#sorry that was um. one hundred percent projection

[inspector-montoya-fox]

You know sometimes i like using my tumblr as like a brain rot bank? Like a time capsule for thoughts and opinion that cater to no one but everyone is welcome to enjoy and partake. And today i'll be doing just that because i have finally finished The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles. If you've been following me for a while you know that this is lowkey monumental because (a) it means that i have officially played all Ace Attorney games, and (b) i have been struggling to finish these two games since their bundled release three years ago. So, i just wanted to share some general thoughts, some tier lists, and feel free to let me know what you think if you read what i have to say!

Ok so, my main takeaway from playing the two games is that... Dr Courtney Sithe is a bad bitch deserving of the same praise as Franziska, Lana Skye, Justine Courtney, Dee Vasquez and Calisto Yew. I genuinely love her so much. Miss Buttplug Hair got her PhD in being a girlboss and i'm so upset she was only in one case. For such a cool character with an amazing design, she was criminally underdeveloped. Same goes for my other fav, Rei Membani. Soon as it was mentioned that Professor Mikotoba and Judge Jigoku were on their way to the UK, i was one hundred percent sure she'd accompany them, and i was ultimately disappointed. To have her right next to Susato on the game's cover art and give her such an amazing takedown of Raiten Menimemo... and then just not have her be anywhere else was such a shame. I need more Dr Sithe and Rei !

The rest of the games' characters were a bit of a mixed bag with some obvious (and some unexpected) stand-outs. Here's my tier list:

Notes:

The biggest surprise that came when i was making this is how high i placed Herlock. I started off hating him so much and then he just suddenly grew on me so quickly, i hadn't even noticed. One of my favourites for sure.

I think we can all collectively agree that we have, at some point in our lives, embodied Pop Windibank... poor guy...

I don't know what Kazuma's deal is. He starts off as Ryunosuke's Mia Fey before um... just becoming a jerk? Why does he have beef with his best friend who was literally mourning him for almost a year? Can't lie though, the bitch looks hot in his white uniform.

Some of the jurors made a bigger impression than actual characters/ witnesses, just by having cool designs. Mainly the green lady, who rightfully earned her spot in the third tier after i found out she's supposed to be a reincarnation of the teacher from PLvsPW !

Eggert Benedict or whatever the fuck that rich breakdancing asshole is called, cannot be a final villain i'm sorry. Seriously, what were they thinking?

The two redheads are such a shameless rip-off of the Skulkins. Two ruffians taking the witness stand for the game's climax AGAIN !? And during the credits, they pose in their prison cell with "Gossip" in the middle the exact same way Eggert and the Skulkins did in the credits of Adventures, like no thank you.

I love how my overall bottom 3 are an annoying str*ight couple and a child.

If Stronghart wasn't in the second (very coveted) tier, he'd be in the bottom of 'like !' because he was ok. It's blatantly obvious he's the big bad from the second he's introduced but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Also, i need him and Damon Gant to have a fat titty bounce-off.

Moving on to criticisms, i can't help but feel like the fact that Shu Takumi decided to split his original script into two games only served to hurt the entire project. Because, for starters, each game has a different feel and the two don't match. Adventures is reminiscent of PLvsPW, Takumi's whimsical and eccentric love letter to the UK that hinges heavily on exposition. Resolve, on the other hand, is a bit of a mix between its predecessor and traditional Ace Attorney, its cases focusing more on driving the narrative to its conclusion rather than experimenting on the classic formula (as with the first game). It also echoes aspects of the first Investigations, bringing in diplomatic immunity, international relations, "tracking down and going against the head of the evil organisation" (the Reaper storyline is very similar to the Yatagarasu one). Personally the two vibes don't mesh, even when Resolve tries to latch onto Adventures with Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro, for example.

Then, the pacing in both games is all over the place. Adventures is just so unreasonably and unashamedly long-winded and slow, it's the reason it took me literally three years to get into it. The game repeats the same lines of dialogue again and again until they're made painfully clear, subsequently making the player (or at least me) feel like an idiot who needs to read the same thing 13 times in order to get it. This, coupled with the fact that actual gameplay was almost nowhere to be seen and that progression in the courtroom almost always relied on not pointing out inconsistencies but pressing the witnesses adjacent to the one testifying, made the game such a slog to get through. And once the game started to pick up, it was over before i even knew it and in a very unceremonious fashion no less. In comparison, Resolve is very streamlined, albeit a bit too fast-paced. With the exception of Memoirs, which felt like shameless filler, it's clear that they wanted to waste zero time and crammed so much stuff into the episodes, to the point where it became difficult to keep track of everything going on. Because, keep in mind, the second game was tasked with tying up all the loose threads from the first one.

This leads to my final criticism regarding the split: inconsistencies and unresolved mysteries. I think it reads as careless writing when questions keep sprouting everywhere and their answers are reserved for the final two episodes of the second game. Even Unspeakable, a final case, introduces mysteries tied to the overarching narrative just for them to be shelved until Twisted Karma, leaving the player with a sense of dissatisfaction when the game ends. Not only is it frustrating to keep track of all the unsolved mysteries, a chore which good writing would not expect from the player, but it also has you questioning whether or not some of them will get answered at all. Why was the selection of jurors obviously rigged? Why did Van Zieks stop appearing in court five years prior? Where did he lose his gun in Twisted Karma? Why didn't Stronghart assassinate Madame Tusspells as well? Why is Kazuma fully exonerated after admitting to his involvement in the assassin exchange? I grouped the unresolved mysteries with inconsistencies as one problem because the latter is a result of the former. The majority of mysteries spills over from the first game to the second, giving way to different phrasing, details getting glossed over and the plot's consequences getting ignored. There's a very apparent shift in Gregson's character, for example, going from uncooperative and rigid in Adventures to more forgiving and helpful in Resolve, all the while his misconduct from Unspeakable is seemingly forgotten and met with zero ramifications. There's also the government's secret message about the assassin exchange Herlock deciphered at the end of the first game, which sets up the second game nicely but then doesn't get mentioned until the very last day in court. Like, come on now. It feels like Resolve continues Adventures' story without wanting to acknowledge it because, in the grand scheme of things, McGilded and Eggert Benedict seem to not matter at all. And then there's Memoirs, which... Inconsistency City, honestly. This episode's lack of impact on the overall story allowed it to be literally anything else. It's such a bizarre choice to have it be something which only achieves in taking away from the first Clouded Kokoro case! Like ok, i can get behind it being a case no one wanted to talk about so it didn't make the first game. I can turn a blind eye to the inconsistent character development and timeline, whatever. But it absolutely drives me nuts that, for an Ace Attorney game where the murders are explained in full detail, they couldn't stay consistent with the direction Olive Green was walking in. Hate. Loathe. Get it away from me.

That pretty much covers it in terms of complaints, because otherwise i enjoyed my playthrough quite a bit actually. I know i've just spent like 3 mega-sized paragraphs complaining but the games have great elements as well. The Deduction dances are easily the best thing about the gameplay, especially when you didn't see them coming. They were so much fun to play, very animated and cartoony with amazing banter, and effortlessly accelerated the investigation segments. Equally, i loved Judicial Findings. Undoubtedly my favourite part of the courtroom sections and a welcome change of pace. I tended to stall a lot because the jury's music fucks so hard. While on the topic of what i liked, Ryunosuke and Susato's chemistry rivals what Phoenix and Maya have going on. Susato leaving at the end of Adventures was a genuinely effective point in the plot, even though i knew she'd be back.

Now, let's take a closer look at the episodes. Here's my overall tier list of all Ace Attorney cases, the Great Ace Attorney ones being highlighted in yellow:

Notes:

Blossoming Attorney gobbled the rest of the girls right up (a court-only episode, no less). They gave us Susato gameplay, what more can you ask for? An amazing case. Gay Women in STEM !!

Return kinda strikes a nice balance between the different feels of the two games i mentioned before. You've got exposition and world-building with the whole Great Exhibition, turn of the century mad science thing, but also classic Ace Attorney with tracking down Drebber (very Matt Engarde's apartment) and Madame Tusspells as just some witness (very Lisa Basil). A very fun case right before the clusterfuck of mysteries ensues. Also, Dr Courtney Sithe !!!!! Girl you're such a star and you don't even know it spit in my mouth

Was tempted to put Unspeakable in the second tier but i think it's earned its high placement on its own merit and not because of personal bias. It's a great case. Maybe not for a final one, but it's still great. It tries its hardest to tie up some loose ends before the game ends and that's worth something.

Resolve of Ryunosuke is objectively better than Twisted because i could not give less of a fuck about the purple guy's headache and Espella Cantabella selling firecrackers, but they're both very much one single package. Extra points to Resolve of Ryunosuke though for having its villain sit at the judge's seat. That was neat.

The two Clouded Kokoros are giving stinky Bri ish culture with the whole apartment building background, like Ribena, bad teeth, rusty Union Jack, horseshit breath at the pub, you awrite luv? Slander, i'm sorry.

Slightly unrelated but when i was making this tier list it became so obvious that Investigations 2 is the crown jewel of the franchise. Like it has two cases in the top 5, how can you even argue against that?

Arriving to a conclusion, i'd say both games belong on the same level as Apollo Justice: a blend of good and bad. My experience playing the Ace Attorney franchise has followed this trend of attaching each game to a pivotal moment in my life. I finished the first game while i was still a soldier, Justice for All during my first year at university, Dual Destinies during Covid lockdown, Investigations while helping my parents set up their shop one summer. So i know i'll look back at playing The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles right after handing my dissertation very fondly. In other words, despite not quite sticking the landing, it's left a very pleasant aftertaste. Thank you for reading!

[sytokun]

Introducing my super cool RWBY rewrite that is definitely better than literally anything

Hey guys, this is my RWBY fanfiction universe. All ideas are mine, I just think... I dunno, RWBY kinda sucks so I'm making my own, better version. I'll call it... RWBY: Rescued or some other vaguely pretentious title, idk. Hey, John and Jane RWBYson! Thanks for subscribing to my project! Or anonymously stalking it? It's hard to tell sometimes.

Now I know I already introduced Team RWBY, and everyone loves them, I'm happy! I'm just gonna add a little dude here, no it's fine! He's like a side character, nothing more. Like an ally, Ruby's first friend, he leads the other team, it'll be really cool I promise. His name is Jaune btw, no, NO big deal. Just trust me on this. I'm the superior writer, remember?

...

Um... sorry guys. Over the weekend I just got a really big spark of inspiration, like... the Muses struck me from the heavens above. So I'm sorry, but... I'm going to make a quarter of the first Volume entirely focused on Jaune, the Volume that is crucially formative to the cast and entire series, which will cause a ripple effect so bad that a consistently large number of fans dislike him in my series 10 years later, but also find it hard to imagine the story without him at this point, like a lukewarm relationship you don't know how to feel about.

But it's fine! The show is still called RWBY and I plan to deliver on that, not like those hacks at Rooster Teeth stepping on Monty's vision. That's the rhetoric I'm supposed to use, right? To make you hate me? To make me into an easy strawman to hate and dismiss? GOT IT, just making sure, lol

I'm going to voice act as him too, btw. No big deal, I'm sure this won't affect my treatment of him whatsoever. Oh, but here's Neptune. He's voiced by the other dude writing this, and we're gonna write a love triangle between the characters we voice and Weiss, one of the main leads. That counts as a character arc for her, right? Right, glad you understand. Oh, Neptune? You actually liked him and wanted him around? What are you, fucking sexist? God. Make sure to tell your friends how cool my story is

Next, I'm going to have Pyrrha's entire screentime devoted around Jaune, and even after she dies, only Jaune is allowed to process his emotions regarding her death while Ren, an Asian dude, and Nora, another girl, prop him up. I'm also going to bring her death up every two years like 2-3 times to really milk that man pain. What does Ruby the main character feel about this? Oh don't worry, she'll talk about it with another character I'll add in. I'll even have her say Keep Moving Forward™ to really sell the audience's Ruby's pain and really stoke and stir your anguish. Her anguish. Moving on.

Eh, something feels off, there's not enough conflict... Let's have Cinder run Weiss through with a spear, for funsies ig, because I have this post-it note on my monitor saying Jaune's Semblance and this is the perfect moment. I'm also gonna give Jaune this whole ass emotional outburst, 1-on-1 fight and confrontation with Cinder since she killed Pyrrha and awakened all his angst.

Ruby? Uh... yeah, she can stand there I guess. I need to remind the goddamn audience that YES, I still remember silver eyes exist, gawd. I have to do it every few Volumes or I can sometimes forget the protagonist in my female-led story exists - man what a pain, I bet I'm gonna be pressured into creating an old lady to teach her or some shit in the Volume right after this one. Whatever, I'll have her disappear in 2 years, they'll never know she left. Anyway OOPS Emerald knocked Ruby out, thank god she's out of the way so I can squeeze in a shot of Cinder stepping on Jaune and really rub that pain in. God, Jaune really needed this, so glad I did that

Fuck it, Jaune kills Penny too. I dunno, it just feels right, y'know? Nah... I don't think Ruby or anyone is the right person for this, and I don't think we've really, one hundred percent explored just how deeply Jaune can angst over dead women; women who could have grown into full, complex people with rich arcs and relationships using all the screentime I parasitically extracted from them via sudden, unwarranted death. Penny, like, she really needs to fuckin' die for this. Her death is worth having to retread this same tired fucking emotional arc if it's for my boy, know what I'm sayin'? Good, glad you understand

Alright, it's the Volume finale. Team RWBY and Neo are falling into the next story arc. Great, people really wanted this - an entire Volume just focused on the title characters together. The fans have been on my ass asking for this since Volume fucking Four. It's alright, I GOT THIS. I FUCKING GOT THIS! It's simple! This is perfect. But... I mean, I shouldn't... but I really... SDGDSGDED FUCK IT, fuck you, Jaune falls in with them too

John and Jane RWBYson: "God, this is why I hate rewriters who think they can write a good story with RWBY. They love making white men the focus of their self insert fantasies while shoving female characters into the fridge and off to the side, all while using Monty's name to rile people into brainlessly supporting it. I hope they fucking disappear"

Wait. John. Jane. Did I say my RWBY fanfiction universe?

Oh. Oh god.

[transsexualhamlet]

oooh ooh I have MANY thoughts on this!

First of all yes I agree with everything said above, and I think it's really interesting how dazai says he doesn't like pain, cause man if there's one thing he does it's hurt himself on purpose. I think he feels that he has to, and he certainly gets something out of it. But I think honestly the way he thinks of and handles his own life out of all the characters, who are all based off of authors, is the most like a writer's mind.

I think the question that's trying to be answered is not 'is dazai really suicidal or not', but 'how desperate is he to die'. And those are two different things. Being suicidal doesn't mean that you're constantly on the brink of fucking throwing yourself off the nearest bridge at all times. And let me tell you I can speak for that. It's just like. Passively. Wanting to die. Dazai definitely wants to die. He thinks fucking passing away would be great. But he wants to die like I want to write a novel. I definitely wanna do it, it's on my bucket list and the sooner it gets accomplished the better. I want to be an author. But I only ever end up writing one shot fanfiction. It's not for a lack of trying, I have seriously attempted to write a book in the past, but putting pencil to paper is hard, and most of the time I realized I wanted to just *think* about writing more than actually writing.

I apologize for the long winded metaphor, but I think that's the way Dazai feels about death. As someone who is autistic, I honestly think what he has, along with a hearty helping of mental illness, is a special interest in death and suicide?? Genuinely???

Surely, without barely any effort, at nearly any time, Dazai could have ended his life, if that was all he wanted to do. But no, he goes out and fucking buys books about it. He researches the subject, the history, famous ideas about it, thinks about it in his free time, legit infodumps about it to everyone and doesn't seem to care if they Dont Want To Hear About It, finds ways to incorporate it into every aspect of his life in an attempt to make it better, and *aspires* to not only experience it himself but find the best, most impressive and satisfying way to do it. His seratonin settings are calibrated to fucking suicide. It seriously makes him the most happy when he can be thinking about it and doing things based on it and learning more about it. If that isnt a special interest, I don't know what is. (I have a thousand other reasons that I believe dazai is autistic, but this isn't about that)

How desperate he is to actually reach that conclusion clearly varies a lot. I think most of the time his attempts aren't serious, they're just a fun afternoon activity. But he has, especially in the past, been really quite at his limit. I'm not at all saying that he isn't an incredibly depressed person who genuinely sees little value in life, whether it's his or anyone else's. That doesnt change the fact that I don't think he would ever seriously intend to die in any normal way. That wouldn't be good enough for him.

Since he obsesses over and seriously romanticises death, he needs it to be perfect, so he can't just slap together any old death on a whim, even though he constantly wants to do it. The "perfect" way he wants to go clearly changes quite often- (as evidenced by him going "ah yes i want a completely clean suicide where no one is inconvenienced by my death!" one minute and "i wanna double suicide because it would be hot and romantic!" the next.) And he gets separately hyperfixated on those different ideas, working towards something where the goal is safely far away.

The thing about a hyperfixation is, though, you don't ever really want it to end. I love consuming media and I love embarking on big projects and spending all my time on them, but with things like that, I'll intentionally drag them out if it seems like i might reach the end. If I'm hyperfixated on something enough that it is genuinely the meaning of life for me, it's kind of an awful feeling when it's done. It has to be in a constant state of becoming, otherwise there's no fun in it. That's why I think Dazai's like that. He wants to be in a constant state of reaching for death, thinking about it and playing with it and dipping his toes in the water and knowing that he could fall in at any time, because it's the only way he can deal with life.

At any point in time, he would never be disappointed to find himself in a situation where he did actually die. If he made a blunder at any point in all the incredibly risky situations he put himself in, if he ended up getting fucking killed, that would be fine. The universe has decided his fate, and he gets to enjoy it. But he does not make those blunders on purpose- he's playing with death in dead apple, and he sure does have his fun with it, and if he was genuinely bested, that would be a glorious death for him, but he always plans to survive. If he doesn't try his hardest, it wouldn't be a satisfying death. But if he could prevent it himself, then it's no big deal- he has infinite chances to get himself killed, and infinite ways to die. In that way, I think he's comparable to gide when he wanted oda to kill him, it had to be done fairly. Except in this case, the one he's fighting is the whole universe. He wants it to kill him, he does as much as he can to provoke it into doing so, but he won't go until the universe considers him special enough to pull out the big guns.

Yeah, it's a weird way to deal with life, for sure. But I think the one line that really made me understand Dazai's character was the line he said (i think) at the end of the dark age arc where he said "All we can do is waver". He's always half way in between, always trying to straddle that line between life and death.

The reason why it's so difficult to tell if he's trying to die or live at any given time is because of that. Dazai is always desperate to find a meaning in his life and everyone else's. All he wants is to be able to create some kind of story of his own existence that makes sense, that he can understand, that has a satisfying theme with no contradictions of any kind. He's an author, and he can only think of his life in fictional terms. For him there hasn't been proof so far that any god made him for a reason. So he's trying to write it so that he can be something other than apathetic, that something can come out of it that makes him understand the whole point. He wants a comprehensive beginning, middle, and perfectly satisfying end. He's always striving for an end that would tie everyting together, pull every single emotion into one, that would give him the best experience and make everything seem worth it. But Oda got that something like that couldn't ever be achieved in real life.

So that's the reason why Dazai is still alive. He's still trying to get there, but nothing will ever be good enough.

Why is that some people say he's not really wanting to commit suicide and also it's not really a part of him and his personality, if that makes sense.

ah, the million dollar question. is dazai suicidal?

personally, i think he is to some extent. the only reason i say that is because i think he doesn’t truly value his own life in terms of caring about his well being and stuff. the only reason he’s living is for atsushi honestly.

if dazai really wanted to die, he would’ve killed himself long ago. and there are still ways he could do it now. but killing himself would be pointless because that would mean he wouldn’t be able to fulfill oda’s wish (to save people, etc).

i think dazai’s current (comedic relief) suicide attempts are a way for him to test his own body. dazai craves control. in some ways he’s just like kunikida—except he’s more realistic and better at hiding it. testing his body to see how far it can go before dying is a method of gaining control. i also think when he’s trying to “kill himself” he knows he won’t actually die lol.

and just because my brain is angsty and won’t stfu ☺️ i think dazai does these comedic suicide attempts to make the agency get used to him being gone. cuz i feel like he knows he’ll be dead soon—so the less they are attached to him, the less it will hurt 🥲

if anyone wants to add on, feel free to do so !!

[gloryofluv]

Situations that end with MC Walking Away Brothers and Datables (-Luke)

This is supposed to be funny, humorous, fluffy, and teasing. Obviously, insinuations are there.

I didn't do Luke because you shouldn't walk away from children or dogs. Haha! No, really, I just didn't want to do one for him so apologies.

Lucifer-

MC walked into the library to see Lucifer. He hadn’t seen them as he turned over several books on random shelves. He also took books from one shelf and placed them on other shelves. MC watched for two minutes before clearing their throat.

“What are you doing?” MC asked.

Lucifer jumped and turned around with an eyebrow raised. “Nothing, and if I were you, I’d keep this to yourself.”

MC shakes their head and leaves. So Satan was right. Lucifer goes out of his way to fuck with him.

Mammon-

MC was walking by the bathroom and stopped at the door after hearing someone wailing.

Wait… that was Mammon singing that song they played for him. Treasure by Bruno Mars. How fucking cute! MC ducks closer to the door and smiles brightly. Damn, he was cute. Was he singing about them?

MC sneakily opens the door to see Mammon in the bathtub. He was holding up Goldie and singing. Ugh.

MC moves to shut the door, but he sees. “MC, wait! It’s not what it looks like!”

Moving down the hallway as fast as they can, Mammon was trying to hold up his towel. “Wait! MC! Come on!”

Leviathan-

Leviathan showed MC his recent picture compilations he was creating for TSL and Rui-chan on his editing software. It was impressive.

Levi gets up to retrieve a figure he modeled one of the frames out of when MC clicks the other project he had minimized. Oh, boy, they shouldn’t have done that.

“MC, I have the,” he stopped dead.

The project was massively just about MC. Quite a few of the shots were of them together. He even had little hearts littering the frames.

“Levi, I love you, but I have to go,” MC murmured with the brightest blush and left the room.

Satan-

MC and Satan decide to go to the cat shelter. They were petting all the cats and feeding them treats. It was all in all a great day.

However, when MC glances over at Satan, where he’s ducked down to a pair of kittens, he was holding up his hand, and their little paws would touch his palm.

“Good, one more time,” Satan said.

“W-what are you doing?” MC asked.

Satan glanced over with wide eyes. “Teaching them to high five…” he trailed off.

MC put their hands on their cheeks and walked out of the room. All of this to hide the incredible blush and giddy laughter they were suppressing.

Asmo-

MC was skipping up to Asmo’s room to tell him about this sale. It was awesome, and he was going to obsess.

However, when they opened the door, they regretted it. Asmo was making out pretty hardcore with Solomon on the bed. Appalled? Shocked? MC didn’t know which.

“There’s always room for my other human!” Asmo giggled when he caught sight of MC.

Solomon covered his face. “Asmodeus, really.”

MC clapped a hand over their mouth and turned in a mechanical fashion before retreating.

“I’m never opposed to a humane threesome!” Asmo called after them.

Beel-

MC was working out with Beel. Well, more that he was working out, and they were putting chips in his mouth. It was a very gratifying experience. Both would laugh and enjoy this ridiculous routine.

It was all going like a well-oiled machine. Well… until Beel bit MC’s finger. Now it wasn’t that hard, but hard enough to make them jerk backward.

“Oh, MC, I’m sorry!” Beel puffed as he stopped his pushups.

MC took their finger to their mouth and grumbled. “That hurt, but I’m okay. You won't hurt me again, Beel.”

“Did Beel try to eat you like in your dream? I was hoping for screams and not whimpers,” Belphie murmured with a smirk as he turned over on his bed.

MC turned beyond what was considered red on the color spectrum. “I gotta go,” they rushed out and climbed off the floor.

“Wait, MC, I promise I won’t eat you!” Beel shouted as he rushed after them.

“Or he’ll try lower!” Belphie snickered.

Belphie-

MC was relaxing with Belphie in the sitting room. He was resting against their shoulder, and MC’s legs were over his lap. It was a typical evening of lazy bones being lazy cuddle buddies.

Asmo scrunched his nose while walking into the room. “It’s really unfair,” he started.

MC glanced over. “What?”

“Why is Belphie always getting to sleep with you! You never sleep with me!” He cried while crossing his arms.

“Because I do it better, Asmo. MC likes to be on top,” Belphie murmured through sleep.

MC’s eyes grew as Asmo rolled his. “Yeah, sure, like anyone would believe you fuck better than me.”

“What do you think the pillow is for? Muffled cries,” Belphie smiled over at Asmo.

MC puffed and stood up, nearly toppling over the table. Their hands landed on it for balance.

“Thank you for assuming the position, MC,” Belphie chuckled.

Needless to say, MC bolted from the room with bright mortification.

Solomon-

Magic. Always magic and human experiences. Today was no exception while they were practicing in the sitting room at Purgatory Hall.

They were working on transformative magic. Advanced and complicated.

“Now, watch, the strings will change to bracelets,” Solomon declared as he performed the spell.

MC bobbed their head as the white string did change into silver bracelets. “Cool.”

Simeon glanced over from his book. “Always talented, Solomon.”

Luke looked up from his phone and seemed wholly unamused by the situation.

“Now, it’s your turn.”

MC made the gesture and sputtered on the words. Instead of the string on their wrists turning into bracelets, they coiled around their hands and connected in a binding. MC gasped and struggled as they tried to climb off the ground.

“I didn’t realize you liked being tied up. I would have offered in private,” Solomon teased.

MC’s cheeks filled with blood and tripped as they moved toward the exit of the room.

“Solomon!” Simeon groaned.

Solomon was laughing. “I didn’t mean it. Well, maybe just a little, MC.”

They didn’t give him the chance to tease them anymore. MC struggled with the front door and began to march down the path.

“MC, you look like a demon meal like that! Come back,” Solomon called out, trying to catch them scurrying off. He laughed while following them all the way back to House of Lamentation.

Barbatos-

They were cooking together because he offered lessons. MC was always happy to help and learn to perfect a skill.

“Very good,” Barbatos nodded at MC finishing the sauce.

“Thanks, Barbatos. You’re going to get me cooking well enough to put any human to shame,” MC laughed.

“Maybe, but you were a proficient cook beforehand,” Barbatos said.

“I’ll have to cook for you sometime. Just tell me what you’d like to eat,” MC smiled.

Barbatos blushed and cleared his throat. “Anything you would like to make, MC. It isn’t often someone would like to return the favor for me.”

MC glanced over to see Barbatos had turned to the large pot on the stove. “I mean it. Whatever you want, Barbatos. I’d like to do something nice for you.”

“Why don’t you go see if we have any fresh greens?” He murmured.

MC scowled at the demon but agreed. They walked to the other side of the kitchen and went into the fridge. Glancing at the side, MC could see Barbatos subtly wiping his eyes through the reflection.

“Hey, Barbatos, I’m going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back,” MC said and left the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Barbatos murmured as they left.

Diavolo-

Diavolo and MC were walking together through RAD as Barbatos trailed. They were on the way to a meeting, and MC was headed to lunch. This was usual, rare, but something not out of the norm. He would get his human questions in during these moments.

“MC, I heard the oddest thing from Asmodeus the other day,” Diavolo declared.

“What did he say now?” MC questioned with suspicion.

“There’s this game that you and he play. It has to do with figures of some sort,” Diavolo hummed.

“Figures?” MC asked.

Diavolo tapped his chin and glanced back. “Barbatos, what was it called again?”

“Daddy or Uncle energy, I believe, my lord,” Barbatos said while stifling a smile.

“Ah, yes, that one. Is this one of those parental human games?” Diavolo inquired while staring at MC.

Ded. one hundred percent. “No, um, Lord Diavolo, I gotta go,” MC puffed and tried to gesture toward the cafeteria.

“Wait, but he said you saw me as a father type? That’s very sweet,” Diavolo beamed with the smallest hint of mischief.

“Bye, Lord Diavolo! Bye, Barbatos!” MC rushed out and sprinted toward the cafeteria.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Diavolo called after them with a bout of laughter.

Asmo was killed later that night. (Not really, but it could happen…)

Simeon-

Simeon and MC were in the kitchen of Purgatory Hall, baking. They had just finished the batter for the fingerprint cookies with a celestial recipe. Simeon was his usual serene self.

“Simeon, how long are these going to take?” MC questioned with the timer in hand.

“Put the timer on for fifteen minutes, and we’ll check then. I still am not confident that Solomon doesn’t tinker with the oven for experiments,” Simeon laughed.

MC set the timer and grinned. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“He is a very unique human,” Simeon noted with a smile.

MC laughed while picking up the towel on the counter. “Here, let me help you clean up. You have some flour on your face.”

Simeon bent enough so that MC could clear his features of the flour, all the while beaming. It was a very cozy experience to bake with the angel. He took the towel from MC’s hand and nodded.

“Let me assist. You have some as well,” he noted and wiped their cheeks with soft swipes.

Simeon’s eyes were focused on the task.

“Simeon! Solomon took my hat for a spell again!” Luke yelled as he walked into the room.

MC jumped and accidentally pressed their lips to the space just next to Simeon’s mouth. “Oh, my God!” MC puffed and bounced back.

That just made it even worse. MC clapped a hand over their mouth and rushed from the room. Fire was cooler than their face. How were they ever going to explain that?

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

The Adventurous Eaters Club

Hi buddies!  Welcome to the first post of yet another project I have chosen to take on because I apparently don’t enjoy sleep in any form. 

To make this even more FUN, let’s do a THING (just in time for #RACultivatingKindness and the Random Acts Food Equity initiative)

One hundred percent of author proceeds from Misha’s cookbook go to charity, including the following: The Edible Schoolyard The Garden School Foundation Whatcom Farm-to-School Fund

One week after each blogpost I do for this little adventure, I will count up the notes on that post and donate $1 per note to one of the above, or to @randomactsorg​.  

If you make a donation to any of these (in any amount!) or buy Misha’s cookbook and send me the receipt in my asks I will match your donation AND you can pick the next thing I cook!

[I say this like I have clout here, but hey why not feed some people, do a little good, and make this interactive!]

With all the preliminaries aside, let’s cook some chicken, under the cut! 

(warning: the photos below the cut contain pictures of raw chicken in case that is a “ew” trigger for anyone.  just warning ya)

Mix ‘N’ Match “Fried” Chicken (page 169)

This is a baked fried chicken tender recipe with three different spice mixtures (for those with children, the intent is to introduce them to diff flavors and also make them less fearful of food with ‘specks’ (or speckles, as L calls them)).

**The first thing I said reading this was “Dammit Misha!  Am I just casually supposed to own a meat mallet?” (does everyone? have I missed out on the meat mallet trend? fallen behind the curve of cool culinary utensil ownership? *hangs head in shame*)

First things first, I’m going to go rogue and tell you that after you cut your chicken breast into tenderloins (or open the package of pre-cut ones), you should salt your meat for at least an hour before cooking it. 

Like so:

pre-salting meat allows it to be seasoned from the inside as well as the outside (the salt will absorb), and also helps lower the risk of overcooking.  I promise it makes a HUGE difference.

While the chicken is salting, set up your dredging station.

This is the point in the process where I realized I am out of eggs.  However, I did have the following substitutes: 1. mayo and 2. half and half.  So what did I do? I mixed them (Misha I’m SORRY).

I am also sorry to you who is reading this post for having to look at photos of mayonnaise and half and half on this fine day.  

But! this does work in a pinch.  You basically need something runny enough to dip but thick enough to stick to the meat.

Also, here is another place Mish and I diverge - he kept the “wet” pan as a single one on the station, but I know how messy I am (in both cooking and life), and due to there being three separate spices in the recipe I divided it into three, so as not to mix it.

[somewhere Jake Abel has been summoned to make a few, um, jokes about this...composition]

Next, the “dry” station - i.e. your flour/spices.  The book uses pie pans for all of this, I - a prepared individual who did not assess not having ANY uniform cookware before starting this cooking blog journey - only had one pie pan, so these are what I used:

team free will 3.0

here they are with spices for each separate one.  do not fear the cinnamon.  I too, was once afraid.  trust me when I say you will no longer be shackled by your doubt once you have tried this.

also, I went rogue again on the last spice mixture which should just be paprika but I did not have paprika (OP check your pantry before you do the next installment of this challenge), so that is the combination I recklessly replaced with it (and I recommend it!!!).

spices plus flour plus salt (for the love of Jack always add salt at each step, I cannot re-emphasize enough that this is so very important, like Sam and Dean hotel room warding important).

Mix ‘em up.

sigh I can already tell my colors will not be as vibrant as the book’s (I know you, you’re thinking ‘OP you just mixed mayo and half and half, and THIS is the crime you are sad about?? but. here we are).  

Next, Misha says to wrap your chicken in plastic wrap.

no, I don’t know why mine is green.  let’s pretend its for Soldier Boy.

time to use the meat mallet which I do not have.  however, in a pinch - a cast iron skillet will do.  (the book also very much advocates for owning one of these and I too am a Cast Iron Truther.  the only pan(s) I use).

meat mallet cosplay.

now,“smash that meat until it’s 3/4 of an inch thick.” 

this takes approximately 30 seconds to a minute with the cast iron (longer if you have pent up aggression).  it’s not a REQUIRED step, but nice for an even cook.

take your flat chicken and start dredgin’ - flour first, just a thin coat

on each side

now take it for a trip to the half and half mayo hot girl summer pool party (or, if you are a real adult unlike yours truly, the eggs you have and previously whisked together for your “wet” pan)

[stop that thought this is a blog for a children’s cookbook]

let the excess run off before sticking this back in the dry mixture for a second coat, then put it on your pre-greased pan.

like so.

what my kitchen looked like at 1:00 a.m.

final touch = the moment I knew Misha, Vicki, and I were kindred spirits as I too like to drizzle melted butter over everything and anything.  

drizzle this liquid gold on top of each piece and

pop those babies in the oven at 350 for 20-30 minutes while you write bad fan fiction sentences (well, what I did then anyway)

then slice ‘em up and put them on this plate.

Yes I added popcorn for garnish as a treat.

My colors as predicted are not as good as the professional food photographer’s Misha’s:

But the flavors were definitely there!! Especially the cinnamon.  Would 10/10 recommend.

Happy cooking!  Asks are open if you have questions or want to yell at me about the mayo thing.  SORRY AGAIN OK

[child-of-hurin]

About the white tree (lol why): I tried to match the scene in Akallabêth and the scene in Mariner’s Wife and felt like they fit, so I’m quite convinced it’s Nimloth indeed. That adds a new layer: it’s also called Ancalimë (by Aldarion), which matches with your name idea Míriel? I like it as a symbol of the beginning and ending of queenship plus the spiritual mother of Númenor?Maybe I’ll post that white tree standing alone scene later that feels quite profound but also 👀 Tolkien what…?

The white Elven-tree alone he spared; and when the woodcutters were gone he looked at it, standing amid the desolation, and he saw for the first time that it was in itself beautiful. In its slow Elven growth it was yet but twelve feet high, straight, slender, youthful, now budded with its winter flowers upon upheld branches pointing to the sky. It recalled to him his daughter, and he said: ‘I will call you also Ancalimë. May you and she stand so in long life, unbent by wind or will, and unclipped!’

My brain had absolutely, completely, a hundred percent erased this fact from my memory??? Oh my god?!?! 😭😭😭😭 I'm a fake Nimloth stan... And I thought Aldarion thinking the Tree reminded him of Ancalimë was a headcanon I had come up with... URGENT reread needed...Now I'm wondering if Aldarion ever told Ancalimë about that, and if she also had a special relationship with the tree! Despite everything she doesn't strike me as a gardener-type, you know? But now I'm wondering! Thanks for reminding me of this I'm 🥺🥺🥺🥺 omg...

And now I'm wondering WHEN she started being called Nimloth - we don't know if she had a name when she was given to Aldarion? (And yes you're right, even more basis for my HC that either Isildur or Elendil or both would call their sapling "Míriel" 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Thank u for thinking about it... I know it's so silly but. Absolutely attached to that idea...)

It had literally never occured to me to think of the connection between the tree's life span and queenship but wow, it really adds up, huh! One more point for Nimloth the Fair as the symbolic female to Earendil's symbolic male <- I typed this in a jokey tone, but um, thinking about the divide between expansionist kings and insularist queens... well! Huh.*

@echoofthemusic One more thing (sorry): Aldarion compared to Eärendil is interesting but I read about that in the past under [a context I dislike] so I’m conflicted… I’m into more nuanced takes on Eärendil! But I feel like some takes gave him…I dunno…a kind of ego that I don’t see? But the sea-longing is actually quite similar? I think there is also a theme of various Númenórean projections on Eärendil: Elros-affinity to Men, Atanamir-immortality, Pharazôn-power, Amandi-plea for mercy?

(do NOT apologize for sending me cool messages) Earendil and ego, really? I believe you have seen this because I believe Tolkien fans are capable of producing any take on Earth, no matter how divorced from the source material, or bad-faith, or boring. Earendil's motivations in sailing range from curious to heroic, but where does ego even factor in it? It is not even framed as selfish or childish. He's not doing it to prove himself to anyone... Unless there is some HoMe thing I don't know and probably don't care about.

I agree SO MUCH with Númenoreans fighting over what Eärendil means as a symbol! Everyone loves him and everyone wants to identify with him. I absolutely agree Aldarion and other expansionists after him would focus a lot on Eärendil as a mariner, his passion for sailing; King's Men on his sailing West, Faithful on his respect for the Valar... Honestly, this is my personal taste, but generally speaking I think the First Age is at its most interesting when we're looking at it through the eyes of the Second Age Númenorians. I love the historical dispute over heritage and symbols and history and what... specially on what concerns the Edain and their heroes. I think of King's Men presenting themselves as the ones who are true to their legacy, who want to claim their birthright to choosing immortality as descendents of Eärendil and Elros while the Faithful are mere "elf-lovers"; meanwhile the Faithful can say they are the ones honoring their biology, not wanting to change into something they're not. Elros chose mortality; tradition says so would his father have, if not for Elwing.

And like, are any of these assessments completely wrong, really?

Amandil-plea for mercy is definitely the one that haunts me the most because it is the most on-the-spot one, after all! This is the true legacy.

Then Amandil said farewell to all his household, as one that is about to die. ‘For,’ said he, ‘it may well prove that you will see me never again; and that I shall show you no such sign as Eärendil showed long ago. But hold you ever in readiness, for the end of the world that we have known is now at hand.’

He even takes three shipmates with!! But he has no Elwing to come flying in wings of pale flame to him, with a light to guide him west,

Men could not a second time be saved by any such embassy, and for the treason of Númenor there was no easy absolving.

You bet I think early Gondor and Arnor they bore this in mind a lot :(((

[bluerosewritings]

Please Be My Sibling-In-Law! | Ortho x Reader

This is a platonic story! There is an element of Idia x MC, but this is not a romance between Ortho and MC because nope!

Happy Birthday Ortho!🥳

You exited Idia's room. A small smile was on your lips - even if your relationship with the flame-haired senior was strictly platonic, your time together still made you feel warm inside. Every time your hands brushed when he passed you the controller or you fed him candy to help his game rage, you had to fight the blush you felt crawling up your neck. Not that it worked - you were lucky the dorms were so hot to blame the redness on.

And that's no even mentioning the times he let you hug him! You felt you were melting each time he did (in a good way). It took all your strength to resist grabbing his face and planting kisses all over it. A giggle escaped your lips - how would he react if you did that? His face would probably match his hair colour!

Distracted, you didn't notice the younger Shroud approaching you until he tapped on your arm. You turned to see Ortho smiling at you (as well as he could with a mouth covering).

"(y/n), are you and Big Brother done for today?" He asked.

You nodded, to which he clasped his hands together. "Can I ask you for a favour, then? It's for Big Brother!"

Even without the mention of Idia, you would've happily helped his robo-brother. Not only was he the one who introduced you to his brother in the first place, your relationship had grown with Ortho to the point that he felt like your little brother as well. Plus, who could say no to such an adorable smile? ...Or facial expression?

You hum in confirmation. "Sure, what do you need?"

Ortho's eyes lit up. "Thank you! Um, it's something I'd like to talk about in private, so please follow me!"

Ortho turned around and moved away, his little rockets going so fast you had to half-run to keep up with him. The two of you walked through the underground maze that was a the Ignihyde dorm, all the way to what could be considered the "back" where all the store rooms and unwanted spare rooms were. Ortho opened the last door of a spare room in the corridor and ushered you in. It was only as you entered the room that you realised how heavily soundproofed the walls were.

You turned to Ortho as he locked the door. "So, what did you need, Ortho?"

The robotic boy didn't reply. His head was down low as he played with the buttons on his arms, mumbling to himself. Your smile faltered.

"...Ortho?"

Suddenly, Ortho rushed towards you, becoming eye-level. He grabbed a hold of your hands tightly. His face was the most serious you'd ever seen.

"Please, Prefect (y/n)," he cried, "become my sibling-in-law!"

You paused. Did he just...? No, you must have misheard him.

"S-Sorry, Ortho!" You laughed nervously. "I didn't hear that right. Could you repeat-"

"Become my sibling-in-law! Please!" Ortho cried again, louder.

So you hadn't misheard him. Huh. Well.

Then you properly processed the words. Become his sibling-in-law... that would mean...

...marry Idia?

A violent blush spread across your cheeks. "W-What?! S-Sibling-in-law?!"

The grasp on your hands became tighter as Ortho nodded. "Yes! Please!"

You felt your face heat up even further. It was beginning to make you feel light-headed. Marry Idia? You hadn't even confessed! Besides, you weren't even sure Idia liked you back!

"O-Ortho," you said carefully, trying not to let your embarrassment show, "I... I don't think I can..."

"Please date my brother!" Ortho interrupted.

...date?

"Date?" You repeat.

"Yes!" Ortho confirmed. "Please ask my brother out on a date! I can even help you plan, if necessary! In fact, there is movie of-"

"Ask out? As in... just dating? Not... the part after that?" You couldn't even bring yourself to say the word 'marriage'. At least some of your composure was returning.

Ortho nodded. "Yes!"

You let out a shaky breath of relief. He just wanted you to ask his brother out - maybe it was still something romance-related, but at least it wasn't straight to marriage.

"You really need to choose your words more carefully, Ortho..." you sighed.

"I do?" Confusion flashed across his face until he remembered his original objective. "Besides that! Please, (y/n), you need to ask Big Brother out! His life depends on it!"

"His... life?" Memories of Eliza come flashing through your head. "Eliza isn't coming back, is she? Or a friend of hers?"

Ortho shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Then, how is Idia's life in danger?"

Ortho pulled away from your hands, tapped a few buttons on the side of his head, and turned to the wall next to the two of you. A projection came out from his left eye.

"Before you and Big Brother became friends and frequented each other's company, Big Brother's chances of going outside was 3.56%." Ortho turned a wheel on the side of his head. "After meeting you, however, that statistic increased to 11.98%."

"So... you just want your brother to go outside more?" You concluded. "Wouldn't the outcome just be the same if I asked him out as a friend?"

Ortho made an 'X' with his arms. "It's not just that!"

The statistics on the projection the wall changed. Whereas before the words "Big Brother's Outdoor Time" had been written in the top right corner, it now said "Big Brother's Love Life".

"As Big Brother is still extremely adamant about staying in his room, his current chances of finding a suitable partner are at 2.01%," Ortho continued, "however, even if Big Brother's outdoor time does increase over the next year, the likelihood of him finding a suitable partner will still fall to at most 1.3%!"

You bite your lip. "But, wouldn't going outside give him better social skills? Surely-"

"Do you really think my Big Brother would be able to stop thinking about 2D long enough for him to establish at least average social skills!?" Ortho argued.

As much as you hated to admit it... he had a point.

But still... ask out Idia? Again, you weren't even sure if he liked you back. What if he rejected you? Then not only would you have failed Ortho, you'd also walk away from Idia with a broken heart. With how Idia was as well, you weren't even sure if he'd be willing to associate with you anymore if he rejected your confession.

"Ortho... even so... your big brother might not-"

For the who-knew-at-this-point time, Ortho cut you off. "Don't worry! Big Brother also has dilated pupils and an increased heart rate whenever he is around you!"

"Also?"

"Yes, just like you!"

You didn't know blushes could grow to this extent.

"He also does not shut up about you when you aren't here! Based off my research, those three signs are the most common signs that a person is infatuated with another!"

Infatuated with another. Idia was infatuated with another. Infatuated as in liking. Another as in you. Idia liked you.

You felt like you were going to pass out.

"So, please, (y/n)!" Ortho's voice brought you back to the land of the living. "Ask out Big Brother!"

You still weren't a hundred percent certain Ortho's calculations were correct. Idia was shy, after all, so his younger brother may have just mixed up the signs. But one look at the desperation in Ortho's eyes caused the last part of you telling you not to do it to crumble away.

"...Okay. I'll do it." You said.

The blue flame by Ortho's heart seemed to grow larger as it flickered around dangerously as Ortho's eyes sparkled. He pulled you into a tight hug. You had a feeling that if he could, he'd be jumping around with joy.

"Thank you so much, (y/n)!" Ortho pulled away, his excitement only growing. "I'll go find Big Brother and tell him to come here right now! Don't move, okay?"

Without giving you a chance to reply, Ortho flew off, not even pausing to close the door. You leaned back onto the spare bed's post. In an attempt to cool yourself down, you placed your hands on your cheeks. It didn't work.

...What had you gotten yourself into?

[whelvenwings]

I Thought You Knew

Dean’s doing great with social distancing - or not bad, anyway - and then Charlie just has to try to put him in contact again with his old crush, Castiel. But they’re going to be able to keep things strictly professional and ignore their history - right?

~5k. Content information: this fic is set right now and mentions some small difficulties with self-isolation, but contains no mention of the pandemic itself.

Read here on AO3 if you prefer!

—————————————

It was all going just fine until Castiel got involved.

Well, for a given value of ‘fine’, anyway. If Dean was honest, social distancing wasn’t proving to be a picnic. At first he’d been sure he’d have no trouble – thought he’d have time to relisten to all his favourite albums, learn to cook brisket. First figure out what exactly brisket even was, actually, and then learn to cook it. With the world in such a state, and with so many things to worry about, Dean had thought that he’d at least be able to deal with being isolated.

Dean could really, really not deal at all with being isolated.

He was climbing up the walls by day three. There was something about only having himself for company, only his own face in the mirror to see and only himself to talk to, that seemed to flick some kind of switch in his brain. When he took his one piece of exercise a day, he made it a walk instead of a run so that he could go slowly and smile at people as he went. Him. Dean. Smiling at people on the street. Exchanging small talk about the weather with them.

It was only the fact that a whole lot of other people seemed to be doing it too that gave him any reassurance he wasn’t going completely soft.

By day five, he’d messaged Charlie so many times that she’d decided he needed some kind of project.

And that was how Castiel came into it.

Because Dean and Charlie had been due to move in together, had even put a deposit down on a place. It was there, ready for them. They just had to wait until isolation wasn’t so necessary to be able to move in. And so Charlie’s project for Dean was to figure out the interior decoration of their new place.

“I’ll suck at it,” he told her over the phone.

“Right,” Charlie said disbelievingly. “You think I haven’t noticed your tasteful curtains? The counterpane on your bed?”

“The hell is a counter-pain?”

“It’s the thing on your bed,” Charlie said, with more patience than Dean would’ve expected, which made him narrow his eyes. There was some part of this that he wasn’t going to like, and she hadn’t told him yet, and she was being nice so that he would be nice.

“Right. Well, anyway, yeah,” he said, deciding to agree now while the part he wouldn’t like still hadn’t come up, so the agreement to that part would be a separate issue. After all these years of knowing each other, Dean had his tactics. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. Consider our place’s design sorted.”

“Cool,” Charlie said quickly. “Cool, cool, cool. Um, so I’ll just let Castiel know, then, and you guys can –”

Dean, who had been walking from his kitchen to his living room, tripped over his rug. He grabbed the door frame to catch himself.

There was a moment of silence on the phone.

“Are you alive,” Charlie said after a second, tentatively.

“Castiel,” Dean said. “Castiel Novak?”

“Um. Yes?” Charlie said, trying to sound small and charming.

“Charlie, you’re kidding me.”

“I know,” Charlie said, drawing out the ‘o’ into a little understanding wail. “But after we graduated he went into interior design, and he’s so good at it, so back when I thought we’d be too busy to, you know, do the decorating ourselves after we moved in, I just sort of… spoke to him about it… and he said he’d do it for a really reduced rate, and scrap the consultation fee, so we’d basically just be paying market prices for whatever he chose, and…”

She kept rambling, filling up the space so that Dean couldn’t get an argumentative word in edgeways. He wasn’t sure he even had the words to be able to protest with, anyway. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and then looked down at his toe, which hadn’t enjoyed the trip on the rug.

“But you know I hate the guy,” Dean said when Charlie finally ran out of things to say. He’d meant it to sound jokey, but it came out just a bit too quiet.

There was a little rush of static down the phone as Charlie sighed.

“I know,” she said, in the gentlest tone of voice she had. “I know you do.”

“Can’t I just do it all, now that everything’s like it is?”

“It’s just… the deal he’s giving us is really good,” Charlie said, and he could hear the wretchedness in her tone.

“He can still do the deal?”

“Oh, yeah. His business is doing okay. You know what he’s like. He’s always got seven strategies for everything.”

“Right.” Dean bit out the word. He did know what Castiel was like. Or rather, he’d thought he did.

“But what with… everything… we won’t be able to afford any decent interior design if the deal with Castiel falls through. Which is, like… the least important problem in the whole world right now, maybe. But when this is over I want to live in a nice place with you, dude. Like we always said we would.”

Dean let out a breath.

“A special place of our own…” Charlie wheedled.

Ugh.

“In the centre of the city,” Dean said, after a second.

“With a kitchen island for you –”

“– and a gaming den for you –”

“– and a giant TV for both of us,” they finished together. They’d been wanting this since their first year of college. They’d worked so hard for it, to be able to live together and away from the pasts they’d struggled to leave behind.

Speaking of a past that Dean wanted to leave behind –

“But… Castiel Novak,” he said.

“Dude, listen. It’s going to be like, one Zoom call. Maybe two. Everything else you guys can do via email. And he’ll be completely professional, I’m like, one hundred percent sure.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Huh. Okay. So, you don’t think, just for example, just say, I don’t know…”

“Dean,” Charlie said, trying to head him off, but Dean was in full swing now.

“You don’t think he’ll, say, pretend to be really enjoying the job, and keep spending loads of time on the job, and definitely seem like he’s ready to start doing the job on a more permanent and exclusive basis, and then suddenly have a one-eighty and decide not to do the job at all?”

“Dean,” Charlie said again, and her tone of voice hovered between understanding and amusement.

Dean swallowed. He didn’t want to put any of it into words – how much it had really meant to him, what he’d felt growing between him and Castiel back in college. How happy it had made him when he’d thought that Castiel felt the same. And how much it had hurt when Castiel had blown him off for their first date, twice, to hang out with other friends.

“Listen,” Charlie said, “I swear. A couple Zoom calls, some emailing, that’s it.”

“Is he still…” Dean didn’t know how to phrase his question.

“Kind? Polite? Occasionally grumpy? Yeah. But he’s super not hot anymore, so.”

Dean made a sound of disbelief.

“When you’re emailing,” Charlie said, “you can just pretend it’s someone completely different, anyway, right? And I’ll help any way I can.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.

“Any way?” he said. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you have to be there.”

––––––––

Sitting in his lounge at noon the next day, Dean logged onto his Zoom, and started the meeting.

He’d insisted that he be the host. Castiel had apparently protested that he had a Zoom enterprise plan and he could host the call, but Dean got a business account through his work, and somehow it made him feel better to be the one arranging the time and starting things off.

He was calm.

He was in control.

He was going to talk to Castiel Novak about interior design.

And it was going to be fine. Years had passed since those days in college when Dean had felt so strongly for him. He was a different person now, and so was Castiel. This wasn’t going to be a big deal.

Someone logged into the meeting, and Dean’s heart skipped heavily, thudding hard and uneven in his chest. He squared his laptop on his coffee table, sat up, resisted the urge to look down at himself on the screen and check his hair –

“Hey, Dean,” Charlie said, and Dean breathed out.

He looked down at himself, and checked his hair.

Still fine. He looked fine. Just normal.

“Dean? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Dean said. “Sorry, hey.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Charlie’s picture on Dean’s screen was a little grainy, but he could see the half-grin, half-grimace on her face. “Look, I’ve been thinking, and it’s probably really unfair of me to just –”

“It’s fine,” Dean grunted, waving a hand. The last thing he needed was for Castiel to log onto the meeting right at the point when Charlie was reassuring him through this encounter with his years-old crush. “It’ll probably be good.”

“… Okay?” Charlie said, with the confusion of someone who was getting away with something much more easily than they’d expected.

“I get veto power over any weird crap you try to put into the design, though.”

“Like you wouldn’t assume you have that anyway,” Charlie said. Dean made a face, and then sent her an expletive via private message. “Charming,” Charlie said.

A third person joined the meeting.

Dean felt his heart rate soar. There was only one other person who had the invitation. This had to be him. Dean licked his lips, cleared his throat, brushed at his nose, shifted on his sofa, and then tried his best to sit still and look relaxed.

The picture flickered to life. There he was.

Castiel Novak, on Dean’s laptop screen. His hair was still unruly, and his narrow-eyed expression as he waited for the call to load was a familiar one. Familiar enough to make Dean’s chest ache.

“Hello?” Castiel said, and Dean was gone. He was gone. That low, rumbling voice was just the same as it had always been. If Dean had known how to breathe a second ago, he was now having trouble remembering exactly.

“Hi, Castiel,” Charlie said easily, as Dean typed out a quick salvo of messages to her.

>> fuck you he’s still exactly the same >> he’s still hot >> fuck this

“Dean, you can hear Castiel, can’t you?” Charlie said, her tone edged with an instruction. Be polite.

“Uh.” Dean looked at Castiel on his screen. He didn’t know why these words were so hard to say. When he spoke them, they came out far too soft. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel blinked. Some of the tension seemed to go out of his shoulders.

“Hello, Dean,” he replied.

Dean almost wanted to laugh. He almost wanted to leap through the screen to where Castiel was. He definitely wanted to shut his laptop and throw it out the nearest window.

He settled for ducking his head to hide the slight smile he couldn’t repress, and the hurt that he knew had to be showing in his eyes. How did this feel so good and so bad all at once?

“Okay,” Charlie said, her tone bracing. “Thanks for coming to the meeting, guys. Dean, you’re recording this so we’ve got a transcript for later, right?”

“Sure am,” Dean said.

“Castiel, you’re comfortable with that?”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

How could Castiel be sitting there? Just sitting there in front of his bookshelves, looking that good and talking and moving like a real person? Dean had spent so long after they’d stopped talking just thinking about Castiel, arguing with him in his mind, picturing what could have happened if things had gone better between them. If Dean hadn’t been wrong about the way that Castiel had felt.

But now Castiel was just there. Dean could yell at him, right now. He could ask him what had happened. He could demand to know if there had ever been a time when Castiel had wondered if there was something going on between them.

Or he could just sit back, and listen to Charlie and Castiel get started on talking about paint and sofas and styles of wooden flooring.

>> you’re not talking >> say something

Dean read the messages from Charlie in the chat and blinked, and tried to focus on the conversation. Castiel was explaining the initial thoughts that he’d had about their place, and how they could use the space. Dean made an attempt at being able to interject with something relevant. Castiel’s voice sounded so good in his ears. Seriously, the guy could read the phone book and Dean would be on one knee. How had he forgotten the way that Castiel’s mouth moved when he spoke? The shape of his lips?

>> earth to dean, what is going on

When the new message from Charlie came through, Dean frowned. He’d tried to talk, but it wasn’t working. Instead, he typed out,

>> he’s just still the same

He hoped the message would be enough of an explanation. He saw Charlie glance towards the chat, and then launch into talking about her own thoughts on how they could repaint the exposed brick in the kitchen. Castiel nodded along seriously.

“And a kitchen island,” Dean blurted out. Charlie and Castiel both stopped talking. Charlie rolled her eyes, while Castiel’s mouth flicked upward in a smile.

“Ah, yes. The kitchen island. Of course. There are a few options for the shape…”

Of course, Dean repeated in his mind. Of course.

He typed out to Charlie,

>> I think he remembered I want a kitchen island?

Castiel kept going, mentioning a few websites that he thought Dean might like to look at and then sending them in the group chat for everyone to see. Dean nodded at them, and made filler noises as Castiel talked some more about different countertops.

Dean pressed his lips together hard for a second. It was messing him up that Castiel remembered something so small about him as the kitchen island thing. Who remembered that about someone they didn’t think was special? Someone they didn’t actually care much about?

>> Dean?

Charlie’s message was simple. He must be looking upset. Dean steeled his jaw, swallowed hard, and typed back,

>> just wish we’d’ve worked out.

On the screen, Charlie’s eyes narrowed into the briefest of winces. She replied to Castiel, giving Dean the space to be quiet.

The rest of the call was uneventful, because Charlie made it so. Castiel shared a couple of pictures with the two of them, and they both nodded enthusiastically. For half an hour, they talked about fabric colours and feature walls and where to put the TV.

Dean spent most of the time thinking about the kitchen island, and Castiel’s hair, and what it had felt like when Castiel had ditched him.

“Okay,” Charlie said eventually. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. Loads of great stuff, Castiel. Thanks so much.”

“My pleasure,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, thanks, Cas,” Dean said. Even those three words came out stilted and husky.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said, and looked as though he were going to say something else, but then didn’t.

“Dean’ll send you the transcript, just so we’ve all got it for reference,” Charlie said. “Okay. I’m gonna sign off now. Bye, guys!”

“Bye,” Dean said, hurrying to end the meeting with a click, not wanting to be faced with even a second of screentime with just himself and Castiel. He tapped to ring off, just as Castiel said,

“Goodb-”

Dean stared at the screen for several seconds, in the sudden quiet of his lounge. He looked around the room, trying to find some solace in the familiarity of his own place and his things, find the ground under his feet again. That had been Castiel.

They’d talked. They’d actually spoken.

He’d still been so –

So Cas.

Dean gritted his teeth. He knew where that line of thought and feeling went – somewhere Castiel didn’t want to go. Somewhere that would leave Dean on the end of a phone in the middle of the street with a pit in his stomach and a reservation at the nicest restaurant in town that no one was going to keep.

He clicked across his screen, grabbing the transcript and firing it off in an email to Castiel. There. Done. Finished.

––––––––

Two days later, Dean got an email from Castiel, to schedule a Zoom meeting.

“I told you,” Dean growled at Charlie over the phone. “I wanted to be the one hosting.”

“I know,” Charlie said. “But look, he’s got it all figured out. Can we just go along with it?”

Dean closed his eyes. No, he wanted to shout. No. I want to feel like I have a handle on this, even if it’s just the tips of my fingers. No. I need this –

He ground his back teeth together, and lifted his chin even though no one could see him.

“He better have some great suggestions for storage,” he managed.

And so here they were, three days after the first Zoom call, with Dean being the one to open up an invitation to a meeting, this time. As the screen loaded, he took a gulp of the beer he’d put into a mug. It was eleven in the morning, and he needed it.

He needed it through the discussion about the bathroom surrounds.

He needed it through the debate over curtain colours.

He needed it every time Castiel pulled a thoughtful face, or smiled, or licked his lips – god. Then, Dean drank twice.

“If that’s all,” Castiel said, “I have another call in fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect,” Charlie said. “And Dean, you’d better check the transcript for this one. I could see you spacing out over there.”

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, and then realised every defence he could make was something that he couldn’t say in front of Castiel, and closed his mouth again.

“Fine,” he said mutinously.

“Great. Bye, guys!”

Dean rang off without a word.

He went and ate some food to settle himself. Once he had an entire plate of pasta inside him, he felt slightly more able to go back to his laptop and open it up and check his email. Sure enough, there was the transcript in a message from Castiel.

With a roll of his eyes, Dean opened it. If he didn’t, Charlie would start making all kinds of decisions about their new place without him – and through all of this awkwardness, he still wanted to be able to have a say in the decoration of their apartment.

Hello, began the transcript. Good to see you again thank you for coming can you both hear me well…

Dean read on a little way. At one point, Charlie started talking at length about the pattern she wanted on the wall in her bedroom, some kind of stencilled effect; Dean almost skipped ahead, but stopped and frowned. Intercut with Charlie’s speech were some messages – messages from Castiel.

>> Dean looks good today. >> Like he always does.

Dean felt a flush race from the top of his head to his toes, and then bounce back up. He read the messages over again, and then again, his eyes wide. Was – was this a mistake? Some kind of glitch? But the messages were right there, in black and white.

Castiel had thought that he… looked good?

As he stared at the screen, something caught his eye. Dean sat forward on his sofa, gripping his laptop as he scrolled down further. Another message.

>> I’ve missed him so much.

One hand raised involuntarily to cover Dean’s mouth for a second. How had he missed these messages when they came in? Dean read back over them once again, even more carefully, and felt a second rush of hot static go through him.

These weren’t messages to the group chat. These were private messages. Messages that Castiel had sent just to Charlie, during the call. Dean kept reading.

>> Ever since the last time we spoke, there hasn’t been one day that’s passed that I haven’t thought of him.

Dean swallowed hard. These – these weren’t casual messages, thrown into the conversation. These were – these were – Dean didn’t have the words for it. Were they true? Were they real? Surely not, how could they be?

>> Even when I’m not thinking about him, there’s always a part of me hoping he’ll call. And I hate phone calls. But I wouldn’t from him.

That was the last of them. Dean set down his laptop carefully on the end of the sofa. He could feel that his cheeks were bright red. His heart was racing. He was too – it was too much for him to be able to smile, or text Charlie, or even move.

What did he do now? Castiel had sent all those messages privately. Did that mean Dean had to pretend he’d never seen them? Dean grabbed suddenly for his laptop, pulled up a search browser and typed in Zoom call private messages printed transcript.

A few seconds of reading later, he set the laptop back down. His hands were shaking slightly. So, it was because Castiel was the host of the Zoom call that the transcript automatically put all his private messages in, as well as –

Dean stopped.

The transcript.

It printed out the host’s private messages.

This time, it had printed out Castiel’s messages. But last time –

Last time –

Dean dropped his head into his hands.

“No,” he said out loud.

He looked up, around his lounge. The lounge that had been the same after he’d seen Castiel again three days ago. The lounge that had been the same after Dean had seen Castiel’s private messages. And the lounge that was still the same, even now, when he realised Castiel had seen Dean’s.

What was it that he’d said? Something about Castiel being hot. And – Dean covered his face again.

“No. No. No,” he said. But he couldn’t make it untrue. Castiel had seen the message that Dean had sent to Charlie, wishing that things could have worked out between him and Cas.

The shame was like a punch to the gut. Castiel had been only too clear about his feelings in college, when he’d taken care to escape both the dates that they’d set up.

Except… except Castiel had read those messages, and he’d – Dean stopped trying to suffocate himself with his own hands for a second. Castiel had read those messages, and he hadn’t run away. He hadn’t awkwardly ignored them. He hadn’t asked Dean to stop.

He’d responded in kind. He’d sent an answer, of a kind.

Dean grabbed for his phone, and pulled up his messenger. He scrambled to find his chat with Charlie.

>> Charlie??

He hovered his thumbs over the screen. He couldn’t think of what else to say – but the response was immediate.

>> Call him >> Trust me

She sent a phone number.

Dean stared down at it, his mouth slightly open. Was this happening? Was any of this real? Before he could wake up from the dream, he tapped the number on his phone screen and hit Call.

The phone buzzed in his ear, just once, and then the call was picked up.

“Dean?”

The single word was so heavy, so weighed down with feeling, that Dean took a second to be able to respond.

“Cas,” he said.

There was a moment of quiet. Dean didn’t know how to breathe again. He seemed to keep forgetting.

“Got your messages,” he managed.

“I got yours,” Castiel said.

His voice was so good to hear – so good. But Dean was twisting up inside.

“Look,” he said wretchedly, “Cas, you gotta just tell me. Has something changed for you? About… about us?”

“Changed?” Castiel said. “No. Nothing’s changed.”

It was a blow. It was the sudden dousing of a spark of hope. Dean felt his chest go hollow.

“Oh,” he heard himself say. “Oh. Right.”

“But… something’s changed for you,” Castiel said. “Hasn’t it?”

“For me?” Dean managed to say through his dry throat. “No, Cas.”

“… Oh.”

Dean wanted to hit something. This – what was happening? Castiel – he’d read Dean’s messages – he’d sent those messages back the same way – but now it turned out Castiel still felt the same as he had in college, he still didn’t want to date Dean. How could he? Surely when he’d sent those messages, he’d have known what Dean would think?

What he’d hope?

“Um,” Castiel said. “I thought this would… I don’t understand. When you sent those messages, I thought it meant that you… that you felt…” His voice trailed off.

“You know how I feel,” Dean said, and the anger was burning through in his tone of voice. “I don’t get why you’d send those messages, if you didn’t… you know… the same. Feel. The same.” Anger gave way to awkwardness as his sentence stumbled.

“I sent them because I thought – I thought you felt – I thought you’d want them,” Castiel said. “When I read yours, I wanted to reply the same way, I… I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“You thought you’d save me from being embarrassed,” Dean said, “by making me think you liked me like that? When you don’t?”

“Liked you like what?” Castiel said, sounding startled over the phone. Dean made an actual grunt of frustration.

“Like… c’mon, Cas, really? Like that. Like, like like.”

“But I – I do,” Castiel said, so quietly that Dean barely heard it.

Dean’s chest seized.

“No,” he said. “No. You just said you still don’t feel that way.”

The hiss of static on the line was painful. But then –

“Dean, I’ve always felt this way.”

The noise Dean made was involuntary. He put his hand over his mouth again, just for a second, to try to catch it.

“You didn’t know?” Castiel said, and Dean knew him well enough to be able to picture the look of disbelief on his face. “But Dean, I… I thought you knew. I was so obvious.”

“Cas,” Dean said, “you ditched me for our first date. Twice.”

“What? You’ve never asked me out on a date.”

Dean’s mouth fell open.

“Are you kidding?” he said.

“Are you?”

“Cas, I asked you to meet me for dinner. I booked us a place. First time, you said you had to help someone with their homework. Second time, you said you got invited to go see a movie.”

“That – you – that was a date? No, I – I’d remember –”

“First time was right before midterms,” Dean said. “Second time was right after. You did homework with Meg, and then you went to a movie with Uriel.”

“Oh…” The penny seemed to drop. “But – no. That wasn’t a date, those weren’t dates – it was just going to be another group night… like we always had, with Charlie and Billie and everyone?”

“Group night? Cas, I booked us a fancy dinner, I was dressed up –”

“You didn’t tell me,” Castiel said.

“I invited you to dinner!”

“We were always asking each other to come over to eat together, and it was never a date,” Castiel said. “But – but it – but you – some of them were?”

Dean could feel his world crumbling. No – no, not his world. Just some parts of it. Just the spiky, painful, horrible part of it that had grown up twisted and aching because of Castiel ditching him.

“I thought you left me,” Dean said. “Twice.”

“I would never do that,” Castiel said. “You were the one who stopped talking to me.”

“I thought I had to be making you uncomfortable… trying to date you when you didn’t feel… but you would’ve – you would’ve said – yes?”

“If I’d known it was a date,” Castiel said, “I would have gone through Hell to get there.”

What could Dean say? All of these years of silence, all of the hurt, all of the worrying and thinking and arguing with a ghost, and the whole time Castiel would have said yes. He would have been there. He just hadn’t known. He tried to reach for words and nothing came. He tried to parse his own feelings but it was overwhelming.

“You didn’t say a word to me,” Castiel said. “You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”

Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He stared around the static sameness of his lounge as though anything he saw there could possibly have the answers.

“I was wrong,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so – I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel breathed out, a huff of static down the line.

Maybe it was broken, Dean thought. Maybe even though – even though they both – even still – maybe they’d broken it too much to fix it now.

“I could have tried harder to talk to you,” Castiel said softly. “I thought you must have figured out how I felt and decided you were better off dumping me. I could have tried to talk to you about it.” There was a pause, and then he said, “I’m sorry, too. Sorry I let you go.”

“You really… you really feel…” Dean couldn’t even put it into words. “I mean, those messages…”

“I said I missed you,” Castiel said, in that perfect low rumbling voice.

“I missed you, too.” It was so much truth in so few words that Dean felt his own voice give. “Cas, I… fuck. Is it too late now? For this?”

Castiel took a moment to answer.

“I’m surprised every day,” he said, “that I still want you just as much as I did on the day we stopped talking. I kept waiting for it to fade. Waiting for myself to finally realise you weren’t coming back. But it was like it didn’t matter. Like the time passing didn’t matter. Like it couldn’t touch us.”

Dean couldn’t smile. He couldn’t do it. Now was the time, if there had ever been one, but it was too much, way too much.

“I get it,” he said. “I get it. I want you too.” It rose in him like a rush of heat. “I want you so much, Cas.”

“I’m here.” A pause. “You can have me.”

“Fuck… Cas, I… I…” The sensation was only just starting to feel like happiness, a happiness so huge that it was devastating.

“When this is over…”

“Come on a date with me,” Dean said. “Cas, date me.”

It was silent on the line. For a second, Dean’s certainty wavered.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Now.”

“What?”

“Now.”

“But – we can’t – nowhere’s open, we’re not allowed to –”

“Now,” Castiel said. “We’re on a date. Right now. This is it.”

Finally, finally, Dean managed to smile.

“Okay,” he said. “Now.”

––––––––

A week later, Charlie sent him a text.

>> Haven’t heard from you in an entire twenty-four hours. Did I do good finding you a project?

Dean, on a Zoom call with Castiel, grinned down at his phone.

You did fine, he typed. You did good.

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter Four

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

Going through a magical portal was definitely one way to distract from the nerves borne of having to step back into one’s life five years later and all the chaos that came with it.

The portal didn’t seem like a big deal after the fact, especially after spending the last days watching the successful use of them as those remaining in Wakanda were reunited with family and friends. It didn’t stop Peter’s brain from wondering for a quick second how Wong’s magic worked—if he was really just stepping through or if there was more to it?—Like the transporters in Star Trek. Maybe that ring he’d been wearing contained technology that manipulated the particulate in the atmosphere and—

His train of thought derailed as Mr. Stark finally came through the portal and the circle shrunk and fizzled away into nothing.

“Well,” he announced as he glanced back at the vanished means of entry, “That wasn’t my flashiest entrance, but it’ll do.”

Mrs. Stark rolled her eyes and stepped up to give him a kiss. “Yes, dear, whatever you say.” She teased as she caressed his cheek. “That exit, though...” She gave her husband a playful wink and then patted his face. “The Divine Miss M would be proud.”

Mr. Stark smirked, “Yeah, Wong will definitely pay for that later.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer then planted a soft kiss on her lips. He mumbled, “I’m so glad we’re home.”

Peter had watched as they did their flirting thing, but mention of home had him looking away pretty quick. He fought to tamp down his discomfort.

Five years ago, Mr. Stark had been freshly engaged and behaving exactly how Mr. Stark was expected to behave, all snark and sarcasm with the occasional emotional outburst.

And Mrs. Stark was, well—she was Pepper Potts, but not just Pepper Potts. She was Ms. Potts; CEO to Stark Industries, #1 on the Forbes list of “100 Most Powerful Women” in 2017, and MJ had just told him—he sighed as he mentally corrected himself, MJ had told him five years ago that she was creeping up on Oprah and Beyonce in terms of net worth. He’d met her a few times when she’d stop by the lab to make sure Mr. Stark was drinking more than just coffee and consuming actual food—not just the mystery smoothies Dum-E would make for him on occasion. She’d been intimidating, but always polite and kind and left the lab with a smile for Peter and a peck on the cheek for Mr. Stark.

And while he’d been stuck in that stone? Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts had gotten married, built a home... moved on, and here he was— Peter was getting tired again just thinking of it.

Five years later was weird.

Peter scuffed his toe against the floor, unintentionally drawing attention to himself.

Mr. Stark straightened the two of them up and turned to him immediately, making sure to grab his wife’s hand. “Yeah.” It was Mr. Stark’s turn to blush. “Sorry about that. I guess we’re all a little relieved to be back, right? We can finally get back to normal?”

Peter chuckled quietly and shrugged as he refused to look up at the pair. “I guess?” He replied, but in his head, he knew better.

“Well,” The pair moved closer to him and Mr. Stark put a supportive arm around his shoulder. “I’m not even going to ask what you want to do, kid.” Mr. Stark stated as he turned Peter around and started walking him through the living room of the penthouse, “but before we figure out when you can see May, I need to know if an in person visit is even in the cards for today. I’ll just pop down to the med bay and have a quick chat with the doctor and—“

Peter didn’t think before he stopped moving and the words fell out of his mouth, all desperate and pleading. “Can’t I just come with you?” Mr. Stark was opening his mouth to say no, Peter was sure of it, so he kept going, “I don’t even need to talk to her! I’ll stay back and out of the way and everything. Please? I just want to see her.”

Mr. Stark couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. “Pete, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But Peter was determined. “But it’s May, Mr. Stark!” He begged. “And you can’t tell me she hasn’t missed me, I mean, it’s been five years for her and I know she’d want to see me—“

“Kid, that has nothing to do with it. I promise. You know what your aunt is like.” Mr. Stark seemed to hunt for his next words, “She’s a beast in the best possible way—but now? She’s not, and the last thing she’d want is for you to see her... less than one hundred percent because then she’ll get upset that you’re worrying about her and then you’ll end up getting upset and none of us want that either, do we?”

Peter tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “No. I get it, that’s cool. Just...” He trailed off before he said something stupid. He understood. He’d heard the doctor only a couple of hours earlier and he knew he couldn’t just go running into the med bay to throw himself at Aunt May. Stuff was going on and he wasn’t going to get in the way of it.

“Let’s give her chance to put on her game face, okay?”

“Okay.” Peter couldn’t have sounded more glum if he’d tried. He hated this.

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark pulled him into an awkward side hug as they all started walking again. “I promise you, we’ll get this sorted, but here’s what we’re gonna do. First, we’re gonna get you set up in your room,” they turned down into a hallway beyond the living room, “so you can take a nice, long shower—wash off all of those teenager cooties you’ve been sporting.” Mr Stark ruffled Peter’s hair as he attempted to lighten the mood. “Then, by the time you’re done, I’ll be back with all the information we need so we can make a plan, alright?”  

Peter nodded even though he wanted nothing more than to disagree with everything Mr. Stark was suggesting and make a break for the med bay. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Five years ago, he was supposed to help get the gauntlet and then come home and train with the Avengers after May grounded him forever... and now, even his freaking homecoming was wrong. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with all of this.  

Mr. Stark steered him through a doorway and stopped. “So, kid. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Peter blinked, confused. “Um, what—?“

“You’re room, buddy, what do you think?” Mr. Stark gestured into the room they were now standing in. “We tried to make it exactly like your old one... got FRIDAY to...”

Peter tuned Mr. Stark out as he stepped further into what was definitely a space meant for him. Now that he was paying attention, it took a second to know that he was in the exact same room Mr. Stark had put aside for his use before half of the universe disa—

It was like a needle scratching across a record in his brain. NO.

He needed to change the thoughts in his brain—wished it was as easy to do for himself as it was for the schematics laying about the lab... a swipe of the hand and BOOM, a fresh start—the lab he hadn’t been in for five years because he was trapped in a stone.

NO. He scolded himself again and clenched his fists tight; thrust them into the pockets of his sweatpants as he tried to reframe it. He needed to make it something else before Mr. Stark ended up looking at him that pitying way again. 

Okay.

It was the same room Mr. Stark had put aside for his use on those nights when they’d goof around with Mr. Stark’s tech until stupid late and then the two of them would fight over whether 80s horror movies were the superior movie genre when anyone with real taste knew that Star Wars and all things sci-fi was where it was at.

Yeah, that was better. He could do this.

He tried to relax his shoulders as he took in some of the details.

Peter was grateful that the room itself smelled as fresh and clean as the last time he’d been in it. The laundry detergent used to wash his bedding was even the same. His posters were on the walls and his books were back on the tiny bookshelf by the desk set up next to the wide expanse of window. The pens, papers, books, and even an unfinished lego project he’d left upon it during his last weekend were sitting in a box, waiting to be unpacked.

It was almost exactly where it was all supposed to be.

Almost.

And then—

Peter remembered an April Fool’s Day when he and Ned had been little. It had fallen on a Saturday, which of course meant a sleepover for the two new friends and, while May and Ben slept on, the boys had decided to be as diabolical as six year olds could be. It had taken all of three minutes, for all of the giggles and impromptu pillow fight, but they’d switched all of the red throw cushions from the couch with the brown throw cushions from the two armchairs in the living room. The cutlery tray in the kitchen was given the same treatment before Peter and Ned were satisfied with their first ever attempt at foolery.  

It was insanity, and May and Ben were absolutely baffled at how something so strange could have happened while they slept!

Peter smiled sadly at the memory as he realized this was that moment, except it wasn’t a goofy prank by two silly kids. It was like everything in the room was six inches to the left and Peter was supposed to be confused that something wasn’t quite right—

Nothing was right.

He wondered if this would be the thing that pushed him over the edge.

“Pete?” Mr. Stark asked again, softer this time and laced with an undertone of concern.

He closed his eyes for a moment then pasted a smile on his face. “It’s great, Mr. Stark.” He turned to face him, hoped he’d buy the ruse. “You wouldn’t know that anything was different except that my desk is finally tidy.”

Mr. Stark chuckled, “Look, kid, I know it’s not quite ri—“

“No! It’s absolutely fine!” Peter couldn’t allow him to acknowledge the imperfection of it or he’d lose it. “I hadn’t even thought about... this. It’s just like I left it,” he lied.

Mr. Stark wasn’t convinced. Peter could see it on his face. “Peter? Tell me what’s going on in your head. I can see that something is—“

“No.” Yup. He really needed to not be talking about it, “Everything’s great... this is great, Mr. Stark, thanks so much for doing this for me.” Peter then looked behind him to Mrs. Stark still standing in the hallway. “And you, too, Mrs. Stark. I’ll try really hard to not be irritating while I’m here.” He kept that same fake grin going, hoped for the best.

And then Peter put an arm around Mr. Stark and ushered him toward the door.

Mr. Stark pushed back a little, making his desire to stay obvious. “Pete? What are you doing?”

“Just what you asked, Mr. Stark. I’m gonna jump in a shower now and get ready for the day.” He’d gotten Mr. Stark one step into the hallway when the man pulled free of Peter’s unintentional restraint, turned around and braced himself in the door frame.

“Peter, stop.” He tried to catch Peter’s eye. “What’s going on?”

The question stopped Peter cold in his tracks. He was absolutely not prepared to answer the question. “What do you mean? I just said—“ He glanced over his shoulder back into the room. “Everything’s great.”

“Yeah, Pete, I hear you. You keep saying it. It’s great, but that’s not what I’m picking up here.” His voice held nothing but concern and he stepped closer to Peter. “Do you want to try again?”

And his plan had failed in all of one minute.

Dammit.

An unexpected anger flared, “No, I really don’t.” He hadn’t yelled, but he was a near thing. “Can I please just take a shower now?” He tugged at the sweatshirt that wasn’t his, stalked toward the dresser he’d yet to inspect and pulled open the drawer that thankfully held his t-shirts. He’d hoped it would be enough of a cue that Mr. Stark needed to leave, but that was apparently too much to ask.

“Peter, c’mon. I need to know what’s going on in that genius brain of yours. Do you want to talk? Do we need to change something about the room?”

“NO! It’s already changed enough!” Peter snapped. He grabbed his favourite shirt and slammed the drawer shut with enough force that the dresser hit the wall behind it with a crash. 

Mrs. Stark gasped at the outburst, bringing Peter back to himself.

He froze where he stood, his ears flushed with embarrassment at the loss of control-- being caught out. “Shit. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Mr. Stark stood silent as he waited for Peter to settle down, Mrs. Stark coming to stand beside her husband as the tension hung thick in the air.

And never before had he wanted Mr. Stark to leave him alone so badly.

“I think I need... can I just have a minute, please?” He whispered and fidgeted with the shirt in his hands.

“Peter, I don’t think we should--” his words cut off.

Mrs. Stark put a hand on Mr. Stark’s arm, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Tony, wait a minute.” She gave Mr. Stark a ‘look,’ “It’s been a long week, and an especially difficult day for Peter. You go check in at the med bay while I check in with the others and give him a chance to catch his breath.” She addressed Peter next. “Does that sound like a good idea?”

Mr. Stark opened his mouth to protest, “But—”

Mrs. Stark didn’t bother to hide her glare. “I’m sorry. Did I pose that as a question?”

Even Peter knew from that tone that CEO Ms. Potts—um, Mrs. Stark was coming out to play, so he wasn’t surprised when Mr. Stark grumbled out a petulant ‘no.’

“Good.” She turned to Peter next, spoke kindly. “You take all the time you need, honey. I can’t imagine we’ll be longer than a half hour, but if you need more time than that, then you take it. We’ll meet up in the living room when we all finish. Does that sound good to you?”

Peter nodded a ‘yes,’ though he still refused to look at either of them.

She smiled, like the last minutes of Peter’s tantrum hadn’t happened, then continued. “Perfect. We’ll get out of your hair.”

She made to steer Mr. Stark out of the room, but he again stopped and turned to address his mentee. “Hey—“

But Peter refused to look at the man.

Mr. Stark tried again, “Hey, buddy. Listen to me. No one is mad. Okay?” He seemed to grapple with finding the right words for a second and then went on. “We all know this is messed up and no is going to blame you for not knowing how to react—but you have to talk to us okay?”

Peter couldn’t bring himself to respond.

Mr. Stark sighed, seemingly giving up on the moment. Peter glanced up, thinking he’d watch them walking out the door, but blinked in surprise at Mr. Stark waiting patiently for him to look up.

“If you need anything... if you need me, you let FRIDAY know and she’ll get me. Understood?”

Peter did nod at that, but kept quiet.

Mr. Stark sniffed and then cleared his throat. “Good. Go take your shower, sweetheart. We’ll see you in the living room when you’re done.” Peter thought he’d reach out to hug him, but he held himself back and Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Instead, Mr. Stark grasped Mrs. Stark’s hand, gave Peter a wink and a nod, and the two of them left.

He waited a few seconds, listened for the concerned voices talking about giving him time to die away in the hall and then sighed in relief.

Finally.

Peter was alone for the first time since, well, he guessed five years ago. 

He stopped the thoughts again. It was too much, and he had thirty minutes to pull himself together, so that’s what he was going to do.

* * * * * *

Peter took a couple of minutes to be still and hoped it would be enough to get through whatever came next.

It wasn’t.

He did the breathing exercises MJ had taught the decathlon team before that huge meet against Bronx School of Science.

Maybe that took the edge of a little?

Finally, Peter gave up, realizing that it wasn’t going to matter what he did, at least for now. He just needed to get up and move.

And so he did.

He grabbed the rest of his clothes from the dresser, consciously ignoring the drywall dust on the floor behind it, and stepped into the ensuite.

FRIDAY had already started the shower knowing that Peter’s preferences wouldn’t have changed, so he stripped and stepped under the hot spray. He closed his eyes and counted his breathing again, but now that he’d moved from the quiet of his room, the urgency to get done and get to the living room started pressing on him.

He could do this. Whatever the world had in store for him, he’d manage. He’d done the whole starting over thing before, after all and hiding from it wasn’t going to change anything.

He wiped the water away from his face and grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the shelf, smiling to himself as he recognized the brand and scent on the label. He wanted to be quick, but he sound of the water beating against the ceramic tile and the soothing fragranced steam relaxed him more than he’d anticipated.

Maybe he’d be alright?

After a few more minutes of luxuriating in the heat, Peter finished washing up and stepped out to dry himself off, not bothering to do anything special with his curls. He slipped on his boxers then his jeans, keeping the towel around his neck so his hair wouldn’t drip everywhere. He finished off with one last vigorous scrub and tossed the towel into the hamper behind the door. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, took a deep breath to center himself and caught a whiff of it...

He wondered how quickly Happy had been able to pull his stuff out of storage and how many times his clothing had been washed and washed and washed... all to try and get rid of that musty, unused smell that clings to old, discarded clothing. Except that the clothes hadn’t been outgrown or discarded—and below the layers of wash after wash he could still tell with his stupid enhanced senses that all that Peter was before was that stink of age and neglect.

An unnatural calm settled upon him as he pulled the shirt down from his face and left the bathroom.

He grabbed forgotten socks from another dresser drawer and sat himself on the bed to get them on.

He realized he’d get no reprieve from all of the reminders, and wondered why he wasn’t more upset.

It didn’t matter, though.

He looked at the clock on his bedside table. He’d already taken forty minutes and needed to get out to the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Stark were waiting—

And Peter figured that after five years, they’d waited long enough.

[m34gs]

A Little Brick House

Based on prompt 29: Brick House, from the March Prompt List posted by @creativepromptsforwriting. (Link to prompt post here)

Blue Exorcist fanfic beneath the cut

Izumo and Shiemi, non-exorcist au.

Izumo couldn't tell you how long that brick house had been there. But she noticed it every day on the walk to school. It was old, with broken windows and no door. She'd looked at it many times, angling her head and raising herself on tip-toes to try and get a look inside, childhood curiousity overcoming her sense of what is socially acceptable. But regardless of the missing doors and the broken windows, she could never really see what was inside.

Izumo was thirteen years old when she first saw her; a pretty little blonde girl with large sparkling eyes. She looked to be about the same age as Izumo, maybe a little older. And she was walking in and out of the little brick house, as calmly as a child would in their own home, carrying bundles of something wrapped in her little apron. Izumo was so transfixed that she stopped walking to stare. Her friend, Paku, kept walking, babbling on about their homework, but her words were nothing more than a buzzing background noise to Izumo. The girl was kneeling now, among the tall grass of the old ugly lot.

The more Izumo watched her, the more everything else seemed to fade away to the background. The sunlight was warm and hazy, as if a filter had been placed in front of her eyes. A high pitched ringing sound rang in her ears, growing louder and louder. And then the girl looked up. Her startling green eyes met Izumo's sharp maroon ones and Izumo couldn't look away. It was odd. Like there was something...not quite right about this other girl.

Just as suddenly as their eyes had met, the weird feeling was shattered. "Izumo! What are you doing? We'll be late for school," Paku called. Izumo blinked and turned to her friend, startled to realize she was several meters ahead of her.

"Ah!" Izumo turned back to the old lot, but though the brick house and everything else was still there, the young blonde girl was gone. She shook her head and trotted to catch up to her friend. "No, nothing, I'm sorry. I must have spaced out. Let's keep going," she apologized.

***

It was weeks before Izumo caught another glimpse of the girl. This time, she was walking alone, as Paku had gone to school earlier to help with an upcoming partner project. Izumo wished she could be so lucky. The boys she was paired with were both highly annoying and lazy in her opinion. They were lucky if they made it to school on time, there was no way she could get them to be there early.

It was out of habit that she looked at the run-down brick house in the little lot. She never admitted to herself that she was looking for the other girl again, but she couldn't deny the surge of satisfaction she felt at seeing her again. Izumo looked at the little watch Paku had given her as a birthday present. She had time. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Izumo stopped on the sidewalk and faced the house. The blonde had yet to notice her. Izumo frowned and chewed her bottom lip. Her heart pounded in her chest and her palms were clammy as she gripped the strap of her bookbag.

"H-hey!" she stammered, quietly at first. The girl didn't look up, didn't even blink. Izumo frowned. "HEY!" she shouted this time. The blonde girl looked up with wide eyes.

"A-a-are you talking...to me?" she asked hesitantly, her voice high pitched and soft. For some reason, the hesitancy in her tone grated on Izumo's nerves. She frowned and crossed her arms, feeling her confidence come back.

"Do you see anyone else around for me to talk to?" she snapped. Why am I the weird one in this situation? Why does she look scared of me? She's the strange person in that house, should she even be there? Izumo wondered. "That's private property, you know. You can't play games there."

The girl blinked. "O-oh. Um. I know. I live here."

Izumo narrowed her eyes. What? She has to be making fun of me. There's no way she can live there, the girl concluded. "No you don't," Izumo protested. The girl tilted her head, looking more at ease than she had a moment ago.

"I do," she answered with a small smile. "Would you like to come and see?"

Izumo almost took her up on the offer, if only to laugh at the girl when Izumo was inevitably proven right. But the barking of a nearby dog grounded her back in reality and she glanced at her watch. "I...I don't have time for that right now! I'm going to be late for school," Izumo replied, feeling as though she was making excuses. "A-and you should be going to school, too!" She jabbed a finger at the other girl. The blonde girl just gave a small, timid smile. And that timid smile only annoyed Izumo further. She huffed and turned on her heel to continue walking. Her ears burned red, even though she told herself she wasn't the one who should be embarrassed, she wasn't the one claiming to live in an old run-down house as if it was something to be proud of.

The girl was not there on her walk home.

***

It was two years before Izumo caught a glimpse of the girl again. She was walking with Paku again, on the way home from school this time. She'd looked at the house again and again on their way to and from school over the past two years, so much so that glancing at it now became a habit. Over time, the feeling of disappointment she got when she didn't see the girl there had lessened. Which was why now, when she caught a glimpse of blonde hair through one of the broken windows, she stopped to do a double-take. Sure enough, it was her. She had the same blonde hair, same bright eyes. Her expression was less pensive and more relaxed, but it was her.

Paku stopped walking with her, and glanced between her and the house. "Izumo? What are you staring at?"

Izumo blinked...and the girl was gone. She frowned slightly and shook her head. "U-um. It was nothing. I thought I saw...someone in that house. But it must have been a trick of the light," she answered as she continued walking. Paku tilted her head.

"Oh, yeah. That makes sense. I've had that happen before too, where the light makes it look like someone is in the window or something," she agreed with an easy smile. She fell back into an easy chatter next to Izumo. Izumo did her best to pay attention, but her mind couldn't help but wander back to the conversation she'd had with the blonde two years ago.

Did that even happen? she wondered. A quick look snuck over her shoulder revealed the blonde girl now standing in the front of the lot. The blonde met her eyes and smiled, raising her hand in a tentative wave. Izumo blinked and her eyes widened before she quickly turned away.

***

Months flew by. Izumo had sighted the blonde girl a few more times. The other girl would smile and wave, but Izumo never responded. Truthfully, most of the time it was because she was with Paku, and she was nervous that maybe this girl wasn't one-hundred percent real. After all, Paku never mentioned her. And wouldn't Paku mention someone who acted so oddly and appeared to be living in an old run-down house?

So she pretended the blonde girl she saw didn't exist. And she pretended she didn't feel a pang of guilt each time she turned away, just barely catching the flash of disappointment on the other girl's face. Izumo would turn away and keep walking.

***

Izumo muttered to herself as she jogged through the rain on her way home, book bag held over her head. "Of course I forgot my umbrella," she reprimanded herself. "Of course." Water splashed up against her stockings as she ran through a puddle and Izumo cringed at the feeling of the wet cloth on her skin.

Even in her haste to get home, Izumo couldn't stop herself from looking over at the old brick house. What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks.

The blonde girl was out in the rain, kneeling in the grass, with no raincoat, no umbrella, barefoot, in a long skirt and light blouse. Absently, Izumo's brain wondered at the girl's sanity, but that thought was soon pushed aside by the fact that the girl was not wet. She didn't have a drop of water on her, though she sat so blatantly in the rain. Izumo blinked, almost certain her eyes were playing a trick on her. She squinted at the girl and stepped forward, her arms going lax at her sides. Her bookbag slipped out of her hand and landed with a wet plop on the sidewalk. Izumo jumped slightly and looked down at the bag. When she looked back up, the girl's eyes were on her. Her head was tilted and her lips parted slightly, a small crinkle in her brow, as if she was confused by what she saw. She blinked a few times, and then looked upward, as if only now becoming aware that it was raining. Izumo flushed, embarrassed she had drawn the girl's attention by dropping her bag in the rain. She bent down and picked it up, wincing at the cold wet cloth and the realization that her homework and books were likely soaked now.

When she stood up again, the blonde girl was right in front of her. Izumo jumped back a step. "Wh-what are you doing?" she demanded. The girl just grabbed Izumo's hand.

"Come on, you're soaked," she answered, and she turned around and dragged Izumo behind her toward the brick house. Her hand was as cold as the rain water and Izumo almost shivered.

Izumo really didn't see what going into the abandoned house would do in terms of helping her dry off, but she didn't argue. She was too shocked to string two words together. Where did this sudden bravery come from? This girl always looks so shy, she pondered.

She didn't realize the rain was no longer coming down until they were inside the house. Izumo looked around herself, and just about stumbled out of the house. It looked totally different inside. There was a table, chairs, a rug on the floor, a short hallway leading to the back, and a fire in the fireplace. Izumo frowned at the fire, trying to remember if there had been smoke coming from the chimney, but she didn't have too long to ponder it, as the other girl had let go of her arm and was now fussing about a tea pot on the stove. Izumo watched her for a moment, before she remembered she was soaking wet and dripping water on her host's floor. In a panic, she looked down and started to apologize, only to realize that, although the water dripped off of her, none of it was making the floor wet. It just seemed to...disappear.

Izumo blinked and looked around, a dizzy feeling coming over her. Her eyes caught sight of the window and she stumbled backward, falling onto her bottom. The windows were fully intact, showing a vibrant scene of a warm day with a beautiful yard and a small garden full of various herbs and vegetables.

"I...I...what?" Izumo stammered weakly, drawing the attention of her host. She turned back to face the doorway. It was still empty of any door and she could see the rain falling down outside. Izumo kept looking between the window and the door, whipping her head back and forth so fast she almost got whiplash. A feeling of unease rose steadily inside of her and nausea washed over her. "What is going on?"

"Oh," the other girl spoke. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize how disorienting this could be." Her voice was soft and gentle, and she offered a hand to Izumo. Izumo stared at the hand in front of her before taking it. The other girl helped her to her feet. "Come here. Have some tea. It will help you feel better, I promise. And you can stay here until you're warm and dry." The girl guided Izumo to the table and helped her sit. Izumo was still too stunned to say anything. The girl continued to bustle about the kitchen now, talking as she fixed up some tea and gathered some cookies on a plate. "My name is Shiemi. I've lived here for some time," she stated. Izumo just nodded, still lost for words. She listened as Shiemi talked about her garden and how much she loved it, and how her mother had raised her in this house until she regrettably passed away. Izumo only spoke then to offer her condolences. Shiemi gave her a soft smile.

Izumo really couldn't find her voice, or the nerve to ask questions at all. She just drank her tea and ate the cookies in silence as Shiemi spoke enthusiastically. She did notice that her clothes had dried, and that she felt much warmer. Also much sleepier.

After Izumo's fourth or fifth head bob where she fought against sleep, Shiemi exclaimed "Oh, I'm sorry. You must think I'm terribly rude! You're so tired. Come, you can stay in my spare room." She ushered Izumo up and led her out of the kitchen and down a short hallway to a small bedroom. Izumo was too tired to protest. Her limbs felt heavy, and her vision was a little blurred with exhaustion. She curled up easily on the little mattress, and Shiemi draped a blanket over her. As she left the room, Shiemi spoke over her shoulder softly. "Thank you, you've given me everything I needed." Then she closed the door. Izumo couldn't ponder over her words too long before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Izumo woke with a shiver. she frowned and reached for the blanket, but she couldn't find it. There was something hard digging into her back and something gritty under her cheek. Blinking blearily, Izumo propped herself up and looked around. She was in a dimly lit room, with no furniture. The only source of light was the light of the rising sun that filtered in through a filth-covered window. She was laying on the floor, which was covered in dirt and dust. With a cry of disgust, Izumo leapt up and brushed herself off frantically. She looked around, trying to recall what happened the night before. She vaguely remembered a nice house, and there being rain, and that blonde girl...Izumo's brain latched onto that thought. The girl! Shiemi! I'll ask her!

Izumo opened the door and burst into the hallway...which was just as dirty and barren as the other room. A nauseous feeling crept up in her gut. She swallowed and peered into each of the rooms, one by one. There was no evidence of the house having been inhabited. When she reached the front of the house, she recognized her bookbag on the floor, next to the doorway. But there was no other furniture. The windows were broken and grimy. The fireplace was empty and looked as though it had been unused for a very long time.

With shaking hands, Izumo picked up her school bag. She looked down at her uniform. It was full of dirt and dust. Wincing, Izumo peeked outside. The sun was just barely rising. She glanced at her watch. There was lots of time for her to get home before she would have to get ready for school. Izumo dug into her bag to grab her phone and checked it. Five missed calls. From mother.

Crap, Izumo thought. She looked at the time. Well, better get it over with. She dialed her mother's number and waited for the anxious outburst to begin. Izumo forced all thoughts of Shiemi from her mind as she frantically apologized and tried to soothe her mother's worries on the walk home. She ended up not going to school that day, her mother too anxious to let her leave home after being out all night.

***

Izumo never saw the blonde girl again. She looked. Every day, she looked at the house as she passed it on her way to and from school. And on her days off, she found every reason she could to walk by it. But she never again saw the shine of blonde hair or the sparkle of Shiemi's green eyes.

A few times she went inside the house, alone. But it was the same as it had been when she woke up inside it; a little brick house, abandoned and covered in dirt and dust.

[desdemonafictional]

The Erl King

To begin with, it’s important you know that the roads in Drusselstein did not get paved until 2003, when the project was undertaken by some private investors interested in building an export market in the USA. As of 2012, five percent of the country’s population owned one hundred percent of the country’s automobiles. Forty years ago, it could still have passed for a medieval kingdom.

It was 1976, and the carriage made a heavy thudding sound on the shadowy ground as it lurched over half buried trees and washed out gullies. The driver was a Doofenshmirtz man, his expression comfortably grim as he urged the rented nags over various obstacles. They made decent time, although the horses were as old as they were ungainly—domesticated animals do not favor the forests of Drusselstein. Wild animals don’t particularly care for them either, but those don’t have much of a choice.

High above them, the white half globe of the moon flickered between withering leaves. It was autumn, and the man’s family had been journeying to the capital to apply for yet another loan, before the year dwindled down to nothing. Prospects so far remained grim.

The wagon contained five bodies, four human. There was a dog, the man and his wife, and two boys. They had started off from the capital when the sun was high in the sky, and the man had silently refused equally silent requests to pause for the night at an inn at the border of the forest. It was common knowledge that wood trolls were attracted to the sound of carriage wheels after night fall, but the village of Gimmelshtump was only an hour away once you passed the tree line, and the man had not been in the mood to let some trolls that might or might not even be in this region of the forest dictate his actions.

He was, in addition to simply being a man, a Drusselstenian man. This meant that he was never entirely unarmed when it came to the monsters of the countryside.

In the back of the carriage—more of a covered wagon, really—the man’s oldest son sat with his hands cinched around his knees. He had spent a hefty chunk of his relatively short life as a lawn gnome—and would spend more, most likely, if his father’s business with the bank had gone as badly as it sounded—which gave him some familiarity with the dangers of unprotected spaces. Witches, spells, wood trolls, der kinderlumper, so on and so forth. He was eleven years old, and he was fairly certain that he’d like to live to be twelve regardless of how much he did not want to see Big Black Boots Boris on Monday. Driving through the forest at night seemed to be a good way to make sure neither ever happened.

His name was Heinz, which is usually short for something else but in this case was not.

Heinz looked out the back of the carriage. It was open to the darkness, and the road wound out behind them like a pale silver thread.

Now, wood trolls. He could deal with wood trolls. Everybody knew what to do with them, and given enough preparation they’d hardly slow you down. Witches were trickier, but they didn’t usually wander the roads at night. Witches were more the house keeping types. Bats and goozims were probably more of a threat than—

Child.

Heinz let go of his knees and crawled to the edge of the wagon. He heard something, underneath the rattle of wheels and the creaking planks, like a third set of hooves. It had a ghostly uncertainty to it, not quite consistent enough for an echo and not quite solitary enough to be real. Heinz looked back at his mother, seated beside his father at the front of the wagon with her hands squarely in her lap, and bit his lip. She’d ordered him to be silent, but that was hours ago, and besides, she never remembered to give him back speaking privileges. If he didn’t carefully forget after a day or so, he’d never get to talk at all.

Child.

A sound like a voice slipped in through the cracks in the rattling carriage.  Heinz jerked back from the darkness and searched wildly in every direction for the source of the sound, another traveler or perhaps a radio, and found nothing but his parents and his little brother, exactly as they were.

Heinz swallowed.

Carefully, he leaned over the back of the carriage to get a look at the ground. It was probably too much to ask for the wheels to be trailing a bell or some strange noisy junk, but he’d rather not jump to conclusions.

The wind whistled, but it was not a voice. There was nothing under the wheels.

“Child,” the darkness said, “come with me.”

Heinz toppled backwards and skittered across the bouncing wooden floor, heels pushing wildly at the planks until his back was pressed up flat against the back of his mother’s chair.

“Mama,” he hissed, eyes fixed on the featureless night beyond the bounds of their walls. “Mama there’s something out there.”

“I told you to be silent,” his mother replied. Her voice was colder than the moonlight across the dirt.

“I know, I know, but there’s something out there,” he said. “I can hear it talking.”

“How can you hear anything over the rumbling of this two bit rental,” she said, as motionless as ever. It wasn’t a question, Heinz was pretty sure of that.

“I can hear it,” he insisted, “there’s a voice, and hooves, and it wants me to go somewhere with it.”

His mother shifted. Something he’d said must have done the trick, because she turned back for a moment to glance over her shoulder at little Roger, who was sitting placidly across the carriage, staring harmlessly at nothing.

"Do you hear anything, darling?" she asked the smaller boy, a hint of reserved worry around her deep set eyes.

"No mama," Roger said.

The moon went dark behind a canopy on the road ahead. Any emotion in his mother’s face died. “There,” she said, “then there is nothing Heinz. Be silent.”

"But mama, I heard it—"

His mother snorted. “Roger heard nothing,” she said. “And elves only come for beautiful children. It is the wind in the leaves.”

And with that, she returned to her motionless vigil.

Heinz scowled at his brother. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Roger gave him a mild look that was altogether too mature for a six-year-old’s face. “I didn’t hear anything,” he replied. “It’s late. I’m going to sleep the rest of the way.”

Roger’s meaningful look slipped right past Heinz, who was already crawling back to the end of the carriage. The younger boy gave up on further communication at that point—even at six years old, Roger was aware that his brother was by nature strange and irrational. High strung.

Heinz leaned over the edge again, this time searching the tangles of branches along the road side for a hint of motion in the darkness. The alder trees rose high and curving, and empty of everything except the wind. Heinz sighed and sat down again, resting his forehead against the sill. Maybe it was nothing.

“Child.”

Heinz froze.

“You, dear child.”

He twisted his head. “Roger,” he hissed, “Roger do you hear that?”

His brother only made an irritated six-year-old noise and rolled over onto his side, firmly avoiding the problem. No help from that quarter, then. Heinz took a deep breath and turned back to the window.

Out in the inky night, he could make out the shadowy figure of what might have been a mounted rider in the tangle of the undergrowth, moving with eerie speed through the dense brush.

“You, dear child,” it called, “come, go with me.”

Heinz leaned out the window. “I’m sorry mister,” he called out, only a little louder than the sounds of the carriage. “My brother is sleeping, I don’t think he wants to go anywhere with you!”

The shadow figure’s horse balked, danced sideways, and then ducked gracefully out onto the piecemeal illumination of the road.

“I’m sorry,” the rider said, a new and uncertain note in its echoing voice. “Who?”

The rider, as best Heinz could see, was striking and male, and wore in his long knotted hair a spired crown with peaks like the knobs of old branches. His face was a dark pane of shadows, with glinting pinpricks of light where the eyes were—should be, Heinz amended uneasily. He wasn’t certain.

“Roger,” he answered, dutifully. “My brother. He’s not interested, um, please try back some other night?”

The black horse tossed its head, a mane like cobwebs fluttering against the night. The rider cantered forward, slipping into a more casual distance, head tilted curiously. Closer up, he was more strange than frightening. Heinz had always found that things were less frightening up close, where you could see the seams. Take wildcats for example. Way less scary when they weren’t stalking you through the underbrush.

“Ah,” the rider said, peering past Heinz into the dim space of the wagon. “I didn’t know she had a son.”

“What?” said Heinz. He started to build up some indignation, but then, why bother, he’d been mistaken for a servant before. He went with the more important question. “Do you know my mother?”

The rider regarded him silently for a moment, and then inclined his head. The wicked peaks of his thorny crown glinted. “I am the Erl King,” he said.

“A king?” Heinz repeated, scrambling up over the back of the wagon. He perched there, as close as he could get to the rider. “Can you give my father a loan? Or are you a poor king? My father is a poor baron, that’s what he says.”

“I am rich,” the Erl King said, “but I have more valuable boons than money to grant men. Power, talent, charms, a really excellent peach cobbler recipe—”

“Oh,” sighed Heinz. “He doesn’t want any of that.”

The Erl King cleared his throat. Or whatever passed for a throat. “Right. Ah. So. Come, dear child, go with me.”

Heinz frowned. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

The king reached back like he was rubbing his neck with one twisted hand. “Er. Come away with me.”

“Come away where?”

“To… my kingdom?”

“Oh.” Heinz paused, took that in for a moment. “What, like on a vacation?”

“…Sure. A lengthy… holiday.”

“Gosh, let me tell mama, she wants to go on a vacation so badly, this is great.”

“No, no, hold on,” the Erl King cut in hastily, “not your family. Just you.”

“Me?” Heinz said.

“You.”

Heinz considered this. After a moment, he glanced back at his brother, sleeping placidly with his knees pressed up against the back of their parents’ seats. Something clicked into place.

“But,” Heinz said slowly, “elves only take beautiful children. You are an elf, aren’t you?”

“I am something of that nature, yes.”

“So… why me?”

The Erl King blinked—you could tell because the twin liquid pinpricks of his eyes darkened for the flash of a second. He trotted forward again, horse keeping effortless pace with the rumbling wagon. He leaned in, over the neck of his mount, and peered at Heinz. On the lit pane of his cheekbone, Heinz could barely make out a twisting curling pattern, like the limbs of a very old tree.

“Men have such strange concepts of beauty,” the Erl King murmured. “Child, you are not like them.”

Heinz’s spine stiffened. “I am too! I’m just like everyone else!”

“No,” the Erl King replied, “you really are not.”

“I’m going back in the wagon,” Heinz threatened, throwing a leg over the wall just to demonstrate how serious he was.

The king didn’t seem particularly worried. “You have talent, dear child. Much talent. Come away with me, and I will show you how to make the most of that—my kingdom is hungry for artists, you would never be without admirers.”

“What--Me?”

“There will be dancing,” the Erl King went on, casually, “and there is always food, lovely endless food the likes of which you will never taste elsewhere. I have daughters who would play with you, any game you like. We have many beautiful old things that need to be fixed. You could be very useful to us. We would be so very grateful.”

“Dancing?” Heinz echoed, a little bit behind the curve. “Like—for fun?”

“You enjoy dancing,” the Erl King said, and it wasn’t a question.

Heinz glanced around, nervously, but no one was listening to him. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Come away with me,” the king said, offering one knotted dark hand towards the boy. “No one will tell you to stop breathing so loudly, or to be still, and you will always have a bed.”

“Um,” said Heinz. “That sounds really great, but—”

He looked again over his shoulder, at the shapes of his family in the darkness. He knew enough at age eleven to know that he wasn’t happy, and that maybe he had never been. Other people were happy, even Roger seemed happy enough. Kids at school. Uncles. Dogs. If it was possible for them, then why not him too?

The hand waited, extended patiently into the void between the monstrous horse and the creaking wagon. Heinz considered it. He had heard a little bit about elves, just enough to know that people didn’t like them very much. They took children. Well, people also didn’t like him much, and at least this elf was asking first.

Heinz sighed. “I’m sorry, your highness. I can’t go with you.”

The Erl King retracted his hand. “Dear child, you can’t be serious.”

Heinz gestured helplessly toward his family’s vague shapes. “I can’t, I—I already ran away once, I had to come back. They need me.”

The Erl King regarded him with his strange eyes, black and hooded. “They don’t love you,” he observed, a touch reproachfully.

Heinz flattened his lips, stared into the empty darkness. “I can make them,” he said.

The fairy horse tossed its head and stamped, losing distance as the wagon rattled on. The Erl King regarded Heinz with something almost like sadness. An alien, curious sadness.

“I only offer,” he said, finally. “I cannot take you by force.”

Heinz shivered. “Thanks for the offer, then, your majesty. I appreciate the thought.”

The king inclined his head.

Half an hour later, the wagon arrived in the village of Gimmelshtump, wheels shaking ominously on their posts. The man and his wife went to unload their dog and their children and bring them inside the house, only to find their eldest son huddled at the back of the contraption where the windchill bit hardest. His skin was paler than the fading moonlight, and worryingly cold to the touch. The man and his wife exchanged a glance, lifted up their son, and silently carried him to his small bedroom.

In a day or so, the fever passed, and the boy survived.

[mikauzoran]

Lady Noir/Marichat/ Adrienette/Adrichat: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Forty-Nine

Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...out of necessity.

“Let’s get this over with quickly,” Ladybug grumbled as she landed beside Chat Noir on the upper gallery overlooking Le Grand Paris’s ballroom where a young man who had been in attendance at the New Year’s Eve party had been akumatized because he was upset that he didn’t have anyone to kiss at midnight and was now terrorizing the other guests, shooting them with beams that, when they hit their target, made them partner up and kiss.

“Someone’s in a crumby mood,” Chat chuckled teasingly, raising an eyebrow at his partner. “What’s up?”

“This akuma attack is interrupting a hot date,” she hissed, scanning the supervillain for clues, trying to ascertain a weakness. The wand with a heart at the tip was an obvious candidate for the akuma’s object.

“Tell me about it,” Chat sighed.

Up until the screams had started, he had been enjoying a lovely evening of flirting with Adrien and Marinette and admiring his girlfriend’s latest design in action. Marinette looked like a movie star in her red evening gown with its halter-style top and myriad straps crisscrossing over her otherwise bare back. The slit up the side was just enough to show off her toned legs while still keeping within the bounds of modesty.

“Are you and your…uh…partners doing anything for New Year’s Eve?” Ladybug inquired politely, if not a tad awkwardly.

Chat nodded. “We were actually at this party, so I’m kind of worried.”

“Marinette and Adrien will be okay,” Ladybug replied encouragingly. “They’re more than capable of taking care of themselves.”

“That’s not really the problem,” Chat muttered ruefully. “They have a bit of a thing about playing hero and getting themselves in trouble.”

Ladybug winced. “Oh. Yeah. I guess that would be problematic. Well, let’s get this taken care of before your people have a chance to do anything altruistic.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chat agreed. “What’s the plan?”

“Lucky Charm!” she called out and got a sprig of mistletoe for her trouble.

She pursed her lips, brow furrowing as she inspected the object intently. “What the heck, Tikki?”

“Maybe if we get closer, you’ll see something you can use it with?” he suggested, not sounding all that sure.

She shrugged, willing to give it a try in the absence of other viable options. “We’ll have to be stealthy, though. Those beams he shoots are kind of wide, so I think they’d be a little challenging to dodge. Best to fly under his radar.”

With a nod of accord, they hopped over the side of the railing when Matchmaker’s back was turned, landing softly before scurrying to hide behind one of the pillars holding up the upstairs gallery.

Ladybug sighed in frustration as she surveyed the open area between them and the akuma. If they attempted a charge, they’d be defenseless with nowhere to take cover.

She could send Chat in first as a decoy and let him possibly take a hit while she snuck up on Matchmaker and grabbed the wand, but…the thought of potentially sacrificing him made her feel sick to her stomach.

“How are we going to get close enough without getting hit?” she muttered to herself, desperately searching for something to use with the mistletoe she’d gotten as her Lucky Charm.

Chat’s eyes fell on the mistletoe, and he came up with a stupid idea that just might work. “What if he thinks we’ve already been hit?”

Her brow knit in confusion as her lips parted to ask what he meant.

“He’d have no reason to hit us again if he thought we’d already been hit,” he clarified excitedly. “Maybe we could trick him into letting his guard down by making him think that we’re defenseless.”

She blinked, eyes still narrowed, not getting it. “How are we going to do that?”

“Trust me,” he entreated, taking her hand and tugging her out into the open.

“Chat Noir!” she hissed, eyes wide in panic.

“Keep your eyes open and keep my body between you and him,” he instructed before crushing his lips to hers.

She gave a jolt, startled and confused for a moment before the familiar feeling of his mouth gently moving against hers gradually calmed her down. Slowly, she began to kiss back.

“Ha!” Matchmaker crowed when he spotted them nearly a minute later. “Even Ladybug and Chat Noir have succumbed to my power! Now everyone will have someone to kiss at midnight and no one will ever have to feel lonely or inadequate ever again!”

Chat had positioned them with his back to the akuma so that even as they kissed, Ladybug had a line of vision on Matchmaker.

She watched as the telltale magenta butterfly outline glowed around Matchmaker’s eyes as Papillon gave instructions to his minion—instructions that Matchmaker seemed not to like.

“But I haven’t found a partner for everyone yet, and midnight is only an hour away!” the akuma whined indignantly.

The butterfly outline pulsed as Papillon retorted.

It occurred to Ladybug that now might be a good time to sneak up on Matchmaker while he was distracted, but the way Chat Noir was teasing her bottom lip between his teeth was very preoccupying.

“Fine,” Matchmaker snorted, his attention returning to the snogging superheroes. “I’ll take their Miraculouses now while they’re defenseless, but you’re not getting them until I make sure that everyone has someone to kiss.”

Matchmaker advanced, and it took a little effort for Ladybug to pry her attention away from Chat’s wickedly delightful mouth. She eventually succeeded, but it was a true test of her willpower.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Matchmaker sighed, “but I need to take your jewelry before Papillon takes away my powers. You can go back to making out once I have your Miraculouses.”

As soon as Matchmaker was within range, Ladybug pulled back, and Chat ducked out of the way so she’d have a clear shot at his wand with her yoyo.

In the blink of an eye, she was snapping the wand in half, purifying the akuma, and tossing her Lucky Charm in the air to activate the magical ladybird swarm.

She turned to her partner for their customary fist bump only to find him blushing and sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling her gaze on him hot like tongues of fire. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that without your permission, even if it was to defeat an akuma. I wasn’t thinking, and I’m sorry, Ladybug.”

“Hey,” she called softly, reaching out to rest a supportive hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It was a good idea, and it worked, so… Don’t worry, Chat Noir. I’ve kissed you before in an akuma emergency, so it’s not like it’s something I wasn’t willing to do. It would have been nice if you’d warned me first, but it’s fine. Seriously. We’re good.”

He tentatively looked up at her then, a hopeful smile waiting in the corners of his lips to come out. “Yeah?”

She nodded, assuring, “Of course. …Um…I mean…so long as you feel like we’re good.” Her face started to burn as she remembered how she’d practically attacked him with her enthusiasm. “I’m sorry I kind of got a little carried away with the kissing,” she chuckled awkwardly, trying not to make things weird. “I know you’re one hundred percent faithful to your partners, so I didn’t get the wrong idea or anything. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong idea. I probably shouldn’t have been so…uh…into it.”

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer as she internally died of embarrassment. She wanted to melt into a puddle and seep into the floor in order to escape this mortifying situation.

“No worries, Buguinette.” Chat gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “We’re good so long as we both understand that tonight was a one-time deal and don’t let it get in the way of our friendship.”

He held up his fist, offering it to her. “Bien joué?”

Slowly, she looked up, taking in his patient smile.

Suddenly, the embarrassment left her, and she knew she hadn’t ruined their partnership.

“Bien joué,” she confirmed, smiling wide as she tapped her fist against his.

Her earrings gave a telltale beep, bringing them both back into awareness of their surroundings.

“Well. Looks like I need to jet before I turn back into a pumpkin,” she chuckled, fighting a grimace at the fact that her Miraculous still ran on a five-minute timer after all this time. “Have a nice rest of your evening with Marinette and Adrien. Tell them I say hi.”

“Will do.” He grinned as he gave her a salute. “Good luck with your hot date.”

 About fifteen minutes later (after giving Plagg and Trixx a quick break to recharge), Adrien and Chat Noir found Marinette leaning on the gallery’s railing, gazing down at the crowd milling on the dancefloor below.

“There you are,” Adrien sighed in relief, running over to his girlfriend and pulling her into a tight hug.

“We were worried, Princess,” Chat informed, letting the doppelgänger have a minute before he cut in to take a turn hugging Marinette. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied tiredly, slumping into his hold. “I found a hiding spot and stayed put until it was all over, so nothing to report on my end. Are you two okay?”

Adrien and Chat both nodded.

“I hid out in the coat check with a guy who was convinced he was the next Jagged Stone,” Adrien invented of his own volition, further cementing Chat’s hypothesis that in creating the Adrien doppelgänger he had accidentally tapped into some dark, eldritch power which allowed a wondering soul trapped on the earthly plane to inhabit the Mirage whenever Chat summoned him into being.

Because there were times when the Mirage did and said things that Chat definitely hadn’t instructed or intended, and sometimes he got the feeling like there was a real person in there and not just a projection of his own consciousness.

…At least he seemed to be a friendly, benign wondering soul with a sharp sense of humor. He just said some bizarre things from time to time, but Chat couldn’t fault him for that.

“Was he the next Jagged Stone?” Marinette giggled, already guessing the answer.

“He most certainly was not,” Adrien laughed. “But he was really funny, so it made for an interesting akuma attack experience.”

And then Adrien turned to Chat Noir, eying him knowingly. “How was your akuma attack experience, Nyan-chan?”

Chat mentally recanted the “benign” part. This was definitely an evil spirit he was dealing with.

“Interesting,” Chat allowed, trying to play it off as totally not a big deal. “I ended up kissing Ladybug.”

Adrien gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “You what?!”

Marinette’s eyes widened, surprised that Chat Noir was so forthcoming about it.

Adrien turned to Marinette, feigning hurt. “Are you hearing this? He’s finally leaving us for a superhero.”

“I’m not leaving you, Bishi,” Chat sighed, shaking his head at the double’s theatrics.

Was he always like this when he was Adrien? Marinette didn’t seem to think that Adrien was acting out of character.

“So you’re just cheating on us, then?” Adrien snorted.

“Adrien, it wasn’t a big deal,” Chat coaxed in an attempt to calm his other self down. “It wasn’t even a real kiss. It was a fake-out make-out.”

Marinette quirked an eyebrow. “A what?”

Chat and Adrien stared at her for a beat and then turned to one another to share a meaningful look.

“We’ll make her watch Danny Phantom later,” Adrien decreed, and Chat nodded resolutely in agreement.

“For her own good,” Chat added solemnly.

“Because we’re good boyfriends,” Adrien assured. “Except for some of us who apparently make out with Ladybug?”

“It was a rouse,” Chat explained, rolling his eyes. “The akuma was making everyone kiss, and the attacks would have been really hard to evade. I kissed her because I thought it would make the akuma lower his guard because he would think he already got us. It worked, and now you two are safe and fewer civilians got forced into making out with people against their will. I’m sorry, but it was a good plan.”

“Minou, it’s okay,” Marinette assured, stepping in and resting a hand on his shoulder. She turned to look at Adrien. “It’s okay.”

Slowly, Adrien began to nod. “I guess…if it was an akum kiss, it doesn’t count.”

Marinette nodded, turning back to Chat Noir. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. Good job keeping Paris safe.”

Chat’s expression softened as a small smile slowly spread across his lips. “Thanks. …But you know I chose you, right?”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“I chose you, Marinette, because with or without a Miraculous, you’re a true hero and the bravest, most amazing person I know. Never doubt that I’d choose you again and again, given the chance.” His voice lowered as he confessed, “I want to keep choosing you every day for the rest of my life.”

There had been a few minutes earlier as she leaned against the railing and waited for him to find her again after the akuma battle when she had reflected on the kiss between Chat Noir and Ladybug and wondered about his feelings for her.

He’d really been kissing Ladybug just like he kissed Marinette, and she’d wondered what that meant, so hearing his earnest reassurances that she was the one he wanted to spend his life with cleared away her doubts.

She surged forward, catching his lips in a quick kiss, pulling away before anyone could see.

“I believe you,” she assured. “…And I like the sound of a future where we both keep picking one another every day.”

“Yeah?” he chuckled, unable to contain a wide grin.

She nodded, beaming back at him. “Yeah…. Would you want to head back to the bakery? I kind of feel up for snuggling…and maybe watching Danny Phantom?”

She looked back and forth between Chat and Adrien.

“Sounds good,” Chat confirmed easily.

“I’m in,” Adrien agreed, “but, earlier, Chat Noir said that he thought you were amazing with our without a Miraculous. When did Marinette have a Miraculous?”

“I wish I had pictures of Multimouse,” Chat sighed, giving Adrien’s hair a playful tussle. “You would love her. Two words: twin buns.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped, and he whipped his head around to gape at Marinette. “Could you maybe wear your hair like that just for fun sometime?”

Marinette arched an eyebrow, an amused smirk twisting up the corners of her lips. “You have a thing for twin buns?”

Adrien looked away, blushing as he gave a nonchalant shrug and quickly changed the subject, “So, now that two-thirds of our members have kissed Ladybug, I guess we need to update the rules of our polycule to include that we each get one freebie kiss with Ladybug?”

Marinette gave a surprised snort of laughter, taken aback. “No thanks. As the only one who hasn’t kissed or gotten kissed by Ladybug, I don’t think it’s necessary to update the rules for my sake. I’m good.”

“Really?” Chat waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to kiss Ladybug, Marinette?”

“Nope,” she chuckled.

“You’re not even a little tempted?” Adrien teased.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes fondly. “No, I am seriously good. My boys are enough for me.”

“Aww,” Chat cooed.

“That’s sweet,” Adrien completed.

“Come on,” Marinette giggle-snorted. “Let’s head back to my place so we can all three kiss away from prying eyes at midnight. We’ve only got about thirty minutes.”

“She drives a hard bargain,” Chat snickered, turning to lead the way.

Adrien, as Marinette’s official date, held out his arm to her with a smile. “Shall we?”

She nodded. “Let’s.”

[euphoriyoongi]

🎨Chapter Seven

Summary:

When you move to Korea for an art program at University, your world completely goes crazy as you meet your new shy roommate, Kim Taehyung, and an irresistible idol singer, Jeon Jungkook.

🎨Pairings: Kim Taehyung x artist! OC (original character) x Jeon Jungkook

🎨Word count: 5.3k

🎨Warnings: none

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Taehyung tried to focus as the professor told the class what to do next for their project, but he couldn't seem to grasp it.

He sat staring into space, wondering about the same girl that's been running a marathon through his mind. Why did she have to be with someone else? And why did that someone have to be jungkook?

Why did this bother him? She shouldn't mean anything to him. He hardly knows her.

Even though they've only just met not too long ago, he couldn't help but care for her. It's been nearly a month now since Daphne came to Korea, and also how long he's been fake-dating her for the sake of jungkook. Jungkook, who isn't even dating her. I guess he wasn't completely upset, since he gets to spend time with the girl he dreams about. They have a scheduled date later today.

"Taehyung...did you hear that?" The professor muttered, standing next to him. He was showing Tae what to do with his piece, but Tae heard none of it.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just not feeling too good." Taehyung apologized. He wasn't lying, his stomach was upset.

The professor's lips curled up in a smile as he looked from Taehyung to his painting.

It was a large scale painting of Daphne, who looked as if she was about to cry, staring at something that wasn't depicted. It was absolutely stunning, and well, the professor felt his emotion from the looks of it. "It looks amazing, Taehyung. I could really feel how much you love this girl."

Tae sighed a bit, looking at the painting. He noticed where his brush strokes went awry and where a slightly messed up with the color of the skin tone. There was a messy blotch on the corner of the canvas, and he also hated the idea that he might truly feel for this girl. "Thank you." Is all he said, and as the professor walked away, Tae put his paintbrush down.

At this moment, he wished that he didn't feel the emotions he put into his artwork.

Daphne sat alone in the dorm room, studying Korean. She just finished her session with Namjoon, and was really starting to get better with speaking the language. Her and Taehyung now converse about art and their favorite things.

But why did she feel something towards him? Was it because they had to act?

She remembered that she had a date with him today. They were supposed to go to the amusement park to see if anyone would recognize them. It has been a while, but Jungkook's fans are crazy and still believe she's with him. Well, they aren't wrong. Maybe she should break it off.

She didn't know what to do. She truly enjoyed Jungkook's company too. Even though Taehyung was okay with all of this, she still felt bad for bringing him into it.

Taehyung seemed to enjoy time with her, though. When she'd smile at him, he'd smile back. When she laughed, he laughed with her. He made her think about what love truly is..what the heart wants rather than the brain.

Maybe she should change up their date tonight. Maybe he deserved some attention just for him. He always talked about going to see the Van Gogh exhibit. When was that again?

As she looked it up online, much to her surprise, it was tonight. She hardly will have any time to get ready. Deciding to call him about it, Daphne prepared what she was going to say. They were able to have some sort of conversation now, and when Daphne couldn't speak Korean, Tae would speak English.

"Hi, Daph." Tae said, sounding like he was smiling. "What's up?"

"I um..it's about our date tonight." She spoke out in Korean. "What time are you free?"

The sound of rustling came about over the phone. "I'm actually free right now, I'm on my way up the elevator of the dorm." He said, parts in English and parts in Korean. She was able to understand, and smiled when he said he was near.

"Ah! Good! As soon as you get here get ready!" She squealed, a bit excited now.

He chuckled at her excitement. "Okay, I'll be right there. Make sure you're dressed this time."

She wasn't able to decipher that statement, but laughed it off. "Okay, see you soon."

As she hung up the phone, she hurriedly ran to her makeup that was sitting on top of her desk. She wanted to look pretty, and didn't really know why. Was it that she felt a bit icky with having a few blemishes? Or was it because she wanted to look good for Taehyung?

Maybe both. But has she ever cared this much when she's with Jungkook? Did she even bag an eyelash if he saw her without makeup? He still thought she was sexy enough to make out with her at any given moment. But why was she wishing that she'd make out with Tae..just once.

As she thought about this, Jungkook thought about the last time he saw Daphne.

It was nearly a week ago. She was on top of him in his bed, clothes off and all sweaty. Her kisses tasted like strawberries and sweat, and he couldn't help but think about how beautiful she looked. Even if it was effortless.

He sat in his home, on the corner of his bed. His eyes wandered around his room where he noticed little pieces of her still astray. Maybe it was the strap if her bra that laid on the floor that he broke off of her. Or the half-full tube of lipgloss that she forgot to take with her.

Maybe it was the shirt that he was wearing. The one he gave to her to walk around in. What was this feeling? He didn't know.

It couldn't be love. Could someone call for another after only a month? Yes. One hundred percent. But was it practical in this situation? No. Jungkook knew he couldn't let himself get fully involved. He had a career to fulfill. And he'd hate to make her suffer through the hatred of his fans.

At this point, was this worth it?

He made himself think that it was. He didn't want to lose daphne, whether it be a physical relationship or not. He did care for her, and definitely wanted her all to himself.

Taehyung made his way up the hallway to their shared room. Even though it's been a month, he still can't get past the fact that his roommate is the literal definition of beauty. He wished that this fake relationship of theirs has one ounce of sincerity. Well, from her. He knew how he felt. But he had no idea about her specific feelings.

As he turned the door handle to walk into the room, he had a sudden thought.

Tonight, on their date, he was going to make it seem real. He hoped that she might catch on, but probably not. She was infatuated with jungkook, and well, who could blame her.

As he opened the door, in his line of vision popped daphne, who stood with a smile on her beautiful face and was dressed in a cute sweater and jeans. "Tae!" She squealed, smiling wide. "Are you ready for our date?"

Scratching his head in confusion, Tae took a step into the room and shut the door behind him. Weren't they just going to an amusement park? What was so special? "Uh..yeah. I'm always happy to go on dates with you, Daphy." He smiled as well, still a bit confused.

As he said this, it nearly made her blush. He had no idea how she was starting to feel for him, but neither did she. Daphne hid her face in her hands for a moment as Tae walked over to his side of the room. His hands seemed to be covered in paint as well as a streak of it on his face that he didn't seem to notice.

Tae turned around to face Daphne. "So, what should I wear?" He asked her, sporting a boyish smile. The paint streak was right next to his lip on his cheek, and it moved as he spoke. It bothered Daphne, and she felt like she needed to wipe it off.

"Wait." She hummed, walking over to him. As she began to get closer and closer, Tae took a step back. She came up too close that what he was used to, and as he was about to ask her what she was doing, her fingers began to softly rub the corner of his lip.

"What are you—." Tae questioned as he stared at the beautiful girl in front of him. He was a bit taller than her, and she had to reach up to reach his lips. He looked down to her, a confused look on his face as her eyes softened. The feeling of her touch sent a shiver down his spine, and especially since she was touching his lips. He wished that she would just touch her lips to his. If she kept her hands on his lips for a second longer, he might have grabbed her and thrown her against the wall and—

"There you go, it's all off." She looked up into his eyes, almost seductively. When he tilted his head in confusion, she explained. "Oh! You had a bit of paint on the corner of your lip." She said, shyly tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. Did she purposely look sexy while doing that? Was she trying to make him cave?

Taehyung decided to ignore it. Smiling, he thanked her for it. "So, what should I wear?"

Looking at his outfit now, he looked perfect for the occasion. But since this meant so much to him, she thought that maybe she should tell him to dress as nice as he wants. "I think you should wear your favorite outfit." Her lips curled, and her eyes squinted as she chuckled. "Although you look good in anything."

She said that last thing in English, wondering if Tae was able to understand it. He didn't seem to react to it, and nodded to look through his wardrobe. As he decided to pick out what he was wearing, she stood back and admired him. His shoulders weren't too broad, and he was a bit lanky, but damn, was he gorgeous. His brown hair was fluffy today, and it fell past his eyes. She really knew how stunning he was, and often wondered why he hasn't had a girlfriend by now. He did tell her that he's never had anyone for himself. She was the same way. Well, before jungkook. But she still knew the feeling. He wasn't really hers. If they had to act like they weren't together, then they weren't.

As he picked out a sweater from his closet, he began to slide off the shirt he was wearing now, his bare back facing her now. "Tae!" She squeaked, covering her eyes but still having them a bit spread so she could peak.

"What?" He asked, turning towards her. He was absolutely stunning, indeed. His chest was nicely defined, but not too much. He didn't have a complete set of abs, which Daphne preferred anyway. He was a work of art. From the looks of his face to the shape of his body, he could be a sculpture in a museum. No one would look away. "It's not like I haven't seen you. It's only fair, right?" He raised his eyebrows, almost as if he was teasing her.

Daphne slowly took her hands away from her face. He had a point, but he did see more of her..he wasn't about to show her more of him.

He slid on an oversized soft-green sweater and kept his corduroy pants that he had on already. "How do I look?@ he asked in English, a big boxy smile on his face.

Daphne checked the time before she looked at him. They needed to go. Right away. But not before she glanced at him, knowing that he looked handsome.

As if looks could kill, he looked amazing. "You look..." she carried on, unsure of what words she wanted to say. Did she want him to know that she found him sexy? Or did she want this to stay PG? She was meeting jungkook tonight as well. Oh, the heck with it. "You look sexy." She said in English, but the word was nearly the same in Korean. He understood it immediately and a hot blush ran through his cheeks. Trying to ignore the fact that he was blushing, he cleared his throat and decided to change the subject.

"So are you ready?" He asked, hands in his pockets as he swayed a bit nervously. This wasn't their first "date", but every time they go out together it makes him want it to be real. Oh, he wished his feelings weren't real.

"Yes, I can't wait to get there." She smiled at him, and took his hand. "Let's go."

When she grabbed his hand, he felt his heart start to speed up. Damn, why does his body always act up when she's around.

— —

It's been a month since she came to Korea. But it also was a month since she contacted her family.

She did leave on a bad note. Her parents were extremely worried if she even got there alright. But still, they were very upset with the way she got up and left without discussing. Then again, it wasn't their choice in where she went.

Still, though, she should call her parents. She knows this. On their way to the exhibit, she noticed a girl with her parents. The girl couldn't of been any older than fifteen, and her parents had the biggest smiles on their faces as their daughter sat next to them. She remembered how ungrateful she had been at that age. But the girl here looked like she was having the time of her life.

Taehyung sat next to Daphne on the bus. He had noticed her fingers tighten on her pant leg, and a far off look in her eyes. "Daph?" His voice rang deep, causing Daphne to look straight at him. "Are you alright?"

Was she alright? She wasn't sure. So many thoughts were running through her brain right now. What she should be thinking of is this date night. She needed to look like she was happy for this all to still work. She was happy, but something about leaving abruptly started to bother her. Smiling, she nodded. "Yes, I'm okay, Tae." She said to him, which he replied with a small smile.

His hand ached to reach out to where hers was. It was still clenched tightly to her pants, and her knuckles began to soften in color. His hand hesitated above his thigh, desperately ready to touch her. To soothe her. Every muscle in his body was on full alert. Her shoulder was pressed up against him, her thigh as well. He couldn't help but get overwhelmed in her scent of vanilla and mint, and just wanted to feel her skin on his.

Daphne saw Tae's hand hover over his leg. Did he want to hold her hand? She figured that's what he wanted to do, maybe to look like an actual couple and not so awkward. So she softly let go of her grip on her own leg, and reached over to grab his hand, interlacing fingers. Setting their hands down in her lap, she quickly glanced at Tae, a shy look on her face. He looked flustered, and a bit on edge. His brown eyes were looking anywhere but her, and his leg began to voice in anxiousness.

"Maybe I should be asking you if you're okay.." she trailed off, reaching her hand up to tuck a stray hair that laid in the middle of his forehead.

A few people had noticed who they are by now. They definitely looked like a couple, and even some people who had no idea who they were began to smile at them. Ah, young and in love.

Tae let out a small chuckle, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He was a bit nervous for some reason. Maybe it was because the amusement park was a few bus stops back, and that he wasn't sure where they were going. Or maybe it was the fact that she wasn't following a plan, and was actually doing something for themselves. "Everything's fine, Daphy." He said her nickname that he gave her. He had told her that he calls her that because it reminds him of an American TV show, and he was right with that. The looney tunes were one of her favorites as a child, and it made her realize how much thought Taehyung puts into her.

Did he care for her? Or was this all just an act? But why in the world would he want to act if he had nothing to gain from it?

Daphne almost forgot to pay attention to the stop for the exhibit since she was so caught up with looking at Taehyung. He was breathtaking. Was he always this handsome? Did he always bite the inside of his cheek like that? Did he always make funny faces at things he didn't like?

"This is our stop." She interrupted her own thoughts to say this. Still holding his hand, she stood up and tugged at him. He stood up with her, and let her drag him off the bus to the sidewalk, where a large sign stood about the Van Gogh exhibit. Damn, was that tonight? He really wanted to go to that. But he really didn't feel like going alone. Oh well, he'd prefer to spend his time with Daphne, anyway.

As they walked down the street, Tae couldn't forget that he was holding her hand. He suddenly began to worry if his hand was sweaty or hot, and if she didn't want to hold it still. He was the one who wouldn't let go. But as he tried to tug his hand away, she grasped on tight so he couldn't let go. His eyebrows raised in confusion, but she didn't say anything. They continued to walk down the sidewalk, both of them confused on where they're going.

Daphne memorized the address, and told herself that she might be able to figure it out with signs. Too bad she couldn't read Korean yet, but luckily a sign a few feet away was in English. It read "Van Gogh exhibit here!" In big letters, and she tugged at his hand towards the entrance of the building, hoping Tae didn't get a chance to read the words. Lucky for her, he didn't.

As they entered the building, it was a bit dark. There was a man standing at a table, and Daphne figured it was for the tickets. Online it said that she was able to go without them and to get them here, and she hoped that it wasn't sold out. There was lots of people all around, and she thinks Taehyung might have caught in to where they were.

"Do you need a ticket?" The young man said, his smile wide. He was decently handsome, and definitely seemed to be drawn in by Daphne. "You are very beautiful, has anyone ever told you that?"

Taehyungs grip on her hand tightened, and he stepped closer to her for defense. He knew she was able to handle things herself, but that man must know that she's in a relationship...sort of.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Korean that well." She stated to him, and the guy looked a bit taken back. "I just need two tickets, please."

Nodding, the man reached to grab two tickets for them. At this point, Tae was too distracted to realize where he was at, and didn't realize it until they walked further into the building and into a stand alone room. The room was dark, but bright colors of Van Gogh's Starry Night cascaded the walls in soft reflections of light. A projector was held above their heads and every inch of the walls were covered in color. Dark blue hues fell over Taehyung as he stepped around the room, letting go of Daphne's hand to walk over to the wall.

He was in awe. How in the world did she know this? How did she know that he wanted to go? Maybe she did, too. Still, at this moment as he just stared at her, a dumbfounded look on his face as shades of yellow hit her features. She was the only art in this room right now. Regardless that Van Gogh dawned the walls of the poorly lit room, she stood there taking in all of the color, and somehow, the brightest color of the painting found her. Almost as if it was shining down on her beauty. She was the reason he was here. She was also the reason why he can't stop smiling.

"Is something wrong?" She asked him, looking from side to side. He was just staring at her now, looking like a lost puppy. He did look happy, but she wasn't sure if this is what he wanted. He did talk about it all the time though. If she didn't take him here, would he have went without her though?

Was there something wrong? No. Definitely not. Maybe? But there was something wrong with how Tae felt in this moment. He wanted to walk over to her and kiss her. He wanted to cradle her face and say thank you for thinking of him. He just wanted her to feel the same way about him and to be honest, this situation made it worse. He had no idea why she took him here when they were supposed to go to an amusement park. What was the purpose of taking him here? Why did she even care? Was it because they were friends?

He still was happy though. She thought about him. She seemed to care how he felt, too. So why was he more upset than excited?

He figured why. But how could he stay upset at the sight of her. She looked worried, maybe it wasn't the reaction she expected. She went out of her way to make him happy today.

So he smiled at her. "Nothings wrong." He said, lying. But she didn't need to know that. She didn't need to know that he had real feelings for her. That she holds a special place in his heart. Every little thing she did would send his heart spiraling, whether it be a frown when she stares at something she dislikes, or how when she walks, her feet drag a tiny bit on the ground. Things that he finds attractive about her shouldn't be. She's a walking museum, and with every look, there's always something new to see.

"Thank you." He said, walked over to her. Taking her hand, he kissed the back of it, noticing a few caddy girls in the corner of the room who were staring. Guessing that he didn't look happy, he turned it around with a smile at the girl of his dreams.

Daphne knew something was wrong. Definitely wrong. He didn't seem as excited as she imagined him to be. She didn't mean to feel upset about it, since he did smile and say thank you, but something definitely felt off.

Taehyung tried to get Daphne to know that he was grateful. He must've looked a bit off. "I'm sorry, Daphy. I really love this. Thank you." He then took the hand that he kissed and held it.

They walked around the building, quietly. Tae did say a few oohs and ah's, but not nearly as much as she imagined. She now realized that she may have made a mistake. Was he uncomfortable? Did she make him uncomfortable?

As they neared the end of the exhibit, Daphne's phone buzzed. Reaching to her back pocket with her free hand, she opened the message that read some explicit words.

Taehyung saw. He saw also saw the previous photo on the texts that showed Jungkook's chest, and immediately looked away after he read the words that he had sent. Well, there goes his night.

Letting go of her hand, she looked at him in confusion. "Oh, I just thought it would be easier to text him back with two hands.." he lied, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly. He was disgusted. Upset that he pictured kissing this girl. This girl that has someone else to kiss. And that someone wasn't him, and that's what bothered him.

Daphne had a hard time understanding what he had said, but managed to gather it. She was sure that he saw the words. Well, at least the photo. She forgot that Jungkook had sent it, and impulsively opened the chat. Why would Tae be upset though? Did he possibly have feelings for her?

"I guess I'll get going." He stuttered out, looking anywhere but her eyes. "I have to go watch Sian for Jin." A lie. A complete lie. But he just wanted to get away from all this embarrassment. No matter how he felt for this girl, he knew it would never work. Plus, she lives in a whole mother country. Of course that country is one of the farthest ones from here, too.

"Oh?" Her eyebrows furrowed. "So soon? We're not even through the whole exhibit yet?" It was basically over anyway. She just didn't want him to leave. She was enjoying time with him. Was it because he read her text?

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I'll see you tonight, though." He pushed out a smile, very forced. Giving her a little wave, he turned around to find the exit.

As she stared at his back as he walked away, her heart dropped. Why am I feeling like this? She thought to herself. She had no idea why the fact that he left bothered her. Was it because she was slowly falling for him? She didn't know she was. But the feeling like her heart dropped a thousand floors was enough for her to know that she felt some way for him, whether it be platonic or romantic.

She really didn't want to go home alone.

— —

"He saw what?!" Yuri cried, putting a hand to her forehead. "So you're telling me that Taehyung saw that? Who sent you those things?"

Daphne and Yuri sat in the outside commons of the university, chatting about how awful her date night went yesterday. She still hasn't seen Tae, and thought that maybe he stayed over Joon's last night.

She also didn't tell Yuri that she was "seeing" her brother, but she thinks now is the best time to bring it up. "Well..you remember how I got into that fiasco with your brother a month back?" She shyly said, looking down at her feet.

Yuri took a bite out of her seaweed wrap. "Oh yeah, how could I forget that. Jungkook couldn't stop talking about you."

You put down the sandwich you had in your hands. "He talked about me?" Why would he do that? They aren't together? Who talks about your sex partner?

The way Yuri looked at Daphne was like she already knew. A half smile on her face and her eyebrows raised, she took another bite. "Uh..duh." She winked at Daphne, and reached to take a sip of her drink.

"You know?!" Daphne said in shock, and Yuri smiled deviously. "How'd you know?"

"Oh I knew since the beginning. Jungkook also didn't do well with hiding it?" She said, a little chuckle escaping her lips. "So you guys are like..friends with benefits?" She sipped through her straw.

Daphne didn't know how to react. Yuri obviously didn't look upset, but she was confused as to why she wasn't. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Yuri." She said, her eyes apologetic. "And yeah, just friends with benefits."

Yuri smirked. "I see." She set down her drink and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I guess since we uncovered one of your secrets, I might as well tell you one of mine."

What could it be? Daphne chuckled and picked up her sandwich again. "What's your secret?"

Yuri took one last bite of her seaweed wrap, and once she was done chewing, she opened her mouth to tell her. "I'm seeing someone, too." She smiled, looking around if anyone was listening. "You know Namjoon, right? His roommate." She raised her eyebrows.

Daphne gasped. Jimin?? The boy who was known to be a man whore? Did Yuri know? "You know he's a bit of a—"

"A slut? Hell yeah." She nodded in agreement. "We're also friends with benefits. So we both can keep each other's secret." Yuri winked, and began to pick up her garbage. "I gotta get going. I have class in five."

"Alright." Daphne said, still in shock. They didn't seem like they suited each other. Nevertheless, it wasn't like Jungkook and her suited each other either. Who was she to judge.

They parted their ways, and as Daphne turned around, she bumped into someone.

"Oh I'm sorry I—"

It was Tae. He looked a bit disheveled and worn out. Daphne didn't even realize that he had been sitting in the table behind her the whole time. He had heard everything. He heard that she was in a sexual relationship with jungkook, and it had proved his point. But now that he knew for sure, he was completely upset about it all. But what bothered him more was that he had no reason to be upset. She wasn't his.

"Tae? Are you alright?"

No he wasn't. He also got a call last night about his mother. She was sick again, and back in the hospital. He loved his whole life trying to keep his family together and to pay for all the expenses. But now, how was he supposed to afford school with his mothers hospital bills.

He has never told anyone about his family problems other than Jin. He said a bit to Joon, but never enough for him to know the full story. But he was really upset now, and Daphne's worried look made him want to cave in. Just as she asked him if he was alright, he nearly let a tear fall. But he didn't. Still, this time when she asked him if he was alright, he didn't lie.

"No..no I'm not." He sighed, and crossed the little distance they had between each other.

He grabbed her tightly for a hug, and wrapped his arms around her torso. He held on tightly, gripping at the fabric of her long sleeve tee. It was soft, and slightly stretchy. She smelled like vanilla again, with a hint of a flower smell this time. She was so ethereal to him, and even though he now knows for sure what kind of relationship she's in, it didn't matter right now. All he wanted to do was tell her how he felt. To tell her that he was struggling. He had no idea how he was going to tell her or even if he was, but he couldn't let go of her once she began to hug him back. She comforted him, even if she had no idea what's going on. She was a great friend to him. And he should be grateful for that. At least she was in his life. Even if it wasn't exactly what he wanted.

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

prev. // next.

m.list

[pototters]

Pact of Confession

A/N: Another move from my old blog.

Part 2 will be coming soon!

Warnings: light swearing

TodorokixReader

Word Count: 1,166

You had had your eye on Todoroki Shouto ever since you’d transferred to UA’s Class 1-A. However, even as you found yourself about to graduate with the rest of the class, you had kept your feelings to yourself and had barely even spoken your two-toned crush. It wasn’t so much that you were shy about it, but you assumed that he had plenty of girls throwing themselves at his feet that he could do without one more.

You’re closest friends, Ururaka and Tsu, were the only ones who knew about your crush and you were happy with that. They would occasionally push you to confess, though they never came on too strong. After all, they had crushes of their own that they had yet to confess to, as well. So, the three of you had made a pact in the middle of second year. If one of you gathered the courage to confess, then the other two of you would have to confess, too.

You were content with this pact as neither of your friends were any closer to confessing than you were. Uraraka rarely spoke to Bakugo Katsuki, keeping her distance from the explosive boy. She said she didn’t want to get in his way on the path to his goal. Truth was, the girl had fallen hard for the boy after he’d refused to go easy on her during the freshman sports festival. She often commented on the immense control he had over his quirk as he could have done some serious damage to her, but only hit her with the bare minimum of his explosions. The girl was an odd one, but you loved her and supported her one hundred percent.

Tsu’s crush wasn’t any less complicated. Tokoyami Fumikage was a cool guy, but complicated and hard to read. You certainly admired Tsu for how nonchalant she was when they got paired together for class tests and projects. That girl knew the definition of what it meant to play it cool. You would never have known she had a crush if she hadn’t told you. Tsu was probably the closest of the three of you to confessing anything, but she also seemed so content with simply staying friends with the bird boy.

Graduation day finally arrived and none of you had confessed. You felt light knowing you wouldn’t have to fret anymore about your friends confessing. School was over and you’d all move on. That all came crashing down on you, however, as you saw Uraraka dashing towards you, her graduation gown billowing behind her. Her normally pink cheeks were flushed brightly as she grabbed your shoulders. “Y/N! This is really bad!” Her panic incited your own and your heart beat wildly in your chest.

“Well, don’t leave me hanging, girl! Spit it out!” You grabbed her back, shaking her slightly. Why did you have such a bad feeling?

Uraraka took a moment to catch her breath. “Tsu… She confessed! To Tokoyami!” Your body froze, feeling as though a stone had dropped into the pit of your stomach. You and Uraraka stared at each other for a long, panicked moment. “W-well, guess I better… go find Bakugo…” You watched in near horror as your friend turned robotically away from you and went on her search.

You thought you heard someone say “Todoroki” somewhere behind you and you whipped yourself around. However, your crush was nowhere to be seen and you sighed a breath of relief. You could put off the confession a while longer. Present Mic’s booming voice announcing that it was time for everyone to take their seats had you jumping, again.

You clutched your wildly beating heart as you made your way to your designated seat with the rest of your classmates. Looking around, you finally spotted Todoroki. He wasn’t very close, but you decided you keep your eye on him so that you could catch up with him later. Even in the graduation gown, he looked amazing.

The procession began and your already rapidly beating heart began to pound faster with every passing second. When Bakugo went up to get his diploma, you noticed that he was behaving a bit oddly. Almost as though he was distracted. Sure enough, before he left the platform, he grabbed the microphone and started yelling into it. “Damn woman! You picked on hell of a time to tell me how you feel! You’re going on a date with me after this! You hear me!” Mr. Aizawa showed up to shove him off the stage, though Bakugo went with little resistance. He’d said what he needed to. Your head whipped around to where you knew Uraraka was sitting and you laughed as you saw that she was already floating happily above the other students.

So, that meant you were the only one left. Your skin felt clammy and a cold sweat formed on your brow. Before you knew it, the procession was over and you were in the middle of a crowd of mingling graduates and their families. If you were really lucky, maybe you could lose Todoroki in this crowd and you could put off the confession altogether.

You had never been that lucky, however, and you nearly ran right into each other. “T-Todoroki!” Your nerves had you stuttering as his hands came up to catch you and stop you from bouncing off of him.

“Y/L/N. Congratulations on graduation. I’m glad we all made it together.” He gave a soft smile as his hands dropped from you once you were steady. You nearly melted at the sight of that smile.

“Congratulations to you, too!” You barely managed to speak loud enough over the crowd. He looked ready to move on, so you instinctively grabbed his forearm. “Wait! There’s something I want to-”

“Shouto!” The deep voice of Endeavor rose above the crowd and both of you looked in his direction. “I found you. Good. We’re leaving. There’s a lot that must be done today.” Todoroki gave his father a look of disdain before turning to you.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me? It seems like it’s important since you grabbed me.” There was that soft smile again and you felt yourself panicking as you quickly released him.

“Sorry!” Your hands flailed a little. No way you were telling him in front of his dad! “No, no, it’s not important. Just… um, good luck reaching the number one spot! I believe in you!” You smiled at him. Your heart no longer beat wildly. Instead, it was aching and it surprised you a little.

Todoroki’s eyes widened a little, a dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks at your declaration. “Thanks, Y/L/N. Good luck to you, too. See you later.” And that was it. You watched his retreating back as he went with his father and left the venue. You’d lost your one and only chance to confess. You thought you’d be relieved, but, instead, you just felt hollow.

[getbacktoworknovice]

[Looks like you were sick and couldn't come to school on Valentine’s Day! It's the day after and for some reason Bakugo is PISSED like, more than usual. Whats got this hot head so flared up?]

A/N: I know this is super late you guys but with the move and having to go through my storage unit it's been SUPER busy lately and I haven't had too much time to catch up ;A; I still hope you enjoy~!

You groaned as exited UA, glad the day was finally over. You were still feeling a bit sickish from the stomach bug you caught the other day and just wanted to get home to rest. Plus you had homework to catch up on and a project due soon so the sooner that was finished the better. 

Mina, one of the students in the hero course, who had always been super sweet to you called your name as she came up, waving happily, the invisible girl Tohru right behind her. “Y/N! Y/N!” She called and you stopped with a smile, waving as she came over. 

“Hi Mina~” You greeted and she gave a worried look to you, her black and yellow eyes concerned. 

“I heard you got sick, are you feeling better? Do you need anything? Here let me help carry your backpack!” She offered in rapid succession and you put up your hands in defense, sweating a bit as she was really intense. But sweet and it came from a place of sincere worry and care.

“O-oh, no Mina I’m fine I promise.” You insisted, not wanting her to be put out by you in any way. “My place isn’t that far, and I promised mom I’d stop by the store to get some stuff for dinner.” You said and Tohru pat you on the shoulder. 

“Your so sweet y/n, going to the store even though you were just sick.” She encouraged and you gave a soft but weary smile. Sometimes your mother could be such a headache. Today was one of those days. 

“Oh, it's nothing really.” You insisted, chatting with them a bit more before waving them goodbye, your paths going separately at the train station. You coughed a little, taking out your phone to look at the list of things you needed to get from the store.

To be honest, you really weren’t feeling a hundred percent but being at school was much better than being at home for you. You’d had to take care of yourself while your mother was out doing who knows what. 

She was never really there. 

“Hey! Dunce face!” You heard suddenly over the din of passengers getting off the train. You looked up, startled, recognizing the voice as Bakugo’s, another student from the hero course Class 1-A. He was making his way over to you and he looked extremely angry. You felt your heart start to thump in a nervous way as he came over to stand in front of you, glaring down at you with his scary eyes. 

“Why weren’t you in class yesterday?” He demanded, making you gulp a bit. 

“I-i was sick, I caught a stomach bug and I-”

“You were supposed to be there!” He interrupted.”Don't you know what yesterday was?” He grumbled and you wracked your brain, trying to think but it was hard when he was so intense. He always looked so angry you couldn't tell what he was thinking.  

“Uh-um...the fourteenth?” You said quietly and Bakugo looked at you like you were an idiot. He grumbled to himself, digging in his backpack for something. You looked between him and the train, debating making a run for it when he shoved a wrapped package in your hands. 

“Just take your stupid candy!” He said his face flushed as he looked away from you, clearly embarrassed. Puzzled you looked down to see a very poorly wrapped box of chocolate. There was a little heart-shaped card that said “Be Mine”. 

Your heart stopped for a minute when you realized. 

“Oh...yesterday was...Valentine’s Day wasn't it?” you said softly, looking up at him with a soft blush. Bakugo grumbled, zipping up his backpack and shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked embarrassed but still angry.

“Yeah dummy, yesterday was.” He said in his prickling way. You blinked wondering why he was so bothered. “I...I wanted to give it to you yesterday but you weren’t there so I had to hold onto it and now it doesn't mean as much!” He insisted. 

“Wait...what do you mean?” you asked softly and his anger seemed to temper, his look softening just a little, but he didn't look at you, his eyes looking off. He was always so angry and intense it was hard to tell what he was thinking but he seemed distressed that he couldn't give you the chocolate yesterday. 

“God you really are dumb,” He said rubbing the back of his head. “I wanted you to...yknow, be my valentine,” he said honestly, the blush spreading to his ears. “But you weren’t here...so I had to keep it an extra day and now it doesn't mean as much.” He complained, kicking at a loose piece of gravel. 

Your blush spread as well, finally understanding and you gave a soft look to the chocolates. “Aw, Bakugo,” you said softly and he grunted looking away again. You smiled and took a step forward, leaning up boldly to kiss his cheek. “It still means a lot and I would love to be your Valentine,” you assured him. 

Bakugo looked confused and surprised by your kiss and you swore you saw him smile a little as he turned away from you. “Yeah well...all right then.” he huffed. “Just...be there next time.” He said but a little gentler. You nodded, putting the chocolates gently in your backpack. 

“I will...I promise,” you said giving him a smile before realizing your train was getting ready to leave. “Ah! I-I’m sorry, I’ve got to go if I don't get to the store-” She said and Bakugo huffed, turning to grab your hand and dragging you towards the train.

“Well, let’s go then, geez!” he said, pulling you into the train just as the doors closed. The two of you were smooshed together in the aisle and you looked up at him curiously. “Bakugo this isn’t your train-” you said, knowing he lived in the opposite direction as that's the way he left every day but he simply put an arm around you to hold you close to him, looking off out the window. 

“Shut up.” He said though it didn't have the usual edge to it. You blushed a bit but just smiled resting your cheek against his chest. He was grumpy and he certainly had a weird way of showing he cared...but you really loved it.

[limited-practice]

Mutual Bonding Through Salt

Just a quick thing I wrote that started off with talking about Sunder infiltrating the DJD, which led to the possibility of Tarn's voice killing ability being blocked, which brought in Hubcap, which led to him bonding with Nickel because the DJD and Wreckers are big idiots and they just get so weary dealing with them at times.

(Sunder isn't in this one - undercover mnemosurgeon in the DJD is another fic for another time)

3311 words of Nickel and Hubcap nonsense are under the cut.

“If you eat the salt that’s around the rim of your glass, it will put you in the medibay for a week. Possibly a month. Possibly two months.”

Hubcap froze, and the salt rimmed glass that was just about to touch his lips didn’t make contact. But only just. He slowly lowered his glass. And as he did so, more and more of Nickel’s deeply unimpressed face was revealed.

“I’m telling you this not because I care about your well being, Autobot,” she said, “But because I’m the one who’ll have to waste time treating you. The medibay on my ship is light years more advanced than yours, and since Tarn’s ordered us not to kill any of you or allow anyone to succumb to an unfortunate series of unpreventable accidents, I don’t want to disappoint him.”

Hubcap glanced around. They were sitting at the bar of a backstreet establishment in a run down town on a grimy planet hollowed out from the fallout of their civil war. In a desperate attempt to scratch out a living, the surviving inhabitants had made it clear they welcomed all races and factions. Organic, mechanical, neutral, Decepticon, Autobot, undecided, renounced, it didn’t matter. Your legally and illegally acquired money was most welcome here.

His eyes hovered over a large mass of shapes in the corner behind them. The Wreckers and the DJD were deep in discussions about a ‘business opportunity’ that had recently prevented itself. He was one hundred percent convinced it was illegal and one hundred percent convinced that it would somehow end terribly for him. Hence the need to drink as soon as possible.

Hubcap carefully rotated the glass, causing the thick neon yellow liquid inside to spin slowly. The electric blue umbrella in it bobbed happily. “That - ha! - doesn’t seem likely? It’s part of what makes this cocktail a cocktail? Look, it’s in the menu. On the menu I mean. The menu with all seven drinks listed?”

Nickel looked at Hubcap like he was the most pointless robot in the world. “Do you even know what you ordered?”

Hubcap glanced down at the plastic coated menu that was on the bar counter. He put a finger underneath the name of the drink he'd ordered. The plastic was warm and sticky.

“Pleasant Painkiller,’” he read out loud. “‘Cure what ails you with this tropical blend of high grade energon, creamy energon extract and refreshing crushed salt garnish. Chase down the tears and blood and cranial fluids of that filthy traitor with this indulgent signature creation that’s guaranteed to leave your fuel tank thrumming with-’”  Hubcap’s eyes widened. “I don’t- What? What? I don’t remember reading that. That wasn’t there when I read it before ordering.”

“Yes it was.” Nickel’s voice was flat. “That’s a DJD drink you ordered. Was the large purple badge and screaming victim next to it not clear enough?”

“I don’t- are you sure? I don't think that I...?” Hubcap peered closely at the menu. The Pleasant Painkiller was listed under the  Mechanical-Cybertronian-Decepticon category. He squinted to make out the small print next to his cocktail’s name: ‘DJD Speciality! Only the best of the worst can handle this!’

Hubcap’s secondary cooling fan clicked on. He slowly slid the menu away with his fingertip as far as his arm would stretch. He lifted his finger up and the menu stuck to it. “I mean- why?” he asked, waving his hand to shake the menu off of it.

"Why can't you read?" Nickel supplied. "Beats me."

"No, that's-" he shook his hand harder, worried that he’d somehow cursed himself and the menu was going to stick to him forever.

"That drink isn't going to kill you," Nickel said witheringly, as she watched the menu finally break free of his finger and float down behind the bar. "We're not in the habit of poisoning each other. But that salt will poison you. I know its composition and I know your frame type and processing specs. You can't digest it. You’re too weak. Too puny.”

“That’s not-” Hubcap said, heating up. “That was uncalled for. I can’t help that I was born with this frame. Why did you have to focus on that? Why are you being mean?”

“Oh I’m sorry, did I just say puny? I meant that you’re puny and piss annoying.”

“...I’m just...trying to have a drink here.”

“You’re trying my patience, that’s what you’re doing. Wipe that salt off now, and then you can have that drink you don’t deserve.” Without waiting for a response, Nickel shot out a hand.

Hubcap snatched the glass back just as her fingertips touched it, and cradled it protectively against his chest. He held it somewhat sullenly.

Nickel pointed one of her fingertips at him. “You’re going to lick that salt off just to spite me, I know you are. I know your type.”

She sat back on her stool and picked up her own drink with a casualness that wasn’t faked. “And when we’re back on my ship and you come crawling into the medibay holding your stomach and complaining that your teeth feel like they’re melting, I’m going to ignore you. And if you don’t drag yourself back out, I’ll ask Tess to do it for me.”

Hubcap looked at her. This time there was a thread of steel in his voice when he spoke. “My frame has survived more than you could imagine.”

Nickel widened her eyes as far as they’d go. “Oh gosh really? Let me just- let me just topple off my seat in awe and wonder here. You’re telling me that you experienced physical and emotional pain and suffering during millions of years of war but still survived? Wow. Just- wow.”

Hubcap squeezed his glass tighter, and hoped he wasn’t blushing too hard. “I...ha, I know I’m not that special. I’m not special at all. I’ve been told I’m not special my entire life. If people notice me in the first place that is.”

“I,” Nickel said slowly, “Have prised things out of Helex’s mouth that gave me nightmares. I’ve scrubbed off encrusted liquids that release a vapour known to melt steel. But never - never in all my years as the Peaceful Tyranny’s Chief and Only Medical Officer - have I ever had a stomach ache. Until I met you. Until I listened to what you just said. Your pity party of one is making me queasy Hubcap.” She put a hand on her stomach and held her drink out towards his. “I feel my delicious drink churning. You’re ruining this for me.”

Several different emotions rolled across Hubcap’s face, before it settled on uneasy irritation. “It’s not easy to get people to pay attention to you. And it’s even more difficult to get them to notice the good things you do, let alone appreciate you. Not when you’re so small. Not when you’re so weak. You of all people should know that.”

Nickel slowly put her glass back down on the counter. It hit the metal with a sharp clink. She stood up and rolled forward to where Hubcap was sitting. He leaned back as she glared up at him.

“Of course I know that. I’ve always known that. And do you know what I do? Do you know what I do when they’re all ignoring me and refuse to come in for their check-ups?”

“Go crying to Tarn?”

Nickel shot out a hand and sunk her fingers into Hubcaps neck cables. She yanked his head forward until their noses were almost touching.

“I get up in their faces,” she whispered to him. “I force them to pay attention to me. I don’t ever accept them saying ‘no.’ I make myself known. Because that’s what people of our size have to do. We have to DO something. Skulking around underfoot the big bots isn’t going to get you noticed. It’s going to get you stepped on. You want your Wrecker friends to notice you? To appreciate you? Then you get up into their smarmy faces and don’t. Back. Down.”

Nickel put her hand on his forehead and pushed him away. Hubcap wobbled on his stool but kept his balance. His drink sloshed onto his lap. His face showed all kinds of alarm.

“Um...OK?”

Nickel sat back on her stool. She waved a dismissive hand at him that said ‘Yeah, sure you will. I know your type, and I know you won’t.”

There was a swell of loud voices from the corner followed by one, two, three glasses smashing into something. The voices got rougher and louder.

Hubcap shook his head. The only reason he’d been brought along to this business meeting on neutral territory was to use his Outlier ability to block Tarn’s voice from killing them all. He’d weakly told Springer that he could project a signal block from Debris and that someone should stay behind to keep the ship in secure orbit around the planet. But Springer had betrayed him by asking him a sensible question that he felt compelled to answer honestly. No, Hubcap had told him - my signal block wouldn’t be just as effective from Debris as it would be if I was in the same room as him. It would be zero point zero zero five percent less effective. Springer had looked at him kindly, and told him it would do him good to get off the ship and have some shore leave. Have a drink and relax while they took care of business. He could look after himself when- if, if - things got rough. He knew which way to point a gun didn’t he?

“I’m keeping the drink,” Hubcap said. “I paid for it and I’m keeping it.”

Nickel looked up at him from her drink. “Are you doing this just to keep the tiny umbrella that came with it?”

“...what?”

Nickel nodded her head towards his drink. “You’re being careful that it doesn’t touch the killer salt barrier. You care about it.”

“It’s a cheap plastic novelty umbrella.”

“Then give it to me.”

Hubcap looked down at the tiny umbrella floating in its yellow cocktail sea. He plucked it out and gently engulfed it in his hand “...no.”

Nickel rolled her eyes skywards. “Primus spare me.”

“HOW MUCH??” An incredulous voice roared. The other patrons of the bar froze.

“SAY THAT TO ME AGAIN AND I’LL RIP YOUR EYES OUT WITH MY TEETH.”

Some customers started whimpering.

“I’LL BLEND THEM INTO A NEW COCKTAIL FOR YOU TO DRINK.”

Some customers slowly slid onto the floor and began to crawl towards an exit.

“I’LL MAKE THE REST OF YOUR TEAM TAKE TURNS HOLDING THE GLASS UP TO YOUR LIPS.”

Some customers closed their eyes and prepared for the end.

Hubcap and Nickel casually glanced over at who was bellowing threats and who was receiving them.

Nickel tutted. “Why did he say that? That’s a back-up threat, not an initial salvo. We practised this. I wrote it down for him.”

“FEED ME MY EYES AND I’LL SPIT THEM IN YOUR FACE AND BLIND YOU SO THAT YOU’RE THE ONE WITH NO EYES.”

Hubcap winced in embarrassment. “He always says that. Always. And no-one takes him seriously. Why would they?”

“YOU’RE A LIAR!”

“NO YOU’RE THE LIAR!”

“I’LL FIGHT YOU!”

“NOT IF I FIGHT YOU FIRST!”

Something breakable smashed into someone’s head, a giant fist connected with a face, the DJD snarled and the Wreckers roared.

A fight erupted.

Hubcap and Nickel locked eyes. They shared a flat and weary look that said “Do you see the kind of shit I have to put up with every day?” It was a perfect moment of mutual understanding.

The fight intensified.

Nickel sighed. “It will take me hours to clean them up. They don’t bother with basic maintenance at the best of times, and these injuries won’t be quick to fix. They don’t listen to me. And I keep telling them not to fight when there are witnesses around, but they don’t listen to me.”

Hubcap watched tables, chairs, glasses and framed objects get torn down and used as weapons. He sighed as well. “That will all have to be accounted for. All that stuff they’re ruining. I’ll have to draw up a detailed inventory, calculate their value, source replacements, and spend days carefully filling out a hundred different forms to prevent us from getting imprisoned due to a grammar mistake a sharp eyed lawyer will pick up on when the bar owner inevitably works up the courage to sue us.”

A circular table rolled past them on its rim. It left a track of dark energon in its wake.

“Tarn would appreciate you,” Nickel blurted out. “He loves competent administrators.”

“My entire team would appreciate you,” Hubcap said. “We don’t have a medic. We have Impactor and his drill hand.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

The fight climbed up a gear. It got louder. It got more dangerous.

Nickel shook her head. “If I don’t put an end to this soon we’ll never get that deal signed, and then we’ll be stuck orbiting this armpit of a planet until they regain consciousness. The medical machines drain our power supply when they go at it like this. They suck it nearly dry. And the upkeep needed to ensure they’re in constant working order, that’s never ending.” She shook her head again.

“We had Springer on life support for years,” Hubcap said. “And do you think anyone undertook routine maintenance on it or sourced replacement parts or kept detailed records of his vital signs and regularly cross checked them with all known injury outcomes on file?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that only you did all of that. I feel that pain.”

“It’s a pain like no other.”

“You got that right.” Nickel put both hands on the bar counter and prepared to heave herself up onto it.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Hubcap asked in alarm. “Don’t make yourself an accidental target. Their aim is terrible.”

“Someone has to put an end to this,” Nickel said in a tight voice. “And as usual, it’s down to me.”

Hubcap put a hand on her shoulder. And snatched it back when she glared at him. “Sorry, I just- I mean you don’t have to do it. This time. I can.”

“You can put an end to this?”

“In less time than it takes for you to finish your drink.”

Nickel looked at him for a second. And then lowered herself back down onto her stool. “OK then - show me what you’ve got.”

“I, ah, need your auditory frequency codes. Primary, secondary and tertiary. All of you. I’ve got the Wreckers on file. And myself. Obviously. But not- not yours. Not your team’s.”

“Why do you need to know the frequencies we hear sound at?”

A whump of fire shot towards the ceiling. Chunks of metal rained down. A special ops ghost gun was primed with a chunk-chunk-krik.

“So that I can stop all of this.” Hubcap stretched out an arm to encompass the room. And withdrew it immediately as pieces of broken ghost gun flew towards it.

Nickel paused, weighing up the risk of trusting him against the extra work this fight would give her. She gave the frequencies to him.

“What are you going to use them for?” she asked.

“I’m going to use them to break that up.”

There was a ROAR and a clash of titanic metal upon colossal metal as the fight burst wide open and the bar’s fire, invasion, and panic alarms all tripped simultaneously with a whoop-whoop-whoop.

“How?” Nickel yelled, covering her head and ducking as a jagged disc flew over it.

She couldn’t hear what Hubcap said over the roar of noise in the bar, but she could read his lips. “Like this.”

Hubcap’s entire body shivered. An unnatural bright light entered his eyes. He tilted his head, gripped the tiny umbrella harder, and unleashed a split branch sub-atomic frequency wave that wouldn’t be identified and classified by science for another three million years.

The DJD and the Wreckers simultaneously slammed their hands over their ears and collapsed to the ground howling.

Hubcap tilted his head the other way. The screeching trio of alarms were silenced.

“Not bad,” Nickel said approvingly. “Not bad at all.”

“It’s just a basic frequency,” Hubcap shrugged. “Just a modification of one I’ve used on them before.” He straightened his head. His eyes dimmed back to normal.

“Yeah but…” Nickel looked around. Everyone was laying still and silent on the ground and taking stock of what had just happened. Impactor jumped to his feet and tried to yell out in anger but immediately collapsed again. He whimpered pathetically. Kaon carefully stood up and made every effort to stay still and silent. He held his arms out for balance. He stayed on his feet.

“That’s not just not bad. That’s amazing. You’re an Outlier, aren’t you?”

“No. Yes. I mean- Well. It’s just- it’s just something I can do. It’s easy. I don’t have to think about it too much. It just comes to me.” Hubcap said this simply, without a hint of fishing for praise. “The frequency wave boosters won’t break down until everyone’s on their respective ships. Which will give me enough time to barricade myself into my office and beam a detailed memo to each of them explaining what I did and why I did it.”

“And it will give me enough time to prep the medibay and get my tools laid out. I’m going to sharpen all of them. And explain in detail how I’m going to use them. And then I’m going to write up reports on everyone. Even Tarn. They’ll be so dreadful that Tarn won’t have any choice but to put everyone on Corrective Action Plans that will last for months. Including himself.”

“Ping me if you want any help with the wording. I’ve got a lifetime’s experience writing those.”

“Thanks. And- thanks. For doing what you did.”

Hubcap rolled the umbrella between his fingers and nodded. “Any time. Except I hope it won’t be any time soon. Or any time again. But eventually it will be. You know, time.”

“It is time for us to leave.” Tarn’s voice ate through the air like a virus.

“Yeah, let’s move it.” Springer jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at an exit. “Get back to Debris, sort yourselves out, and prepare to leave for the Peaceful Tyranny in two hours. We’ve still got business to attend to.”

The huge mass of the DJD and the Wreckers divided itself into two. Everyone moved slowly and carefully and quietly to one of the two exits.

Hubcap and Nickel slid off their bar stools.

“And- thanks for not including me in your silent take down,” Nickel said.

“You weren’t part of the fight. You weren’t a threat. I mean you’re obviously still a threat, but- but you didn’t need that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“But it would have been the perfect opportunity to take revenge on me,” Nickel persisted.

Hubcap smiled faintly. “Nothing good comes out of wanting that. Believe me. It will eat you up and destroy you.”

“Spoken like a true Autobot.”

“Ha! I’m not one of them. Not really.”

“...ever thought of becoming a Con?”

“...yes. But they aren’t for me either.”

“You’re yourself.” Nickel nodded. “I get that. And now I get you.”

Hubcap reached over and carefully placed the mini umbrella in her drink. It was wrinkled and bent but not broken. “No you don’t. Not really.” He hesitated. “Not yet.”

Nickel looked down into her drink. “I’ll give you a check-up when you come over in a couple of hours,” she offered. “If anyone’s put a dent in you, I’ll deal with them personally.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

They left the bar without looking back.