#then him turning into just a silly kid looking at a softer glow

[sunny-knight]

What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

[ninebluehearts]

Hi can I request a agent whiskey/ jack Daniel x plus!size reader. So the reader is an agent and is working with everyone that is trying to take down the drug cartel the reader is an agent and is a badass at doing her work so maybe she is in love with jack maybe one day they introduce a new agent to the team she is a girl she is thin blond with pretty blue eyes let’s just say all the guy’s welcome her and so does the reader the reader notices jack flirting with the new agent so when they have to do a small mission to get more information about the drug cartel they have to go under cover at a club and the reader has to flirt with the target the rest they just pair up into 2 teams so they are gonna be in the club make sure nothing goes wrong because their target has back up maybe theres a little fighting when the reader wears a dress she gets insecure because she sees the new girl and her dress and how it fits perfectly on her so maybe the new agent and jack had to play as a fake couple for the mission but what the reader doesn’t know is that jack is in love with the reader so maybe when they are fighting the reader gets stabbed in the leg when they get back she gets checked out jack wouldn’t leave the reader side and the doctor said she should be fine while in the infirmary the reader confesses her love for jack maybe it could end with them dating.(this might be to long uhh you could write it if you want it’s fine will if you don’t)

Sure thing, my love!! I'm so sorry this took so long!!

Warnings: Violence, blood, etc. (no smut)

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

"You've gotta be kidding me.." You mumbled, staring at the group of men that were all huddled around the newest agent of Statesmen: Agent Malibu.

Malibu had honey blonde hair that practically glowed in the sunlight; the thick, wavy locks looked softer than a feather.

Which paired well with her deep, ocean blue eyes, the kind that you could swim in for hours, not even knowing you were drowning.

Even better, she had a perfect figure- she was thick where it mattered, like her thighs and hips, but her thin waist and long legs really completed the look.

It all made your stomach turn.

What made everything worse was that Agent Whiskey was in that crowd of men, supposedly 'welcoming her.'

Though you saw the grin he had- it was the same one he had given you when you first began working for Statesmen. Regrettably, you were engaged at the time, so you never did act on the obvious spark between you two.

Even when you broke things off with your ex, you never could find the right time- or gather enough courage- to ask him out. And now you were terrified that it was too late.

"I know! Isn't she perfect?" Your coworker, Agent Vodka, said, taking a long sip from his mug. "I don't know if I wanna fuck her or be her bestfriend."

You rolled your eyes, angerly placing your hands on your hips. "Aren't you gay? And married?"

"Me-ow, somebody's jealous." Vodka mumbled into his mug as he took another sip, quickly heading back towards his office to avoid your salty mood.

You shook your head, huffing out a sigh as you looked back at group of Agents. You managed to make eye contact with Whiskey, feeling the familiar burn in your cheeks when he smiled at you.

You gave him a small smile back, giggling when he tipped his hat at you. He always did stuff like that to make you laugh. No matter where you were or what you were doing, Whiskey always found a way to either make a silly face or flirt with you.

That's what made this all so confusing- the other agents were usually professional while working with you, so what made Whiskey different?

"Agent Amaretto!" Your boss, Agent Champagne, called out, motioning for you to come over to the group.

You hated suddenly having all of those eyes on you; especially hers.

You set your mug next to the coffee maker behind you, before awkwardly walking over to him, trying not to look at Malibu. "Yes sir?"

He motioned for the crowd of agents to get back to work, though Whiskey and Malibu stayed besides him. "Well, I assume you've met Agent Malibu?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wonderful! Well, the two of you will be accompanying Agent Whiskey on tonight's mission. Everything is already set up; Whiskey and Malibu, you'll be portraying Mr. and Mrs. Williams, a wealthy married couple from Spain. Amaretto, you'll be Mrs. Culpeper, a Russian widow. Everyone got it?" Champ asked, glancing between the three of you.

"Don't Whiskey and I usually play the married couple?" You tried to keep the attitude out of your tone, though you didn't think you were very successful considering the look that crossed Champ's face.

"Yes, but don't these two look better together? Look," Champ slung his arm around your shoulder, making you look at the 'couple.'

Your teeth grinded together, your nails digging into the palms of your hands as the green-eyed monster began to slip out of his facade.

"Ain't they just perfect together?" He asked, obviously proud of himself.

"You really think so?" Malibu asked, hugging Whiskey's arm as she looked up at him through her eyelashes; Whiskey winked at her in return, a sly smirk tugging on his lips.

"Well, I certainly have a lot to do to get ready then!" You pulled away from Champ before he could even notice that you were shaking with rage, your lips locked in a tight smile. "But do send me the files for tonight's mission."

And without another word, you quickly walked away from the group, holding your breath to keep the hot, salty tears at bay.

-

You spent the better part of your afternoon practicing a Russian accent and going over Mrs. Veronica Culpeper's profile, preparing for tonight's mission.

You reminded yourself to practice your breathing exercises, deciding to be an adult about the situation. You didn't have the right to be so possessive over Whiskey; you had your chance, and you blew it.

That's on you.

As you slipped on your short, silk black dress, you couldn't help but feel a slight sense of confidence. You didn't get to dress up often, so seeing yourself with a full face of make-up, your hair held back in your favorite clip, and wearing a dress that hugged your curves perfectly? How could you not feel absolutely gorgeous.

You took separate cars and left at different times than Whiskey and Malibu, not wanting to cause any suspicion.

Veronica had never met the Williams before, so at least it wasn't like you had to look at them together all night.

You slipped in your earpiece as you pulled up to the club, checking to make sure you were connected. "Whiskey, do you copy?"

"Yeah." He responded a moment later, whispering with that deep, gruff Southern accent that made you shiver.

"I copy too!" You heard Malibu say, her voice echoing as though she were in an empty room, like a bathroom.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself before exiting the car, greeting the valet with a thick, Russian accent as you dropped your keys into the palm of his hand.

As you entered the building, you couldn't help but glance around the room, looking for a familiar face.

"Hello there, I don't think we've met. Who are you?" A man asked from behind you, slight suspicion in his tone.

You turned, only to be met with the man of the night; Lucifer White, the leader of the biggest cartel ring in South America. The man you were all here to kill.

"I am Veronica Culpeper. I believe you knew my husband?"

"Ahh, yes! James! Oh, I do apologize for your loss. I'm sure you understand though, no?''

You blinked, trying to remember how Veronica's husband died. "Business is business."

Lucifer barked out a laugh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "A woman who understands how the business world works! I must have a drink with you!" He tried to pull you towards the bar, but you resisted.

Out of nowhere, five guards suddenly looked your way, not liking the disappointment look on their boss's face.

"I don't know.. Maybe I should walk around first? I just got here." You felt beads of sweat beginning to dampen your forehead, the panic burning in the pit of your belly.

"Are you kidding? That is the perfect time to get a drink! Come come!" He reached over and grabbed your hand, actually pulling you towards the bar now.

"Tell me, what is your choice of drink?" He shouted to you over the music, motioning for the bartender.

"I'll take your favorite." You said, throwing up your hands. "I feel adventurous tonight!" Your Russian accent was just as thick as his Spanish one.

Lucifer laughed, giving you a simple nod before speaking to the bartender in Spanish.

"So, what brings you here tonight? I figured you would be more than furious with me at the moment, no?"

And that's when it hit you; Lucifer killed Veronica's husband when an important deal went bad. James was supposedly working with the police, though there wasn't a lot of evidence to support that theory.

Even so, James was the first he killed when he discovered the undercover cops that were supposed to be buying his product.

Not even a minute later, the bartender gently set your drinks on the counter, giving you a nervous look as he prepared other customers. drinks.

"No. As I said. Business is business. My husband was weak." You said as you picked up your drink, raising it in the air. "To good business?"

Lucifer grinned, slamming his glass against yours. "To good business!" He began to chug his drink, watching you out of the corner of his eye to make sure you were drinking yours.

You raised the glass to your lips, preparing to take a sip, when suddenly it was ripped out of your hands. You looked up, watching as Whiskey tossed the glass back behind the bar, nearly missing the bartender's head.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Lucifer roared, standing to get in Whiskey's face. All of the guards in the surrounding area perked up, tightening their grips on their guns as they kept a very close eye on the situation.

"It was my mistake, really. I apologize. I thought she was someone else." Whiskey said, holding his hands in the air. You almost couldn't recognize him without his Southern accent.

You glanced around, catching a glimpse of Malibu, who was standing nearby to watch the situation unfold.

She wore a ruby red dress that hugged her waist perfectly, flaring out into a whirl of ruffles and glitter on the bottom. And even in a moment as tense as this, that familiar burn of insecurity began to creep into your mind.

"Who are you?" Lucifer demanded, gripping Whiskey's collar.

"Right! I'm David Miller, sir."

"Oh really? That's funny, because the David Miller I invited is currently in New Mexico. You see where I'm a little confused, no?"

"Jesus Chirst." Whiskey muttered, not even trying to hide his Southern accent anymore. He punched Lucifer in his jaw, sending both men to the ground.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Everything began to playout in slow motion- what seemed like dozens of men ran up from the first floor at the sight of a fight, trying to take on both Malibu and Whiskey.

You reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle full of vodka. Storming over to one of the bigger guards who had his back turned, you tapped the back of his knee with your foot, smashing the bottle over his head once he dropped to his knees.

Holding onto the top of the shattered glass bottle, you stabbed an oncoming guard in the stomach with the broken glass, twisting the handle so the glass dug in deeper.

You felt someone grab you from behind, pressing a gun against the side of your head. "And to think I actually trusted you! I was going to make you mine." Lucifer snarled, the metallic smell of blood and alcohol wafting from his mouth.

"Awe, what a shame." You said, before slamming your head back into his face, causing him to stumble back as blood poured from the bridge of his nose.

"You bitch!" He cried out, holding his hand over his nose.

You turned, kicking your foot into his stomach so hard that he flew back into another guard, both of them falling to the ground.

Feeling something break on your shoe, you sucked in a breath, propping your foot up on a nearby barstool to see if you broke the heel.

In doing so, a guard took that as an opportunity, proceeding to jab his knife into the side of your thigh while you weren't paying attention.

You ripped your leg off of the chair, clenching your teeth together in agony as you ripped the knife from your thigh. "You fucker!" You screamed, hurling yourself at the man as though you were some kind of predator.

You all fought like hell for the next ten minutes, the war ending with a single gunshot to Lucifer's forehead.

You stood there panting, holding the gun in a vice-like grip. The familiar feeling of guilt swirled around in your stomach, making you lightheaded. You'd think that after eleven years of killing people, you'd be used to it by now.

Well, you'd be very wrong.

Whiskey and Malibu were by your side a moment later, Whiskey letting out a long whistle when he saw what you had done. "Bit of a hiccup, but I'd say that was a hell of a mission, huh?"

Malibu gave him a are you serious right now? look, gesturing to her torn, blood covered dress.

"Ah well, ya win some, ya loose some." Whiskey patted her on the back, suddenly going quiet when he saw the blood that rushed down the side of your leg, now pooling at your feet. "Please tell me that's someone else's."

You furrowed your brows together, glancing down to see the mess you unintentionally created. "Oh! Huh, I honestly forgot about that.."

Whiskey hurried to your side, looking up at you for permission when he grabbed the edge of your dress. Once you gave him the okay, he took one look at your stab wound and decided that you needed to go to the hospital.

"What? No, Jack, I'm fine! I'll just have Ginger look at it when we get back."

"Ginger is currently at home sleeping. Ya know who isn't? The doctors at the ER down the road. Now go get in the truck."

"I can drive myself-"

"Give Stacy your keys. She'll bring it back to the office for ya."

So now they were on first name basis?

The thought made you cringe, a sour look beginning to spread across your face. "I gave my keys to the valet."

"Got that?" Whiskey asked Malibu, nodding when she agreed. "Now, let's get you taken care of." He gently grabbed your arm, guiding you outside towards the parking lot.

-

"Let me get this straight," The doctor said, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You just fell on a knife?"

"Yup." You and Whiskey said in union, glancing at one another.

"And how exactly did you fall on a knife?"

You simply shrugged, tossing your hands up.

The doctor eyed you suspiciously, staring at Whiskey as though he did it. "Right.. Well, thankfully it's not very deep. You're going to need stiches and maybe some antibiotics, but you'll be fine. I'll be back in a moment to stitch you up, okay?"

"Thank you, doctor." Whiskey said, giving him a curt nod.

Once the doctor left, you let out a long sigh, beginning to pick at your nails. The only thing you could seem to think about was how Whiskey said Malibu's real name, no hesitation, no warning- he used it as though he'd known her for years.

Tears began to swell in your eyes, making you dig your nails into the palm of your hand to counteract them.

"Is the pain gettin' worse?" Whiskey asked, staring at your clenched fists.

Shit.

"I'm fine." You mumbled rather rudely, you'll admit.

Whiskey raised his brows, swaying his hip to the side. "Well what did I do?"

You rolled your eyes as you huffed out a sigh. "What are you talking about?"

"That! That right there. What's with the attitude?"

"I don't have an attitude, Jack."

"Bullshit. Are you still salty you ain't get to be my wife this time around?"

The lump in your throat began to swell, making it hard to swallow. "I was never salty in the first place. For fucks sake, can't you just wait in the waiting room? I'm a big girl, I can get a few stitches by myself."

Whiskey stared at you in awe. "Oh my god, you are!"

You turned your head so he couldn't see the heat that began to burn through your cheeks. "I'm not!"

"Listen Sugar, I'll make it clear to Champ that you're my number one girl from here on out, alright? I'm not sure how Stacy's gonna feel 'bout-"

"God, do you ever shut up?!" You cried out, finally looking at him with your tear-stained cheeks and wobbling lip. You couldn't hold back your jealousy any longer, hearing her name on his tongue for a second time making your body burn with pure rage.

Whiskey's smile quickly faded. He continued to stare at you as though he solved the worlds hardest puzzle. "Holy shit, you're jealous."

Your eyes went wide, your body suddenly dropping into fight or flight mode. "I don't need this." You jumped to your feet, ripping the curtain back before storming away from him.

"The hell you do!" Whiskey was hot on your tracks, grabbing your wrist once you were in arm's length.

Other patients that didn't have their curtains drawn began to stare at the scene; doctors looked at you both with suspicion.

"People are looking. Will you please just get back in there?"

"Are you going to shut up?"

Whiskey acted as though he locked his lips and threw away the key.

"Fine." You pulled your arm out of his grasp, walking back to the corner yourself.

Whiskey pulled the curtains back once you were both inside the makeshift room, stayed quiet like he promised. Though by the looks of it, his head was racing with thoughts.

You tried to sit on the edge of the bed, but the skin around your wound felt tight- as though your skin would rip if you moved too much. You sucked in a sharp breath, obviously struggling.

"Let me help-"

"Aren't you supposed to be staying quiet?"

Whiskey rolled his eyes. "Don't be a child. Seriously, let me-"

"I'm fine-"

Whiskey sighed, gripping your waist and lifting you onto the bed.

You sat there with a scowl, rubbing your sides. You hated being picked up. "Don't you ever do that again."

Whiskey stared at you for a while, his mouth agape. Not a moment later, he began to laugh- the kind of laugh that had him doubled over, holding his stomach.

"What?" You crossed your arms over your chest, wanting to know what was so funny.

"Ya know you're cute when you're mad?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

You scoffed, turning your head away from him once again.

"it's true! You may be stubborn, but god damnit, you make up for it by bein' so adorable."

You turned to face him, your brows still furrowed together. "Why are you being so mean to me, Jack?"

"How am I being mean to you, sugar?" Whiskey cooed, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"By acting so nice to me all of the time! None of the other agent's treat me like this. They're usually professional- wanting to get a mission done as soon as possible. But you? You do stuff like this; taking me to the hospital yourself, buying me dinner, flirting with me.. Why?"

Whiskey shook his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "You really wanna know?"

"I wouldn't've asked if I didn't."

"True." Whiskey mumbled. He placed his hand on your cheek, guiding your face to his as he gently pressed your lips together.

You sat there frozen for the better part of the kiss, shocked that it was finally happening. Years of tension- of longing, hoping that he would someday feel the same finally poured out into one, single kiss.

And once you finally did kiss him back, your lips pressed against his with urgency, as though you were starving for his touch alone.

"Okay!" The doctor said, yanking back the curtain right as the two of you pulled away. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but are you ready to get started?"

"Not at all! Come on in."

"Great." The doctor and a nurse came in to set everything up for your stitches, not even realizing that they walked in on the best moment of your life.

You laid your head on Whiskey's shoulder, holding the edge of your dress back so the nurse could disinfect the area. "Can I spend the night at your place?" You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Sure thing, sugar." Whiskey said with a laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah, you were gonna be alright.

-

Hello! Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

Taglist: @dino-fart

[anonymous-dentist]

“What the fuck are you doing? Open your eyes, what the fuck?”

Cellbit’s lungs are actively trying to claw their ways out of his throat for air, and he’s starting to get lightheaded, but he forces his eyes open and tries to focus them on Roier’s face. Roier’s handsome, handsome face…

(Oxygen deprivation is a bitch, man.)

Of course, Roier is prettier in the water. His hair floats around him like a pillow, only being held in place by his seaweed headband. His eyes seem to glow in the dark- sirens are just anglerfish’s mythological counterparts, after all.

But Roier isn’t eating him, is the thing. He should be.

Cellbit’s eyes shut of their own accord as his body itself starts to shut down from lack of air. His limbs are getting heavy, so heavy that the only thing keeping him from sinking to the bottom of the sea is Roier holding him.

“You need to breathe,” Roier says.

Cellbit shakes his head weakly. He can’t breathe underwater, that’s silly.

With a sigh, Roier offers a brief muttered apology before swinging his fist right into Cellbit’s stomach hard.

Cellbit’s eyes and mouth open reflexively. He instinctively gasps for air, immediately choking on seawater and floundering in Roier’s arms.

“Calma, gatinho,” Roier warmly says. He really should be enjoying Cellbit’s death less even if Cellbit did volunteer himself to be Roier’s breakfast.

Roier’s gills on the sides of his neck flare. “Like this, see?”

Cellbit doesn’t see, but he’s so busy drowning that he forgets to hold his breath. He sucks in another lungful of water, but it doesn’t burn as much this time. The water almost feels cold, in a way, like a winter morning.

And then Cellbit is breathing.

And then, on a whim, Cellbit tears his eyes away from Roier’s face and looks down. And he screams and jerks backwards, pulling Roier with him.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, flapping uselessly about in the water as Roier cackles and holds onto him and tries not to cry.

Because where Cellbit remembers there being two very broken legs is a scaly, forest green tail. Raising a hand to the side of his neck reveals a set of gills, and inspecting his hands themselves reveals webbing between his fingers that wasn’t there ten minutes ago.

Roier grins. “There, I put you out of your misery.”

“I’m a fish,” Cellbit smartly replies.

He yelps as Roier smacks him with his tail.

“I saved your life, culero!” he snaps.

“Disculpa, disculpa,” Cellbit placates. “Just… how?”

Roier shrugs, suddenly bashful.

“When I was a kid, my dad told me that my other dad was a pirate captain he liked to follow around and flirt with. When my ended up drowning in a storm, Dad swooped in and kissed him, and that turned him into a mermaid. True love’s kiss, or something.”

Cellbit blinks. “That sounds ridiculous. You know that, right?”

Roier smacks him again, with purpose. “Hey, I was desperate! Fuck you!”

He starts swimming away, but Cellbit quickly grabs him by the wrist and pulls him close again.

“But you wanted to eat me,” Cellbit says, practically begging for some kind of rational explanation to his sudden fishification.

“Yes, and then I wanted to kiss you.” Roier smacks him one last time, this time gently. “Because I don’t want you to die, okay?”

“Oh.” Cellbit swallows an embarrassing lump in his throat. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Roier smiles, then, softer, more unsure.

“It’s one-way,” he tells Cellbit. “I can’t kiss you human again. You’ll have to go to the Sea Witch for that, but your bones might still be all fucked if if you do that.”

Cellbit sucks in a harsh breath. Richarlyson…

“The Sea Witch…” he murmurs. His hands travel down the length of Roier’s arms until his fingers are tangled with Roier’s. “Okay. Later. When I’m better at swimming.”

Roier’s eyes widen slightly. “What, really?”

“You’ll come with me, of course,” Cellbit muses. “It’ll probably only be a temporary thing if the stories I’ve heard are correct, but Richarlyson would love you…”

“You’re taking this pretty well, actually, what the fuck?”

“Well, you’ve just given me hope of seeing my son again. So… thank you.”

As extra thanks, Cellbit leans in and kisses Roier once on the cheek before backing off with a heavy blush.

Instead of anything he actually wants to say, Cellbit croaks out an embarrassed, “Do mermaids kiss? Or is that a human thing?”

Roier shrugs happily. “They do now!”

His tail twists around Cellbit’s as he connects their lips once more.

Cellbit has so many more questions to ask, but those can be saved for later. For now, he has much more important things to take care of.

The End.

Thinking about Siren!Roier who tries luring this handsome sailor into the water to ocean to drown and stuff but nothing he's trying is working because, unfortunately for him, he's trying to tempt Cellbit, who's been alone on this desert island for months just waiting to die. Like, Roier would 100% have been able to eat this dude by now if he wasn't trying to lure him with like. Beauty, sex, money. Because Cellbit doesn't care about that, he's asexual and gay and stupid.

Poor Roier is so confused when this dude he's trying to kill starts flirting back. Like. What??

[sacredsorceress]

Whatever || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: you catch your best friend bucky matching with another woman online and you can’t help but feel protective over your favorite super soldier

a/n: i've been going through writer’s block recently, but i'm slowly getting back into it so please be patient with me and i hope you enjoy!

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, insecurities, jealousy, a lot of dialogue

masterlist || taglist

“Y/n!” You heard as Sam called your name from the kitchen of the Compound.

Making your way around the corner and into the room, your eyes caught Bucky’s as you noticed him and Sam sitting side by side at the island, hovering over Bucky’s phone.

“Yeah?”

“You have to look at this.” Sam said pointing at the device in Bucky’s hand.

Coming up behind the two of them, you glanced at Bucky’s phone and saw the photo of a woman displayed on his screen, the words “It’s a Match!” glowing tauntingly above her picture.

Biting back the feeling of your heart sinking into your stomach, you cleared your throat and turned to Sam.

“Yeah?” You said, attempting to mask the hurt in your voice. “What about it?”

At your response, Sam threw his arms up in the air and laughed in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” He shouted. “How does a woman like that match with a guy like this?”

Glancing back over Bucky’s shoulders at the photo you shrugged.

You had to admit that the woman was gorgeous- anyone with eyes would be able to see it- just the sight of her made you shrink back into yourself, seeing none of yourself in the unnamed woman and knowing that you weren’t her- the one Bucky did want.

However, you knew that no matter utterly stunning she may be- she couldn’t compare to Bucky.

You could barely believe the way Bucky and Sam were talking about the two of them- as if the woman Bucky hadn't even said one word to had hung the stars in the sky and that Bucky would be lucky to have her.

You knew better though.

You knew Bucky better.

Any woman- especially the one he had just matched with- would be lucky to have him. Although the woman was no doubt beautiful- you could feel your breath catch in your throat anytime his eyes met yours- he was breathtaking. Although the woman’s short bio made her seem like fun- Bucky could make you laugh in a way another person hadn’t done in years.

He was skilled, intelligent, kind-

you could go on all day.

“She’s completely out of his league!”

Snapping out of your own thoughts, you shoved at Sam, nearly knocking him off of his stool.

“She’s not ‘out of his league’.” You defended Buck.

“She kind of is.” Bucky finally interjected, looking over his shoulder at you.

A thick silence settled around the two of you as your eyes met Bucky’s- not missing the hint of defeat in his gaze.

Turning away you shook your head.

“She really isn’t though, Buck.” You said unable to look at him.

“Am I the only one not in on some joke right now?” Sam asked, looking around the room. “Are there hidden cameras or something? Y/n, she’s a model.”

Quickly growing frustrated by the conversation, you crossed your arms.

“So?” You asked. “What about it?”

“He's one hundred and six!” Sam exclaimed. “He doesn’t know how to take a picture on his phone! It’s just unbelievable. I mean really, man, I’m happy for you.”

Watching the smirk on Bucky’s face grow at Sam’s words, chuckling along with his best friend, you couldn’t help but let out an involuntary huff before throwing your hands in the air and making your way out of the room.

Hearing the sound of your footsteps padding out of the kitchen, Bucky broke away from his conversation with Sam, instead turning his head only to catch you storming out of the doorway of the kitchen he and his friend were sat in.

Watching you leave, Bucky felt a tinge of guilt, shutting off his phone and slipping it into his pocket before pushing himself out of his chair.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, taking a swig of the beer in his hand.

“I don't know.” Bucky admitted, fidgeting with the band of his watch that was fastened around his wrist. “I just um... I’m just gonna go check on Y/n.”

Rushing down the hallway, you almost felt silly for feeling the way you did.

You and Bucky were friends.

You and Bucky were friends and nothing more.

You complimented him because you admired him and believed he deserved the world. You wanted to spend every free moment with him because the two of you clicked like you had with no one else. You smiled with him because he was your good friend who had been with you through thick and thin...

Not because every time he smiled back at you, you swore you felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Not because you secretly felt your heart skip a beat every time his hand touched yours or that if you thought about the future for too long you would always find him beside you.

It wasn't because of that.

You loved him as a friend.

You’re friends. You told yourself.

But all that did was make you ask yourself why you were so upset over the thought of him being happy with someone else?

You wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy.

Why couldn’t he just do that with you?

“Y/n.” Bucky called before you felt his vibranium hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you back.

Turning to face him, you couldn’t help the biting tone in your voice.

“What?”

Taken back by your tone, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Did I do something wrong?” Bucky asked. “Why are you so pissed off at me?”

Attempting to pull your wrist from his grasp, you felt his grip only grow stronger.

“I’m not pissed off at you, Buck.” You huffed.

“Yeah? Then why are you trying to pull away, huh?”

At his comment, you stopped struggling in his grasp, instead turning to look up at him with your eyebrows raised. Sensing you relaxing, he slowly pulled his hand away from your arm, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Can you just tell me what’s wrong?” He asked, voice growing softer.

“Nothing’s wrong, Buck.” You sighed.

Staring at the man in front of you, a part of you just wanted to tell him- to confess to him that your feelings had crossed the line of friendship that the two of you had been wordlessly sworn to for so long.

You almost told him- the words nearly finding a way to escape from your lips as they opened.

You almost did.

Almost.

Just as you leaned into his presence, you heard another notification alert him on his phone. 

Your eyes locked and you wanted to beg him not to grab it- to plead with him to stay in the moment with you.

But as you gazed up at him, you swore you could feel your heart shatter in your chest when you watched as he slipped the phone out of his pocket, eyes leaving yours to train them on the screen once more.

Watching as he pulled his other hand out of his pocket to type on the phone in his hand, almost as if you were invisible in front of him, you bit your lip and shook your head.

“You know what, James?”

Glancing up from his device, you watched as his mouth opened, but before even a word could fumble out of his mouth, you shoved the phone back into his chest.

“I hope you're happy.”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Happiness is Everything (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This wasn’t requested; I needed to give my boy some love, and a strong bond with Hvitserk. It’s nothing but a silly comfort fic.

@geekandbooknerd​ - Thank you for beta reading this for me 💖

@zuxiezendler​ - Thank you 😉🌸 (and you know why)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Ivar doesn't want any more set-ups. Hvitserk’s stubborn girlfriend disagrees.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst due to Ivar’s temper and insecurities; an obvious lack of plot; lack of creativity; fluff+++.

Words: 2575

Stifling a hiss of pain, Ivar flops down on the couch, leaning his crutch against its armrest. 

 "Here." Hvitserk joins him, handing him a beer before gulping a long sip of his. "So, brother," Hvitserk's face is slightly crumpled as he looks at him, "There's a last-minute change." 

 With a tight-lipped expression on his face, Ivar frowns. He hates last-minute changes with a passion. "What are you talking about, Hvitserk?" He asks curtly while massaging his right thigh absently. 

 "Thora will be with us tonight." Hvitserk shrugs, his discomfort obvious. 

 "Okay." Ivar tilts his head, confused. Every Thursday night, he and his brother spend the night together. Usually at Hvitserk’s place, eating frozen pizzas – a lot of them, Hvitserk being Hvitserk. Most of the time, Thora, who enjoys spending time with her friends, leaves them alone. Sometimes she stays home though, and honestly, it's fine. The truth is, he likes Thora. She's smart and funny, and uncomplicated. Sure, he didn't warm to her right away. It took time. But now, it's okay. He probably won't say it out loud, but yeah, he likes her.

 "So…" Raising a brow, Ivar takes a sip of his beer, "It's no big deal." As Hvitserk keeps silent, Ivar scrutinizes him. His brother is clearly nervous and not at ease at all. Ivar slowly licks his lips. "What are you not telling me, brother?" He knows he's right when Hvitserk lowers his gaze.

 "Well…" Hvitserk clears his throat, "She won't be alone."

A wide-eyed look on his face, Ivar snarls, pursing his lips. "What does that mean, Hvitserk?" The icy cold tone of his voice matches his hard stare, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his hands into fists. 

 Hvitserk winces, "You know what it means, brother," before taking a seat in the armchair across from Ivar, the small coffee table between them suddenly highly appreciated. One can never be too careful when facing Ivar's anger. 

 "Are you fucking kidding me?" Clenching his jaw, Ivar bangs his fist on the table, and Hvitserk immediately leans forward, catching his brother's beer just before it falls down. 

 "I'm not, Ivar. Listen, I'm sorry but Tho–"

 Ivar cuts him off, running nervously his hands through his hair. "I can't believe it! Remember the fiasco with Thora's cousin? And then with her colleague? What was her name? Livia? Lisa? See, she didn’t even stay long enough for me to remember. Anyway, I thought I was pretty clear after that, wasn't I? Maybe you and your girlfriend should go and check your hearing, what do you think, hm, brother?" His voice dripping with sarcasm, Ivar gives Hvitserk dagger eyes, his pointer finger tapping the side of his head. "No more set-ups. That's what I said, right? Sounds pretty clear, huh? Do I need to tell it again, brother? Look at my mouth, I wouldn't want you to miss it this time,” He points to his lips then in a sarcastic manner, “No. More. Set-ups. No. More. Blind. Dates." Bottom lip quivering, Ivar, who's boiling mad, struggles to hold back his anger.

 "I know, brother…" Hvitserk swallows, rubbing his hand over his face, "but you know Thora means well, don't you? I briefly met Y/N once and honestly, she seemed nice enough. Plus, Thora's not really setting you up. We'll be together, the four of us, here, just eating pizza, it hardly counts as a date, don't you think?"

 Disgruntled, Ivar heaves an exasperated sigh, his nostrils flaring. "Stop playing dumb, Hvit, and don't tell me you've never heard of double dates!" He stares at his brother, his pupils dilated, shading his eyes darker blue. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." As he reaches for his crutch, a scowl on his face, Hvitserk stands up, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

 "Isn't that obvious?" Ivar mocks him while adjusting his legs in front of him. "I'm leaving!" Shifting his butt forward, he laces his left arm through the metal loop of his crutch, places his right hand on the coffee table, and then slowly hauls himself to his feet, grunting and swearing under his breath. He has a false start, where it seems he's going to fall right back onto the couch, but Hvitserk catches him skilfully, gripping his upper right arm. As soon as he's sure his baby brother has found his balance, Hvitserk releases his arm and Ivar gives him a tight, thank-you smile. 

 Hvitserk barely nods, as if nothing happened. And gosh, Ivar may be mad at him about this stupid set-up-non-set-up thing, but right now he's feeling mostly grateful. His brother not making a big deal out of his struggles never fails to amaze him.

With any other of his brothers, it wouldn't have been the same. 

Bjorn would have looked at him as if he were an utter failure, and then maybe helped him – out of pity, Ivar is sure of that – but not without paternally patting him on the shoulder; or even worse, on the head. The thought makes him cringe and he shakes his head, chasing it away. Bjorn is no longer around anyway, busy traveling around the world with his fourth wife. Or maybe it's the fifth? Ivar lost count a long time ago. 

 Sigurd would have kicked his crutch out from under him while Ubbe would have forced him to sit down, hovering beside him for far too long, afraid he would slip or stumble, or break a bone. Between Ubbe and Sigurd, between plague and cholera, Ivar is honestly not sure which one is better. Or worse. After all, it's all a matter of perspective. 

 Fortunately, Hvitserk – his favourite brother, and it is no coincidence – never treats him differently; never belittles him; never mothers nor smothers him. With him, Ivar feels like he's normal.

 Gratefulness flooding his mind, a pang of guilt suddenly hits him. He knows that if he leaves, he will put his brother in a difficult position. Though his resolve remains unshaken, Ivar puts a hand on his brother's shoulder, and when he speaks again, it's in a softer voice. "Listen, brother, just tell them I cancelled because I wasn't feeling well, okay?"

 Technically speaking, it's not even a lie. Today has been what his beloved mother would have called a 'bad leg day'. The pain coursing through his lower limbs worse and the muscles stiffer than usual, his right leg barely moving due to its swollen joints, he had taken a double dose of painkillers earlier, regrettably with little to no effect.

 "Well, brother," Looking out of the window, Hvitserk grimaces, an uneasy grin on the corner of his lips, "I'm afraid it's too late." 

 As if on cue, the door busts open and a girly chuckle can be heard. Ivar clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the handle of his crutch. As you and Thora take off your coats and shoes in the doorway, Hvitserk mutters, his mouth on his brother's ear, "Behave Ivar, please. For my sake." 

 Ivar snorts, exhaling deeply. "I'll try." He closes his eyes and, shaking his head, he mumbles, fighting a lump in his throat. "It's… It's not that easy. Fuck Hvitserk, you don't even know…I wish I wasn’t so angry all the time. I… I might have been happy." His voice, barely a whisper at this point, cracks at the end, and he hates himself for that.  

 Astounded, Hvitserk isn't even sure he heard right. There's no time left to ask Ivar to repeat himself though, so he somewhat haphazardly decides to comfort him, nevertheless. "You'll get there, brother." He eventually breathes, still stunned by his brother's unexpected admission.

  "We're coming!!" Unaware of the tension in the room, Thora shouts enthusiastically before crossing it in two long strides. All smiles, she joins the brothers, winking at her lover and squeezing his hand, and gives Ivar a peck on the cheek followed by a wholehearted hug. She then steps away, gesturing toward you as Hvitserk wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Ivar, this is Y/N."

 Reluctantly, Ivar looks in your direction and the moment he sets his eyes on you, his breath catches in his throat and he knows he's screwed. Already smitten. Gods, you're glowing and insanely beautiful. He barely hears Thora's next words. "And Y/N, this is Ivar, Hvitserk's little brother."

 A beaming smile on your face, you wave at him before taking two shy steps forward. "Hello, Ivar." Even your voice is wonderful, sweet, and silky, and he can't help but smile back at you, annoyed with himself for being so weak. 

 Even if he can see the sparkle in your eyes as you look at him, even if your smile is devastating, he knows better. 

 It won't last. It can't.

 For now, standing tall in his brother's living room, he's aware you surely find him attractive. With no false modesty, Ivar knows about his good looks, his huge blue eyes his greatest asset. Of course, you must have noticed the crutch, but the crutch per se is barely a turn-off. You can't see his titanium leg braces, which he stubbornly wears under his pants, even if they often bruise the thin and delicate skin of his calves. You can't see his crippling pain, his struggles. You can't see his distorted bones and his hideous legs. You can't see how disabled, how crippled he really is. But he knows that as soon as he takes a step, you'll get a small glimpse, and then the sparkle will leave your eyes, replaced at best by polite indifference, at worst by pity and disgust. 

 Yet, there's nowhere to hide from the inevitable. So, he decisively closes the gap between you and him, leaning heavily on his crutch, dragging his useless right leg behind him, and eventually standing right in front of you, he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you." His gaze never leaves your face, Ivar awaiting for you to avert your eyes, but you surprisingly don't. And as you reach out and offer him a firm handshake, your smile never falters, the sparkle still dancing in your eyes. 

 *** One year later ***

 You stir and turn toward him, your hand searching and finding his chest, and then lay your head on his shoulder. Groggy with sleep, you just mumble his name, eyes still closed, before letting out a content sigh and Ivar can't help but smile; you're so adorable.  

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, he draws you closer, running his fingers along your back and pressing his lips to your head. Rewarded by kisses in the crook of his neck, his free hand settles on your hip, your skin warm and smooth under his fingertips. "Hi," he greets you and buries his nose in your hair, deeply inhaling your scent.

 "Hi." You eventually mumble with a raspy voice, now peppering light kisses all over his broad torso. "What were you doing, my love?" Your eyes flutter open and, propping yourself up on your elbow, your other hand flat on his chest, you offer him a warm smile. There's so much love in your eyes, it takes his breath away. 

 "I was remembering." Ivar smiles fondly at you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his mouth. "Do you know what day it is?" He asks, gently kissing your knuckles one after the other. 

 "How could I have forgotten?" You scoot even closer, your breast against his chest, your mouth barely an inch from his. "Today is the anniversary of the day we met, my love. That's what you were thinking about?"

 Ivar nods before laying you down on the bed tenderly. He then sits up, running his hands through his hair. "I remember as though it were yesterday, you know? I still can't believe you didn't run away." Sitting behind him, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, trapping him in your embrace, in your love. "You stayed…", his voice trembles as he gestures to his legs, hidden under the sheets, "… you stayed in spite of… of them…" He swallows loudly and your heart aches.

 Resting your head on his left shoulder, you shake your head. "No, my love, I didn’t stay in spite of your legs, but because of them." 

 Ivar is looking downward but as soon as the words escape your lips, he snaps his head to the side, a frown flitting across his face, and gives you a confused and slightly upset look. "What do you… What do you mean?" He stammers, suddenly tense.

 Shifting in the bed, you carefully straddle him, tilting his chin with a curled finger and forcing him to meet your gaze. "Don't get me wrong, Ivar. I'm not especially attracted to your legs. It's not some kind of weird fetish. I stayed because of what is in here." You put your finger on his forehead, and then over his heart. "And here. But your legs made you who you are. And you're different. A good kind of different. You don't think like other men. That's what I love the most about you. You're unpredictable; you always surprise me. You wouldn't have been who you are without your legs." A gentle hand sliding under the sheets, your fingers graze his scarred skin. "With two working legs, who knows what you would have been. You probably would have been a presumptuous womanizer like Bjorn. Or you might have been as boring as Ubbe; as careless as Hvitserk; as annoying as Sigurd. You are who you are, infuriating, smart, and stubborn, and, I must say, breathtakingly handsome, and I love you exactly the way you are." 

 Ivar just looks at you for a long time, a small smile playing on his lips. Raising his right hand, he cups your face. "Never stop telling me you love me, Y/N. Please..." You never saw him so willingly vulnerable before, and it breaks your heart – you never want him to doubt himself – as much as it fills you with joy – he trusts you enough to share his insecurities with you. 

 You answer him without missing a beat. "I won't. I love you more than my own life. I love you bigger than the sky and its stars, I love you to the moon and back. I love you like I never thought I could. Loving you is a blessing, a precious gift, the meaning of my life. I love you and only you, Ivar Lothbrok."

 Blinking a few times, Ivar heaves a shuddering breath. Tears come to his bright blue eyes and the expression on his face is unreadable; fragile and strong all at once. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. Staring into space, he seems lost.

 Stroking his cheek, you bring him back to the here and now, back to you, kissing his earlobe, his jaw, his neck, before returning briefly to his mouth. "What is it, Ivar?"

 Your lover shrugs, "Nothing, really," and pulls you closer, his hands on your back, his breath on your face, his manly scent enticing you. "Or more accurately…", he whispers in your ear, "… Nothing, yet everything." 

 Not understanding what he's getting at, you keep quiet, just staring at him, confusion obvious in your eyes. He then offers you a mind-blowing smile, and your heart nearly jumps out through your mouth at his next words. 

 "I may be happy. Actually, I think I am."

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​ @pieces-by-me​

[prose-for-hire]

Love is all around

Pairing: Spangel x reader [Poly Spike x Angel x reader]

Request: I can’t find it but it was like one of the first requests I had on here and I never finished it because i was struggling for plot. It’s very fluffy, just a few moments of your relationship with them both !! 💖🖤

You were in love. With two people. Well, vampires. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling any time you were around them. Your relationship just worked.

Ever since Spike had returned and been subsequently corporeal again you had all felt it. Something calling within. You and Angel had already been dancing around your feelings.

You and Angel were sat watching Passions with Spike. You humoured him because you both adored the way he got so enthusiastic about it. Discussing his theories and gossiping about the characters.

He practically glowed and so you sat in on it (despite neither of you particularly enjoying it the way he did). Because you loved being with him. All three of you.

You were all sat closely on the sofa together, with you in the middle. Everyone’s eyes were cast towards the soap opera although only one of you was truly engrossed. You just enjoyed the intimacy of it. Being beside them both.

You were sat between them, their hands were interlaced and were resting on your lap. They wanted contact with you. Sometimes you slid your own hand to rest over their entwined hands. Other times you just enjoyed watching the way they clasped their hands together and rested there.

After a moment, after you heard both of their stomachs grumble but neither of them wanted move from this comfortable position you peeled yourself away from them. You offered them some blood. They nodded, grateful. You knew them as well as they knew themselves. You all did.

When you returned after bustling in the kitchen for a while, you had a tray with three mugs in your hand. Two with steaming blood and the other had your beverage of choice. You liked to join them with your own drink.

“I like mine with a bit of texture, love-” Spike reminded you as Angel started to open his mouth to remind you of what he usually drank and you rolled your eyes at them both.

“I know, Weetabix for you, cinnamon for you - it’s as if we’re not together or something” You teased as you set down their respective mugs in front of where they were sat.

You set the mugs down on the coffee table and shook your head with a smile. Angel moved to scoop you up and pull you into them, back onto the sofa. They completely adored you. They both pressed kisses against your skin as you laughed and settled back in between them. Spike then went back to being engrossed with the show.

After a while, you yawned softly and Angel set his mug down. A hand caressing you softly, encouraging you to lean into him. After a while of resting softly against him, you slid into Angel’s lap. He pulled you into his chest and you curled up as the buzzing continued.

You nestled into the crook of his neck as his strong hand held you into him. Allowing you to get comfortable and melt into his chest.

Neither of you had realised, but his whispered encouragement and your shifting was distracting from the show. Spike had began to huff because neither of you are paying enough attention to the show. He had sulkily sat on the far edge of the sofa from the both of you.

You nestle further into Angel’s chest and close your eyes. You had become really sleepy. Spike glanced sideways at you, pausing to appreciate how sweet the picture was. How much he loved you both.

But he was stubborn. And so he exhaled audibly through his nose. Angel looked over to him, realising what was happening. You hadn’t been paying the show, and by extension him, enough attention.

Angel gestures his head as if to say come here to him. With a small smile tugging at his lips at your boyfriend’s nature. Spike turned back to the screen, his stubborn nature shining through. Of course he wanted to cuddle into you but you had dared speak during his show so he had to make his point.

You open your eyes sensing that you were missing something. You saw Spike’s slight pout and the way he was glancing sideways to check that you were both paying attention.

You join Angel in the “come here” look. Knowing that only the two of you could make him break from his stubborn nature. You knew how much the show meant to him, you hadn’t interrupted on purpose. And he knew this.

Spike rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and shifted back over to sit closer to you both again. Angel caught him in a kiss, his hand snaking around the base of his skull and pulling him close. Spike moved, his hand moving up your thigh for further purchase against Angel’s lips. You smiled sleepily. You couldn’t help be anything except content when you

You shared clothing a lot. You often loaned each other their stuff so much that nobody knows who has what at any given time. Sometimes when one of you ‘borrowed’ the others stuff you forgot to tell the owner of the item.

There was this red shirt. One that was Angel’s but Spike frequently insisted was his. In fact, you tended to steal it the most which is why you were often suspect number one.

Angel emerged from the bedroom topless, a light frown on his face. He swore he had set that shirt down in his drawer.

Both you and Spike shared a smug look and completely forgot what you had been watching. Your eyes followed his athletic form approvingly as he looked around the room for what he was missing. Your eyes managed to break away from his chest when you heard his audible irritation. He was now checking under the couch cushions and sighing.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You cooed contently as Spike ran a hand through your hair, eventually resting on your shoulder, hugging you against him. Angel looked back at you both, his eyes narrowing on you both.

“Yeah, Peaches, your face looks like a slapped-”

“My shirt – the red one. Where is it, huh?” He asked, tone accusatory. He knew one of you had it. Hidden away so you could wear it later.

“You have lots of shirts, we can’t keep track of them all…”

“You know the one”

You and Spike had to try and hide your smiles as he stared hard between you. But neither of you budged.

“Maybe you could wear a different one? Do you really need it?” You asked softly. He rolled his eyes, knowing what was going to come along with his next admittance.

“It’s lucky”

“You’re bloody kidding!” Spike sniggered at his admittance which earned him a warning look.

“You have a lucky shirt?” You asked at the same time, which earned you the same look.

“Yeah, so hand it over” He said, his tone was softer than he intended. He wasn’t angry though, he just wanted the shirt. Neither you or Spike moved he groaned and went to find some alternative to wear.

This carried on for a week. He almost upturned the entire apartment looking for it. You and Spike kept hiding it in each other’s stuff in case Angel found it and so he would blame the other. It turned into a bit of a game, which made you and Spike become giddy and silly with it.

Angel loved seeing you both wearing his clothes. In fact he encouraged it. But he really did want the shirt back – just for this meeting he had to hold next Friday.

You walked through the door one morning to find Spike and Angel sat at the kitchen table, with a plastic box between them.

You gave them a confused look as they both looked up, offering you a smile. They were pleased you were home. Their faces always lit up when you came through the door. They just couldn’t help it.

At your confused look, Angel explained. Spike rolled his eyes playfully as he had already heard Angel’s proposition.

“Amnesty box, Fred’s idea. Whoever took it, just leave it in the box and we won’t mention it” Angel looked between you both with a little squint before he tapped the box again.

You and Spike shared a mischievous look. Angel sighed, he was never getting that shirt back. He walked away, shaking his head with you and Spike trailing after him trying to entice him into bed with the promise of lots of love to put him in a better mood.

In fact, the next morning when he checked in the box he was surprised. There was the red shirt waiting for him. Along with several pairs of pants, some t-shirts and a leather jacket that he thought he had lost a really long time ago.

Often, one of you was out while the others slipped into bed. Tonight, you and Spike had been snuggling up under the covers while your love had left briefly for the evening.

Angel went out on a quick run to the butcher’s to re-stock the blood fridge. Angel and his newfound money had invested in a separate fridge for blood and human food. So nobody got mixed up with unlabelled jars (it had happened before).

He landed a few soft kisses against your neck before he lay back, flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers entwining, the way you usually would.

He furrowed his brow though, trying to hide the way he worried when one of you left the house alone after dark. There was always a threat there. Waiting around the corner for one of you. You propped yourself up on your side. Your hand cupping his face soothingly which made him glance towards you.

“Love?” He asked, eyebrow raised at your little look of concern for him. Your mood was affected by his, just like it was by Angel’s.

“He’ll be back soon” You assured him and he glanced away from your face for a moment. He struggled to express his emotions often. He preferred to write it down, which he had began doing again since you all found each other again.

He cared so deeply and worried about Angel despite both of you knowing how strong and how much of a good fighter he was. When one was away you always worried. People targeted you all the time and you being human, they had to protect you the most. Those that wanted to take over the world wanted to break you up. Tear you from each other.

But that would never happen. You swore it.

Neither of you would be able to sleep until he returned home. He had insisted for you not to wait up, but you couldn’t help it. You leaned in, pressing your lips against his furrowed brow. Your kiss soothing him. He ran his hand up your back, pulling you closer. His firm grip making sure you weren’t leaving too. His furrow lessened with those sweet kisses that made a little smile quirk on your lips.

You both nestled together, wrapping your arms around each other and holding the other close. You whispered to each other, discussing your days. Keeping your mind off your concern about Angel. You knew he would be back. You knew he would always come home to you both, but you couldn’t help missing him.

When Angel came back home and slid into bed and both you and Spike released a breath of relief. Spike’s unneeded, but wholly necessary. You all just felt so complete when you were together. His body pressing flush against your back as if he needed to feel you both against him.

His hand reached for Spike through the dark. The blonde vampire slid his hand along your side before reaching to move up Angel’s arm. Resting against his bicep, his thumb caressing his skin.

You were sandwiched between them. Happily pressed between your favourite people in the entire world. You snuggled into them both, all of you settling into a comfortable position.

None of you could hide your smiles. The way you vibrated with such love. Care. When you were together. There was just something about lying here this way. Being together, no matter any petty squabbling your relationship was everything.

[sungodlywriting]

snow sight

1.5k words

SFW, minors can interact

philza fluff

self hate, reader feeling like/describing themselves as a burden, description of eye pain (in the form of snow blindness)

A voice called your name. You barely heard, continuing to build the wall along your automatic farm project. You’d been out in the tundra all day, waking up extra early with the new build lighting up your mind from the moment you opened your eyes.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your muscles, the cold from the snow and the heat from your heavy winter clothes mixing in a horrific clash of senses. You’d had a headache for Gods knew how long, your vision had begun to blur as the sun’s glare off the snow reflected into your eyes.

A voice called your name, accompanied this time by a hand on your shoulder. You startled from the sudden contact, looking up into the eyes of your boyfriend. He was blurry at first, the stinging pain in your eyes coming into your consciousness full force as Phil pulled you from your hyperfixation.

“Hey babe..” You smiled, putting the spruce planks you’d been using back into your inventory. Your grip shook as you tried to unblur your sight, finally sliding the stack of planks into an empty spot. You saw Phil frown, knowing he was taking in your lack of goggles or your regular winter gloves.

“You didn’t come in for lunch, it’s almost sunset.” Phil gently fit your goggles over your head, placing the item over your eyes. Almost immediately, the stinging sensation from the snow’s reflection died down, becoming an annoying memory as Phil pulled you to stand.

Almost sunset? You had no idea you’d been out so long, your farm project stealing your sense of time right out from under your feet. You gave him a shrug and a lopsided smile.

“I didn’t have breakfast either, so..” Your joking tone died at the sight of his disapproving frown only getting worse, his gloved hand finding your freezing fingers and locking them with his own, turning back towards his cabin.

“Alright, that’s it, inside time,” You whined and made no move to pull your hand away from his, kicking through the snow like it had personally wronged you. 

“Phiiiilll…. I was almost done!”

“Nope, inside time.” You knew he would probably just carry you if you resisted, and a bit of rest for your eyes did actually sound great.

Once inside the cabin he sat you down on his crafting table, rolling his eyes at the playful grin you gave him at his choice of resting spot.

You didn’t remove your goggles, enjoying the shaded view they cast over your vision. Phil returned a few moments later with a water flask, a swirling pink potion, and a plate of still warm food. Your stomach let out a fierce grumble, heat rising to your cheeks as Phil gave you another of his disapproving frowns. He was good at that, speaking entire conversations with a single expression.

He set the food and water aside, fitting himself between your legs and reaching to remove your goggles. 

As he pulled the item off your face, you noted that your vision had cleared up a little already, and that most of the cabin’s windows had been shut, leaving the slivers of dying sun that slipped through the gaps in the shades and the warm glowing light of nearby lanterns.

Phil gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head side to side as he inspected your face.

“Snow blindness.” His tone dripped with worry and the ever present tinge of dismay he held when you weren’t taking care of yourself. You gave him a soft shrug, unable to tear your eyes away from the glittering lapis blue your boyfriend held in his gaze.

“I didn’t even think about bringing these..” You gently flicked your goggles from where they sat. “I was too excited.”

“I know.” His tone shifted into something softer, gentle and loving as he offered you the regen pot. You took it, shaking it gently in your hand and watching the contents swirl faster as you avoided the bitter taste you knew filled the bottle.

Phil watched with a playful smile, thumb rubbing over your cheek. “It’s not going to fix you up if all you do is stare at it.” You pouted at him, leaning into his gentle hold on your face.

“It tastes so bad, babe. Don’t make me..” You gave him your best puppy eyes, stopping after only a few moments at the still persistent sting. Annoyed at the pain, you took a deep breath and took a swig out of the bottle, your face twisting as the bitter liquid slid down your throat.

You made a noise of distaste, handing the bottle back to Phil with another pout. “There, tyrant, are you happy?”

Phil shook his head and set the bottle aside, chuckling softly at your antics as he offered you the water flask.

“I’m going to put the rest of this away,” He picked up the half empty potion bottle. “And that is half full. I want it empty by the time I get back.” He stepped away, walking through the door onto the shared bridge of you and Techno’s homes.

You stared balefully at the water flask, feeling your mood sink. You weren’t upset with Phil, not by any stretch of the imagination, more so that you’d gotten to the point where you were making him care for you, burdening him with your lack of self care.

You unscrewed the lid of Phil’s flask, taking a drink of water tainted bittersweet by your emotions.

By the time Phil returned you’d drained the water, flask set to the side while you pitifully picked at the plate of food he had given you several minutes ago. Your emotions had only continued to spiral in his absence, a dark pit filling up your stomach

“What’s wrong?” He was always so attuned to how you felt.

“Nothing..” You stuffed your mouth with a large bite, head drooped as if you could avoid the way Phil turned to face you. He spoke your name quietly, resting his hands on your thighs when he was close enough to touch you.

“I’m sorry.. I feel like such a burden on you.” You spoke truthfully, feeling a tingling in your eyes that had nothing to do with the regen potion’s effects. “You’re here, taking care of me because I was too useless to do it myself, and I pushed away my health and got too excited about my project and I-” You felt guilt and self hate overwhelm you, tears starting to drip from your eyes as you dropped your chin against your chest, not wanting Phil to see you cry.

“I don’t even know why I feel like this all of a sudden. It’s so stupid.” You felt ridiculous, whimpering like a little kid over your ridiculous emotions.

“Oh, songbird..” Phil cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. With gentle thumbs he wiped your tears away, unbothered by the fresh flood that came dripping onto his hands. “You’re not a burden, sweet thing. I’m taking care of you because I want to. I like looking after you, it makes me feel good to know I can help you. Knowing you trust me enough to let your guard down and let me take care of you is one of the best feelings in the world, love.” You sniffled and closed your eyes, your head leaning into one of his palms. “And you might feel like this because you’ve been pushing yourself to the bone all day, with no food or water, and probably not a lot of sleep last night.” He was right, as always. You’d spent most of the night thinking about fun ways to upgrade the efficiency of your farm, and once you’d finally gone to sleep you’d woken up early anyway to get to work. You nodded against his touch, pressing a teary kiss against his wrist and muttering a quiet apology. You felt silly now, having let your emotions get the better of you and make you make a fool of yourself in front of your boyfriend.

Phil gently shushed your apology and put your picked-at plate aside, effortlessly lifting you up into his arms. You tucked yourself closer against his chest and felt plenty of the stress you were weighing on yourself disappear as Phil walked the two of you towards the bedroom. He set you on the bed, disappearing for only a few seconds to grab your plate and set it on the nightstand. You kicked off your shoes as Phil stoked the fire in your bedroom, tossing your pajamas on the bed next to you. 

Less than five minutes later you were both tucked into bed, Phil’s arm wrapped snugly around your shoulders as you finished up the food he’d made for you.

When your plate was clean Phil kissed your forehead, keeping you close as you both laid down and extinguished the lanterns. The crackling fire across the room was still giving some light, the heat it was providing kept the two of you comfortable as you dozed off in each other’s embrace. After the day you had, you could really use some rest.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Arcade - Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆  Just a silly thing I wrote about an arcade employee being baffled while Komaeda clears out all the machines lol ミ☆ I’ve been feeling kind of down about my writing so i just wanted to do something fun. It’s not very good haha. I’m tired and i can’t write good asjfkakd

Night shift at the arcade is usually pretty quiet. Most people start leaving around dinner time and while there are usually still some hardcore gamers lurking around until the AM, most of them only come in on Friday’s or weekends. So the job is usually easy breezy, most nights you lean up on the counter and browse the internet on your phone until your shift ends.

Tonight though, you have been acutely watching as this guy moves from machine to machine. Absolutely clearing them out. You’ve never seen anything like it. Presently, you are crouched behind a claw machine filled with Hello Kitty plushies as this guy slips two bucks into the Big Bass Wheel cabinet. Your eyes drift over to the last cabinet he used, the Wizard of Oz coin pusher. It is empty , you have never seen that happen in the whole time you’ve worked here. You weren’t even sure it could happen.

The guy spins the wheel, it spins and spins and spins. Jackpot. Your eyes narrow, a jackpot isn’t too uncommon, it honestly isn’t even worth that many tickets, but then he nonchalantly slides in another two dollars and hits jackpot again . This is starting to get suspicious.

The machine is spitting out tickets now, so many tickets. Even the guy looks surprised, you are definitely surprised. Two jackpots is not worth that many tickets, but they just keep coming and coming. Machine fault? Must be. The guy looks almost resigned at this point, sighing unhappily as the tickets keep spewing out, like they’re wasting his time and not like this was a superhuman feat of luck. Then, the machine starts smoking.

“Shit!” You hiss, jumping up from your hiding place behind the claw machine and dashing over to the guy before anything catches on fire. You’ve caught him by surprise, he probably didn’t realise you were following him around, “out of the way, please!”

He ducks out of the way, pulling his armfuls worth of tickets along with him as you switch the arcade cabinet off at the wall. The machinery inside stops whirring and the smoke calms down. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, you’ve never seen a machine fault this badly before, you were probably going to need to file an indecent report. What a pain.

“You okay?” You ask the guy. He is a lot taller up close, and the shock of messy white hair on his head only makes him seem taller. He sways like a palm tree in the breeze, clutching onto his massive wad of tickets for dear life.

“I’m sorry. I broke your machine.”

Oh...his voice is softer than you had expected it would be. The lights from a nearby Daytona cabinet are reflecting in his green eyes. You swallow, “You didn't break anything, machine fault, it happens sometimes.”

His eyes drift away from you and over to the cabinet, the smoke has stopped now, it doesn't look like there was too much damage, but he looks very upset about it anyway.

“Hey, seriously, dont worry about it.” You give him an awkward pat on his forearm, “The machines in here are really old, stuff like this happens all the time.”

“Oh...ah…” He bites his lip, “If you’re sure…”

You smile, “Yeah, don't even sweat it. You can keep the tickets by the way, once they're out of the machine it's a nightmare to get them back in again, so consider it an apology for almost setting you on fire.”

He laughs weakly, “Thank you.”

“Hey, uh…” You start, not so subtle eyeing his ticket collection. A decent chunk of it was from that Big Bass Wheel malfunction, an already exorbitant number was won legit. More than you had ever seen anyone win before, “are you a cabinet master?”

“A...what?”

“Like, you know all the sweet spots on the machines. Technically not cheating, but not entirely legal either.”

His eyes widen, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You shake your head at him, “You just won a lot of tickets is all. I’ve never seen someone win that many tickets.”

“I’m just really lucky. It’s all i'm good at, honestly.” He’s fiddling with the tickets in his arms, “My friend’s birthday is coming up and i'm trying to win her that Sailor Moon statue.”

It is true that there is a coveted Sailor Moon statue amongst the arcade’s prize collection. It’s huge, beautifully painted and according to your boss, incredibly rare . It’s been sitting there on the shelf for god knows how long, still tight in it’s shrinkwrap. Generally the most any player is able to afford is three or four sticky hands and a glow in the dark spider ring, but this guy is getting tantalisingly close.

You cross your arms and smirk at him, “You’re really that lucky?”

“Most of the time.”

“Okay then. You’re going to play Monster Drop next, it's the hardest cabinet we have.” You start heading over to the machine in the back of the arcade, it’s huge, you always forget how huge it is. The guy is diligently following behind you, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself seem smaller. The pile of tickets in his arms rustling as he walks, “I’ve never seen anyone get a monster jackpot on this thing. Also my boss filled it with a bunch of different sized balls, so it's basically impossible to get a standard jackpot too, even after practicing at other arcades.”

“Hm. Is that really fair?”

You shrug a shoulder, “Nope. It’s big and loud, so lots of people want to play it and Boss doesn't want too many people winning. there's a catch though, raise the difficulty and you also raise the ticket payout. So if you manage to beat it, you'll be able to afford Sailor Moon.”

The current ticket payout is displayed in flashing red lights, 72,483 . With every failed attempt at hitting the monster jackpot the payout just gets higher and higher, those tantalising numbers draw in more kids hoping to be the one who gets lucky. A number that big means the cabinet has never been won, a smart arcade goer knows that a number like that means stay away.

“How do I play?” He asks, dropping his ticket collection on the ground at his feet.

“Ah, it’s deceptively simple.” You grab his hand and tug him over to the machine, gesturing up at where the balls drop down from, “You just need to press the button to let out a ball, and that’s literally it. The base of the machine spins around to make it harder to get the balls in. Monster jackpot is in the middle, so you would think a straight drop down would jackpot you every time but-”

He smirks wryly, “it’s never that easy is it?”

“Of course not! We’d never make any money if it was.”

He laughs to himself, pulling another coin out of his pocket and clinking it into the machine, “Ah, only one turn?”

You hold up a finger, “Just the one.”

He laughs again, “Brutal.”

“Very.” You take a step back to give him room to familiarise himself with the machine. Most people like to observe it from a few angles, take some time, watch at least one cycle before using up their one shot, “Good luck.”

He turns to you and smiles, “Thanks, but like i said, this is the one thing i'm good at.” He pushes the button, he isn't even looking at the machine, the rotating base hasn't even finished half a cycle. This guy is ballsy.

Despite his gumption, the ball falls a little short of the monster jackpot, “Aw, bad luck-” you start saying, but then it starts bouncing. Once off the base, three times off the sides, up high into the air and then plonk . Straight into the monster jackpot. All you can do is stare. Not only did he get the jackpot, he got it in a rigged machine while he wasn't even looking .

He laughs politely, the sound barely audible of the cabinet’s furious ringing bells and sirens signalling an impossible feat just happened here, everyone look! The tickets have started dispensing, with over 70k to print, it's going to be a long wait, “Jeez, that was scary. I almost thought my luck had run out there!”

He looks completely relaxed as he starts folding the fresh tickets into the neatest pile he can manage, “Are you a god or something?”

“Huh?” He says, blinking down at you, “That’s such a strange thing to ask me.”

“You just beat Monster Drop without looking . I’ve seen professional cabinet masters come in here and still lose after examining the machine for a good two hours!”

“Oh, no need to be impressed. I didn't actually do anything.” He smiles sadly and continues collecting his tickets, “It’s not really much of a talent, but i suppose it comes in handy sometimes.”

You clap a palm to your forehead, unable to believe what you are hearing, “You’re going to have enough tickets for the Sailor Moon statue and enough leftover for like...unlimited sticky hands.”

He taps a finger to his lips, “Oh! I would like some sticky hands.”

“How many?”

His brow creases as he considers it, “Three or four, i guess.”

“Three or-” you start laughing, “Buddy, i could pour the whole box into your bag if you wanted.”

“I don't think i need that many sticky hands, but it's very kind of you to offer.”

“We also have glow in the dark spider rings, and a robust selection of slinkies. Oh! If you really want to splurge we have a pair of slippers that resemble a character from Rick and Morty.”

He grimaces, “I would prefer the slinkies.”

You hear the arcade cabinet’s ticket dispenser finally come to a stop, and despite his good natured effort to collect the tickets in a neat pile, they are still all bunched up around his ankles. You are about to ask him another question when you quickly realise that the Monster Drop machine is now also smoking.

He sighs, “I should have known.”

You don't have time to look into that comment, you are too busy scrambling around to the back of the machine so you can turn the power off at the wall. Much like last time, you catch it before anything actually catches on fire. This has been a very eventful day.

“Hey, uh-” you start awkwardly, pulling yourself up from the ground and moving to help the guy contend with his ticket pile, “I finish in like half an hour...if you need help carrying your miscellaneous arcade prizes back to your car or whatever…”

He blinks at you as you both reach the prize counter and deposit the monstrous ticket collection onto the bench, “I should be okay on my own...but if you want to come I wouldn't mind, though I can’t guarantee I won’t set anything else on fire…” he chuckles nervously and you give him a quizzical look.

You do want to go with him, you aren't sure if it’s just a morbid curiosity about his luck with the arcade machines, or a fascination with the soft halo of white hair falling into his eyes, but you want to get to know him better, “I’ll come with you. You don’t have anywhere near enough fingers for all the glow in the dark spider rings I’m about to give you.” You say as you round the counter and start organising his tickets into more manageable piles.

He smiles, “that does sound like a good idea. I don’t want to drop any of my brand new sticky hands, after all.” He leans forward on the counter, blinking up at you. He’s got really pretty eyelashes, “I’m Nagito Komaeda, in case you were wondering.”

You laugh, “Nice to meet you, Nagito. Now give me 20 minutes to count all your damn tickets.”

[restlessfandoming]

“the president and the troublemaker” (part 10) (chilumi fic)

“Lumine is the student council president and Childe is the school’s number one troublemaker. They cross paths more than they’d like. Especially when Childe finds out Lumine’s big secret. Highschool AU à la Kaichou wa Maid-sama.”

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9]

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link] // [Main AO3]

the president and the troublemaker (part 10)

Lumine should have known the instant she saw those blue highlights and mischievous grin that the new student was going to be trouble. Not as much as a certain ginger, but trouble nonetheless.  

He was playing his ukulele and singing about himself as his introduction, and the teacher wasn’t even stopping him. It didn’t help that their classmates were encouraging him with their words of praise and loud cheers. 

Lumine stood from her seat. “Great introduction—Venti, was it?” she said, keeping her voice as cordial as possible. “But we don’t allow personal instruments during class time. You can put it away in your locker later.” 

Venti’s face scrunched up sheepishly. “Ehe, sorry.” He tilted his head at her. “Wait, who are you?”

Lumine gave a polite smile. “I’m your student council president.” 

Venti shrugged. “Oh, okay,” he said. He turned to the rest of the class. “Sorry, looks like I’ll just have to play for you guys later.” 

There were utterances of disappointment as the new student sat in his seat, and Lumine sighed. “Rules are rules,” Lumine said to the class. 

Within the next few hours, as she led him through a tour of the school, she realized that everyone who met him, instantly liked him. Lumine had no idea what it was. Perhaps it was his cheerful and carefree disposition, kind with some sass—and of course his constant playing of his instrument as they roamed the halls. 

“Could you stop playing your ukulele, Venti? I’m afraid it’s a bit distracting to the other students who are in class,” Lumine said. It was the fifth time she had asked.

“I think we would all be better off with some light music in our lives, don’t you think, Madame President?” Venti replied with a light giggle. 

A tiny group of students had gathered around the two of them, and Venti happily played for the crowd. Lumine sighed, as it meant they would have to stop their tour again. 

“Oh, hi, Lumine!” Xiangling said, approaching from the crowd. “What’s going on?”

Lumine leaned against the wall. “New student causing a scene. He keeps playing his little ukulele, even though I’ve told him to put it away. Many times.”

Xiangling closed her eyes and listened for a second. “Wow, he’s pretty good!” 

“Not helping,” Lumine said as she rubbed her forehead.

“Where’s he from?” the chef asked. 

“Not sure,” the blonde answered. She turned to the new student, in attempts to stop him from playing, and asked, “Where did you say you were from again, Venti?” 

Miraculously, the bard stopped his music. “From the outskirts of Mondstadt! The countryside,” he answered with a smile.

“Ooo,” Xiangling uttered excitedly. “Why’d you decide to come here, to the city?” 

An even brighter smile. “Well, I actually lived here a long, long time ago, but I had to leave because a family member of mine got really sick. He passed away recently.” 

The whole hallway stilled, the mood expectantly dampened as Venti shared his past. 

However, his expression never changed; he kept smiling, blue highlights glowing in the sunlight. “And now, I’m back here to find my first love!” 

Everyone blinked at Venti for a second. Then, the crowd erupted into swoons and whoops as questions upon questions were thrown at him: What’s her name? How did you two meet? Where is she now? Is she cute?

“She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen!” Venti gushed. “She was always so kind to me, even when others bullied me. Oh, and she always made me the most delicious grape juice ever!” He perked up. “She knew I really loved grape juice.” 

“How romantic!” Xiangling squealed. (Well, of course; her love language is food, Lumine thought.) “But how do you know if she’s still here or not?” 

“Right,” Lumine agreed. How could he be so tiringly optimistic? “What if she moved away while you were gone?” 

Venti thought for a second, before shaking his head. An endearing fondness washed over his face. “Then I’ll just keep searching.” 

His teal eyes met Lumine’s. He gave her a smile, one not as cheeky as before—softer, more bashful. “After all,” he said, “I promised Lumine I’d always come back for her.” 

…

???

LUMINE?!

Lumine. 

As in me?!

She felt like she had been tasered right in the chest, her whole body locking up as eyes shifted towards her, whispers breaking out in the crowd—“But isn’t that…?” 

Venti, his head in a world of its own, nearly skipped down the hallway, humming to himself, oblivious of the reactions around him. 

“I wonder if she’ll hear me if I sing loud enough?” he wondered aloud as everyone saw him head outside. The gathering of students all followed him out the door.

Xiangling looked at the president, still frozen, with wide eyes. “Uhm, Lumi? Are you okay?” 

Lumine nodded stiffly, her head reeling as she searched her memories for anyone who looked like Venti. 

“Is that true?” her blue-haired friend asked. “What Venti said? About you...being his first love?”

Then it hit her. 

Lumine and Aether did play with a kid named Venti all the time as children. They played pretend as princesses and knights and dragons; the twins would giggle and laugh at Venti’s silly songs all the time; and Lumine would peel grapes and mash them up with sugar for everyone at the end of a long day of running around. It was a child’s simple recipe for “grape juice,” but Venti genuinely thought it was the greatest drink in the world. 

She would even scare off his (and Aether’s) bullies. Venti’s family wasn’t around much, so she took it upon herself to look after him: making sure he did his work, tending to his injuries, cheering him up when he cried. 

It felt like an eternity ago, those memories of happier, more innocent times. 

Lumine’s hand flew to her head, slowly pushing back her blonde bangs as the realization dawned on her. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “Tone-deaf bard,” she said, her old nickname for him ghosting off her lips. “I-I knew him. Me and Aether, we used to play with him all the time.”

Xiangling’s eyes grew wider, if possible. “It’s true,” she whisper-yelled. “You are his first love!” she yelled, louder. 

The two stopped their conversation as they heard loud singing coming through the window. They peered outside, where Venti had climbed the tallest tree in the courtyard, and was serenading out to the entire school. 

Lumine’s jaw dropped, and she quickly ran out the door as well, Xiangling hot on her tail. “That idiot! He’s going to fall!” 

She made it to the foot of the tree, where she now clearly heard Venti shouting, “LuLu~! Where are you~?” 

LuLu…

That was definitely him. Venti was the only one who ever called her that nickname. 

“Venti! Get down here right now before you fall!” Lumine shouted up at him. 

He stuck his tongue out at her, and strummed his ukulele. 

As he started singing, drowning out Lumine’s demands for him to come down, Lumine felt the familiar irritation she felt so long ago, when she had to care take of him, despite all the stupid decisions he made. 

She grit her teeth. “Get down here right now, you tone-deaf bard!”

Venti stopped strumming, his head snapping to where Lumine stood. 

There was a brief moment of silence. Then, he jumped down. 

Lumine felt all the air rush out of her lungs as she gasped in shock, her feet carrying her to catch him before her brain could even think about it.

But as he fell, Venti tucked and rolled, gracefully landing on the ground, standing up straight in front of Lumine. 

“You,” he said, his tone the most serious it had been all day. “What’s your name?”

“Lumine,” she answered. She quickly added, “But I’m really different now; I’m not like I was back then—”

Venti leapt on her, arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. His ukulele was even forgotten, dropped on the floor nearby. 

“LuLu!” he cheered breathlessly. He spun her around, breaking into giggles. “I’m finally home!” 

As the students around them broke into outbursts of shocked gasps and encouraging cheers, Lumine glanced at them, awkwardly patting Venti on the back. The bard was oblivious to her stiffness, ignorant of the craze he had just caused, the consequences that would follow his little public confession. 

Lumine could only imagine it now, all the gossip and questioning that would surround her within days, hours even. 

Please let this blow over quickly. 

* * *

“Venti…,” Childe muttered. At least he had a name for the little twerp. 

His posture slouched as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, dark eyes watching the scene unravel below with Lumine and the new kid. It was his first day, and yet, he was already causing a wave of news around the school. 

From the open window he stood by, Childe had heard everything. Venti was a childhood friend from Lumine’s past, and he had returned to her because she was his first love. 

To everyone else, this new student was an immediate favorite. Childe, on the other hand, felt acid pulse through his veins as Venti called out Lumine’s name, and he nearly jumped out the window when the two were embracing. 

Venti definitely wasn’t a fighter, right? It would be so easy to dispose of him—

Childe let out a sharp sigh, running a hand through his hair. 

What was this? Why was he feeling threatened by this new kid?

“Wouldn’t it be much easier for you to make it official?” someone said next to Childe. Looking to his right, his eyes met Albedo’s.

“You and the President, I mean,” Albedo continued, his piercing blue eyes trailing down to the courtyard. 

“Astute observations as always, Albedo,” Childe said. “What do you know about me and the Pres?” 

“I know that what the President told me was a lie,” the scientist answered. “There is definitely a sort of romantic chemistry between the two of you.”

“Oh? How do you figure?”

Albedo loosely crossed his arms. “I specialize in observations. Stolen glances, affirmative body language, rising body temperatures—habits indicative of romantic interest. For the two of you, it’s mutual.” He paused. “I don’t plan on telling anyone. I’ve kept it to myself, if you were wondering.” 

“Don’t scientists share their findings with the world?”

“I’m more interested...personally. I’d like to see how it plays out.” His blonde head tilted slightly. “Though, why you two haven’t started dating baffles me.” 

A tiny scoff escaped Childe’s lips. “Why’s that?” 

Albedo put his hand to his chin, thinking. “It would surely benefit the both of you. You would stop receiving those weekly confessions from every girl in school, and the President wouldn’t have to continue her tiring charade of acting like she doesn’t know you. It looks painful for you both.” Below, there were cheers from the students surrounding Lumine and Venti. “And you wouldn’t have to be silently fuming from up here while the President is being reintroduced to, quite possibly, her first love as well,” he added. 

Childe clenched his jaw. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. 

He started walking to the stairs without a second thought. 

“Interesting observations, Albedo,” he said as he walked away. “Do me a favor and use those skills of yours to find out anything about Venti for me.” 

He left the scientist mulling over his request while he headed straight to the courtyard. 

* * *

Lumine had managed to shoo the gathering of students back into their classrooms without too much of a fuss; Venti was a lot harder to get rid of, however, as he was currently glued to her side, his arm linked with hers. 

“Okay, Venti, it was nice catching up, but you have to go to class now,” Lumine said as they walked down the hallway. 

“Just like old times! You’re still trying to get me to be more responsible.” 

“And just like old times, it doesn’t work.” She unhooked her arm from his, putting her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Venti. You need to go to class. I’m not saying this as your friend; I am saying this as your student council President.”

“Aw, I forgot how scary you could be, LuLu,” he responded sheepishly. “Hey, what do you say we go to that old café by your house? Do you still live there?” 

Lumine rubbed at her temples as she rounded the corner. Thankfully, Venti’s classroom is closeby.

She stopped in her tracks when she looked up and saw Childe there, leaning against the wall as if he had been waiting there for her. 

“Ah, so you are alive, Pres,” Childe said. “I was beginning to think you were dead. Or were you just ignoring me?” 

Lumine gnawed on the side of her cheek. Of course he would show up right now.

“It’s a busy time for the student council. We’re planning our class trip,” she replied curtly. 

“LuLu, is this one of your friends?” Venti asked, teal eyes lighting up. He held out his hand. “I’m Venti! How do you do?”

“This is Childe,” Lumine interjected, gently pushing the bard’s extended hand down. “He’s a delinquent. Don’t associate with him.” 

The delinquent in question gave her a strained smile. “Ouch. I’d say my ways are quite reformed now, don’t you think?” He peeled off the wall, coming a bit closer—completely ignoring Venti. He continued, “In fact, I’ve saved you a few times, haven’t I?” He flashed a grin of faux-innocence. 

What was he doing? Was he really about to reveal all their secrets in front of Venti? 

“Venti, go to your class. I’ve got to deal with Childe,” Lumine said, desperate to get her old friend out of there. When Venti started to protest, she clenched her teeth. “Now.”

Venti let out a shaky laugh, his eyes shifting from Childe and Lumine, then disappeared into a nearby classroom. Childe’s eyes seemed aflame as he tracked Venti leaving. 

Lumine let out a heavy sigh. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you want the entire school to know about us?!”

A smirk. “There’s an ‘us?’”

Now Lumine’s face completely burned. “Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been coming to training, but I really have been busy with the student council.” 

Childe didn’t respond, and just stared at her. “Who is he to you?” 

“...Who? Venti?” She pursed her lips. “He’s a childhood friend. We used to be close, I guess. But I haven’t talked to him in years.” 

“Did you ever love him?” 

“Wh-What kind of question is that?” Lumine sputtered. 

Childe pressed in closer. “Just answer the question, Lumine.” 

She took a step back. We’re at school, idiot! If a student decided to walk out of a classroom at that very moment, their secret would be out. 

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I honestly can’t remember that much right now.” 

Childe’s lips tilted into a frown. “That just won’t do, Pres.” His voice had lowered. “Aren’t you going to save me?” 

Lumine’s heart rate sped up as she recalled the two of them, on the beach, whispering promises to save one another. 

“Save you from what? Be serious, Childe,” she said, annoyed. 

“Loneliness.” He flashed a quick smile. “Let’s go on a date.” 

Lumine stumbled back from Childe as if she had been electrocuted. “I-I don’t have time for this right now.” She turned on her heel, stomping away. “Go back to class!” 

She finally relaxed when she found an empty classroom to clear her head. Thankfully, Childe hadn’t followed her. 

He liked her. She liked him. So why am I still being like this?

Even with her limited knowledge of romance, she knew the next logical step would be for them to start dating, right? 

The prospect made her antsy. 

It was a complete unknown. There were too many ways it could go wrong, too many ways it could end in pain and ruin everything. To chalk it up, she was scared. 

She and her family had been absolutely heartbroken when her father had left. She witnessed firsthand what a broken relationship could cause, the damage it did to everyone involved. 

And yet, knowing all this, having all her fears festering within, she still insisted on seeing him. Childe. 

He made her feel normal, even with her secrets. He made her feel welcomed and safe. So she didn’t push him away. She wanted to stay with him. 

DING!

Lumine jolted from her thoughts, and pulled out her phone to check. It was the student council group chat, all wondering where she was, needing her to be present for another meeting about the upcoming class trip to Liyue. 

She sighed, pocketing the phone, quickly making her way to the council room.

I don’t have time to think about that stuff right now, she thought with a frown. 

Just get through the class trip, and then I can worry about that later.

Lumine glanced outside the window. Gray clouds had gathered in the sky. A storm was brewing. 

She stopped, and prayed for a smooth trip to Liyue.

* * *

[part 11]

[ddarker-dreams]

Levi Ackerman x Reader hcs. [COMM]

a/n: i haven’t written for levi in many years!! some lock lore is that i used to write for him the most, it’s actually what got me into fanfiction/anime in the first place back in 2012... so it feels very nice to write for him again. i had a lot of fun with this! :’) word count: 2k. warnings: non explicit mentions of death (not involving reader), just canon typical stuff.

Love has been a concept that remains closed off in Levi’s mind. Getting close to others is already a risk too great in the world he’s come to know, a factor that’s proven unfortunately true time and time again. When you’re close to others, it means the possibility of being hurt by them all the same when they inevitably leave. The pain of losing another he’s grown attached to outweighs the possible benefits that could come with a closer connection. This philosophy has ensnared his heart, creating a barrier that no one dared slipping past for many years.

Even though Levi makes the choice to be wary of growing closer than necessary to people, he also understands the importance of trusting in his comrades. He has his own way of mentally assessing new recruits, and didn’t think much of you initially. You were a fresh face, who hoped that your efforts would cultivate humanity’s future. He’d seen many with that spark too many times to count. All of them ending up killed in gruesome ways, or losing the shine in their eyes should they live past another expedition. Though he still has an inherent respect for anyone willing to put their lives on the line for the Survey Corps, this extending to you as well.

His initial assessment of you was proven incorrect. While no longer as naive to the horrors of the outside world, the spark inside of you remains ever bright. There’s determination, that has only grown in strength as time goes on, rather than fading away. It catches his eye, to say the least. He looks after you from afar, without even realizing it. Levi tells himself that it’d just be a shame if something happened to you. He doesn’t think anything beyond that for some time, for his own mental well being.

Your relationship starts off with no romantic intentions. Levi spots you training on your own one day, even after a grueling day of menial work that comes with being a member of the Survey Corps. He’s captivated, unable to look away from your form. It’s sloppy, he thinks, but not hopeless. You’re not hopeless. It doesn’t sound like a high compliment, but coming from him, it’s meaningful.

It’s startling when he approaches you for the first time. He’s pointing out the numerous errors in your stance and what to do to correct them, never mincing his words. Levi’s standing there, arms crossed, willing you to continue with his input. While being under the scrutiny of humanity’s strongest soldier is anxiety inducing, his advice works perfectly. He doesn’t comment further than that, turning on his heels and leaving you to your thoughts and confusion.

Keeping your body in the best possible condition is vital to staying alive. His advice, though delivered in sharp as knives critiques, serves you well. Even just the bare minimum has your technique rapidly improving. This motivation to keep growing and learning is what drives you. Levi continues to watch from a safe distance as you spend hours doing different exercises, developing your abilities. From this point on it becomes something of a tradition, as much as he tries not to think of it that way. There’s a level of subconscious attachment that comes with looking forward to seeing you improve every evening. He’s acknowledged you. 

You start training together. It’s not everyday an opportunity to learn under Levi is offered, so when the hand was extended to you, you accepted it. He’s a tough yet fair teacher, offering praise only when he believes it’s deserved. Unfortunately, he can’t devote that much time to your little evenings due to his other obligations. That makes the time you shared all the more special. Despite himself, he’s looking out for you, and you him. A solid relationship begins to form.

Levi isn’t the easiest person to be around. He’s surprisingly talkative if you get him speaking on subjects that interest him, but his language remains coarse. Once you get used to this side of him, it’s for the better, hours flying by and the night sky appearing before you know it. Unlike others that tend to get offended or avoid alone time with Levi due to his reputation, you remain constant. He never brings it up, though he does wonder why you’re hellbent on seeking him out.

There are still times where Levi holds an internal battle over the unfolding events. He’s starting to like spending time with you, more than just offering wisdom on various subjects he’s knowledge about. He genuinely enjoys listening when you speak, an honor exclusive to you. Through the snark and monotonous comments, there’s clear attachment. 

It gets to the point that his closer comrades even pick up on the unusual behavior, this level of respect typically reserved for no one other than Commander Erwin. Though Hanji is the only one to point this behavior out. Everyone else is too frightened at the prospect of teasing Levi over his not so subtle fondness for you. He really didn’t think he was being so obvious... 

You’re on his mind more than he cares to admits. His mind wonders to you at night, when he’s in town, or even when he sees something silly that reminds him of you. Eventually, Levi’s thoughts almost always connect to you to some degree. He’ll spot something in the windows of a shop and recall how you mentioned wanting something similar, or subconsciously look for your favorite food when walking through market stalls. The thought of giving you gifts is off putting for a while since it’s a clear sign of of tenderness. And dammit, he’s trying so hard not to become attached -- but who is he kidding -- it’s far too late for that.

What Levi is good at is making swift decisions in the heat of the moment, and combat. So he has literally no idea how to approach his developing feelings for you. There are a lot of impulses, such as complimenting you, but it comes out more like an insult than anything. God bless your soul, because you’re going to be putting up with lots of uncomfortable interactions. He’s trying, okay, but he doesn’t know the first thing about romance. 

How he best shows his care for you is helping around in various ways. It isn’t as embarrassing as having to offer compliments, or the other traditional ways of romancing the person you’re interested in. Levi commits to making your life easier in anyway he can. These things range from making sure your horse is in top condition, setting aside rations if he knows you’re too busy to get them yourself, and checking over your equipment personally. He presents all this by saying “You’re prone to making mistakes, so let me do it instead.” In reality he just wants to make life easier for you, don’t be fooled by the prickly comment. 

He isn’t blind to the other elements of his attraction to you. You’re always glowing, an angel incarnate, beauty enough to draw in practically anyone with eyes. It was enough to draw him in after all. The first attempts at physical affection are subtle, yet heartfelt. Sitting closer to you, thighs almost touching. Leaning in closer whenever you speak. Lightly brushing his fingers against his face, claiming he saw a spec of dirt on it. All these things to gauge your reaction and build up his own confidence in pursuing you further.

The first time you kiss would be the night before an expedition. It’s always the most gut wrenching experience, anxiety ailing you so badly that sleep refuses to come. The stars are out, not a cloud in the sky. Levi comes to sit by you, chastising you for not being asleep, and offering no rebuttal when you point out that he’s also awake. It’s a serene moment, neither of you exchanging words for some time, finding comfort in each others presence. You don’t even realize how close he is to you. He speaks, the words insignificant, you’ve already long forgot what they were. 

When your head turns to offer him your full attention, that’s when he leans in. A chaste kiss is pressed against your parted lips. It’s shocking to say the least, adrenaline pumping through your veins at the intimate moment. His lips are softer than you expected. He treats you with unprecedented delicacy, moving back to assess your expression through lidded eyes. When you’re willing to reciprocate he’s more than happy to let you have your way. 

Levi isn’t the best with expressing himself fully through words. His actions more than compensate for this, you’ll never doubt his dedication to you. There’s no need for flowery prose, not when he has proven the lengths he’d go through to keep you safe, bearing all of himself to you. Your relationship isn’t defined by strict terminology, as he admitted to finding stuff like that “a waste of breath”. You both wordlessly acknowledge one another as partners. Any keen onlooker might be able to pick up on this, you don’t hide or put your relationship on display.

It’ll take some time for him to grow more amiable to physically expressing himself. He’s aware of his own strength and intimidating disposition, and doesn’t want to mess what’s possibly the best thing in his life up. So you’ll need to lead in most of those areas. All physical affection is reserved for private moments. Aside from maybe him whispering a sly remark or two in passing. 

The affection he likes receiving from you the most would be: Complimenting his actions, when you lay your head on his shoulder, whenever you do little things to help him out without him mentioning it, and when you hug him. He’s never experienced being held by another human being. So when you do it for the first time, he’s taken aback by how pleasant it is. Your comforting scent, how your warmth envelopes him, and how he can feel your heart beating. It’s one of his favorite things in the world, other than you of course.

The type of affection that he gives you the most would be: Acknowledging your growth in different areas (especially if he knows you’re insecure in one of them), putting his hand over yours, reminding you to take care of yourself, and kissing you on the forehead. Levi is a very proactive lover. He’s got a keen eye, picking up on things about yourself before you even notice them. While he might not always have the most tact, everything he does for you comes from a wholesome place.

Levi remains serious in the public eye. But when it’s just the two of you, or the company is people he’s close with, he loosens up considerably. Most of his jokes go over your head, since he always delivers them with such a deadpan. When he gets you to laugh with his dry wit though, by god does it feel good, he could listen to your laughter forever. It might even make his face heat up. 

You’re capable of making him smile more than anyone else! Though it’s still rare, that just means that when he does, you treasure it all the more. He smiles the most when you lose yourself in conversation. Rambling about your dreams, stories from your childhood, frustrating encounters that you had that day... all of it warms his heart in a way he never thought possible. You’re an addicting ray of sunshine, that he’s hellbent on protecting. 

Levi knows, now more than ever, what he wants from the future. Alongside protecting and expanding humanity’s territory, it’s you that he wants by him, and no cost is too great to achieve it. He won’t lose you -- he’s already lost so much -- so expect him to be protective. There may be limits to what he can do, but they’re all arbitrary to him. Rules and morality mean nothing in the face of ensuring your safety, and he’s vowed this to you. That one day, you’ll have a secure future, forever tied to each other. He might not mention the last part as it’s embarrassing, but the general sentiment is understood. 

[pregnant-piggy]

One coffee please (1/2)

Blaise Zabini x reader

This is part of all I want for Christmas is fanfiction

This is written for @kalimagik‘s writing challenge

Words: 2.9k

A/N: this was my first time properly writing for Blaise and it will definitely not be the last. With this fic he has grown to be a character close to my heart and I am already excited to write more for him!

Prompts: 'what are you talking about? This is brilliant!' and 'you're cute when you're mad'

It was definitely winter. The wind was blazing around in the streets, howling around the corners of high buildings. It was blowing against the windows of houses and apartments, creating loud thrums in the ears of the people inside. The skies were dark grey in the night and icy blue in the morning. The sun was shining but it was cold. Streets froze overnight, but thawed before anyone woke up.

Even the thickest sheets and blankets couldn’t keep you warm as you lied in bed. At night you curled up to a ball to keep all the heat close to your body, but in the morning you woke with cold toes and fingertips. The sheets didn’t reach far enough to your neck and even your woollen jumper couldn’t protect you from the freeze. It was now more than ever that you longed for someone to cling onto in the night, to have their body heat against your skin. You wanted to feel the warmth that came from someone’s arms around your waist and the heat of someone’s fingertips on the skin under your jumper.

Instead you woke up alone in your apartment, the wind pounding against the tall windows. A moan escaped your mouth as you stretched out and the little bones in your back cracked. The cold air of your room flew over your arms and goose bumps formed all from your wrists to your armpits. A shiver ran over your spine, sliding from your neck to the dip of your back. A cold spread through your entire body from only putting your arms above the sheets.

Resting your arms atop of the blankets over your duvet, you sighed and opened your eyes, greeting the darkness that came with the winter's mornings. The sun that woke you in the summer was now still hidden behind the horizon and the tall buildings in the city. The skies were dark blue with clouds that coloured orange from the street lights. Maybe if it had been clear you could have seen the stars.

You had to get out of bed eventually. The longer you stayed in, the more you would have to hurry and the thought of that was almost enough to get you out of bed. But instead you rubbed your face and stared at the ceiling until the alarm from your phone sounded through your room. You lifted your body half in your bed and reached for your phone on the nightstand. Your cold fingers had turned off the alarm before you could even see the screen of your phone; waking up like this had become a habit lately.

After five minutes even your social media couldn’t keep your mind from the fact that useful time was passing and you tossed your phone somewhere on your bed. After a deep breath you threw the blankets and sheets off your yet warm body and swung your feet over the edge of your bed. If it wasn’t for the rug under your feet you would have crawled back into your bed. But instead you got up from your bed and walked to your closet, contemplating just wearing sweats.

You settled on a black pair of jeans and a dark green jumper with a turtle neck, so that you would still be warm. After freshening up and making yourself look acceptable to the outside public, you put on your shoes and stole an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen on your way to the door. Breakfast would come later. Right now you had to make sure you were on time.

_-_-_-_-_-_

Blaise wished he hadn’t worn his hoodie to bed last night. He woke with a sweaty back and quickly threw off the sheets. He welcomed the coldness with open arms, feeling the air wrapping around his hot body and calming down his skin.

It took him fifteen minutes to take a short shower, brush his teeth and put on some clothes. Much different from what anyone would wear on such a cold day, Blaise chose for a simple button up and rolled up the sleeves up his arms, his tattoos peeking out.

He took his keys and wallet from the table next to the front door and closed the door behind him, while he put on the leather jacket and checked his phone for any messages. The door locked with a soft click and Blaise put his other arm in his jacket, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone. He reached into his pocket, fishing out his earphones and plugging them into his phone. The tones of his favourite song soon started to play and he relaxed as he walked out of his apartment building.

The streets under his feet were more slippery than they had been all week and it took Blaise a woman who nearly fell to realise. While the woman was helped by a passer-by, Blaise quickly turned around the corner and quickened his pace.

His hands were in his pockets, playing with the keys in his right one. The beat of the music synced with his steps and for a moment he forgot it was early in the morning and he wasn’t a morning person. He even arrived with a smile at the coffee shop he was headed for.

The bell of The Old Coffee House tingled when Blaise pushed open the door. The coffee shop originally was started by his grandfather, who had thought it would be a good thing to do with his retirement. The coffee shop was celebrating its thirtieth anniversary next year. It was the oldest company in the whole block and by tourists it was seen as a mark for the city. Blaise didn’t know if it was really that, but he was glad there were enough costumers.

His mother was managing the place from her home and she would come in once a week, to make sure everything went well. But it was mostly Blaise who had the control in the shop.

Well, Blaise and you.

You were Blaise's best friend. Your mothers were best friends and being forced to spend time together when you were kids had let to a connection to build. You had spent your whole lives together and when Blaise's mother was looking for someone to help her son in the coffee shop, you had been the first to volunteer. He had now been working with you for a year and it had only made that you were even closer now.

Blaise knew everything about you, from your morning routine to your favourite song and the dance you'd do to it. He knew what to do when you were down in the dump and what to give you when you were, as he called, ‘hangry’. He knew how to cheer you up and when to leave you alone when you were angry.

He had seen you at your best and at your worst. He was the first one to hear about your first date with your boyfriend and the one who was there when said boyfriend suddenly left you alone. He had seen you dancing on tabletops and crying in your bed.

Blaise was always there for you, because you had been there for him his entire life.

‘Well aren’t you happy for a Monday morning?’ you asked as you made your way into the space from the backroom, tying an apron at your back. Blaise rolled his eyes at you and took off his jacket. He hung it next to your coat behind the counter and took the apron from the hook, tying it the same way you had done. ‘What got you so cheerful?’

Blaise shrugged and leaned on the counter with his right forearm, watching you as you filled the coffee machine with coffee beans. You were humming along to a song that was playing over the radio while you turned on the machine and made two cups of coffee.

The grinding of the coffee beans sounded over the radio and your humming got softer as you lost track of where the song was. Instead you nodded along to the beat that was still vaguely audible over the low buzzing.

Blaise snickered when you tried to hit the high note and your hum failed to reach it. You shot him an annoyed look and he only shrugged at you, grinning as he turned around and he heard the huff from your lips.

Soon you fell into the routine that had developed over time. Since neither you nor Blaise were morning people, it was soon found that it was best if it was just silent. The only sounds were the radio and the occasional talk with a customer. It was a serene scene for anyone to walk into, seeing two people work in silence in a place that could be such a buzz in the afternoon.

While you helped a costumer to their coffee and muffin, Blaise leaned against the counter and watched you. The sunlight came in from the window behind you and the silhouette of your face was painted against a canvas of golden light. The edges of your figure were outlined by a golden thread. Your cheeks glowed up and your eyes seemed like the brightest gemstones Blaise had ever seen.

Blaise would be the last one to deny that you were pretty. Over the years he had seen you grow into the wonderful person you were now, inside and outside. There was something about your appearance that told the world how you were. With just one glance someone could see you as the passionate person you were, but Blaise knew that there was so much more to it than just passion.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked and Blaise was pulled from his thoughts. He flashed you his smirk and nodded before he took his own coffee mug. You raised your eyebrow at him as you noticed that what was in his mug was not coffee.

‘What’s in there?’ you asked, stepping closer to Blaise, ordering him to show his mug with your finger. ‘It smells like cinnamon.’

‘That’s because it has cinnamon in it,’ Blaise shrugged and he took a sip.

‘Well, of course,’ you said, rolling your eyes. ‘I figured that.’

Blaise lifted the mug to drink again, but you stopped him by grabbing his wrist and taking the mug from him. You eyed it suspiciously and smelled it. Over the cup you made eye contact with Blaise and with your eyes you pleaded him to tell you what it was.

‘I made it,’ he said, suddenly feeling insecure. He had never told anyone about it. He knew it was silly, but he was afraid someone would judge him over his coffee.  ‘I was messing around at home once and this kind of came out of it… It’s not much, but it does help keep you awake.’

You squeezed your eyes before you carefully took a sip and Blaise watched you, biting the inside of his mouth anxiously. You swallowed and held your eyes closed a little longer. Blaise shook his head and turned away from you.

‘I know it’s rubbish-’

‘What are you talking about?’ you cried out, turned Blaise back to you. ‘This is brilliant! You made this?’

The look of adoration on your face was enough for Blaise to start smiling and the blood rushed to his cheeks. He nodded and chuckled when he saw the stun on your face.

‘Why would you hide this from me?’ you asked, tilting your head. ‘What more have you been hiding?’ you added playfully, meaning nothing but still making Blaise fear for his secrets.

‘Nothing you should know about,’ he joked, yet there was a hint of nervousness in his voice that went unnoticed by you. You laughed and pushed Blaise away as you welcomed the next costumer and went back to work.

_-_-_-_-_-_

It had frozen overnight. Or better said, it was freezing at night. It was still dark outside and the sun was hours from rising. Only very few people were awake at this time.

You were sunken deep into your dreams, under layers of blankets to keep the cold from numbing your toes. The cold didn’t bother you yet, but it sure would when you would have to get out of bed in the morning. Luckily, it was Sunday what meant that the coffee shop was closed today and you could stay in bed for as long as you liked. Plans for today had been cast aside and you had nothing to do but sit on the couch in three jumpers and binge your favourite series.

However, fate seemed to have a different thought.

It was narrowing three when the ringtone of your phone started to sound clear and disrupting in your room, waking you from your sleep. In the dark you patted down your nightstand to find the thing that was making the sound and when you found your phone, your thumb automatically went to turn off the alarm. You dropped your phone back next to your pillow, but the sound kept going and you realised it wasn’t your alarm, but someone was calling you.

A loud groan passed your lips as you turned on your back. Squeezing your eyes against the light from the screen and an even louder groan escaped your mouth when you noticed who was calling you.

‘What do you want, Blaise?’ you said, your voice groggy with sleep and annoyance.

It wasn’t unlike Blaise to call you in the middle of the night when he knew you would be asleep just to mess with you, but yet every time he called you worried something had happened to him. However, when you heard his chuckle at your sleepy voice you knew that there couldn’t be something too wrong.

‘Nice talking to you too,’ Blaise said and you could hear the slight double tongue. Of course.

‘Blaise it is two in the morning, what do you want from me?’ you groaned, rubbing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you heard Blaise laugh again.

‘I might have accidentally locked myself out of my apartment as I left earlier this night,’ he said. ‘And the janitor won’t answer my calls.’

‘I wonder why,’ you mumbled.

‘Can I come over?’

You sighed and shook your head. Of course you were friends with the guy that forgot his keys in the middle of the night. ‘Sure, come over.’

‘Great, because I am already at your door.’

Without even reacting to that you hung up and put your phone back on your nightstand. You looked in the dark at the pile of blankets on top of you and cursed Blaise under your breath. In the freezing cold you left your bed and patted over to the front door of your apartment. Looking through the peephole in the door you watched Blaise for a minute. His broad shoulders covered with the leather jacket that he never left without were the first thing that caught your eye and you swallowed before you took a step back.

You unlocked the door and opened it. The cold air from the corridor seeped inside the hall of your apartment and you knew that it was over with the heat that you had been trying to create the whole night. You shivered as the coldness reached your bare legs; despite freezing to death, you still couldn’t sleep with long pants.

‘Get inside, idiot,’ you hissed and pulled Blaise inside before he could say anything. He chuckled and ruffled your hair with his cold hand. Taking of his jacket and hanging it next to your other coats, Blaise eyed the distance between the living room and your bedroom curiously.

‘If you wait a minute, I’ll get the couch ready for you,’ you said and you walked to your bedroom, looking at the blankets and deciding which ones you could miss. However, you hadn’t even taken one blanket before Blaise had crawled into your bed, waiting to see what you would do.

Defeated you stood at the foot end of you bed, the end of a blanket in your hands. As much as you tried not to look, you couldn’t help notice Blaise’s bare chest. Your eyes scanned his torso and lingered at his tattoos. It wasn’t like you had never seen Blaise without a shirt, but it just had never happened that he was sitting in your bed without a shirt.

You swallowed down the sudden nervous tingle in your chest and tried to act nonchalant as you shrugged and put the blanket back in its place. You walked around the bed and settled next to Blaise, leaving enough space so it would be appropriate, but still getting a little closer hoping he’d bring you any warmth.

‘Alright, then we’ll do it like this,’ you muttered as you turned down the light and lay down.

And indeed as you had thought, you felt the heat radiating off of Blaise, engulfing you in a warm embrace. The cold that had been pestering you all night was now suddenly gone and you felt you fingers and toes get back some feeling.

‘You owe me breakfast,’ you mumbled as you closed your eyes and your head turned to the side, Blaise’s hot breath stroking over your face as you fell asleep.

- - - - - -

taglist

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife @mt2413 @aesthetically-hailey @superbturtlemakerathlete @the-natureofme @missswriter @hahee154hq @chloer1275​

[hecksee]

3 Times The Cubs Struggled Alone, And 1 Time They Had Each Other

This is ficlet number two for the wonderful @kielemarie, means the fucking world to me, and I love her so much. She is the older sister I always wanted. Thank you Marie for always being there, and Happy Birthday! 

The characters, are, as always, from the amazing @lumosinlove. Go give Haz a follow! 

This ficlet is meant to show how mental shit can impact someone’s life and that is okay. People can still thrive with mental shit, and they can still be amazing people.  

Finn 

For the first time since he met Logan, Finn knew he wasn't going to see Logan anytime in the near future. And god he was worried. Worried about Logan, worried about Logan getting hurt, worried about what will happen when he stops repressing his feelings, just worried about Logan in general. And god, that's when he wasn't even thinking about his current season; rookie on Gryffindor Lions, his dream team. 

Finn was playing with some of the greats, Pascal Dumais, Kasey Winters, Sirius Black, and James Potter; to name a few. But the stress could be too much sometimes; the pressure on his shoulders during every game was never lifted. All Finn could think about was how he was some little kid's idol; how they were rooting for him. 

Normally, that was enough for him to get through the day without worrying about Tremz, but today was different; it was one of the days were he woke up on edge, where he was missing Lo so much that it hurt, where the only thing that was keeping him from calling was what had happened before he'd left. 

Practice had ended up making him miss Logan even more; the sound of pucks slapping on sticks reminded him of doing drills with Lo, doing their handshake before they went out onto the ice, all of their memories together came flooding back. 

And god he was even more worried about Lo than he was before. It all was too much, his chest was crushed underneath the weight of his worry; what if Logan slipped on the ice and fell, what if he got into a fight, what if something happened and Finn wasn’t there to stop it. What if he never spoke to Logan again and they ended on bad terms? Logan meant too much to lose him that way. And what if Logan got drafted, but to another team? He’d lose all contact.

 Finn’s head was filled with static, his thoughts were getting louder and faster, his heart was pounding, and his breaths were coming in short pants. In the back of his mind he vaguely registered Dumo skating over, but his mind was in too much distress to care. 

But then, as suddenly as it started,  everything stopped. His mind seemed as though it had been covered in a fog, his thoughts were still there but they were quiet and muted. Everything seemed fake, as if he was in a dream. The world was softer. He was gripping the side of the arena, with no recollection on how he had gotten there. 

Dumo was gripping his arm, waiting for a response to something. When it became evident that Finn didn’t know what was going on he repeated the question. “Harzy are you okay?” Finn knew he wasn’t going to leave without a response so he waved Dumo off with a mumbled ‘I’m fine’. 

Remus was waiting at the side door, opening it when Finn skated closer. “Come on, that looked nasty, let’s check you out.” Finn nodded and Remus ushered him into the PT room. Things were - for Finn at least, still moving slowly, as if he had just woken up but felt like he didn’t sleep at all. “That looked like a nasty panic attack you just had there. You feel fine now yeah?” Remus’ voice jolted Finn out of the slow reality, everything still looked like a dream, but he was less disoriented. 

“Yeah Loops, I’m just tired. Want to go home and take a nap” Finn sat down on a chair near Remus’ desk, waiting to be examined.

Remus nodded. “That’s understandable, panic attacks take a lot out of someone. How about you head home, eat and drink something, and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

After a quick thank you and an even quicker cool down, Finn was driving home. On the drive he debated calling Logan, but decided against it. He didn’t even know if Logan wanted to speak with him. Finn knew talking to Lo would make him feel better, but he didn’t want to be a bother. Plus, they had left on bad terms, he didn’t want to make anything worse.

As soon Finn got home he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and headed  towards the living room. Since calling Logan was out of the question he’d settle down and read. And there was only one book that would help him out of this disconnected state. 

Finn pulled a glossy new copy of The Song of Achilles from the shelf. His battered, annotated copy must have been forgotten at Harvard, even though he distinctly remembers putting it in a box. A part of him wishes that Lo took it out and kept it, to always have a part of Finn with him even when they were apart; like he did with Logan’s favorite snapback, but he knows that’s just wistful thinking. 

Finn quickly grabs a blanket and settles down on the couch, ready to lose himself to the familiar story of Achilles and Patroclus. 

Logan

Logan woke up to the harsh beeping of his morning alarm. It reminded him of Finn - which, to be fair, wasn’t difficult because Logan’s head was always filled with thoughts of the older boy. But the alarm was always a harsh call to reality. If Fish was there, Logan would be awoken by Finn’s soft shuffling as he tried to get ready for practice.

But Finn wasn’t there. He was off in Gryffindor, hundreds of miles away. Finn was off playing for the Lions, probably not thinking about Logan at all. It wouldn’t be fair to distract him from his dream.

Logan missed him so much. It physically hurt to be away from him. Oh how he wished he could just cover Finn in kisses. How he wanted to hold hands. Logan just wanted Finn to hold him and tell him that he was loved.

But Finn didn’t feel the same way; he couldn’t. Logan didn’t know what he would do if Finn felt the same. They’d have to hide their love, and that surely would end in disaster. They’d be kicked off the team, out of the league.

And hell, why would Finn even feel the same. Finn was a golden boy, perfect grades, tall, good at hockey, recruited by the best team in the league. Why would someone that perfect want him. Him, with average grades, who half the time can’t read the words on a page because the letters spun, who represses his feelings, who won’t let himself be happy. Why would Finn ever want someone as flawed as Logan. And even if Finn did want him Logan wouldn’t let him, he wouldn’t let Finn ruin his career over someone as insignificant as himself.

Logan knew he had practice, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. He didn’t have the energy to move from the warmth underneath his covers, let alone go to practice. He heard John rap on his door, yelling at him to get up for practice, but he didn’t have the strength to respond. He’ll tell the coach he didn’t feel well.

Logan knew that Finn was one of the few things that caused him happiness in this world, and with him gone, nothing seemed to matter. The days all bled together in a pattern of practice, eat, cry, sleep. Occasionally, when it hurt to even think about Finn, Logan would take a bottle of vodka to his room and drink himself silly before crying himself to sleep. He knew that Finn would hate what he’s doing to himself, but it doesn’t matter. Finn wasn’t there with him.

Tears were starting to fog Logan’s eyes as he reached for Finn’s battered copy of The Song of Achilles. He’d taken it to remember Finn by, knowing full well he may never seen Finn again. He opened it up just to see Finn’s handwriting, to remember the late nights they had shared where Finn would read this story aloud.

Logan’s face was wet with tears now, they were flowing freely down his cheeks. Regardless to that fact, Logan pressed his face into the pages of the book. He knew it wouldn’t smell like Finn anymore - it hadn’t in months, but it was worth looking for anyways. When it inevitably didn’t the sobs came. The heart wrenching, aching sobs that came from the bottom of his chest. The sobs that were making his grief known to the world. The sobs that showed just how much pain he was in. He didn’t know when they stopped, or how long they went on for, but after time they turned into small sniffles; and Logan fell into a restless sleep, still curled around Finn’s book.

Leo

There was nothing to do and that was gnawing at his senses. Normally it’s enough to re-tie his skates, tighten his gear, repeatedly drink his water, and turn his gloves in his hands, but today that didn’t seem like enough. The fact that he had nothing to do was making him want to rip his hair out. There was nothing to do and that was bringing his mood down to zero. Everything was not enough but simultaneously was too much.

The lights of the arena were too bright; the sound of the crowd seemed to be grating at his brain. Leo’s foot was moving without control, flicking up and down at high speed, seemingly unaware of the fact he had what essentially was a knife strapped onto his foot.

Leo’s mind was going into overdrive, his thoughts were going too fast for him to comprehend. He needed to get out, but he couldn’t, he had to be there, even if it pained him. He looked up at the scoreboard, but the glowing red numbers hurt his eyes and made the migraine that was already approaching intensify.

Leo closed his eyes and rubbed them with his palms, attempting to make all the light disappear and make the sound a little more bearable. But the noise was still grating at his senses, making his brain feel as though it was melting. The crowd cheering, the announcers commentating, the skates scraping against the ice, the sound of the puck hitting the sticks, and the chatter of his teammates on the bench was becoming too much for him to handle, if another sound was added to the mix he’d have to leave, consequences be damned. Leo squirted some water into his mouth, things always felt worse when he was dehydrated and the odds were he probably was.

But then Coach was calling him in, something about Kasey’s leg acting up again, and Leo knew he’d just have to put up with his senses being in overdrive for the rest of the game.

Together

Things get better after they get together. The bad days don’t disappear, they just become less frequent. Not by much; but by a little. When Finn got stressed about something Leo and Logan were there with words of encouragement and reassurance. How they’d always stay with him, they were going to be okay. When Logan had days where everything seemed hopeless and he didn’t want to get out of bed or when the letters on the page refused to stay still, Finn and Leo were there by his side; whether whispering sweet nothings, giving soft kisses, or just staying by him, reassuring him of their presence. When Leo’s senses were in overdrive and everything was too much Logan and Finn were there, keeping him company and trying to make everything more bearable. The bad days were still there, but now they had each other to lean on. 

[sims2bellaswan]

snowed in [henry emily x reader]

SAFE FOR WORK/FLUFF

AO3 VERSION

you help clean up after Henry’s holiday party [gender neutral reader]

Snow fell quietly outside the window, nestling itself in comfortable mounds along the pavement. The lamps lighting the streets casted a warm glow along the glittering storm.

You sighed at the windowsill, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. It was definitely too snowy to go home now. You stayed too late, this was your consequence, your own fault for offering to help clean up. Behind you, an old friend picked up the last few discarded dishes. A simple holiday party, that’s all this was. You attended with the intent of seeing aforementioned old friend, your former classmate: Henry Emily.

That felt like a mistake now. You hardly got a chance to chat and now that it was the two of you, it felt silly to try. You two were close friends but that was a long time ago at this point. You weren’t even sure how to strike up a conversation nowadays.

Turning away from the windowsill, you smiled at him. He smiled back before heading to the kitchen, dishes in tow. You felt like an idiot. Why is this so awkward? Surely, you weren’t this awkward all the time.

Hesitantly, you walked to the kitchen as well, picking up the half-finished wine bottle on the coffee table on your way. You cleaned two wine glasses out, offering one to him but essentially avoiding a conversation. He poured. Cheap red wine. You managed. You avoided eye contact as you sipped, leaning against the countertop.

“You make an excellent host,” you offered, almost too quietly to hear. He laughed, a full, hearty laugh.

“I tried, I’m glad it didn’t go unnoticed.” He paused, smiling as he sipped his 9 dollar wine. “You make an excellent guest. you didn’t have to stay and clean up, you know?” At least he was modest.

“I didn’t mind, really.” You kept your distance, politely, you couldn’t bear to make this any more awkward than it already was. He glanced between you and his glass. Maybe you weren’t the only one worrying about the awkwardness of this situation. “It’s way too snowy for me to drive back right now, do you know a hotel I can walk to?” That was the best way to put it. Your shoes were far more prepared for the snow than your tires were and you did not want to take the risk of being one of many who crashed during a snowstorm.

He perked up, you swore you saw him go red from tip to toe. “No, no, it’s alright! You can stay the night here, if you need to.” His smile was so kind, no malice behind it at all. It made you feel more at ease. “The couch pulls out and I have some extra sheets.”

Involuntarily, you laughed. The absurdness of the situation had just hit you.

Here you are, being offered a bed at Henry’s home. To think you hadn’t even considered going at first. He was a geeky kid, it was a fun friendship and you guys got into a lot of trouble when the time came to it but you never thought he’d be so bold as to suggest it. God, you felt like the woman from that Christmas song you can’t quite remember.

“Sorry, sorry,” You stifled the last of the laughter. Your cheeks began to feel warm from the wine. “As long as I’m not intruding on anything. It’s better than a hotel.” You tried to muster a smile without giggling again and it worked for the most part.

He nodded, his smile melting into a smaller, softer one. You both have had maybe a sip too many.

Maybe, that is what made you so bold.

You reached forward, clumsily placing your hand on his. You smiled up at him, no longer avoiding his gazes.

It was quiet for what felt like hours, neither of you made another move. He didn’t shake your hand off, you made no attempt to deepen the interaction. Something about looking into each other’s eyes, while snow further kept you in, was the most romantic thing in the world right now. Was it too soon to say you wanted this moment to last forever?

You harbored no feelings for him as a highschooler. You could say that for certain. What changed? You wanted to say it was the wine, you really did, but somehow that didn’t feel right.

What did feel right was the gentle kiss he pressed to your forehead.

What felt even more “right” was cupping his cheek and pulling him into a deeper kiss. One that tasted of wine, that smelt of a fire and metal, that was warmer than you’ve ever felt in your life. You only pulled away for a breath. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying anything. You knew that if you said something, even acknowledged it, it would change the situation. You didn’t want to make it awkward. Well, awkward-er.

You kept your hand to his cheek. You hadn’t noticed how tired he looked before.

The quiet moment in the kitchen became a quiet moment in the living room, both of you seated on the couch. Nervous confessions were exchanged.

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles - The Longest Night

Find the prompt list here! 

 Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Luka played assistant while Marinette got the kids all garbed in their costumes, making little final adjustments and snipping hanging threads and acting for all the world as if this was just as serious as any fashion show she’d ever worked, instead of the dress rehearsal for a small town library Christmas pageant. He followed her around, holding things, handing her what she needed, and trying not to get caught mooning over her like the lovesick sap he was. The kids already had plenty of ammo to use against him, so he tried to keep a professional demeanor—but that really probably only made them snicker harder. 

Mostly, though, they were too excited about their outfits to care. Marinette had found a way to interpret the costumes that felt true to who these kids were, and that was probably rarer than it should be. 

The angels in particular were a masterpiece, especially given how little white there was in his rock star wardrobe. They glittered and shimmered with all of the hardware and rhinestones, and their wings were dangerous-looking concoctions made of wire and trailing fabric and dangling crystals and beads. They looked like the kinds of beings who would have to announce their presence with “Fear not!” and it was awesome. 

The angels weren’t actually his favorite part, though. Marinette had gotten quickly flustered in the face of Rose’s eager excitement, and started making excuses to leave. She’d snatched his notebook out of his pocket, pulled the pen out of the coil and scribbled her phone number on the back, babbling only semi-coherently as she did so. Then she’d snatched up the lighted jacket, kissed him quickly, and fled. Luka had been too busy fending off Rose’s interrogation to even think to question why she had taken the jacket, until she brought out the costumes for Mary and Joseph. The holy family were now softly illuminated with cleverly concealed fiber optic lights in their hoods. Somehow Marinette had managed to turn off the flashing and camouflage the lights enough to give the children a soft glow, like a renaissance painting come to life (if renaissance madonnas had punk haircuts). 

That wasn’t really why he liked it, though. Marinette had removed the lights so carefully, and repaired the jacket so cleverly, that it was now as good as new, if a bit smaller than it had been, and she had taken to wearing it all the time. Catching a glimpse of his jacket under her big pink puffy winter coat made him grin like a fool every time.

She was wearing it even now, and he felt his grin turn dopey and soft again as he watched Marinette get down on the floor without a second thought to fix a hem that had come loose. She was so amazing, and the last few days had been wonderful, whether they were just driving aimlessly around town and chatting while they admired the lights, or lost in tender looks and touches, or just sharing space while they worked on their own projects. Luka knew without doubt that he was utterly in love with her. It might shatter him when she left, but they had four precious days left and Luka planned to make the most of them. Besides, who knew what could happen? It was the modern age, and long distance relationships were a thing, and surely there was something they could work out— 

Luka quashed those thoughts as quickly as he could. It wasn’t a good idea to be thinking that way, and he didn’t even know if Marinette would welcome anything of the kind from him. Better to stay in the moment. Something would work out; if she felt anything close to what he felt for her, she couldn’t leave him totally behind...and if she didn’t, then it was just as well for things to end now. He’d get over it. Somehow.

In the meantime, he’d enjoy every conversation, every soft look, every touch and kiss and sigh of his name from her lips.

Yep, he was absolutely basking in the knowledge of how completely hopeless he was.

Marinette stood up and backed away, looking at her handiwork with satisfaction as Rose began rounding up the kids to start the actual rehearsal. Luka sidled casually to Marinette’s side, letting his hand brush against hers. She wiggled her fingers in between his absently, and Luka grinned that stupid grin again, aiming it at the floor. 

Teenage giggling suggested that he wasn’t at all successful in hiding it. He rolled his eyes, but the grin remained. Beat it , he mouthed at the kid who was snickering, raising his eyebrows threateningly, but instead the kid burst into outright laughter and a chorus of juvenile “ooooohs,” suddenly filled the air. Confused, they followed the pointing fingers and looked up to find one of the youngsters sitting on the bookshelf behind them, holding a piece of mistletoe out over their heads. 

Luka rolled his eyes. “Oh, very funny, Rowan,” he scoffed, but then he turned and caught Marinette’s face in his hands and kissed her. Without lifting his lips from hers, he hooked one arm around her neck and the other around her waist and bent her backwards. The liplock itself wasn’t anything special—he wasn’t about to ravish her in front of a bunch of schoolkids, particularly since he knew all of their parents personally and did not need the earful they would give him—but it didn’t matter; the utterly cliche dip was as gross to them as a real kiss would have been. 

“EW!” screamed the younger children, while the older ones either whooped or groaned, and Luka sent them a wicked grin as he set Marinette back up on her feet.  

“Never bluff a Couffaine,” he told them, reaching out to ruffle Rowan’s multicolored head as he dropped down frm the bookshelf.  Rose gave him a smug look as she came to retrieve the delinquents, and Luka couldn’t even make himself glare at her. 

Marinette smacked his chest and he just winked at her, catching her hand and holding it to his heart. He got a little charge from the way her stern face twitched and then melted into a smile almost as silly as his own. He bent down as if drawn by a magnet and their lips met for a softer, more genuine kiss, and then she shoved his face away and turned back to watch the wise men start their parade to Bethlehem from the back of the library. 

Luka looped his arms around Marinette’s waist and shook his head slightly as he watched the shepherds, decked in shredded leather and ripped denim and artistically mussed as though they really had been lounging around a field, cower before the rhinestone-studded angel glittering brilliantly in the light of the old spot Rose had bullied or begged from somewhere. “You’re a genius,” he murmured in her ear. 

She tensed a little, but snuggled back in his arms. Luka sighed softly and nuzzled her temple, wishing he could help her, but whatever she was going through in her creative life, she was going to have to figure out for herself. He found her hand with his again and laced her slender, hard-working fingers through his own. 

They both jumped when the library doors flew open with a bang. Everyone jumped or stiffened, and a room full of wide eyes turned to look at the tall, blond woman wearing an absurdly large hat and a fur stole stomp into the library like it was a fashion runway.

Luka felt Marinette gasp, and tightened his hold on her. 

The woman looked around, and demanded in a voice that echoed off the walls. “Well, where is she? Marinette Dupain-Cheng, get out here this instant or you’re fired .”

Marinette pushed him away, and walked toward the tall woman, who spun on her heels to face her. “A-Audrey,” Marinette stammered. “What are you doing here?” 

“My dear, the question is, what are you doing here?” Audrey replied with a sniff, looking around the little library. “No wonder you haven’t been able to get any work done in this dismal place.” 

“Audrey, I’m on leave,” Marinette began, and Audrey flapped a hand dismissively. 

“Leave, schmeave. We have deadlines , Marinette. Deadlines you are appallingly behind on.” 

“B-behind?” Marinette stuttered, looking taken aback. “We were on schedule! I left very specific instructions!” Luka came up behind her and put a hand on her back in silent support.

“Those instructions were ridiculous ,” Audrey sneered. “The products were completely unacceptable. And since you didn’t deign to answer my calls, I came to fetch you myself. If you weren’t so talented I would have just fired you on the spot for abandoning things in such a state.” 

He felt Marinette tense under his hand, and her fists clenched. “Unacceptable—Audrey, you approved those designs! If the production team—” 

“ You are the designer,” Audrey accused, pointing an immaculately manicured finger in Marinette’s face. She flinched, and Luka had to fight every instinct in his body to keep still. “This is your failure. Now come along. You have a lot to make up for. Get in the car, we’ll stop and pick up your things on the way.” She turned and stalked to the door, clearly expecting Marinette to follow. 

Marinette stared after her with her mouth open. Then she closed it, swallowed, and straightened her shoulders—and moved to follow Audrey. 

Luka caught her hand without meaning to. “Marinette,” he said, and she turned her face to look up at him. For a moment they just stared at each other, and cold dread coiled in the pit of Luka’s stomach. 

“I guess this is it,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Luka. Goodbye.” 

Luka stared at her as her hand slipped out of his. She picked up her pink coat as she passed the chair where he had placed it earlier. She dug in the pocket a moment, and took out a box, putting it on the table. She took one look back at him, and then followed Audrey out, catching the door so that it closed with a quiet click instead of a slam. 

“Luka,” Rose whispered at his side, and he barely even felt her touch on his arm. He watched through the windows of the library door as Marinette, head down, shoulders bowed, got into Audrey’s limo. 

Only when the car pulled away down the street could he move. He closed his mouth, and swallowed. Then he went quietly to his own coat, and put it on slowly, aware of the eyes on him the entire time. 

He emerged into the sun and cold, fresh air, and looked around. The street was as it always was this time of year, with families and couples and individuals meandering through. Tinsel decorations sparkled on the streetlights, and the storefronts all had fake snow frosting the corners of their windows.

Luka blinked against the glare, so bright it brought tears to his eyes, put his hands in his pockets, and turned for home. 

***

Marinette didn’t even hear most of Audrey’s chatter on the ride back to the city. She couldn’t stop thinking about that look on Luka’s face. 

I should never have kissed him , she thought, staring out of the window. I knew better, and I let him make me believe . 

She sighed—silently, so as not to draw Audrey’s notice. She wasn’t being fair. Of course it was a shock, what happened. Neither of them had been expecting it. There had been no bittersweet farewell, no moment of closure. No last kiss goodbye, no one last diamond moment to hold on to as the sands began to flow again. 

He would get over it, once the shock passed, she thought mournfully, running an absent finger over the leather wrap on the door handle. He’d send her a text later, she was sure, something sweet and thoughtful, to let her know he was alright and that he was sorry things happened the way they had, but good luck and have a good life and oh, thanks for the present, that was really sweet.

And then he’d go back to his cozy life and forget her like he intended to all along. 

She was so stupid , letting him talk her into living that little fantasy for even a day, let alone— 

She shook her head slightly. This was better. It only would have been worse if she’d stayed longer. 

...at least she had the memories to hold in her heart, though. He’d been right about that. She could remember what it was like to feel like he loved her, his affection and pride and unwavering support, his warm, sweet kisses, and the way that he looked at her…the way everyone giggled at them in the cafe. The quiet, private times when she’d curled in the hollow of his body as he held his guitar around her and played just for her, and she hadn’t had to do anything or be anything. The time he’d taken her up on the hill and they’d stood amongst the young trees, cuddled close against the chill as they looked up at the stars and for once she felt like the universe was big enough to let her breathe...

She fingered the lapel of his jacket beneath her own. Okay, maybe he’d been right too. Maybe the memories were worth having. 

If only she could have stayed. 

She gave another small shake of her head, blinking back tears, keeping her face averted from Audrey slightly. 

“And the colors were atrocious —”

“I told you the color scheme was wrong,” Marinette said before she could think the better of it. 

“It’s your job to make it work,” Audrey snapped. “ You sourced those fabrics.”  

“According to your specifications,” Marinette shot back, her tone even but unyielding. “If you want to overrule me, that’s your prerogative, but don’t blame me for the outcome.” 

Audrey pulled off her ever-present sunglasses and looked at Marinette with narrowed eyes. “If you don’t want this opportunity,” she said coldly, “then say so and stop wasting my time.” 

Marinette shrank slightly. “Of course I do,” she sighed miserably, looking back out of the window. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” 

“And don’t you forget it,” Audrey sneered, sliding her sunglasses back on. “Or I’ll find someone else to clean up your mess.”

Marinette gritted her teeth and clenched her fists in her lap, willing herself to stay silent.

Speaking up wouldn’t do any good anyway. 

***

He was still sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into space, when Rose got home. Luka didn’t even hear the door open, but he did hear Rose’s footsteps approaching over the wood floor. 

“Luka,” Rose said softly, but he didn’t look at her. She set a small box on the table in front of him. “I’m pretty sure this was meant for you.” When he didn’t move, she slid it over until it touched his fingers. “You should open it.”

She waited a moment longer, and when he didn’t move, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Luka.” He listened to her retreat, leaving him alone again. 

Sometime later he felt fingers slide through his hair, and the familiar song of his mother’s jangling jewelry was quickly followed by her scent surrounding him as she bent and pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’m proud of ye, son,” she told him. “Take as long as ye need.” 

He sat there until it was dark outside, without really thinking about anything in particular. He just felt...numb. 

Finally he looked at the box Rose had left him. He contemplated it for a moment, and then drew himself up with a sigh, and picked up the box. It was a nice box, lined in silver ribbon. Trust Marinette to pay attention to every detail. He fumbled it a little before he managed to slide the top off. 

There was a pair of black leather gloves inside. Luka frowned slightly, picking them up. The leather was buttery soft, like it was already broken in, and...he slid one on his hand and flexed his fingers.

It fit perfectly, with none of the tightness or resistance that had always bothered him in the past. “You little sneak,” he murmured, tears stinging his eyes even as he smiled. “How’d you pull this off, hmm?” 

Luka remembered suddenly how they’d been talking at Sally’s, and she had walked her little fingers over each finger of his hand, like it was something completely idle. He’d thought it was cute at the time. He’d thought she was just teasing him, since she pulled her hand away every time he tried to take it, but…

He’d be willing to put money on it that she had used some of the leather from his wardrobe to make these, and she’d chosen something he’d worn enough to take the stiffness out of the leather. And the accents around the cuffs and along the darts at the back of the hands...those were from the jacket she’d kept. The one she’d had to cut down when she took the lights out.The one she’d still been wearing, when she walked out today.

Luka swallowed a lump in his throat. All that work that she’d done, on the children’s costumes, and she’d found time to do this for him as well. Because she cared about him, and she loved his music, and she wanted him to take care of his hands. 

“Marinette,” he sighed, letting his head fall on the table. “You’re killing me here.” 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there after that before Juleka’s hand rested lightly on his back. She didn’t say anything, just stayed there, and after a minute, he lifted his head and leaned it back on her. She stroked his hair just like his mother had. 

“You need a ride to the bus station in the morning?” Juleka asked. 

Luka closed his eyes. “Yeah.” 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[screamting]

[superbat hs au - Court of Owls, First hints of ~superpowers~

Tommy was willing to fill the time a while until supper, when about ten minutes before six, the boy on the top bunk would finally sit himself up and slide down to the floor and tugging on shoes without much of a word. “Almost six. Get ready to go.”

--

“Uh-”

Clark had asked him if he had any family, and what he planned to go to college for, and other generic questions he could manage to think of while he unpacked his things and then shoved his empty luggage aside.

“Six?” He asked, like he hadn’t heard any of what Harvey said before.

--

“Dinner,” Bruce said as explanation, unbothered.

(“Unfortunately, my mom,” Tommy had said with a roll of his eyes. “And obviously, Bruce’s an orphan. I’m hoping for medical school, to be a surgeon. What about you?”

There was no moment to acknowledge the middle part of the sentence. Only an impossible-to-hear tightness in the boy in the bunk’s otherwise steady breathing. And then it was gone again.)

“They’ll want you to wear something nice for the opening dinner, and any dinner on Sundays. If you don’t have anything else, your school uniform will do,” Bruce said.

--

(“Wh- journalism.” Clark had replied, but didn’t dare ask about how Bruce was an orphan.)

“Oh, okay. Uh. Yeah. I’ll have to get changed then.” Clark said, and dug around for his uniform. He didn’t have anything nicer than that with him.

He walked out to head to the bathroom and change.

--

“Alright.”

They would wait for him to return.

When he did, it was clear Tommy had changed clothing too, though he hadn’t bothered to leave the room to do so. He sat with Bruce on their bottom bunk, dressed in a matching oxford and button down jacket. Dark pants, black shoes. They could’ve been siblings, probably, despite their personalities.

And once all three were there, off they went, Bruce dutifully leading the way to the cafeteria, and Tommy trailing a bit behind him, content to just follow along for the moment.

“Sundays and special dinners we gotta eat with our hall table,” Tommy said. “And listen to the headmaster give speeches. But other than that, school’s pretty great.”

--

Clark followed along behind them. The closer they got the louder things got, and he could tell this was going to be rough. Places that were loud even for regular people were killer on him. It was so hard to focus on what you were supposed to.

“You like school?” He asked, sounding a little in disbelief.

--

“Uh, yeah?” he said. “Get some time away from the family? Live with my best friend? School rocks.”

He slung an arm around Bruce, and it was accepted with a huff.

“Not everyone’s as good at school work as you,” Bruce said.

“You are, though,” Tommy said. “So you don’t get to point that out to me.”

He poked Bruce’s cheek. The quiet boy smiled a little.

--

Clark didn’t say much. He felt like a third wheel, and the black-haired kid really wasn’t much of a talker. Couldn’t blame him if he really was an orphan.

The dinner was… boring. But hey, free food. The headmaster talked about the upcoming year and how they were all going to grow into strapping young, disciplined men and yadda yadda. Clark didn’t really pay attention.

When dinner was over it was back to the room. Back to bed.

… He had a hard time sleeping. Gotham at night was still so damn loud compared to back home.

--

Gotham was loud.

…

So were the dorms.

(someone, somewhere in the building, was crying into their pillow. Trying to muffle it, but the dissonance--

Multiple people were. Quiet, muffled, hiding it--)

In His Room.

In his room, the first night, a heart started to rocket up in pace from where it had once been steady, panic--

Bruce on the top bunk jerked awake, with the sound of his teeth biting through his lip to keep quiet.

--

Sometimes Clark didn’t realize what was supposed to be loud to normal people and what wasn’t.

“... You okay?” He whispered out into the dark.

--

The boy flinched.

….rolled over to face Clark, breathing still shallow.

He flinched again at whatever he saw.

“...fine,” he said. Then, “Quiet.”

--

His eyes were still bright in the dark, but only when they caught the light.

“... Okay.” He said, and wouldn’t say anything else.

…

He wouldn’t get much sleep.

--

…

…

It was something Clark couldn’t hear, but Bruce’s mind wouldn’t quiet anymore than Gotham or the dormitory would.

“...what’s with your eyes?” he whispered.

--

Oh damn. Oh shit.

He quickly closed them and rolled over so he faced away from the other bunk.

“Nothing.”

--

There was a disbelieving huff from the other side of the room.

...unfortunately, Clark wasn’t the only light sleeper.

“...mmh?” Tommy mumbled, splayed out on the bottom bunk. “What’s goin ‘rong?”

--

“Nothin’.” Clark said again, and didn’t turn around.

They had sent him here to get away from everyone knowing what he could do. He couldn’t blow his cover on the first night because his STUPID EYES GLOWED IN THE DARK.

--

“His eyes were glowing,” Bruce said. Because of course he did. No wonder Tommy called him a snitch--

But Tommy started making noise into his pillow, too.

Laughing. Trying to muffle it.

“Were you dreaming about the Talon?” he hissed, sounding delighted.

--

Ignore it. Let this blow over.

…

“What’s that?” He mumbled, still looking away.

--

Above Clark, Harvey Dent let out a groan under his breath.

Apparently, everyone was awake tonight.

If Tommy’s eyes could’ve glinted in the dark, they would’ve. “Oh, that’s right…. You’re from Kansas. You don’t know about… the assassins….”

“Oh my god,” Harvey Dent whispered only to himself.

--

… Clark finally lifted his head and glanced back at the other bunk.

“What.”

--

“It’s a fairy tale in the area,” Harvey said finally, whispering loud enough for the other two in the room to know he was also a little snitch. “Tommy likes to scare new kids with it. Now shut up, we’re gonna get in trouble.”

Tommy flopped back onto his bed, huffing. “It’s fun to watch them freak out. It’s not like anything bad actually happens by just talking about it.”

“You got a quote for that?” Bruce mumbled, half audible in his pillow.

“Ugh. ‘Happiness depends on ourselves?’ Or in this case, in letting me tell a ghost story in the middle of the night, you babies.”

--

“Fairytale assassins?” Clark couldn’t help but snort and roll back over so no one could see his eyes.

“Guess you city kids gotta have some kinda boogiemen.”

--

…..

Tommy sat up in bed, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

--

“Well back home we got things like portals to hell and angry ghosts, not assassins.”

--

...somehow, that seemed to settle Tommy, a little.

“No room for that stuff here,” he said. “Just threatening nursery rhymes that date back definitely two hundred years and if you want it creepier, even longer.”

--

“... Assassins with nursery rhymes?”

Sounds pretty lame.

--

“Still spooks people enough,” Tommy said, shrugging. “Especially in this kinda place.”

“It’s nice to think some random murders might’ve had a point,” Bruce said.

Tommy did not respond to that.

--

“Dunno how anyone could get spooked in a place as loud as this.” Clark said, sighing.

No room to think enough to be scared.

--

….for a moment, the three regarded him in incomprehension.

“Oh,” Harvey said. “Oh, he’s not used to the city.”

There was a small sound of understanding from the other two.

“I was gonna say. It’s dead quiet, honestly,” said Tommy.

“Not if we get caught talking,” Bruce warned. “Shh.”

“Shhhhhh,” Tommy said.

--

Clark groaned his own ‘nnnngh’ and shoved the pillow over his head.

It didn’t help.

Somewhere out of normal hearing a car alarm went off.

“You gotta be kidding…” He whispered to himself.

--

…

At least, finally, the conversation, thin as it was, had died out.

(There wasn’t any explanation for why Tommy would think Bruce dreamed of Talons when it was just a silly boogey man.)

But the three boys settled down in their beds again.

Bruce started breathing deeper. More intentionally. Until it relaxed him enough to get back to sleep.

...his heartbeat deepened and steadied out. Much closer than the car alarm.

Tommy and Harvey’s followed.

[...]

He wrote to his parents.

Everything is going well. Making friends. They're all rich but not as full of themselves as I thought they would be. It's pretty cool. Really loud here though. Having a lot of trouble sleeping.

Love you.

Then it was just… back to normal. Like he hadn't found out the teachers beat their students.

--

(When his mother wrote back, she was so relieved he was making friends. That it wasn't as bad as she feared.

But he wouldn't get that letter for another two weeks.)

The next week rolled around, and Bruce grew a little quieter. Tommy didn't, but Harvey quietly told Clark to be extra careful this week. It was an anniversary, he said, assuming that by now Clark knew, Kansas or not. And sometimes Bruce got a little mean during the anniversary.

Not just standoffish, but.

A little aggressive? Sometimes.

...and so the 26th rolled over, and even though Tommy seemed to be pretending it was a normal day, the rest of their dorm room woke up with stale, held breath.

Bruce avoided people. Avoided radios and TVs playing the news.

But somehow, he didn't manage to avoid the newspaper, and did a double take when he saw the headlines.

Finally, something had overshadowed him a little.

On the front page was the picture of a grisly murder. Open-eyes, holes in his face--

“REAL ESTATE SUPERSTAR FOUND DEAD IN PENTHOUSE SUITE; DEATH OF A THOUSAND CUTS!”

--

Clark tried to keep it in mind. Unlike the other two he didn’t treat it like any other day because it wasn’t. They still all went through the motions of course, but he talked to Bruce a little softer. A little gentler. Not because he wanted to walk on eggshells, but because he knew for Bruce that this wasn’t just another normal day, and acting like it was felt like almost a slap in the face of what he had to go through.

Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him that Bruce would want to avoid the papers. It was hard for him to wrap around the fact one of his roommates was so rich that his parent’s death made it into the news every single year somehow, so maybe it was his fault that Bruce saw the headline. He read the paper almost every day if he could. He wanted to be a journalist, after all, and they didn’t have TV in their room. Sometimes the common room TV wasn’t even on.

But he saw the murder too and, at this point, didn’t think much of it. Read the article and moved on.

Gotham, he had learned very quickly, was just as bad as everyone said.

--

It made sense, why Gotham Academy reassured all their parents that they would keep the children safe.

And maybe that was Bruce’s fault, he thought. Because it wasn't as if he was expecting papers to talk all over again like the day it'd been, but--

He'd expected a talk piece. An opinion article.

One Year Later: Flowers Left At Wayne Memorial Event as Investigation Dies

Two Years Ago, As Martha and Thomas Wayne Laid to Rest, Crime Began to Rise

Three Years Since Gotham’s Kennedy’s Mown Down: Park Row Died with Them?

A Reflection on Gotham’s Economic Fall: Wayne Fortune Locked Up as Charities Run Dry

(Sole Survivor Wayne to Attend Gotham’s Most Prestigious Academy This Fall with Luther Heir)

Five Years Ago Today: How the Wayne Deaths Marked the End of a Safe and Glorious Gotham

…

He could imagine what the headline should've been. What it should've been.

Instead, Six Years of Sorrow: Wayne Murders Still Shadow Upper East Side and Wayne Murder Theater Announces Close on Anniversary of Deaths, citing ‘Unrecoverable Reputation’ of the Area had been pushed down the page to make room for the new murder.

...and Bruce took a look at it and snatched it up to stare at the grisly photo and start to read.

--

It was a good thing that Clark had a loose grip on it as it was yanked from his hands.

“O-kay. You coulda asked.” He said, but didn’t sound angry. Still being soft around Bruce due to the day it was.

He feared he might’ve done something wrong.

--

Bruce managed to give him a hum of some sort of acknowledgment, but didn't really give much of a response.

He went to his bag, grabbed a pen, and sat right down on the floor, tracing the bottom of the words in the paper to keep his place.

Tommy leaned out from his bunk to try and watch over Bruce's shoulder, but his eyes looked uninterested. “Saw somethin’ ya liked?”

(Bruce shot him a disgusted look, a “what?” but otherwise ignored him.)

--

Clark leaned over too in order to watch him. “Or somethin’ ya didn’t like.”

--

…

Bruce glanced up at him, too, but looked more self-conscious than anything at that.

…

“The way they're talking about the thing just reminds me of the claw marks they found at the Lansing murders…”

“Oh my god,” Tommy said in a familiar kind of disbelief for this specific topic. “It was a dog claw, Bruce.”

--

Clark, however, was interested.

“Lansing murders?”

--

Bruce shrank down under Tommy’s criticism, but… looked up again, and quietly answered Clark’s tone.

“...the Lansings were a business couple,” he said. “They were murdered in their home the summer before last by stabbing a, so not… like this.”

For a moment, he backed up again, and let Clark see the slashes of the man on the page.

“Something left a big claw mark on the door, and their dog--”

“Ran away from home and wasn't seen again,” Tommy said dully. “It obviously hit the front door. Broke the hinges. Ran off in fear. It was a hundred pound dog.”

“...” the look on Bruce’s face said he didn't believe it all the way.

But he didn't lift his head to argue this time. He just stared down at the paper.

“...Bruce, hey, I'm not trying to make fun of you, I'd never do that,” Tommy said, rolling a little closer to the edge of the bed. “But just because claw marks happened once or twice at a murder doesn't mean the Court is real. What, did your dad have a gash on his face when he died?”

…

And Bruce shook his head.

“See? It's not real.”

--

“Well that don't mean you can't look into it.” Clark offered, looking up at them. “What's the harm in connecting a few dots? And just because there ain't proof they do exist doesn't mean they don't.”

--

Tommy gave Clark the kind of flat look he never gave Bruce. Like he was saying the dumbest thing.

“You didn't even know the story when you showed up and now you're trying to do this? Really?”

...Bruce stared up at Clark, face unreadable.

And he started to pick up the newspaper and fold it again.

--

“Tryin’ to do what?” Clark frowned. “If there's a story here I'm interested! Y'know--” he gestured to himself, “journalism?”

--

“To drag him down again!” Tommy said, rolling off then bed and standing, defensive behind Bruce. Above him.

For the moment.

For the moment before Bruce stood, pencils and notebook in hand, and paper carefully folded under his arm.

He looked at Clark.

“Let's go.”

--

Clark glared at Tommy, but he said nothing.

He grabbed his own notebook and pencils to leave with Bruce.

--

“Bruce?” Tommy said, but Harvey was the only one still listening. “Bruce!”

Bruce closed the dorm door behind him.

“Library has old papers on record,” Bruce said softly. And he began to walk.

--

Whatever history was repeating here, Clark knew nothing of it.

“Okay,” he said, and started heading that way.

“... Tommy said I was ‘dragging you down again’. What’d he mean by that?”

He sounded annoyed. Offended. Like he would do that to someone intentionally.

--

Bruce pursed his lips, buying time for a response, but not sure what to say. Or, he knew what to say.

But he didn't like to say it.

“...I tried to find the man who killed my parents,” he said finally. “...I couldn't.”

--

…

“You think they’re all related to that Court?”

--

…

Bruce hung his head.

Stared at the ground.

Didn't… want to look Clark in the eye when he admitted his stupid, idiot theory.

“...they’re all building developers. Or owned lots of property. And were trying to change it…”

--

But Clark didn’t call it stupid.

“Okay, something to start with. And, hey--”

He reached out slowly to touch Bruce’s shoulder.

“Worst case scenario is we’re wrong and nothing changes.”

--

Bruce twitched a little at the contact, but…

Mostly, he just turned his head up a little, and stared at Clark’s face.

(He was sixteen and he'd stopped believing in a just world long ago.

But somehow, he was stupid, and still believed in fairy tales.)

…

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking.

And he led Clark to the library.

...the newspapers were all in the bottom floor, the basement. In the archives. The indexes were massive, but well organized and maintained.

And Bruce already knew where to start looking… to a point.

But the first place to start, was writing down a scrawled poem on a blank sheet of scrap paper. Hesitating.

“...we’re doing this backwards,” he mumbled. “Not supposed to go in with a theory…”

But he wrote it out, all the same.

Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time,

ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime.

They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,

speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head.

--

Clark followed him down.

“No?” He asked, setting his notebook on a desk close to the archives they would need to look through.

“How do you think we should go about it then?”

--

Bruce swallowed and stuffed the paper in his pocket.

“...supposed to go in and look for patterns and connections,” he said. “...if you already have a suspect, you… only look for things that point to them.”

--

“... Okay. How much can you tell me about this ‘Court of Owls’?”

He was sitting down and opening his notebook to a new page. He didn’t have the knowledge of them Bruce did. This wasn’t his home. These weren’t his urban legends.

--

Looking for them directly was exactly what Bruce said they shouldn't be doing, but…

It still thrummed inside him, on some silly, stupid level.

Maybe it hadn't just been a coincidence murder. Maybe it had a purpose. Anything other than random events. Anything.

“...” he handed Clark the paper. “...they have at least one assassin. They… Have an architecture motif. They're watching from the buildings.”

With the kind of architecture in Gotham Academy not being uncommon to the rest of Old Gotham, it maybe wasn't surprising the buildings themselves were the boogeymen’s hiding places sometimes.

But he didn't know if Clark would make that connection to a real estate building mongle--

--

“Ties in to your theory about them targeting building developers.” He said, writing something down before he got up so he could look into those Lansing murders Bruce had talked about earlier.

He needed to play catch-up. This wasn’t his turf. He didn’t know as much as Bruce did.

…

He planned to dig up the papers about the Wayne tragedy too, but… not now. Not with Bruce in the room.

Clark could do that later on his own time.

--

Tommy had seen the connection, and rolled his eyes, and Bruce half expected Clark to just-- not see it at all--

…

But he swallowed something down, and his stomach stopped roiling quite so much, and he nodded again.

“Yeah. Just. Anyone who changes the architecture.”

And he dove in behind Clark.

He looked for the more recent murders. The ones he hasn't read about or studied like this since he was twelve and finally gave up, run off from his last scraps of energy.

…

And finally, someone was beside him, willing, even for just a moment, to believe him.

--

While Bruce looked at the more recent murders, Clark went for the old. The ones Bruce already knew about. He asked him which ones he had connected before, if any, and he would take a look at those.

(“I’m a new perspective. I wanna go over things you already know about. We don’t think the same, so who knows. Maybe I’ll see something different.” Is what he would say.)

The Lansing murders. What they did before the murders. The other ones that Bruce had tied together when he was 12--

Before they knew it the library was closing. They would need to come back.

And they would.

--

(A new perspective. A new reading level, honestly-- from twelve to sixteen, the change in things he understood--)

They would come back.

Absolutely.

Bruce went to bed and slept the whole night, and woke with impatient fire in his eyes.

Tommy gave Clark a sour look as Clark headed out the door to change, and once again as Bruce flew out of his last class, tossing his bag into their dorm and making a beeline to the library.

“Bruce, but, homework--!” Tommy called.

“Don't bother,” Harvey sighed, sitting down with his own book bag to get started “It’s not like his grades will get him kicked out.”

….and on the weekend, Tommy barely had time to pull on a matching hoodie and jeans, before Bruce was out the door for early breakfast and back to work.

(“Nice to see him care about something,” Harvey said.

Tommy threw a pillow at his head.)

[giorno-plays-piano]

Impersonator

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, death of minor character.

Words: 1953.

Summary: Meeting a cosplayer in Berlin isn’t a big deal, really. You don’t actually know why you are drawn to this guy in his stunning horned helmet, standing on the train with a seidr in his hand.

P.S. I own the plot of this story to amazing @caffiend-queen​ and my determination to write it to lovely @kinathewolf​ <3 Although I changed the story a little (this post made us discuss the idea), I hope you will like it!

_____________________

Waking up when it was barely six, you kept yawning and rubbing your eyes while sitting on the train. You worked for one of the thousands of start-ups in Berlin, and your boss always liked to start pretty early. Well, despite waking up when it was still dark, you didn’t mind, really – the U-Bahn was much less busy now than thirty minutes later, and you didn’t have to stand the whole way to your station.

Today was a bit different, though. Not that there were too many people, but that one guy with his horned helmet looked so fantastic you simply couldn’t take your eyes off him. He had entered on the Bismarckstraße station, and since then you had been staring at him shamelessly. He was the spitting image of Loki, that god from Asgard, the one who had been released by Avengers not so long ago for his aid in protection of Earth from an invading alien force. Now Loki had his own fan club, and this guy was probably one of the squad. Seeing him in a full suit wasn’t surprising either – tomorrow was the first day of Comic Con, so he was probably going for a cosplay catwalk rehearsal before the event.

No one was really paying attention to him as he stood silently near the door with his seidr, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Come on, he was probably the most handsome guy you had seen in years, not even mentioning his gorgeous costume. Although you had never been Loki’s fan – for God’s sake, you still remembered that day in Stuttgart – this guy’s passion for cosplay was admirable.

When you reached Wittenbergplatz, a group of cheerful tourists entered the train, and the guy had to move further, taking a place close to yours. Of course, you still stared at him in awe, and he quickly noticed you. His piercing gaze finally made you realize it was unacceptable to gawk at someone like this, and you averted your eyes, feeling your cheeks growing hot. The cosplayer chuckled at your reaction.

“I’m so sorry!” You muttered, clenching the fabric of your jacket. “I just- ugh, I mean, your cosplay is stunning!” Now that you said it, you were just too humiliated to add anything. Why couldn’t you be like all other people who didn’t harass the poor guy with them staring? Of course, no one would be comfortable with some creepy girl watching over them.

But the guy didn’t look worried or embarrassed even the slightest bit. When you saw his face, you realized he was amused as he looked at you with a grin on his face. Now you even felt a little scared because there was something animalistic in his gaze.

“Thank you. I was spending day and night crafting this costume.” He was smiling, and you realized he was probably playing the role of Loki now.

Oh damn, of course. Being a cosplayer meant not only wearing a costume of your character but being this character, behaving like them, speaking like them, sometimes even moving like them. This guy was doing exactly this, and, to be honest, he was really good at acting since for a minute you believed he wasn’t just a mere human.

“I’m sure you will be the winner of the contest this year.” You smiled shyly at him, still embarrassed at your behaviour earlier, and the guy laughed at you a little. God, you felt so terribly awkward.

“Thank you. If my brother won’t show up, I’m sure I’ll have a chance.” For a second you thought there was something bittersweet in his eyes, but then it was gone, and the cosplay rose to his feet, shining in the electric light of the subway. “This is my stop. Have a good day, my lady.”

Of course, you barely nodded at him, felling like you’re gonna explode from the way he called you and how the guy bowed his head a bit at you as if you truly were some Asgardian goddess. Minutes later you would curse yourself for being so stupid to not even ask his cosplayer’s nickname – how on Earth were you going to find his profile on Facebook now? Since you were in the middle of a new marketing campaign, your boss would never let you leave tomorrow to visit Comic Con, and that was your only chance to ever see that amazing guy again.

Ugh, living with that useless brain of yours was quite a challenge.

You had already bid farewell to the cosplayer since you knew meeting him by chance again in a city as big as Berlin was impossible – especially if without his costume and wig and makeup the guy would be unrecognizable. The next evening you were sitting in the train just like all other evenings when you were coming late from work, a bag with a chicken sub in your hands along with an already cold cup of tea. You sighed, thinking of Comic Con and all the fun people were having there. Damn, next year you would definitely take a short vacation to finally visit the convention. Maybe you would have a chance to meet that mysterious guy again.

“It smells nice.”

You immediately raised your head, staring at the cold blue eyes of the guy you met yesterday’s morning. He was still wearing his horned helmet and shining golden armor, the Scepter in his hand. He sat close to you again, and you suddenly found the courage to smile at him widely. God, it was happening. He was really here, with you.

Was he coming back from Comic Con? You thought they finished way later, but maybe he was just tired to spend the whole day in this outfit – you could imagine how heavy it was – and left earlier. You couldn’t blame him, thinking of how many people probably wanted to take a photo of him during the day, too, and it was definitely tiresome as hell to pose in front of tons of people for hours.

“Would you like some?” You handed him your paper bag. “It’s a sub with chicken. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Ah, it’s a very generous offer. It would be rude of me to decline it.” His smile sent chills down your spine, but you reminded yourself he was still playing his role. Anyway, what could he do? Follow you to your apartment in this outfit? Seriously? He would be stuck in the hallway with those horns of his.

You watched like the Loki-guy took a half of your sub and returned the other half to you, then taking a bite and chewing slowly. To your delight, he nodded, telling you he liked it without words, and you chuckled at him. Now he looked almost cute with his puffed cheeks as he kept biting more and more. Apparently, the sub wasn’t bad, and you dug in it enthusiastically, caring little for a few other passengers. No one was looking at you two, anyway.

Halfway through finishing his part, the guy stared questioningly at your paper cup of tea, and you smiled at him with confusion.

“You can have it, too, but it’s already cold, sorry.”

Now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Did he think it was funny? Was it because he thought real Loki would find it funny? You were too confused but decided not to ask. You looked silly enough yesterday when you were gaping at him with wide eyes. No more of this today! You couldn’t blow it if you wanted to ever see the guy again.

“It’s quite alright. Let me help you.” He carefully lowered his seidr so it touched your cup, and in the next moment you saw a soft blue glowing surrounding it. It was coming directly from the Scepter, and you literally opened your mouth while staring at it wide-eyed. Wait, did this guy put something inside the seidr? Like, a light bulb or something? God, it was beyond your imagination!

But before you started throwing questions at him, you suddenly saw a wisp of steam coming from your tea and felt how the cup grew hot in your hand. Oh shoot, it definitely wasn’t just some light bulb! His Scepter was a real machine!

You probably looked like a little kid, your eyes shining and jaw dropped at the sight of something that looked like a miracle to you, and Loki-guy chuckled softly. He was seemingly content with your reaction as you even sniffed your tea a little bit to feel it really was hot again. But when you brought the cup to him, thinking he wanted to drink, he gently refused it.

“Thank you, but you have already given me enough.” His smile was much softer, and your cheeks grew hot again at his kindness, though it was you who shared your food with him. Strangely, it was like this stranger had some effect on you, and you smiled back at him, lowering your head to have a sip of tea.

However, the next moment the guy furrowed his brows, looking somewhere behind you, and you saw him lifting his seidr again, pointing at something behind your back. You missed his concerned gaze, but not noticing the blinding light coming from the Scepter was absolutely impossible – for a second you almost lost your eyesight, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching the paper cup in your hand. What was that?! But before you got truly scared, the light had disappeared, and all you saw was that Loki-guy sitting close to you with a piece of chicken sub wrapped in a napkin in his hand. His Scepter looked the same as before, no blue glowing coming from it. Wait, you didn’t imagine this blinding light, did you? It was here just a second ago!

As you tried to turn back to see what was happening, the stranger suddenly stopped you, his warm hand on your shoulder as he leaned closer to you, smiling, “Your tea is going to be cold again.”

“Yes, b-but-“ You gawked at him and then stared at his seidr, unsure what to say. ���I-I mean, have you seen that light? Did it come from this thing?”

You heard someone behind you letting out a sudden scream and smelled metal and plastic melting. It was disturbing enough as it was, but then you realized you smelled the burning flesh searing from someone’s bones.

The Scepter. The guy’s resemblance to the Asgardian God of mischief. Shit.

Before you tried turning again to see what was left of the seats behind you, Loki’s grip on your shoulder became painfully strong. You watched him leaning even closer to you in slow motion, the world around you slowing down as the man whispered to you in a dangerously low voice, “Don’t look back. You don’t want to see what is left of that creepy man who was staring at you all the time, do you, dear?”

Frozen on the spot, you barely nodded, your eyes not leaving Loki’s pale face as he smiled, letting go of your shoulder and touching your arm surprisingly gently instead. You heard the sounds of crying and whining, people around you scattering to the different part of the car to be as far as possible from a man in the horned helmet. But you just couldn’t move from your place, glued to your seat, an Asgardian God looming over you.

“I am grateful for you sharing your meal with me. I’d like to thank you properly,” he said softly, and you swallowed your tongue instead of letting out a loud scream. “Let’s leave on the next station. I know a few nice places in Mitte.”

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