart fills with light and warmth.

They laugh. “You’re such a weirdo, Frisk. Now it’s my turn for a question. Uhh... what’s the grossest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“A worm!”

“What!? Yo, no way!”

“I got dared.”

They let out a yell and shove you away. You cling giggling to the branch as they babble about how gross you are, and like them at last you have your identity nestled warm and lovely in your heart.

[marper-didnt-die-for-blecho]

The Reason She Sleeps In Class

for @miraculousfluffmonth day 2- Goodnight Kisses

—

It was late. He had come in hours ago, already tired. Dropped his transformation and flopped onto her bed. He didn’t even check to see if there were people in her room, that’s how tired he was. His father had him go from school, to fencing, and then to back to back photoshoots. He just dropped onto her bed and was out like a light.

If Marinette had not been in the room, she never would have known he was even there.

With a soft smile, she walked over to him. “My sleepy little model.”

She shifted him so that she could lift the blanket on her bed. She then proceeded to roll him under the blanket and tuck him in. She placed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight.”

As she pulled away and stood up, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Mari…”

“But you couldn’t help me tuck you on…”

“Tired…” He pulled at her. “Stay.”

She pulled away from him. “I can’t. I have to finish my homework.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll do it for you before I go, just sleep now.”

She sighed. “Fine… But you better do it too, my grades aren’t suffering just because you wanted to be cuddled.”

He nodded as she slipped into the bed with him. “You’re lucky I love you.”

He pulled her closer. “The luckiest.”

—

He woke up hours later, no longer tired. He poked Marinette. “Mari?” He whispered.

“Go to sleep.”

“But Mari…”

She reached over and kissed him on the forehead. “Sleep Adrien.”

He pouted “But you missed.”

She sighed and kissed his nose. “No more. Sleep.”

He frowned, but he knew by her tone that she was serious. He decided that he was too.

He began to fidget.

He itched and twitched and moved while she tried to sleep.

“Stop moving.” She whined.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

He smirked. “My girlfriend won’t kiss me goodnight.”

She was quiet as he waited for her response. He wondered if she would finally do it, when he felt a hand on his arm.

Did she just?

“Did you just hit me?” He rubbed his stinging arm.

“Yes. Now go to sleep.”

He sat up, offended. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve wounded not only my skin, but my honor as well.”

“Oh, so now you’re Prince Zuko? I’m too tired.”

“And now you’ve offended the best character ever created. You must pay!”

Before she could understand what he was saying, he began to tickle her.

She shrieked. “ADRIEN NO!” her giggles filled the room.

“Say sorry and I’ll stop. And you have to promise to give me a proper goodnight kiss. Only then will I stop.”

She spoke between laughs. “Why… would I… say sorry to… an over… glorified… hot pocket?”

He gasped and his tickles became more vicious. “How dare you?” He loved Zuko because he could relate to him the most, Absent mother, unloving father, a group of friends who used to dislike him, someone close to him that doesn’t understand him and hates his friends (Oops, too sad for this short fic), but he knew Mari was joking.

Doesn’t mean he has to let up.

“Say sorry, Beautiful.”

“Never!” With a random burst of energy came her defense.

Soon, they were both tickling each other.

“Adrien, stop! I want to go to sleep!”

“Surrender to the terms then!”

“No!”

And on it went

—

“How do her parents not know? They’re so loud!”

Tikki giggled. “They know, they just think they’re cute.”

The cat kwami was confused. “How do you know?”

“I’m not always in her room, Plagg. Sometimes she needs privacy. Sometimes I need more cookies.”

“So you just roam around whenever you want?”

She side eyed him. “Are you saying that you don’t?

“It’s different, Adrien’s house is huge but empty. I can go through 20 rooms, not repeat a room, and still never run into anyone other than Adrien. If you go into 5, you’ve run into the whole family.”

“Whatever, Plagg.”

He smiled. He knew he was right. “It’s weird how you’re supposed to be the good luck, but I’m the one who’s always right.”

“Plagg…”

“Shhh. Your chosen is trying to sleep.”

“She’s having a tickle fight…”

“About trying to sleep.”

“Plagg…”

“No, look!”

—

Marinette grinned. She had flipped their positions so she was the one looking down at him. “Pinned ya.”

He pushed up against her hands. “You’re still not going to sleep until my demands have been met.”

She pouted. “You’d really keep me from sleeping?”

“Aaahhh! Not the Big Eyes. Mari, stop.”

“Then let me sleep.”

“No! I must be strong.” He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see her face. “For Zuko!” He found some strength and flipped them over.

“I’m starting to think you like him more than you love me. Besides, Katara is clearly the best character. She’s the only one who doesn’t let her emotions rule her. She does what she needs to do, not what she wants. No matter how much it hurts her.”

“Mhmm. Well, you can be the Katara to my Zuko. A perfect match.”

She stared up at him, wide eyed, and whispered, “Zutara Shipper! The unholiest of ships. I cannot believe…”

He stopped and got off of her. “You just dissed my OTP. Mari how could you? I thought you loved me!”

She just looked at him. “Adrien come back to bed.”

“No. I’m hurting.”

“Adrien.”

“No.”

“Adrien…”

“Apologize.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“For?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry for insulting your OTP, I know it was wrong and I won’t do it again, I promise, just come to bed.”

He slowly got back into the bed. “Still not going to sleep.”

“Adrien please? I’m tired…”

“Do it.”

“I’m sorry for insulting Zuko. I know how you love him.”

He smiled and laid back down. She curled herself around him.

He looked at her, hair loose and falling into her face. She looked so beautiful he didn’t know what to do. So he told her.

She blushed. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Will you ever let me be the big spoon?”

“You’re a few years too late for that, cutie. Besides, you like being held.”

“Maybe…”

“Are you going to let me go to sleep now?”

He pretended to think. “You still didn’t meet one of my demands. I want a proper goodnight kiss. I can’t sleep without it, and neither will you.” A loud yawn escaped him, and she knew he was going to be asleep within 10 minutes whether she kissed him or not.

Doesn’t mean she didn’t want to do it anyways.

She giggled and kissed him gently, before pulling back. “That’s all you get. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Beautiful.”

[excerptsfromunfinishednovels]

Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #23: Campfire Curiosities

Genre: horror

Warnings: strong language

Word Count: 3,178

Summary: Old Mrs Malone – she’s a witch. All the neighbourhood kids know this. All the neighbourhood kids stay away. Except for the Street Dogs – they ain’t afraid of nothing.

Excerpt is from of the novel

Old Mrs Malone – she’s a witch. All the neighbourhood kids know this. Whispers float from mouth to ear, carrying stories that pass from child to child as they survey their kingdom from the top of the tallest tree at the end of the cul-de-sac, as they huddle together in the one decent hide-and-go-seek spot in the confines of the Smith’s back garden, as they pick the blackberry bush and crab tree clean, eating most of their harvest before bringing the rest to their mothers to put in a crumble. She’ll skin you alive, they say, she’ll put you in a pie, roast you and serve you to her cats. She’ll eat your soul and keep your husk alive to act as one of her slaves. She’s a witch, the whispers say in tones that are sometimes frightened, sometimes deeply dramatic, but always, always with a warning edge that brooks no argument. Stay away from her. And so the neighbourhood kids stay away.

The Street Dogs though, they’re not kids, they’re teenagers. And they ain’t afraid of nothing.

“I’m bored,” Nisha declares dully from her spread-eagle position on the grass.

“Hi bored, I’m Luca,” Luca replies, his sniggering continuing even when she reaches out and punches him on the arm.

“We could head to Keogh’s for ice-cream,” Corrinne suggests as she plants kisses on Luca’s arm, ignoring how his face turns bright red in response.

“Nah, I’m supposed to be looking after Ciara today; if we leave I’ll have to bring her,” Pippa says, her eyes flicking towards her little sister shrieking with laughter as she plays tag further down the field from them.

“Ugh, there has to be something to do,” Nisha groans, rolling over onto her stomach.

Jermaine’s head suddenly pokes up and zie grins and announces, “I’ve got an idea.”

Nisha lifts her head up and follows his line of sight, a huge grin spreading across her face when she spots old Mrs Malone’s house. “Perfect. Dare you to knickknack her.”

The rest of them look over; Luca and Corrinne pale slightly, while Pippa rolls her eyes and says, “Really? Your idea is to bother an old woman?”

“Not an old woman – an old witch,” Jermaine corrects her. “Come on, who’s up for it?”

“I am,” Nisha replies, already scrambling to her feet, while Corrinne presses against Luca’s side as she says, “I don’t know guys, I’ve heard some really weird stories about her…”

“Oh my God seriously, you’re telling me you believe those kids stories?” Jermain spits out, zir face twisted in disgust. “Jesus Corrinne, what are you, chicken?”

“I am not!” Corrinne says defiantly. She stares across at old Mrs Malone’s house with its garden full of rosebushes and honeysuckle, a large rowan tree in the centre, blocking most of the house from sight. “I just…she’s really creepy. Have you guys actually seen her?”

“Yeah, she’s just a blind old woman – the kids take one look at her eyes and think she’s a witch. That’s all,” Pippa says. “I’m not knickknacking her.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring. I’m going,” Nisha says, already walking up the field. “You coming Jermaine?”

“Definitely,” zie replies, hopping to zir feet and jogging after her. “Come on Luca!”

Luca sends Corrinne a wide-eyed look; she sighs and nods, and together they stand and walk hand in hand after Jermaine and Nisha. As they do, Corrinne shoots Pippa a look over her shoulder. Pippa rolls her eyes but stands and follows them, muttering darkly to herself. The five gather together just outside the garden, crouched down and leaning against the wall that runs in front of it.

“Who’s going first?”

“I am,” Nisha says, her face lit up with malice.

She creeps around the edge of the wall, while the other four poke their heads over the top of it to watch. Nisha edges up to the side of the house, stands, takes a few breaths, and starts to sprint towards the front door. Everything is perfect; her form, her pace, her timing, her arm reaching out to knock as her legs continue to carry her past the door. Her fist barely makes contact with the wood when the door opens and a gnarled old hand reaches out and grabs Nisha’s arm.

Nisha yells out as she’s pulled to a stop; she struggles to break free, and her yells turn to screams as the hand tightens its grip, blood trickling down her arm from where the nails break the skin. The hand suddenly moves, yanking Nisha into the house; her terror-filled face is the last thing her friends see before the door slams shut.

Jermaine, Pippa, Luca and Corrinne stare wordlessly at the door, their faces paling.

“We should…we should…” Pippa whispers, clutching the wall so hard it starts to tear at her skin.

Abruptly Jermaine stands and bolts. Corrinne buries her head against Luca’s chest and starts sobbing loudly, while Pippa continues to stare at the house muttering, “We should get help, we should get help,” over and over again.

Luca holds his girlfriend close with one arm and reaches out to Pippa with the other.

“We need to go Pippa,” he says urgently, tugging at her arm. “We need to get out of here.”

Pippa starts, stares at him wide-eyed and terrified. Her gaze flickers between him and the house. “But…but Nisha…”

“There’s nothing we can do right now.”

“We have to help her!”

“How?!”

“We can…we can tell our parents, tell the police, tell someone!”

“Tell them what? That Nisha went knickknacking and got dragged into an old woman’s house by a clawed hand? Who the hell’s going to believe us? Besides,” he adds softly, absent-mindedly rubbing at his chest, “who’s to say that if we tell she won’t come for us?”

Pippa stares at him, fat tears welling up in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. A sudden shriek pierces the air and she whirls around with a soft cry of fright, hand on her chest. She only stiffens further when she sees her sister and the other children playing nearby, their game taking them closer and closer to where they were crouched. Closer to the house.

“Ciara, come on we’re going home!” Pippa suddenly shrieks, her voice hysterical.

“But it’s not even close to dinner time!” the younger girl protests.

Pippa stands, marches over to her sister, grabs her hand and starts pulling her away. “We’re going home and that’s it.”

Ciara squeals and digs her heels in, but Pippa is relentless as she pulls her down the road. Luca helps Corrinne up and the two catch up with Pippa and Ciara, who’s still screaming, her brown cheeks turning scarlet as she goes into full tantrum mode. Once outside her house, Pippa turns to her friends, ignoring her sister who’s now hanging like a dead weight from where she has her around the wrist.

“If Nisha’s not back tomorrow, I’m telling everyone,” she tells them before marching into her house, dragging her sister’s limp body behind her.

Luca sighs and wraps his arm around Corrinne’s shoulder. Corrinne wraps her arm around his waist and snuggles against his side, sniffing loudly as tears continue to roll down her cheeks. “Do you want to come over to mine?”

“My binder’s killing me babe, I really just want to go home and take it off,” he tells her regretfully.

“Do you mind if I come with you?”

Luca’s face brightens and he kisses her temple and replies, “Of course not,” before leading her down the road to his house.

*

The next day, Pippa marches to Nisha’s house and knocks firmly on the door. Her grim expression evaporates when Nisha opens the door, and she stares at her friend in shock before leaping at her and pulling her into a fierce hug.

“Oh my God Nisha, what the hell! I thought I’d never seen you again! I thought – I thought – What happened with old Mrs Malone? How the hell did you get away from her?”

“I walked away,” Nisha replies. “She’s very nice.”

Something is wrong. Nisha’s hands are limp at her sides even as Pippa holds her close, her tone is flat and expressionless. Pippa slowly pulls back, and her eyes widen when she looks into Nisha’s; they look dull and lifeless. Something is very wrong.

“Nisha, why did she pull you in to her house? What happened when you were inside?” she asks slowly.

Nisha licks her lips and replies, “She just wanted to scare me, teach me a lesson about playing pranks. She gave me a biscuit and some milk and then let me out. You guys were gone so I went home.”

Pippa can feel tears welling up in her eyes; this isn’t her Nisha, this is…this is a thing that’s taken her place.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she somehow manages to choke out. “Do you want to go to Keogh’s?”

“I can’t, I have chores to do,” Nisha replies, her dead eyes looking straight through Pippa.

“Okay, maybe later.”

“Yeah. Later.”

Nisha doesn’t wave, or smile or hug Pippa goodbye. Nisha just closes the door, leaving Pippa standing there, tears pouring down her cheeks. She doesn’t remember walking away, doesn’t remember pulling out her phone or making a call; the next thing she knows she’s wrapped up in Corrinne’s, Luca’s, and Jermaine’s arms wailing loudly as they hold her close. It takes a while, but eventually she manages to calm down enough to tell them what happened.

“It’s not Nisha,” she babbles, “I know it’s not. She’s still trapped in that witch’s house – we have to go help her, we have to find her and get her out of there.”

“Go in to the house?” Corrinne asks shakily. “Nu-uh, I’m – I – I can’t,” she stammers out, “I can’t go in there.”

“Will you at least keep watch while I go in?” Pippa pleads with her. “I’ll go by myself.”

“No you won’t,” Jermaine tells her firmly. “I’ll come with you. We’ll all go watch the house now; when the old witch leaves you and I will go inside and see if we can find Nisha, and Luca and Corrinne will keep watch outside. Okay?” zie states.

The other three nod and head off to hide behind some bushes and watch old Mrs. Malone’s house. After about twenty minutes, the front door opens and the old woman steps out, led by her perpetually whining guide dog. The four friends watch her toddle down the road, and when she’s out of sight, they sprint across the road and into her garden. Luca and Corrinne take up their position crouched by the wall, while Pippa and Jermaine hop over the fence at the side of the house and head around the back. The garden there is wild and untamed, overflowing with strange weeds and flowers. They creep up to the backdoor, and just as Pippa’s hand touches the handle, a cat comes flying at them from nowhere, hissing and spitting as it swipes at them with its claws. Pippa shrieks and jumps back, while Jermaine curses and kicks at the cat. The small animal dodges zir feet and plants itself between them and the backdoor, hissing menacingly.

“Jesus,” Jermaine gasps, “I’ve never heard of a guard cat before. Come on, get out of the way!” Zie kicks at the cat again as zie yells, but it continues to dodge, refusing to budge from its post at the door.

Pippa looks around and spots a shovel nearly hidden in the tall grass. She picks it up and raises it as she approaches the cat.

“Out of the way kitty,” she says furiously. “My friend is in there and I’m not leaving until I get her out.”

The cat meows pitifully and looks up at her, and Pippa is momentarily struck by how green and vibrant its eyes are. Just like Nisha’s. Pippa shakes her head, and focuses on her fury and determination to get Nisha back. This is just a trick of the witch’s.

“Move.”

The cat doesn’t budge.

Pippa takes a breath, and on her exhale, swings the shovel at the cat. The animal yowls and springs out of the way, and Pippa and Jermaine run for the door, throw it open and throw themselves into the house. The door closes behind them, muffling the sounds of the cat which is still crying and yowling pitifully.

Pippa and Jermaine breathe a sigh of relief, exchange a look, and burst out laughing, the sound thin and borderline-hysterical as it spreads through the house. All too soon it dies out, leaving the two teenagers sombre and scared.

“Come on,” Jermain says gruffly as zie pushes himself away from the door, “let’s go find Nisha.”

Pippa follows zir further into the house, and they begin their search, wordlessly agreeing to stick together as they move from room to room. Much to their surprise, the house is completely normal; in fact it looks just like their grannys’ houses, full of doilies, old photographs, cute cushions, and a cabinet full of tiny china cups. They find a gramophone surrounded by numerous records, a small library full of old but clearly well-cared-for books, a large birdcage housing a bright red parrot, a collection of porcelain dolls. What they don’t find is Nisha, or any trace of her or piece of evidence that she was ever in the house.

“Okay, maybe…maybe that was Nisha,” Jermaine says, his voice far too calm and careful.

“It wasn’t Jermaine, it wasn’t,” Pippa grits out. “You didn’t see her, she was…it was like she was a shell, all hollowed out. It was like she was dead inside. If that thing was Nisha, or her body or whatever, then the witch did something to her!” She wraps her arms around herself, trying and failing to keep herself from shaking. “What…what do we do?” she whispers, her throat tightening and face scrunching up.

Jermaine looks around and suddenly smirks. “We make her pay.”

Pippa frowns in confusion at zir; her eyes widen as zie pulls open the doors of the cabinet, grabs several of the small cups and throws them on the ground. They smash into pieces, the resulting tinkling noise at odds with the destructive sight. Jermaine laughs as zie pulls out more cups and flings them across the room before climbing on top of the couch and jumping up and down, rubbing the mud from zir runners into the material, kicking doilies and cushions across the room.

“She ruined our friend, so we’ll ruin her house!”

All the sadness and misery from the memory of what Nisha’s become, what that witch did to her best friend turned to white-hot rage; in that moment, Pippa wants nothing more than to find the witch, wrap her hands around her neck, and SQUEEZE. But the witch isn’t there. So she’ll have to make do with her home. She runs to the room with the porcelain dolls, grabs them by their legs and smashes their heads against the wall. She moves next to the library, and starts tearing into the books, ripping them apart and stamping on them, before grabbing a pile of them, bringing them into the sitting room and dumping them on the ground. Soon she has all the books in the middle of the room, and goes in search of a lighter or matches.

The kitchen’s a mess; sauces, food, flour, and other unidentifiable substances are smeared all over the walls, and the floor is covered in the debris of smashed plates. Jermaine’s rummaging through a cupboard, tossing food overs zir shoulder as zie goes.

“Do you have a lighter?”

“No, but I do have cookies,” Jermaine tells her with a grin as he pulls back from the cupboard, a box in zir hand.

“Sweet.” Pippa grins and holds her hands out, making a grabby motion.

Jermaine tears open the box, grabs a couple for zirself and stuffs them in zir mouth as zie tosses the box to Pippa. Pippa shoves a whole cookie into her mouth and chews happily. The chocolate chips melt in her mouth, and the biscuit is the perfect balance of crunch and chewy. She swallows, pulls another one out of the box, and freezes as her gut suddenly clenches and nausea rolls through her stomach. The box drops to the floor, and Pippa bends double with a loud groan as the nausea increases. Distantly she notices Jermain’s fallen to the floor and has started heaving and retching. She falls to her knees and bends over as her gut clenches, twists, and the contents of her stomach force their way up her throat and out her mouth. A lump of pink flesh falls to the floor, and she gasps and pants, tears streaming down her face as she dry-heaves. When her stomach finally settles, she sits back on her heels and wipes her mouth, her breath hitching with soft sobs. She looks over at Jermaine who’s staring at his own lump of flesh that’s…growing?

Pippa’s eyes widen and she tries to scramble away but her limbs are frozen, completely paralysed. A scream erupts from her mouth, matching Jermaine’s as their bodies start to shudder and shrink. As they shrink the lumps grow, their shapes warping, protrusions extending outwards. The lumps expand and grow, limbs forming, eyes, noses, mouths, ears, hair sprouting from the tops of heads, until Pippa and Jermaine are staring up at their doppelgangers. “Pippa,” and “Jermaine,” grin down at them ghoulishly before taking each others’ hands and walking out the backdoor.

Pippa feels frozen with shock, unable to comprehend what she’s seeing. Why do they look so tall? Why does her body feel so foreign and strange? She turns to Jermaine to ask him what zie thinks, and screams in horror when she sees a pig standing in the puddle of zir clothes. Her screams sound high-pitched and squeal-like, and she finally manages to wrench herself out of the paralysis she’s been stuck in. She totters forward, and her screams increase in pitch and intensity when she sees the trotters and legs holding her up. She and Jermaine start to run around the room, banging into each other and the cupboards around them, their squeals filling the house; the house that no longer looks like a cute grandmother-style home, but a dark and dilapidated place full of rot and mould.

There’s a sudden bang as the front door closes, and Old Mrs Malone appears in the sitting room, her hands laden with shopping bags, a manic grin on her face.

“Ah, it seems some greedy piggies have wandered into my house,” she says, walking towards them. “You should have paid attention to your friend when she tried to warn you away.”

She steps forward, licking her lips, and Pippa and Jermaine’s squeals intensify when they see that her eyes aren’t white with blindness, no, they’re pure black and blazing with magic and fury and evil.

“Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had decent bacon. You two will fatten up nicely.”

If you’ve enjoyed this week’s excerpt please like and reblog, and if you have any comments or questions I’d love to hear from you!

Slán!

C.x

[nibimatatabi]

Only Human

Word Count: 2972 Summary: Set roughly around/between PoA & GoF, Cassandra notices a dog digging around in her trash can. Leo is a weird dog, and not even actually a dog. Mostly a cathartic exercise for her, plus I already told @hogwarts-junkie about this thought when I was washing my dog, so I might as well write it. Warning: Rated T for teen due to heavy language.

“That is not a dog, that is a Grim,” Lucile is sipping coffee in Cassandra’s living room. She’s looking out the window at something. The other woman isn’t distraught, just amused. “And it keeps coming back?” Cassandra is pulling turkey out of her fridge.

“Yep, comes back like clockwork to dig in my trash can. Wait, don’t go anywhere, watch this,” Cassandra pushes Sebastian back - the cat is well over twenty years old and still going strong; Cassandra has long since admitted that ‘cat’ is just what he resembles - and then swings open the door. “Dog! Heads up! I have turkey this time!” She launches the meat cuts out the door, as near the sidewalk as she can throw (and boy has this girl learned to throw and hit hard since leaving Hogwarts; one does not trifle with the should-have-been-Black woman). The canine has dropped down, hiding behind the trash can, caught, but when he sees the food he lunges forward, gobbling it down quickly. “Poor thing is skin and bone,” Cassandra shuts the door - and then locks it for good measure.

“You afraid of Black looking you up?” Lucile asks in that wary I-should-know-better-than-to-ask voice that Cassandra knows too well.

“Sirius isn’t dangerous,” she’s back in the kitchen, and her married friend is rolling her eyes. “He isn’t. Sirius was a lot of things, and none of them - not a one - said he was a murderer. He would have DIED rather than give up James. James was more his brother than Regulus,” she slams her palms against the table, frustrated. She’s almost in tears again.

“That’s not what-”

“The minister is a goddamned liar, Lucy. I might not have been with Sirius that long, but I knew his brother damned well and if Regulus would have never done that, then don’t look at me and try to claim that Sirius would have,” Lucile leans back against the window sill, looking out.

“Grim’s gone.”

“Don’t call him that. He’s not a Grim.”

“Then what is he?”

“A dog.”

Three days later, Cassandra stepped outside with her coffee, enjoying the morning before it was too hot to be outdoors. There was the dog again, standing on his hind legs, in her trash. It was empty today, though - there was nothing for him to find. Cassandra clicked her tongue once, and then whistled. “C’mere boy,” she called, as if the dog would actually come. He jerked backwards, falling from the trash can in an ungraceful flailing of limbs. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re okay,” Cassandra cooed, sitting on her front step. She was in a tank top and striped pajama pants, fuzzy slippers, and her shoulder length hair was in a sloppy bun. The words ‘hot mess’ were what could easiest be used to describe Cassandra before she got ready to go to St. Mungos. Today she worked an evening shift, which gave her the morning to kill.

“Come on, puppy dog. I’ve got food in the house, but I’m not getting it if you won’t come here,” the dog crept around the trash can, low to the ground. She couldn’t tell if he was really black, or if he was a dark gray that was just grimy. “Come here sweet pea,” he was creeping toward her, tail down, watching her. His ears were up, alert, and as he drew closer Cassandra was suddenly aware of just how large the dog was. “Oh...my...” he was skinny and underweight, but the dog was almost as big as a white tail deer at the shoulder. “Sweet baby, come here,” she collected herself quickly, reaching a hand out slowly from her cup. No fear. Never show fear.

The dog bumped her head the same way Sebastian did, head against her palm. Cassandra exhaled, not having realized she was holding her breath. “Hi there, baby dog,” she murmured, scratching his head, moving her hand down his neck. No collar. She didn’t expect one, but she had tried to be hopeful. “Can I stand up? You aren’t going to run, right? Come on, come inside with me,” Cassandra convinced the dog to enter her house, and was stunned that he wiped his paws on the doormat outside. “Someone loved you once, didn’t they, boy?” She shut the door, and from the couch Sebastian was suddenly standing, staring at the dog. “Sebastian,” Cassandra’s voice was warning. He meowed, loudly, and then hissed once. The dog was just staring at him. “Leave the cat alone, buddy,” Cassandra moved between the two. Sebastian had sat down. Sebastian meowed again, but this time without the hostility. “Come on, puppy, upstairs. You need a bath.”

The canine didn’t even have to be dragged up the stairs. He went willingly, wagging his tail slightly as Cassandra praised him for being so good. She let him into the bathroom and shut the door, going to change into shorts and a different tank top to wash him in. When she went into the bathroom, the dog was sitting in a tub of water. “I’m sorry what?” She hadn’t filled the tub. The dog lifted a paw and pawed at the faucets until he got one on, and then back off. Totally possible. “Are you one of those failed service dogs?” She ventured after a moment, grabbing her shampoo bottle. The canine whined at her, looking up at her with soft gray eyes.

Cassandra was rubbing shampoo into the dog’s coat and had to stop. “You have blue eyes,” she stated, blinking, trying to find blue. They were gray. Gray like storm clouds, warmer than ice and soft enough that her chest felt like it was being squeezed. “They’re gray,” she whispered, and for a moment she felt her world collapsing around her again, felt as if her life were being shattered all over again. And then she inhaled sharply and shook her head. “Dog with gray eyes. What a strange thing,” she laughed, forced herself to laugh, and kept washing her new found companion.

It took an hour and a half to full bathe the dog, so that his fur was free of grime, and he wasn’t matted up. Cassandra toweled him off, surprised at how still he was. “You were so loved, baby, what happened?” She asked, sitting down on the tile and drying his face. He lowered his head, bumping into her shoulder. “Sweet baby,” she considered possible names for him while she sat there, petting his shoulder and he rested his giant hulking head on her shoulder. She thought of the constellations she knew - Sirius, Orion, Regulus, Arcturus, Canopus, Polaris, Vega, Altair - and dropped her forehead against the dog’s chest. “Nope, none of those, not in this lifetime or the next,” she muttered. “Leo? Leo. I like Leo,” it was the constellation with Regulus. Of course she liked Leo.

The dog whined at her, lifting a massive paw into her lap. “What, do you not like your name?” She asked, bringing her head up and coming eye to eye with the dog. “Good God in heaven you are such a large dog,” and his eyes were the same uncanny intelligence of Sebastian’s, perhaps more so.

When she left for work, she warned Sebastian to behave. “You leave Leo alone. And Leo, do not chase that cat.”

Cassandra found that she adored her hulking canine. She bought him a nice collar and leash, and took him for walks. He balked whenever Cassandra got near Grimmauld Place, and the woman had to drag the canine past twelve. And then one day the dog was gone. She came home from work and her dog was just gone. She scoured the neighborhoods in both directions, but nothing. No dog, no one had seen a dog, what dog?

Cassandra had, in the years since Walburga’s demise (hallelujah, praise the Lord) taken to stopping in and checking on Kreacher. She hated that he was alone in the big house, but he wouldn’t leave it. So, after ensuring her dog was flat out gone, she made one of her bimonthly stops at the Black residence. It was not Kreacher that opened the door. “Are you fucking serious?”

"Last I checked, yes,” the lopsided grin, shaggy black hair, soft gray eyes. Cassandra wanted to punch him in the nose.

“When were you going to tell me that you-” words, so many words, silenced by Sirius shaking his head, and then something farther inside shrieking.

“Great. You woke Mother.”

“Good! I have a few words for that insufferable bitch that Kreacher hasn’t let me say.”

“Wait, how do you-” but Cassandra had shoved past Sirius, and murder was in her eyes.

“Listen here you stupid woman! You are DEAD do you understand? I have no patience for you!” Kreacher was watching, wide eyed, as the muggleborn laid into the portrait. “You don’t have a clue who I am and you want to know why?! Because your son was in love with me and didn’t want you to run me off! Oh nonono, not Sirius! No, no no, no I mean Regulus you wicked evil witch. I mean your little pride and joy the one who joined the Death Eaters to please Mummy and Daddy, the cousins, and their twisted sense of righteousness - don’t you even give me that offended look you HAG,” literal years of pent up rage spewed from Cassandra until she’d had enough of the woman shouting back at her - mudblood, insolent little girl, how dare you enter the noble house of Black - and snatched the curtains shut with violence radiating in her little body.

When she whipped around, Sirius was sagged against the wall, staring at her, looking exhausted from listening. “I’m sorry, Sirius,” she lowered her eyes. “I’ve had a lot to say to that woman since I was seventeen and never got the chance.”

“Safer to just scream at her painting,” Sirius mumbled, seeming unable to collect himself. Cassandra wanted to help him, she really did, but following the screaming match with Walburga - oh it was cathartic - she didn’t know how. Instead she knelt down in front of Kreacher, smiling at the house elf.

“I’m sorry for yelling at your mistress, Kreacher. But the way she treated Sirius and Regulus wasn’t right, and I’ve held that in for a very long time now,” she swallowed the lump in her throat. Kreacher regarded her carefully for a moment before he nodded.

“Would Miss Delacroix like some tea, then?” Sirius blinked from where he was, watching the two.

“Miss Delacroix? You call me all kinds of foul names and SHE gets Miss Delacroix, pleasant as can be?”

“Tea would be lovely, Kreacher; for both of us.”

“Of course Miss Delacroix,” Kreacher scurried off, leaving Sirius fuming.

“Why?! You’re muggleborn! You’re as bad as I am!”

“Did you miss the conversation I had with your mother? No, no no wait, let me try this a different way. Did you miss the part where after we broke up your brother developed an interest in me?” She had always known she would lie to Sirius about that. Lie like the dog she was trying to find. “Look, Sirius, stop. After that framed hellion died, Kreacher was alone. I’ve known where this house is since I was seventeen. I wasn’t going to leave him - Regulus died because Voldemort was willing to leave Kreacher to die. Your brother-”

“Was soft and an idiot and died because of Voldemort!”

“No he didn’t! He died trying to undermine him!” They had moved to the dining room, and Sirius had cast a silencing charm to prevent his mother from being awoken again by their snapping and snarling.

“How would you know? Where were you then when he was trying to be all noble and heroic, hmm? If you loved my brother then why weren’t you with him?!” Cassandra wasn’t near Sirius, but she still recoiled as if he had hit her. Tears rose into her eyes, hot and unbidden.

“He wouldn’t let me. He said it wasn’t safe. He said Kreacher would show him where to go, and Kreacher could get him out and then he DIED Sirius! I BEGGED HIM to not leave me!” She wished she were yelling, wanted to still be yelling, but she was choking out the words in a far softer voice than she had wanted to. She sat down in the nearest chair, leaning forward and hiding her face in her hands. She couldn’t breath, she couldn’t speak. Something whined a few moments later, and then bumped into her leg. She reached out, expecting Sirius to be sitting beside her, and instead her fingers curled into fur. Dog? Dog.

When the tears were done, the dog - Leo, yep, gray eyes - left the room, and Sirius came back. “You done yet?” His own eyes looked like he had been crying. Cassandra nodded.

“You have a dog.”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Gray eyes.”

“Mhm.”

“What’s his name?”

“Snuffles.”

“Looks like a dog that was dumpster diving at my house. I call him Leo.” Sirius narrowed his eyes on her for a moment, as if trying to frame that. “Better than calling him, say, Orion,” Sirius flinched at that. “Can we be done yelling?” She asked after the silence spread out between them. Kreacher came in with the tea cups, handing one to Cassandra and then taking the other to Sirius.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can be, Cassie,” her eyes were on her cup and they jerked up for a moment. Sirius sounded defeated. She dropped her eyes back to her cup, sipping her tea.

Silence.

“How exactly did you know where this was?” Sirius finally ventured, sitting beside her. She glanced over at him, and when gray met blue her heart dropped. The wrong gray. Too warm. Too naturally soft.

“Regulus. We went to Paris, that summer,” she swallowed, fought back more tears.

“And not once did you think to say something.”

“He firmly believed you didn’t care about him, Sirius. There wasn’t a thing I could say or do,” she spoke into her teacup.

“No, not about that. You didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me anything about him, what was going on with him,” Sirius’s voice was accusatory. Cassandra wanted the dog back. The dog was nice, and comforting, and didn’t make her feel like she was a terrible excuse for a human being.

“What was I supposed to say, Sirius? Oh hey so when I started dating your brother I found out he was a Death Eater? No wait - I knew your brother was a Death Eater before we started dating, let alone before I started dating him, and I didn’t say a Goddamned thing to anyone because my first thought was ‘oh my fucking God they’ve hurt this boy if I tell anyone what else might happen to him?’ Because I can see that going really well. Honestly, I can see Slughorn going to Dumbledor, and then what? Azkaban that’s what,” she was frustrated - it was a circular conversation with a man she hadn’t seen in years, and... “How did you get out of Azkaban?!” She rounded on Sirius suddenly, light blue eyes alight with confusion and near panic. “You couldn’t have done that to James I know that good and well so what-”

“Shh. Stop. Breath,” Sirius held up a hand. He wasn’t emotionally, physically, or mentally capable of dealing with this. He put his teacup down, leaning forward to the woman who had left him for his idiot brother. Her eyes were flickering across his face, and he knew that it was concern there, not fear, not distrust, just worry and concern. “You’re right. I didn’t betray Lily and James. I would have never. Harry is my Godson. I should have...if I wouldn’t have chased Pettigrew that vial filthy RAT-” Sirius stopped himself. Took a deep breath. “I didn’t get a trial, you know. They just assumed I was like the rest of my family,” bitter, he was so very bitter. Cassandra leaned away instinctively. One too many Black meltdowns will leave a woman a little gun shy. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Look I just screamed at my could-have-been-mother-in-law and discovered you alive and well. You’re not going to surprise me much more,” Sirius smirked - oh good God that had been taken as a challenge. He stood up, stepped away from her, and untied his robe. “Sirius Black-” she started, becoming furious in a heartbeat. Right up til Leo/Snuffles was sitting there, wagging his tail, looking at her innocently. “Kreacher! This is just tea, right?”

“Yes Miss Delacroix, only tea, why does Miss Delacroix ask?”

“Uh...dog. Sirius. Sirius dog. Turned into dog,” the word ‘animagus’ didn’t even come to mind until the dog grabbed the robe and dragged it to a more hidden spot. And then Sirius was coming back around, tying his robe back on.

“Animagus.”

“Alright, yep, that about does it. Come here. Just, yeah, right down here,” Sirius leaned down, looking her right in the eye. Cassandra punched him in the chest. “Mark it off my bucket list, sleeping with both of the Black’s,” she stated as Sirius picked himself up. “I’m sorry,” she added as he rubbed his chest.

“Where did you learn to hit?”

“Oh somewhere between ‘boyfriend’s dead’ and ‘Voldemort’s dead’ you know, cover all my bases,” Cassandra was studying her nails - she’d chipped her manicure at some point.

The silence rolled out again. Finally Sirius broke it, being Sirius. “I know you’re upset, Cassie, but I can’t leave here except as a dog...”

“I’ll adopt you, Padfoot, so long as you keep pretending hard to not look at me when I change clothes.”

“Oh thank you Cassie,” utter relief in his voice.

[quicksilversquared]

The Thing About Cats

Cats like knocking things over, and Adrien and Marinette's cats are no exception. The cats like watching things fall to the floor and smash into a million pieces. It's destructive and annoying.

So why are Adrien and Marinette encouraging it?

(AO3) (FF.net)

Adrien and Marinette's cats really, really liked their new apartment. The windowsills were wide enough to lay on, there was more space to prowl and more places to hide, there was more furniture they could jump up on, and best of all, there were plenty of new housewarming gifts to knock onto the floor.

Adrien and Marinette were less amused.

"It's a wonder they haven't actually broken anything yet," Adrien said in part amusement, part frustration as he bent down to snag the TV. remote off of the floor for the third time that week- and it was only Tuesday. The worst damage the cats had caused so far was a chip in a mug from where it had hit the floor. There was a noise from the kitchen and Adrien swore, running into the kitchen in time to snag their grey cat and lift her off of the counter before she could shove the salt shaker to the floor.

"Sophie, don't do that," Adrien scolded, dropping the grey cat on the couch. She immediately meowed at him and jumped to the floor, skittering away to find their other cat and cause more trouble. Adrien could only sigh.

"I told you that would be a problem when you looked at the place," Plagg grouched, flying out of Adrien's pocket. He wasn't a huge fan of the cats, not since Ginger had stumbled across him sleeping on the bedside table and had tried to bat him off of the edge. "I told you that the chairs at the counter would just make it easier for the cats to get up there, but did you listen to me? Noooo, of course not."

Adrien sighed, flopping onto the couch Sophie had just vacated. This was about the tenth time Plagg had said that, and they had only moved into the apartment a little over a week ago. Adrien was getting a little tired of it.

"Are the cats knocking things off of the tables again?" Marinette's voice came from above Adrien's head, and he cracked his eyes open to peer up at his girlfriend.

"Plagg's saying 'I-told-you-so' again."

"Plagg, go be useful and do your kitty-communing with the cats and make them behave."

Plagg sniffed and Adrien pictured him crossing his arms. "I'm not an actual cat, in case you haven't noticed. I can't do that."

"Try," Marinette suggested, narrowing her eyes at Plagg. Plagg let out a huff and flew off with a grumble.

"I'm sure they'll settle down as they get older," Marinette said as she sat on the couch and curled up on top of Adrien. There was a thud from their bedroom and both of them sighed.

"I just hope it happens sooner rather than later."

   "Ginger, get down from there!"

Marinette glared over at the sleek brown cat currently perched on the kitchen island. The cat blinked back at her, bored and clearly not even remotely bothered by her yelling. Instead, she reached over for the glass Marinette had left sitting there and started pushing it towards the edge, a centimeter at a time.

"Don't you dare-" Marinette started before cutting herself off to dodge around the island in time to catch the glass and prevent most of its contents from spilling. Ginger let out a self-satisfied mrow and hopped easily off of the counter, sashaying across the floor in search of her partner in crime, who was no doubt napping on the bed and getting hair all over Adrien's pillow.

"Hey, there's Trouble One," Adrien said jokingly as he rounded the corner and nearly tripped over the retreating cat. "I was wondering where she went."

"She was trying to break our glassware," Marinette grumbled, setting the glass back on the counter where she had left it earlier and reaching for a rag to wipe up the spilled coffee on the floor. "I swear, nothing in this place is safe."

"The things on top of the bookshelf haven't been touched. I think it's too high for them to jump up, though." Adrien watched as Marinette stood up, tossing the rag in the sink as she did. "But I caught Sophie trying to shove my pencil cup off of the table yesterday. She had moved it all the way from the middle to the very edge."

Marinette let out a snort before clapping a hand to her mouth. She took a moment to compose herself enough to speak. "She's definitely determined."

"It's definitely good that we don't have anything too expensive and breakable in the house," Adrien said, rolling his eyes. "Imagine what would happen if Ginger and Sophie got loose in Chloe's house."

"Dozens of priceless vases and figurines smashed to bits on the floor within a day," Marinette predicted, rinsing the rag out and handing it over the faucet to dry. "Chloe would wake up the whole city with her screaming."

Adrien's lips twitched.

"We are not asking Chloe to catsit just to see her freak out," Marinette added before Adrien could say anything. "We are not, Adrien."

Adrien grinned at her. "But Chloe was complaining the other day that she's running out of space for her figurines. Ginger and Sophie would help her thin them out a bit. They're very helpful with stuff like that."

"Adrien."

"What?"

"No."

   The vase sitting on the kitchen counter was quite possibly the most hideous thing they had ever seen. If the color scheme wasn't bad enough, the pattern on it would make even the most amateur designer cringe.

And of course, it was all Adrien's job's fault.

As a very in-demand model, Adrien had a lot of admirers. Most of them were mature enough to realize that he was very much taken, but some remained hopeful that they could somehow tempt him away from Marinette. As a result, it really wasn't that uncommon for Adrien to receive cards and presents from his fans, especially around the holidays. Most found their way to secondhand stores really quickly, but others...

...well, others were too weird to donate.

"I'm actually slightly terrified," Adrien said as they stared at the vase of roses. It had Adrien's name scrawled all over it, surrounded by hearts and occasionally paired with the name of the girl who had sent it in the first place (with their last names hyphenated together, of course). "What made her think that this was somehow going to sweep me off of my feet?"

"I- I don't even know," Marinette managed. The vase was quite possibly the ugliest thing she had ever seen, yet they couldn't donate it like they had the others thanks to the names, and throwing away a present, even if it had been unsolicited and was completely unwanted...well, it seemed a little rude. "Let's just leave it for tonight and maybe tomorrow we can figure out what to do with it."

"Yeah," Adrien agreed, and so they left the vase sitting on the kitchen counter as they headed for bed. It didn't take them long to forget about it...

And then they woke up the next morning to an almighty crash.

"What on earth," Adrien groaned as he rolled over, squinting against the early morning light. "What could we have possibly have left out for the cats to destroy this time?"

"I don't even know," Marinette said, sighing. She reached over to grab her shirt off of the floor where Adrien had tossed it the previous night. "At least they didn't do that in the middle of the night. My alarm is set for five minutes from now anyway."

Adrien eyed her as she slid out of bed, tugging on her long shirt so it would cover more skin. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to stay in bed for a few minutes longer?"

"Nope. Up, kitty." Marinette tossed a pair of pants at his face and slid her feet into the sandals they had for the express purpose of keeping their feet from getting cut on whatever their cats had set their mind on destroying. While they had had decent enough luck their first week with nothing getting broken, their luck came to a halt halfway through Week Two with a smashed mug. "I need to deal with this before I go in to work, because I don't want Ginger or Sophie getting their feet cut on broken glass again." The bills from the vet the first time it happened were enough to persuade her to never let it happen again.

Adrien followed Marinette with a grumble, throwing on clothes as he went. Ad they rounded the corner into the kitchen, they found both cats perched on the counter, staring down on the pink and red remains of the hideous vase Adrien had received the day before. The flowers were scattered all over the floor, tangled and torn amongst the remains of the vase. The whole mess sat in a shallow pool of water.

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, at least we don't need to figure out what to do with it anymore," Marinette finally said, reaching for the broom and dustpan. "Thank you, kitties."

Adrien snorted, following her into the kitchen. "You sound absolutely heartbroken that our cats broke a heartfelt gift from a fan."

"Oh yeah, definitely." Marinette rolled her eyes, crouching to pluck the flowers out of the wreckage. "Heartbroken. Absolutely."

"And I mean, we should probably train the cats to stay off the counter before they smash anything else," Adrien said, tossing the larger pieces into their trash can. "It would be a pity if they, say, smashed that set of personalized set of ceramic figurines Chloe gave us."

"Oh, the awful tacky ones that don't match anything?" Marinette asked, sweeping up the rest of the mess and dumping it in the trash. "And that Chloe engraved with our names so we couldn't get rid of them?"

"Yeah, those."

They exchanged a look, then pulled out the frankly hideous ornaments that Chloe had given them as a housewarming gift and arranged them along the middle of the kitchen island. They turned their back as one, purposefully ignoring the cats as they returned to the bedroom to get ready for the day. By the time they returned to the kitchen for breakfast, the line of figurines had already been disturbed.

"Pity," Marinette said with a straight face as she pushed them back into a straight line. "It looks like the cats like them."

Adrien snorted and passed her a slice of toast.

By the end of the day, two of the five figurines had met their end on the hard kitchen floor. A third fell before dinner, and the last two got shoved off the edge before they went to bed. The cats seemed to have learned from their past experiences with broken things, since they always stayed away from the broken shards on the kitchen floor.

"What a shame," Adrien sighed in the most insincere voice ever as he dumped the remnants of the last two figurines from the dustpan into the trash bin. "Let's not tell Chloe, okay?"

"Of course," Marinette agreed, running the vacuum through the kitchen to make sure all of the small bits were up. "It was a tragic accident that Chloe doesn't need to know about."

"And it absolutely won't happen again," Adrien said, shooing Ginger away from the kitchen.

"Oh, definitely," Marinette agreed.

   Two months later, the two of them found themselves staring at the clay heads decorating their kitchen counter. They were slightly gruesome in their appearance, thanks to the combination of size and the inexperience of the maker.

"I'm sure they were made with good intentions," Marinette said weakly as she turned the Ladybug head around. It was practically life-sized, and it was creeping her out. The young fan that had given the painted clay heads to them had been so thrilled when Ladybug and Chat Noir accepted them, and thankfully both of them had managed to keep from grimacing when they first saw the "gifts". The Ladybug one had a crooked nose and the Chat Noir one wore a gruesome grimace. Both had a slightly green tinge to their skin, and the red of Ladybug's mask and the green of Chat Noir's eyes were just...off.

"Yeah," Adrien echoed weakly. "Except Nino and Alya saw us accept them. We can't possibly keep them, even if we wanted to."

"Exactly."

"But we can't exactly throw away a lovingly given gift when it's in such good shape."

"Right."

The two exchanged a glance before looking out at the living room, where the cats had fled. They hadn't broken anything for two months, largely in thanks to a cream-colored screen Marinette had made to block off the kitchen at night and the lack of breakable things left elsewhere in the house. Marinette and Adrien still had to pick stuff up off of the floor constantly- remotes, calculators, computer mice, scissors, water bottles, pencils- thanks to the cats, and they had no doubts that if the cats were given free rein in the kitchen, they would return to smashing things there as well.

"Let's just... leave these in here," Marinette suggested, leaving the kitchen and turning the lights off. "Maybe they'll, uh, look better in the morning?"

Adrien grinned in understanding as Marinette purposefully left the screen leaning against the wall. They went to bed without another glance at the cats, certain that in the morning, the terrifying heads would be smashed. They felt a little bad since the kid had clearly gone to such great lengths to make the clay figures, but really, what else could they do with them? They didn't have the storage space to keep things they weren't ever going to use or want, and really, they had only accepted the "gifts" to make the kid happy.

The heads were still there the next morning, and the next, and the one after that. No matter how close to the edge of the counter Marinette and Adrien left the heads when they left for work or went to bed, they didn't move at all in the meantime.

"They're not that heavy," Adrien grumbled as Marinette made dinner. He picked up the Ladybug head, grimaced at the blankly staring painted blue eyes, and weighed it in his hand. "I think it must have a foam core in it or something."

Marinette groaned, shaking her head. "I wonder why they didn't just make the heads smaller. Like this, it looks like we have decapitated heads on the counter."

"Didn't you hear? They're this size so we have somewhere to put our masks when we're not superheroing." Adrien grinned and wriggled his eyebrows at Marinette. "Just in time to replace our old mask holders."

"Right, the ones that don't exist." Marinette shoved the casserole pan she had been putting things in into the oven and turned back around to look at the heads. "You don't think that we've accidentally trained the cats to stay out of the kitchen?"

"I didn't think you could train cats." Adrien put the head back down and went back to chopping fruit for their salad. As he spoke, Sophie rounded the corner and twined around his legs. "See? They love the kitchen."

   As the week wore on, the cats still refused to touch the heads. They refused to even so much as jump up on the counter with the heads still sitting there.

"It's the eyes, I think," Adrien said as he made breakfast, seven days after they had first put the sculptures on the counter. He turned around, grimaced at the heads, and tossed a towel over them. "They're staring at me."

Marinette giggled from her spot at their table. "You would think that that would give the cats even greater reason to smash the heads." More giggles. "Revenge on us for not feeding them at the crack of dawn."

Adrien laughed.

As Adrien continued to cook, both cats came slinking into the room. Sophie went to go demand pats from Marinette while Ginger headed for the kitchen. She paused halfway there, regarded the counter and the towel covering the heads curiously, and promptly jumped up.

"Haven't seen you up here for a while," Adrien said cheerfully, giving the cat a short scratch behind the ears. "Come to smash some stuff for us?"

"She'll never try if you watch her," Marinette said, amused. She bent down and lifted Sophie into her lap. "Just turn your back and she'll go for it. You might want to move your juice first, though."

"Of course, of course." Adrien moved his juice over by the stove and, for good measure, moved the measuring cups he had been using as well. "I probably should be wearing my sandals, shouldn't I."

"Mmm. Maybe." Marinette watched Ginger out of the corner of her eye. "She's interested in the heads now that they're covered. She's definitely making sure we're not watching, though."

"Not watching," Adrien sing-songed, making a big show of buttering the pan for crepes.

Marinette snorted and watched the brown cat creep ever closer to the towel-covered heads. She crept closer, closer, reached out a paw to swipe-

-and accidentally pulled the towel off of the heads.

With an earsplitting screech, Ginger flew into the air and shot off the counter, hitting the floor with a thud and racing away into another room.

Adrien and Marinette snorted and broke into laughter as one.

"So close, yet so far," Adrien mourned as he retrieved the pan he had knocked off of the stove when he got startled. "If only we could somehow attach the towels..."

"Wait, I have just the thing," Marinette said. She set Sophie back down on the floor and vanished into her sewing room, emerging with two cloth bags in her hands. "They won't be as loose as the towel, but if it was the faces that were the problem..."

"I think we've scared Ginger off of the counter permanently," Adrien chuckled after a couple minutes passed and there was no sign of their second cat. "Sophie, you're our only hope. Go forth and smash things."

Sophie meowed and dashed away.

  As soon as Alya stepped into Adrien and Marinette's apartment, she came to a confused halt, eyes locked on the kitchen counter. There, in the middle of the counter, was the awful vase Adrien and Marinette had received for Christmas, in full view of the entire room. Adrien's uncle had given it to them as a late housewarming gift several days prior (very late; Adrien and Marinette had been living in their apartment for nearly a year now), and apparently the older man had assumed that just because it was expensive, it would also be nice-looking. As a bonus, he had gotten their names written on the vase. Alya was of the opinion that the man was blind.

"Is your uncle, uh, coming to visit?" Alya asked, inspecting the vase. A couple of roses had been stuffed into the vase, but they seemed more of an afterthought than an actual arrangement. They didn't make the vase look any better, and Alya suspected that both Adrien and Marinette knew that. They had both commented on how hideous the paisley pattern was, which meant that they wouldn't have the thing out without a good reason.

"Nah," Adrien said, but he didn't elaborate. An impish grin danced around the corners of his mouth as he set down the tray of snacks on the coffee table. "Drinks?"

"Uh, sure," Nino agreed, and soon all four of them were settled on the couch and chairs in the living room. The cats wandered through ten minutes later, accepting pats for a few minutes before they vanished into the kitchen.

"Have they stopped knocking stuff off of the counter?" Alya asked, frowning as she watched Ginger's tail flick around the corner. She knew the cats had stayed off the counter for some reason a month ago (Marinette and Adrien hadn't ever explained why) and Ginger had only started hopping up again a week ago, but they had apparently resumed their previous activities again. Marinette hadn't left much on the counter, but the vase was maybe a little too close to the edge for comfort. It was a little on the heavy side, but Alya had seen the cats shove even larger things off of counters when they set their minds to it.

Adrien and Marinette had some very determined cats. It would be impressive if it weren't so concerning.

"No," Marinette said simply, and she left it at that. Both she and Adrien sipped serenely at their tea, and neither reacted to the muted thuds that indicated that the cats had gotten up onto the counter. As the clock continued to tick and neither moved to remove the cats from the counter, Alya couldn't help but wonder if maybe the vase being left out was intentional. Her suspicions were confirmed a minute later when there was a loud CRASH in the kitchen and neither Adrien nor Marinette seemed at all surprised.

"Oh dear," Marinette announced after a pause. "The cats seem to have broken something. What a pity."

"Indeed," Adrien said in the same deadpan voice. "That is very sad."

"We will have no choice but to throw it away now, I guess," Marinette said, heaving the most dramatic sigh Alya had ever heard. "Oh no."

"Oh, that's clever," Nino said, amusement tinging his voice as he watched the two of them get up and trudge towards the kitchen. "You get your cats to do the dirty work for you!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Marinette said from the kitchen. "And I resent the accusation." There was a thud as she tossed something into the trash- no doubt a fragment of the vase. "That was a very dear gift from a, uh, very generous relative, and we will mourn its demise dearly."

Adrien only snickered.

Alya eyed the kitchen as the sounds of a clean-up continued. "Uh-huh. And how many unwanted 'gifts' have 'accidentally' gotten broken by your cats?"

"Only a couple," was the mutter in response. "Like, five."

Alya snorted. Nino groaned.

"I thought you donated things you didn't like," Nino said as Adrien reappeared around the corner with one cat under his arm. "Instead of smashing them. Why not just throw it away if you don't like it?"

"We do donate things," Adrien said a bit petulantly. "We donate a lot, but sometimes people engrave our names on whatever they're giving us and then we figure that no one would really want it, especially if it's, well, ugly."

"Or we get stuff from Adrien's fans with his name on it," Marinette said, reentering the living room and letting the other cat loose. It dashed away quickly. "Or his face. We can't exactly donate that, no one would want it and his fans might hear about it."

"They might stop sending things then," Nino pointed out helpfully. "I suppose that might get you bad press, though."

"And we don't just throw it away because, well." Marinette looked a bit sheepish. "It's a shame to throw out perfectly good things, even if they don't look the best...and the cats always are so proud of themselves after they break something."

"You two are ridiculous," Alya groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "Oh my god. Just throw away the things you don't like and can't donate like normal people!"

"Honestly, now I'm worried about coming over here. What if there are broken shards of whatever under your furniture?" Nino made a big show of peering at the floor, lifting his feet before sliding to the floor and peering under the couch. "Who knows what you would find- oh."

He pulled out a pink, glitter-encrusted envelope and waved it at the sheepish couple. "What's this from?"

"The cats had a bit of fun on Valentine's day," Adrien said with a sheepish smile. "Nathalie brought over this huge box of fanmail that was delivered to the mansion. There's still apparently people who feel the need to send me valentines even though I'm very clearly not interested."

"And then we got distracted and left the box on the counter for longer than we meant to," Marinette said a bit sheepishly. "And the cats knocked it off, and then we figured that they weren't hurting anything-"

"And went back to being 'distracted'," Alya added. Marinette ignored her.

"-and so then they were playing with the envelopes and we thought we got everything picked up but apparently not." Marinette snatched the envelope from Nino. "Oh, look! You can see the tooth marks on the corner of the envelope. That's hilarious."

"You're just trying to distract us from this weird habit you two have," Alya accused, making a swipe for the envelope and missing when Marinette pulled it back out of her reach. "Seriously, you two need to train your cats."

Adrien rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Cats don't train very well, in case you didn't know. It would be a waste of time to try."

Nino shook his head at them. "Really, how do you know if you don't try? It would be nice if you could actually leave things out without the cats destroying them. Because right now, I can't even leave a glass alone on the table for five minutes without having to worry about the cats knocking it off."

He paused, a sudden smirk flashing across his lips before he continued.

"But, like, if you aren't going to train your cats any time soon, Alya and I have these godawful salt shakers that we've been trying to get rid of..."

"Nino!"

This is kinda-sorta based on a real story- two, in fact! The idea for the clay heads came from a Reader's Digest story where the writer's mother made the awful-looking heads (and their son smashed them via tossing them down the stairs), and the whole "using cats to smash things" idea came from my grandma, who once had a vase that she didn't like (and there were no thrift stores she could donate it to, as far as she knew), so she put it near a set of stairs and her cat knocked it down the stairs and destroyed it.

[thejunkelemental]

A final mirror

It’s morning. The sun greets me before my alarm does, lancing through ineffective blinds.  I withdraw into the covers with a hiss.  Sometime in the night I gravitated back towards the space between my bed and the wall, like some sort of cave animal seeking the snake-crevice.  I can only feel the back of your hands, pushes forward against the skin of my shoulder, maintaining contact without allowing me to pull you into my hidey hole.  Beneath the covers I find my way to you, running my hands along your skin gently.  With the light already filling the room, I’m in a rare moment of actually being awake first and I take a couple seconds to just watch you breathe evenly.  Your face is so relaxed and I lean forward and place a kiss at the corner of your mouth.  Reaction is immediate, the tugging of a small smile and scrunching your nose.  Not asleep after all but just existing without the rigor of waking.

“Morning, Dandelion.” “Morning Snapdragon.”  I smile.  I like saying the word.

“You ok?” “Sooooore.”  You draw out the word like a purr. “I’m sorry.” You scrunch your nose again and sock me, not hard, but hard enough to make the smack of skin on skin.  “Good sore.” I laugh, rub sleep from my eyes and then wrap my arms around you.  You trace tiny circles around my bellybutton with a nail.  “Are you ok?” “ I’m... super good.”  I reciprocate lightly caressing your back and shoulders. “Thanks for staying.”  My voice is deep, the gravel of vocal chords only beginning to wake.

“Anytime,” you say, “Within reason.”  Your nail pokes a little harder and you tap it on my skin menacingly, “Bitches line up for miles to get a piece of me, you have to earn it.” “Your wish is my command.” I reply, low, raspy. “Don’t use a Fitz voice, you asshole!”  I get hit with a pillow, “I have to go work!” “Blurgh,” is my only reply, sneaking in to plant a kiss solidly, lingering only to taste you, and rolling out of bed.  I land on the floor on all fours and briefly consider just sleeping there.  Marceline stares at me from my computer chair with her usual indecipherable wide-eyed judgement.  Stretching, I stand.  I’m comfortable naked, especially after the last few nights and lightly kick some of the books and things I had to shove off of my bed in a hurry.  I’ll clean them up later.  I pad into the bathroom and turn on the shower, setting out my toothbrush and toothpaste for after.  I hear your stirring in the room behind and smile at the mirror, lightly poking my own bruises and grinning. “See you for lunch later?” I call back, pushing my cologne back up against the mirror and re-ordering them by color. “Nah. I  got lunch with Aaron.  Do you wanna come?” “S’all good,” I say back, “You two do your thing.  I’ll grab lunch with Kelsea maybe...or Cameron if he gets a break from work.  Heading back home tonight?” “Yep!” “Tell Edgar hello for me, huh?  And ask Aaron if he’d be up for talking movie projects later.  I have like...three ideas I want to run by him and Danny.” You appear in the doorway, silhouetted by the light.  You’re beautiful.  It’s hard not to smile dreamily into the mirror back at you.  You walk by me, lightly spidering your fingers across my back.  “First go at the shower is yours,” I say, turning to look at you, “Use up all the hot water at your own peril.” Tapping an angry bite-bruise on your neck you pull an innocent face, your voice rising into Dennewin’s register, “Oh, Whatever will my punishment be?”  I swat at your ass, miss, and almost unbalance into the tub.  You laugh and ruffle my hair and I retreat back to the bedroom to give you your time. My computer is still on standby from the night before.  I draw my finger across the pad to pull up the script I was writing.  Not feeling it, I minimize the window and pull up the other document...a slam poem I’ve been finalizing for a performance next week.  I tweak with the words a little, finally setting the computer aside.

Your arms snake around me, and I almost jump.  Catching myself, I lean back into you, feeling the pressure of your breasts against my bare back and look up. “Your dialogue needs work on page four.”

“What?  Really?  Urgh...” I draw out the sound and close my eyes.  “When did you read my screen play?” “Last night.”  You slide around and settle into my lap, wrapping your arms around my neck and drawing your nails through my hair.  “I had a bit of a nightmare, woke up, and your computer was just on.” “Damn ghosts.”

“Or cat.” “If Marceline is reading my screenplays in the secret hours of the night, I have more to worry about than my dialogue on page three.”  My left hand rises up to your head, drawing my fingers and nails across your skin.  The sound of contentment is immediate and you settle against my shoulder, “What is the matter with my dialogue anyways?” “Have you tried reading it aloud?  It kinda comes off a little cardboard.” “Cardboard?” “Like a cardboard cutout.  It’s there, but flat.  Rub some spice on it.”

“How?” You lean in and kiss the skin around my lips, “Record Dennewin and Fitz sometime, or even Rhune and Dennewin.  Good dialogue freely offered.  No cover charge.” “Awfully magnanimous of you.”  I grin and bite your bottom lip.  You withdraw and look off toward the bathroom, “I am awesome, aren’t I?” “Hear, Hear.”

We take a beat.  I’m staring at the beads of moisture collecting around the blood-dark marks I left on you the night before.  You’re guaging how hot the shower is by the fogging on the mirror. “Is this ok?”  You ask without looking at me, a low murmur, like you’re worried I might suddenly snap.  “I mean, are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“I think so.”  I lean my head back, catching your eyes.  “It’s a weird notion, sharing you.  But I guess it could be a lot worse...I could have had none of you.”  My hands find their way up your back again.  I can feel the shiver up your spine.  “I know what I wanted to know.”

“What’s that?”  You almost seem worried, but I think you know what I’m going to say before I say it. “You’re beautiful.”  I sigh, blowing a breath and my words up toward the heavens.  “I have loved every single moment with you.  A more foolish man would say unwise things.” “What kind of things?”  You know.  You’re daring me to say the words. I tap your nose.  “A more foolish man.  I’m not there yet.  It’s all kinda complicated and super not ideal.” “Are you a mixture or a potion?”

I chuckle nervously, but your expression never dulls.  There’s the hint of a smile, a curve at the edge of your lips that could be anything.  Your eyes are level and calm, the clear glass of a cave-lake without a ripple to disrupt. “A potion,” I say, “I think,” I clarify.  “I don’t think I’d be any good at Potions class, to be honest.” Your laugh is like a bell.  “Ten points from Hufflepuff.” “Hufflepuff?  I’m totally in Slytherin.” “Noooo” you grip my cheek with two fingers, “You’ll be my cute little Hufflepuff.”

I reach around to tickle you but you’ve sunk your teeth into my neck and my fingers spasm uselessly in the air beyond your skin. “I gotta get ready for work.”  You’re off me in a moment, laughing as you saunter back into the bathroom.  I watch you go, rubbing my neck absently and smiling.  I hear you step into the spray before I stand up and start absently cleaning my room.

.  I’m humming and it takes a minute or two for me to remember I’m walking around naked and my blinds are totally terrible.  I duck down around my bed as cars drive past and grab a blanket, wrapping myself up.  It smells like you and I take a moment to just breathe that in. My phone has a few missed calls and some texts from friends.  I’ve gotta be at work today but my lunch is open enough to accommodate a few folks. “DnD friday still ok?”  I call in to you, “Of course!” you call back, as if I’d asked to confirm the color of the sky. “Danny and I are gonna hit up a movie maybe tomorrow or Wednesday, you in?” “Work!” “Oh.  Right.  Maybe I could make repeated small orders to the Bamboo House and elaborately map a delivery route that would give you enough time to chill.” “If you can pull that off, I’ll be impressed.” “Right.  Yes.  I shall become a lord of maps and ingenious schemes in the space of a single day.  Easily done.”

You appear at the door again, drying off, snorting derisively, “Fitz could pull it off.” “Maybe so!” I say, sliding by you and actually slapping your ass once, “But I am not Fitz...sorta.  Or...whatever.  You get the picture.” You’re laughing again, gathering your things.  “Do you want me to wait for you?” “Go ahead,” I say, testing the water, “I’ll super see you Friday, or whenever you swing by.” “Text me!”

“You first!”

A moment later I hear my phone beep a text message and my bedroom door opening.  Marceline protests but over the shower and her cry I hear you, “Byyyyyyyyyyye!” I stand in the shower a long time, longer than I intended to.  The water beats a drum against my face and ears, I remember what your fingers felt like, what your skin felt like. “Unwise, little glass bottle, unwise.”  I say to myself. And then rub the shampoo into my skull.