#they really made me dust these off for the ratio

[uberchain]

So 60+ GB of TF2 repo files leaked including the official Casters Quarterly magazine witch model and some of your guys’ reactions absolutely warrant this

(Feel free to repost and use whenever it calls for it)

[viking-raider]

The Frosting Captain

Summary-> Sy tackles a surprise for your daughter, Ada. Taking himself out of him comfort zone and elbows deep into frosting.

Pairing-> Austin "Sy" Syverson/Reader

Word Count-> 1.5k

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Light Teasing, Soft!Sy, SAHD!Sy, Nurse!Reader,

Inspiration-> This Instagram Video (This gent makes me think of Sy every time I see him, and his confections look so darn tasty!)

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction! Part of my Syverson Family Chronicles! (You can't tell me Sy probably won't turn into Marshall, when he retires and becomes a stay at home dad!)

Ao3 Link-> HERE

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You entered the kitchen, returning home from a long day of work, to discover the last thing you expected of your husband of fifteen years. The tall and muscular, retired Army Captain, turned stay-at-home-dad, was bent over your chaotic center island, sporting nothing underneath your sunflower-print apron, beside his flour dusted, dark-wash jeans. The island and kitchen was littered with nearly every mixing bowl, baking sheet and pan you owned, along with rubber spatulas, wooden spoons, measuring spoons, and all the ingredients you needed to bake a cake.

Your face twisted in a stupefied expression of confusion. Sy wasn’t a baker. The man could cook, yes. He could grill a mean piece of meat. But the delicate nature of making cake to Syverson was like pulling the pin on a grenade. Something he’d rather not do, under any situation. So, finding him meticulously layering and filling a cake made you want to make sure you hadn’t walked into the wrong home.

“Austin?” You croaked, blinking at him.

Sy started, a glob of Peanut Butter buttercream dripping over the side as his hand slipped with the icing knife. “Hey, Sugar!” He replied, giving you a sheepish grin, scraping the buttercream off the side and back into the bowl. “How was your day?” He asked, stepping over to kiss you.

“It was all right.” You replied, nodding and kissing him back. “What have you been doing all day?” You inquired, cocking a brow around the kitchen.

“Oh.” Sy chuckled, a soft pink appearing over his bearded cheeks. “Well, um…” He cleared his throat, wiping his palms on the apron. “I overheard Ada on the way to school this morning, that she wanted a butterfly cake for her birthday. So,...” He twisted his upper body towards his hard work.

Your heart melted, grinning at your Bear. “So, you’re making her a butterfly cake.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking back to you, a little abashed. “Not sure how it’s going.”

“Well, let’s have a look.” You said, moving around him.

“I’m going for this.” Sy explained, picking up his flour-y, buttercream covered phone, to show you the vision he had. “I have her favorite flavors. Peanut Butter buttercream, with a chocolate drizzle between.”

“Mmm, sounds tasty.” You hummed, looking at the beautiful and simple enough looking cake, he was attempting. “How far are you?”

“I have one wing done, it’s in the fridge.” He answered, jerking his head in the appliance’s direction. “I just have the last wing and the body to do, then decorating.”

You took a cheeky taste of the buttercream. “Oh god.” You moaned, licking your lips.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Sy asked, looking at you, worried. “I knew my ratios were off.” He growled at himself, snapping up the bowl.

“Austin.” You gasped, grabbing for the bowl before he could harm the buttercream inside. “Your ratios are perfect.” You assured him, wedging yourself between him and the counter, stopping him completely. “You made it yourself, from scratch?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking down at it.

You cupped his face in your hands. “It’s really good, babe. Don’t you dare toss it. I will not forgive you.” You giggled, kissing him softly.

Sy sighed into the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. “Thanks, Sugar.”

“Ma!” Ada’s voice called out.

“Christ, she can’t--”

You understood, flying out of the kitchen, stopping your youngest from getting anywhere near the kitchen and her surprise. “Hey, munchkin!” You greeted her, whisking her up into a big hug and twirling her away from the kitchen. “I missed your sweet face today!” You told her, smiling as you heard her giggle.

“I missed you today, Mama.” Ada chuckled, locking her arms around your waist and gazed up at you. “Can you help me with my math? Daddy is being a sneaky bean in the kitchen.”

“He is being a sneaky bean in there. He won’t even tell me what he’s doing. But I’m sure he’ll tell us soon enough, Cricket.” You hummed, stroking her soft curls out of her face. “Til then, let’s go do your homework.” You said, before guiding her towards her room, looking over your shoulder towards the kitchen, seeing Sy pop around the corner, holding up his phone and nodded; understanding.

Finishing Ada’s homework, you checked on your sons, Myles and Colt, finding Myles absorbed in playing Call of Duty and Colt with his nose buried in his latest book. You spent time with them, ensuring their homework was finished and they all stayed out of the kitchen, leaving their father’s secret mission undiscovered.

“Mama, I’m hungry.” Colt whined, coming to stand in Myles’s bedroom door, leveling a look at you as you sat beside Myles, playing Plate Up with him.

“All right, bud.” You replied, eyes still glued to your oldest’s tv as you rushed to serve customers as Myles ran the kitchen. “I’ll order some pizza. How’s that sound? You just come and help your brother keep our Cafe, Sip and Dip, running, while I do that.”

“Can I get extra sausage!” Myles asked, his blue eyes big with hopeful persuasion.

“Yeah, I’ll put it on your half. What do you want on your half, Colt?” You nodded, handing your controller over to him. 

“Just pepperoni, Mama.” He shrugged, sliding into your vacated slot on Myles’s bed.

Nodding, you slipped out into the hall, heading to ask what Ada wanted on her half of a pizza, when your phone chimed with ‘Simple Man’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd, informing you of a text notification.

Sy: I’m finished.

You: Not a moment too soon either! I’ll come down and look in a moment.

You pocketed your phone and popped your head into Ada’s room. “Hey, Cricket. I’m ordering pizza for dinner tonight. What do you want on your half of the pizza?”

“Extra pepperoni!” She declared, looking up from her tablet.

“On the order.” You smiled, then headed to see how Sy’s cake turned out for her. “All right, Bear, let's see!” You called, entering the kitchen and discovering him in the act of cleaning things up.

“Now, before you see it.” Sy warned, loading the dishwasher. “Just remember I did almost all of this by hand, from scratch.”

“I will.” You nodded, grinning at your husband, knowing, no matter how it turned out, Sy had put his heart and soul into this cake for your daughter. And that was the most important ingredient of all. “I’m sure it looks beautiful, Sy. And having had some of the buttercream you made, from scratch,” You said, seeing how covered in flour, batter and frosting his poor phone was, from looking at recipes and photo references. “It’ll taste amazing.”

Sy nodded, his unruly curls falling against his forehead as he moved towards the refrigerator, where he had it stored. “She’s going to hate it.” He gulped, his hand grasping the handle.

“Good lord, man.” You giggled, shaking your head with a smirk, putting your hand over his. “How many deployments? Three kids, that are your spitting image, in every way possible! And you’re frightened by a piece of cake.” You teased him, almost cackling with amusement. “The pin has been pulled on the grenade, Captain Frosting.” You said, pulling open the refrigerator door for him. “The only thing left to do is eat it!”

Inside was a cute and pastel butterfly cake.

An eight-inch round for the body, with the peanut butter buttercream and a chocolate ganache between three layers, for Ada’s obsession with Reese's cups. The wings were made from a twelve-inch round cake that Sy had divided and used each half for one of the wings on either side. All three pieces were carefully, but roughly, covered in pink, white and blue fondant. A valiant effort from a pair of hands hardened with callouses. Sy had done a little piping bag work with a green frosting, creating wobbling little lines along the tops of the cakes, down their sides and bottoms. He had even attempted to make a couple fondant flowers with the fondant he had left, dotting them in a couple places, before deciding he wasn’t very good at them and didn’t make anymore. Finally, for the butterfly’s antennae, he used two strawberry Pocky sticks.

“Well?” Sy rasped behind you, his eyes on the side of your face, studying it for every hint of reaction.

A smile crossed your face and you turned to face him, slipping your arms inside the apron he still had on, feeling the warm, but tense, skin of his sides as you did. “It’s gorgeous, Sy.” You assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck. “She’ll absolutely love it.” You hummed, nuzzling the side of his face.

“You know how I know?”

“How?” He cooed, closing his arms around you.

“Her Daddy made it all for her.” You murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “And it is lovely, Austin.” You reaffirmed, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair.

Sy bent his head, his lips brushing your ear. “I left some of the buttercream and ganache, for later.” He purred hotly.

“You naughty baker.” You moaned, licking your lips and letting your mind wander, as Sy’s hands found the slope of your bum.

“Mama! When’s the pizza gonna be here!” Myles shouted from the top of the stairs.

“Right, I’m supposed to be ordering pizza for dinner.”

“What a terrible way to ruin dessert.” Sy laughed, kissing you deeply.

[cnnmairoll]

Birthday Cake

Pairing: Kenma x reader Genre: Fluff a/n: my dumbass only took the pic in one ratio which is 1:1 when i shouldve done it in different ratios for a cute banner... oh well. here's the birthday post i made for kenma. and this one is for me even though it's a day later

You glanced at your phone for the fifth time in the past minute, checking the time. Kenma had asked you to come over to his apartment after your afternoon class was over, and now you were standing outside his door, a nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. It was your birthday, and while you didn't expect anything extravagant, the fact that Kenma had planned something made your heart flutter.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door. A few seconds later, you heard some shuffling from inside before the door creaked open, revealing Kenma in a bit of a mess. He wore an apron that was slightly too big for him, with flour dusted all over his front and a bit of egg batter smeared on his cheek. His usually neat hair was slightly tousled, giving him a frazzled look.

"Ken, what happened?" you asked, unable to suppress a giggle at his state.

Kenma scratched the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. "I… um, I was baking you a cake," he admitted, glancing over his shoulder. "well, it's still in the oven."

You stepped inside, the sweet aroma of baking filling the air. "It smells great," you said encouragingly. "I can't wait to see it."

Kenma smiled softly at your enthusiasm, but then his eyes widened in realization. "The cake!" he exclaimed, rushing to the kitchen. You followed him, watching as he hurriedly opened the oven and pulled out the cake, which was slightly burnt on the edges.

You walk over to the cake, inspecting it closely. "It looks great, really. I bet it tastes just as good."

Kenma frowns. "It's burnt."

You laugh, a light, joyful sound that seems to ease his worry. "It's the thought that counts. Besides, I love it."

He relaxes a bit, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I was going to decorate it too, but… well, you can see how that went."

"Let's do it together," you suggest, grabbing a tube of frosting. "It’ll be fun."

Kenma hesitates, then nods, his smile growing wider. "Okay. But no promises it'll look good."

You both get to work, laughing and chatting as you decorate the cake. Kenma's usually serious expression is softened by the warmth in his eyes, and you can’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have him by your side.

"How did you even get flour on your face?" you tease, wiping a smudge off his cheek.

"I have no idea," he admits, chuckling. "I'm a disaster in the kitchen."

"You're my disaster," you reply, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Kenma’s eyes sparkle with affection. "Happy birthday," he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity.

"Thank you, Ken," you say, your heart overflowing with love. "This is the best birthday ever."

As you finish decorating the cake, you both step back to admire your work. It's far from perfect, but it’s a labor of love, and that makes it perfect in its own way.

"Ready to taste it?" Kenma asks, handing you a knife.

You cut a small slice, offering him the first bite. He takes it, and you watch anxiously for his reaction. He chews thoughtfully, then nods. "Not bad. Could use less burnt edges, though."

You laugh, taking a bite yourself. "I think it's perfect."

Kenma wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "Happy birthday," he repeats, kissing your temple.

oh erm idk how to end it

[razorblade180]

Not really in the mood for writing a prompt so I’m just gonna ramble about how cool Weiss is in TSF AU

I basically made her the closest thing to a witch I could without stepping into magic territory. It always bugged me how her semblance and Dust was so compatible but it was never tested to its limits, so I imagine Weiss learned to basically be a pro in the field of dust manipulation. Has a real intuitive sense for it, which is why her kids are so good for their age. A lot of it stems from always getting unarmed in battle.

She learns that she can grab a dust cartridge and put a glyph at the end of it to pull it out and construct things like a saber of pure Dust. Eventually she gets creative enough to throw vials and catch them with glyphs to trigger timed explosions.

In crystal form, Weiss gets the hang of making glyphs and simply pushing the crystal into it to create a flame thrower affect. The most reckless and dangerous trick is using the refined powder state. Even with gloves on, the margin for error when throwing or outlining a pattern with it is small cause a chain reaction could lead the effect back to her hands.

Dust for water isn’t actually a thing, but through countless trail and error, Weiss knows how combine fire and ice Dust to create the desire effects. She even helped researcher and companies create vials with ratios already mixed so other huntsman and individuals could have access to the element.

Is the one who helped teach her brother how to use their semblance. Also started the idea along with Ruby to plan “hunting trips” where Weiss or any of her relatives would go off to kill a powerful a Grimm to add to their summon abilities.

Weiss has in fact killed a dragon. Took her an entire month and she did it for free. She learned create magma during this time and gained a fondness for more practical uses of rock Dust. Eventually she learned to make constructs out of most materials. Even lightning.

Is the manger and agent for both of her children when it comes to their professional lives. Most collaborative works don’t make it past her before she even thinks about bringing them up to her kids.

Regularly considered Penny’s science partner in the study of Dust and its utility. One of them is also pitching ideas to the other and showing rough blueprint ideas. Their most popular hit and meaningful success is modern dust weaving into clothes. Suddenly, winters in Mantle weren’t as harsh and Weiss’s daughter could live an easier life with her condition.

Helped fund Oscar’s therapy practice. Was also his first patient. Some might conflict of interest. Those people don’t know Oscar “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it” Pine. Was a super big help in her darker moments after adjusting to parenthood and old family trauma.

Occasionally surprises her friends and family with appearing in a modeling catalog or runway. It helped her gain some confidence back after having twins. She also likes to make a point that Jaune’s wife is incredibly hot so there’s no point in random women thinking he’s going anywhere, and to make any guy that looked down on him feel shame. Jaune matches the energy by also looking gorgeous when the opportunity arises.

Weiss also makes no effort to hide any scars. That includes wearing a half shirt or bikini that shows where Cinder stabs her or the two scars on her face. That way her daughter and even her brother, feel more comfortable about their scars.

If you ask her what her biggest sacrifice is, it’s making sure she never matches hairstyle or clothes with her daughter. Weiss kinda misses the ponytail but Summer will look at her a little funny despite them not being the same kind. Eventually Summer will stop caring and rationalize they look alike regardless of anything they do. They’re both just two pretty ladies other people get jealous of. She doesn’t have this attitude with Winter!!!

The top of everyone’s emergency contact list. Also the only adult aside from Ruby that every child (except her own daughter) feels immensely comfortable with emotionally. Even Yang’s kid is pretty soft around Weiss. Practically karma for how much Weiss’s son adored Yang when he was little.

[prismaticpichu]

Zack decides to bake some cookies for his BEST FRIENDS <3, but he reads the recipe wrong and does a teaspoon of sugar and 2 cups of salt.

How, uh, does that go?

🧂🧂🧂🧂🧂

Shshshsshh 🤣❤️ I actually needed some salt for my scrambled eggs, funny enough!! *showers crystals onto breakfast* <333

Ahhhhh, Zack… that is SUCH a thing the pup would do 🤣💙 I imagine it going something like:

~

“Orddeeerrrr up!”

The resulting boom of wood hitting drywall could’ve very well been compared to a grenade being thrown through the door, at least when taking into account how the sheer magnitude of their visitor’s entrance sent both Genesis and Angeal tumbling off the couch and onto the floor in a startled, yelping mass.

Not Sephiroth, though.

He just more or less glanced up from his book, sitting in the plushiest chair in the SOLDIER First Class Lounge.

“Hello, Fair,” he nodded, smiling nonchalantly as his two friends peeled themselves from off the cold hard floor, straightening. “What brings you here?”

“Yes—good question, Sephiroth.” Genesis dusted himself off, trying to ignore the potential damage to his ribcage, mako-lit eyes snapping toward the puppy—then Angeal. “Angeal, chum... how did your student get in here?”

Angeal pulled himself up, cracking his back, looking somewhat sheepish. “I... well, I did give him a key,” he admitted, and it sounded as if he was starting to regret it.

“Oh, I forgot the key!” Zack kicked the door shut behind him, leaving the implications hidden behind his nonchalant smil—

“So you kicked the door open?” Genesis saw right through the grin, an he didn’t like it.

“Sure did.”

“Why?”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me in if I knocked.”

Genesis huffed, his eyes floating back toward Angeal with a certain woodenness, opening his mouth again to speak:

“Gen, don’t start,” Angeal sighed.

“Oh, I’m starting,” Genesis folded his arms, the familiar embers sparking in his gaze. “I don’t understand—this is the First Class common room. Why would you ever even tell the kid where this room was to begin with? I mean, really, we deal with the younglings every day; do you know how many of his little friends he’s probably told by now? Before we know it, this place will be infested with them—”

“He brought cookies,” Sephiroth pointed out.

“Like, for Minerva’s sake...—wait, cookies?” Genesis repeated, pulling his head out his metaphorical hind to see Zack had indeed pulled out a small baggie of chocolate chip cookies from his pocket, and his eyes widened. “Those aren’t for us... are they?”

“‘Course they are!” Zack proudly chirped, peeling open the baggie to pull three fresh-baked sweets out. “Wanted to make something sweet tor ShinRa’s sweetest SOLDIERs. Made ‘em myself.”

Genesis’s eyes widened further, the embers suddenly smothered as he gestured for Zack to enter. “Well, what are you standing by the door for? Come in, come in! We’d love to have you here!”

His own eyes gleaming, Zack bounded into the heart of the lounge where all three Firsts were situated, dishing out the delicious treats to each of his wonderful heroes.

“Much obliged!” Genesis thanked, graciously accepting the offered the cookie.

“Thank you,” Sephiroth nodded with a faint smile, offering Zack a secret hair-ruffle before the boy skipped over to his mentor.

“Thanks, pup,” Angeal chuckled warmly, studying the cookie as one would a fine gemstone. “You really made these yourself?”

“You bet!” Zack beamed. “Right in my kitchen.”

“And these aren’t just ‘Tonberry House’ dough you put in the oven?” his mentor smirked.

“Nope, nope! Made ‘em from scratch, right down to the eggs and sugar!”

Not that they needed to know of the mess he had so kindly dubbed, “the egg-plosion.”

He could always just repaint the walls.

“Well,” Angeal’s smirk softened into another warm grin, reining Zack back to the present as he brought the cookie to his lips. “They look wonderful, pup. Good texture, good chocolate chip-cookie ratio~”

“Indeed...” Genesis hummed, then happily took the liberty of taking the first bite—

“Enjoy...!”

—”OH!”

And, in an instant, Genesis dropped the cookie as if it were a steaming hot potato—which, all things considered, it probably could have been, given just how... how...

How malevolently SALTY the things were!

The flood of ungodly flavor surged into his mouth like a salted ocean of chocolate and dough, any semblance of sweetness engulfed in the thirsty saltiness, and Genesis found himself overcoming his extreme mysophobia as he grabbed Sephiroth’s water bottle and took a generous swig; then, as he continued to chug the liquid, he found the water bottle seized from his mouth as Angeal chugged the water for himself, bombarded with the same horrid assault on his senses, unintentionally catalyzing a desperate tug-of-war over the magical remedy, each managing to take a rapid sip before it was rapidly tugged away, and this pathetic display continued until nary a single bead of water was left in the silver vessel, completely drained like hungry dogs lapping at a puddle.

Only then, as the two SOLDIERs stood there panting, did the world come back into focus.

...What.

In.

Minerva’s.

MUFFIN—

Genesis’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at the spiky-haired First, who had sucessfully been, like the poor water bottle, drained off any color on his face.

“...ZACKARY—” he started again.

“I... uh...”

“You put... SALT in the COOKIES?”

“...You know, now that i’m thinking about it... I may have grabbed the wrong—”

“What kinda moronic JOKE was that?!”

“...Sugar does kinda look like salt...”

“Do I LOOK like I’m laughing?!”

“...They are both crystaline...”

“DO I?”

“...Should I start running?”

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU.”

And the chase ensued, a blur of red leather hounding a poor, good-hearted SOLDIER out the door, down the hallway, and probably all through the building:

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m SORRY...!”

“Genesis...!” Angeal shouted—coughed—already smelling the flames, and he took off after his friend in fear of his dear student’s life. “Don’t you dare...!”

Meanwhile, Sephiroth remained in the First Class lounge, quite relaxed in his chair, and quite enjoying himself as he casually finished the salt-showered cookie in his hand.

He shrugged.

“I like it.”

And little he know that, his water bottle, sitting completely drained on the floor, had just inadvertently his spread anti-degradation DNA through the bodies of his two closest friends.

The world was saved.

[glitterguts13]

Can you do Dr. Ratio or Gallagher x Caelus mpreg, with preg-Dr. Ratio/Gallaget?

Fluff plz~

Like their far along amd getting frustrated with their belly getting the way and just bring preg in general.

Can it have some age difference?

Plz and thank you

Why not both? My personal age headcanons for these three are as follows: Ratio: 35 Gallagher: 45 Caelus: 23 On a good day, learning under Dr. Ratio was brutal. Learning under a heavily pregnant, sore, and downright miserable Dr Ratio was its own fresh hell. There was no stopping to let anyone write notes, no time for questions, and heaven forbid you submit a late paper-

The chalk snaps in half, and Ratio all but grands the rest to dust in his fist. His back hurt, his ankles hurt, hell even his hair felt like it was hurting and the way his belly got in the way of him using the chalkboard at all was pushing him over the edge.

"Knock knock." there was no knock, just the voice responsible for his misery.

"Caelus, I have told you numerous times to not interrupt me while I am working." Dr. Ratio snaps, glaring over his shoulder at the younger man. The trailblazer stood at the door of the empty classroom with a take-out bag in hand, grinding sheepishly.

"Come on, it's your lunch break. Have you even eaten yet today?" he waves the bag in the air, "I got your favorite."

Ratio pauses, hand hovering over the chalkboard.

"...Carbonara?"

"With pork, from that place downtown you like." had he the strength, Ratio would have slapped that smug grin right off his lovers face.

"Very well. I suppose I can take a short break." tossing the broken chalk into the bin, Ratio carefully lowers himself down into his seat, hissing as the weight shifts off his ankles and settles into his spine.

"You know, most people take maternity leave this far along." setting the food in front of Ratio, Caelus hums to himself, "It won't kill you to hand over your job to a substitute for a few weeks so you can rest."

There was an argument to be had, but for once, Ratio couldn't bring himself to start it. The food looked too good and he was far too hungry to ignore it.

"Still, I wish you wouldn't bother coming here," he grumbles into his first forkful, eyes narrowing. Caelus chuckles warmly,

"I think you're a little past hiding your 'condition', doctor." the announcement of his pregnancy had sent shockwaves through the school, and well, the galaxy. No one expected the great Dr. Ratio to ever consider having a child, let alone with someone so...different from himself.

"I don't want people to get the wrong idea."

"Wrong idea? You don't want people to know I'm the father?" the jest is wiped from his tone, and for a moment, Caelus looks genuinely hurt. Ratio kicks himself mentally, no matter if he didn't show it, he hated seeing his lover look anything but their usual happy self.

"Caelus, you look young enough to be one of my students. I don't want anyone to think I've gone and done something uncouth." truthfully, no one was really sure just how old Caelus was. An adult, yes, even with all his knowledge, Ratio couldn't pinpoint an exact age, only the general range of 19 to 25. Even on the higher end of that scale, Caelus was still a decade his junior and that could certainly raise some eyebrows.

"I mean, I look young enough to be a student, but I could be older than you for all we know." not factually incorrect, but highly unlikely. Ratio sighs, shaking his head.

"If it's that big a deal, I promise not to bother you at work anymore. I just...worry about you. You work so hard and you never rest enough." there it was again, that kicked puppy expression that made Ratio feel entirely too guilty.

"...I suppose I don't mind you visiting. Sometimes. When class isn't in session." he ignores the shit-eating grin that spreads over his lover's face, but nearly stabs his fork into the back of Caelus's neck when the younger man dove to his knees and presses a cheek against his swollen belly.

"Aw~ Your mama isn't so mean after all~" face flushed, and a few curious students stuck their heads into his classroom, Ratio growled under his breath.

"Get. Out."

~~~~

At the age of forty-five, Gallagher thought his baby-making days were long over.

Oh, how wrong he was.

"Caelus, I need you to get me that bottle of whiskey. The one up top, yeah, that one, in the gold bottle." leaning back against the bar, one hand resting over the top of his swollen belly, Gallagher watches his boyfriend climb up top of the bar and snatch the bottle down.

"Thanks."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, pick up that dish towel over there for me." Caelus grins and does as he's asked without hesitation.

"Can't climb up the bar, can't bend down to pick shit up...can't even have a goddamn drink," Gallagher grumbles under his breath, poking at his taunt gut with a frown, "All because of you."

""Aw, don't blame the baby." Caelus whines, hooking his arms around Gallagher's and hugging him tightly. The pitiful puppy dog pout does nothing to move Gallagher.

"Right. I should be blaming you." he flicks the trailblazer's forehead, smirking as he whines loudly and lets go of his arm to rub to sore spot.

"I'm too old for this shit. Youngin's like you should be the one's having babies, not me." how he ended up in this mess was anyone's guess. Knocked up and nearly fifty with a boyfriend who he isn't even sure can legally drink outside of Penacony.

"I think you look adorable." there comes that sweet purr, the flick of his tongue over those soft pink lips and beautiful, lust-filled eyes. His hands are on Gallagher in seconds, rubbing his tummy and nuzzling into his neck.

Right.

That's how he got into this position.

"I think," Caelus cooes, nipping at Gallagher's ear, "You've got another pregnancy or two in you before it's time to stop."

[flurglhinge]

Rachel sticks her head in Debbie's office door and waves a tablet at her.

"Did you see this?"

"Ms Luthor's new urgent project?"

"Yeah, what do you think of it?"

Debbie leans back in her chair and looks at Rachel, who is reading the email again, frowning at it like it's written in a language she's not quite proficient in.

"Shouldn't be too difficult. Your basic Seasonal Affective Disorder lamp, isn't it?"

"Yeah, no, but we already had a SAD lamp in development that we shelved because there wasn't a market for Luthor-branded consumer medical equipment. You know, because of," Rachel gestures vaguely in the way that L-Corp employees tend to when alluding to the time Lex Luthor lost his god-damned mind, built a super-suit and tried to kill Superman.

Debbie makes a face that's halfway between 'listening to a racist uncle at Christmas' and 'there's a screaming lunatic in the parking lot and he's standing next to my car'. "Yeah, sure."

"And anyway SAD lamps are supposed to simulate bright sunshine. Like, bright sunshine. These required outputs-- I don't know? I looked them up and it's like, red."

"Maybe there's a mistake?"

"No, the brief says to have a really specific range of wavelengths in a certain ratio. And it's straight from Ms Luthor. So, you know."

Debbie nods and leans further back in her chair, folding her arms and sighing. "Okay, sure. Let me take a closer look at it. Hopefully we can just dust the old prototype off and tweak some settings."

"But what is it for? This doesn't even say if its consumer-grade or medical or what."

"I'll take another look at it," Debbie says before Rachel spins up into a full panic. Rachel is an excellent project manager but she tends to get twitchy about anything unusual, a tendency only exacerbated by her realisation, after the fact, that she'd been managing development of the (frankly revolutionary) impact-absorbing materials that had allowed Lex's suit to take a punch from Superman without turning into a highly inefficient sausage maker.

Debbie is baffled by the project specs. They're pretty straightforward, but utterly ludicrous. It's not a proper SAD lamp at all. If anything, it's the exact opposite of one. It mustn't put out half of the wavelengths of light that are generally considered to be beneficial. The spectra it must be active in are largely out of the human visual spectrum. She stalls for time, researching any practical applications but the entire thing seems pointless. It's not for growing plants indoors, or incubating eggs, or lighting darkrooms, or anything. It's technically achievable, but ridiculously over-engineered for any practical application.

She's trawling through the old Luthor Corp whitepaper database when she stumbles across a design for a 'sunlamp' supposedly meant to allow crops to be grown out of doors during the winter. Which is Joker-shit on the face of it, leaving aside the fact that they draw enough power to run a small town and appear designed to withstand a simultaneous hurricane, earthquake, and strategic bombing campaign. But the lamps are designed to emit a very similar set of wavelengths to her stupid, obviously-not-a-SAD lamp. That, together with being a nonsense Lex Luthor project from a certain point in the company's less than glorious recent history, means the 'sunlamp' is some kind of anti-Superman weapon.

Debbie freezes at her desk. Is Ms Luthor going Lex? Should Debbie be calling the supervillainy hotline? But her project is for a lamp that can run off domestic current. Is Ms Luthor just more willing to sacrifice spectacle for efficiency? But Ms Luthor is quite publicly friendly with Supergirl. Supergirl has saved her life a bunch of times. And the whole L-Corp rebranding was the most minor of the changes she'd made to the company.

[Scene where one of them works out What The Lamp Is For.]

"Okay, so, remember that really creepy article that guy wrote a couple of years ago about Superman's sex life?"

"What? No."

"Ugh, lucky. It was the one where he was speculating about the speed of Superman's ejaculate and its effect on a human-"

"Yes, oh god, I'd managed to repress that, fuck you very much for reminding me."

"Well, sorry, but I think it might be relevant."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Buck up buttercup,

[Meeting with Lena, Supergirl drops in, Lena introduces them as 'the ones working on the project' :significant eyebrows: Supergirl gets very flustered but also pleased. Kara discovers that Super Blushing is actually a thing, R just about chews through her tongue because it is definitely an HR violation to high-five the CEO about her sex life, D is trying to astrally project herself to the moon, Lena is The Smuggest Person Who Has Ever Lived - like a cat that has just bought a dairy farm with an attached canary aviary]

[shivunin]

✨Self-Rec Tag Game ✨

Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made. I’ve put categories below, but they’re more guidelines than rules.  1. Something you absolutely adore 2. Something that was challenging to create 3. Something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably)  4. Something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.) 5. Something you want other people to see

@gaysebastianvael and @dungeons-and-dragon-age tagged me back to do this; thank you both! c:

Tidal Lock (T, 20k words, Cullavellan): This fic is the first finished thing I posted to AO3. It's a pretty different style from the other things I've written, but it's my comfort read for myself. I love stories that loop in on themselves, so have a big ol soft spot for it c: Writing Cullen as a kid was so fun and I fully intend to do it again sometime.

My Fenris scarf. My hands are a bit shaky, so I have a hard time drawing things. Unfortunately, I needed to draw the lyrium brand design straight onto the yarn (not a great surface for drawing things, btw) before I could embroider them into it with the glow-in-the-dark yarn. It turned out really well, but just putting the design down with chalk paint took at least three hours (only a little less than doing all of the embroidery)

3. Ohhh man, I'm having trouble deciding! Here are three options:

This ficlet about Elowen and Cullen after they almost kiss. They are both such an absolute mess, this conversation is even messier, and every time I think about it I get the giggles c:

This ficlet about Hawke producing most of a deck of cards from her and Fenris's person after a night at the Hanged Man (I just...think it's funny to imagine her sticking them into his belt during a card game and Fenris fully knows, but pretends he doesn't. for the bit)

This fic on AO3 (explicit) with Arianwen and Zevran; specifically the part after the smut things are done, when they're dusting each other off and lightly arguing about their little competition. They're just...such dorks sometimes.

4. Search Your Hands (E, 13,581 words), easy. I actually had this most of the way finished six months before I finished it, but I was convinced it was too silly to post (and thankfully @star--nymph convinced me that it was worth finishing <3).

One of my favorite things about writing Cullavellan is exploring the funky little miscommunications that happen with you're in a multicultural relationship and this fic was inspired by that. There's just a mismatch between Cullen (who, having very few personal possessions, is almost certainly inexperienced at receiving gifts) and a cultural tradition involving gift-giving as an expression of Serious Romantic Intent. I did not expect it to be as well-loved as it is, but it has (by a dramatic margin) the highest kudos to bookmarks ratio of all my stories (at ~1/3) and is like...the fifth most-kudo'd thing I have on AO3, which is wild for a one-shot with minimal smut.

5. Wander the Drifting Roads!! (M, 108,331 words)

It is the fic I am most proud of (though I think Palimpsest might be my number two at the moment) and it's also, indirectly, the reason I wound up actually deciding to participate in the Dragon Age fandom. I wouldn't have most of my fandom friends without Wander, so just that would be enough for me to want to share it.

Friendship aside, though, I think it's some of my best writing. Cullen is exposed to red lyrium and loses his memory in between the main game and Trespasser. His Lavellan (Emmaera) has to figure out how to carry on without him as Commander or her lover and they take a very long road back to each other again. If you're okay with some angst before a happy ending (or if you're really into yearning), I think it's a great exploration of what makes someone who they are: is it a formal title or role? is it memory? is it the circumstances they've overcome to get where they are? or is it something less easily-defined than that?

Writing Wander was very challenging (especially towards the end) but so rewarding and worth it. When I want to feel that very particular sort of hurt you get from a sad fic (the kind that twists in your heart), I open up Wander again and put myself through chapter 7.

(I want to stress that it does have a happy ending lol, and a whole anthology of sweet domestic things to follow it up, but I think most people hang onto the hurt part of the hurt/comfort in Wander lol)

I tried to tag most of my mutuals when I made the original post, but: @daggerbean I'd love to see what you've made! and anyone else who wants a reason to show off your fanstuff is welcome to join in c: Tag me so I can see!

[justminawrites]

Of Ribbons and Other Lost Things - Chapter 3: Unlucky Girls

AO3

1 | 2 | 3 | TBC

Luka Couffaine had made a mistake.

He couldn’t decide when it had happened– maybe following his ex-girlfriend’s father into their family bakery was where it all started to fall apart, or even putting the idea of part-time employment into Tom Dupain’s mind. 

Maybe it went even further back than that. In hindsight, waking up today didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“No, no, you need to feel the dough admit defeat,” Tom attempted to demonstrate the delicate kneading technique, “See, like this.”

Luka stared at the evidently undefeated beige mush on the counter and tried not to cringe as he imagined it growing two eyes, a mouth, and begin laughing at him. He’d never been particularly good at any non-musical extracurriculars, though he wished he’d taken pottery or something, just so he wouldn’t dig himself into an even deeper grave in front of Marinette’s father. And her best friend.

“Wow, Luka, you’re really showing that bread who’s boss,” Alya Cesaire teased from across the room, watching him massacre the flour-to-water ratio as she tapped away on her phone.

“We don’t seem to be in harmony,” he admitted, embarrassed by how quickly he was ready to quit. Forget harmony, they didn’t even seem to be playing the same note. How anyone could do this was beyond him. Marinette really was amazing.

“Maybe it’s better if I give up fighting the dough, altogether.”

“Nonsense!” Tom interrupted, visibly trying not to wince as he leaned in to examine the creation, “We were all beginners once. You just need a.. uh.. you just need a little more–“

Luka braced himself for what he was going to say. Skill? Patience? Humility-to-admit-you’ll-never-be-good-enough-for-certain-things-and-let-them-go-because-you’re-not-Adrien-Agreste– 

“Flour, dear. You just need a little more flour.”

Both Tom and Luka looked up to see Sabine Cheng enter the bakery, her arms filled with stacks of colourful flyers. 

Alya quickly tucked away her phone in her back pocket to lighten her load, sending a few papers scattering across the tiled floors. As Sabine thanked her, Luka watched a bright blue one float across the room and gently settle on the marble counter, inches away from his pile of mushy dough.

QIXI JIE PLAY: Tickets only available till XX/XX/XX (2 weeks left!)

“Sabine!” Marinette’s father seemed to (for lack of a better phrase) light up, eyes twinkling, as his wife proceeded to dust off her apron and join them; carefully holding a cup of flour. 

“I made the same mistake when I first learned to bake,” she said reassuringly, dumping the white powder over Luka’s hands, “Tom’s father wouldn’t let me live it down for weeks.”

“Of course!” Tom grinned, putting on an affected accent to his voice, “Two cups of water in the mixture, Sabine? That’s not how it’s done!”

“There,” Sabine smiled back, “Now try, Luka.”

He reluctantly replicated the kneading movements he’d been watching Tom make for the past twenty minutes, and was relieved to see that his watery creation had now solidified into a a more play-dough like consistency. The tightness in chest eased a little, seeing the progress he’d made. 

“Are you putting on a play, Mme. Cheng?” Alya interrupted, not waiting for a response as she plucked the final flyer off the counter and added it to her pile,

“I could drop a link in The Ladyblog if you’re having trouble selling tickets.”

“That’s kind of you, dear,” Sabine gestured for her to pass the flyers back which she did, “But it’s not my play. I’m doing this as a favour to a friend who wanted me to teach his actors the traditional art of Dunhuang.“

“The Chinese ribbon dance,” she clarified, when three pairs of eyes blinked at her bemusedly. Sabine sighed, tucking away the sheath of papers in a cabinet below the counter, and looked up at her husband with worry. 

“Unfortunately, it’s all very last minute so I can’t run the bakery and teach full-time. Tom and I were thinking of getting Marinette to help out but we don’t want to overwhelm her–“ 

“Maman? What did you need help with?”

Luka could feel his heart cartoonishly leap into his throat as her voice drifted down the wrought-iron staircase, and mentally pushed it down into the depths of his stomach, as the tap tap tap of ballet flats slapping the ground hurried to join them. 

Sure, it’d only been a week since he’d seen her but a lot could happen in a week. He could be perfectly fine in a week. Perfectly fine and completely over the breakup, and not at all thinking about how Jule took close ups of his face all week that she’d probably shown to all her friends and oh he was so going to disown his sister when he got home–

Marinette Dupain-Cheng entered the room and let out a sound that was somewhere between squeak and wheeze when she saw his face.

“L-Luka?!”

Luka couldn’t recall what he’d said in reply, if he’d said anything at all or wether he was even breathing because Marinette.. because her hair..

Her hair was down; out of its trademark style and spilling down her shoulders, the ends thick and black.

The idea that Luka had never seen Marinette with her hair down was laughable as it was strangely poetic. They’d hung out together so often - they’d dated! - but seeing her like this seemed much more vulnerable somehow. Like he was getting a glimpse of all the things she couldn’t tell him when they were together. All the things he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

Not that she wasn’t beautiful. She was always beautiful. 

It was only when Marinette blushed and pulled her hair into its usual twin ponytails, that he was able to tear his gaze away from her and back to the mound of dough in front of him. Don’t lose your cool, don’t lose your cool, don’t–

“Hey, Marinette,” he said easily, though his voice wavered in a way that no one but Jule would’ve noticed.

“I didn’t expect– I mean– You look– Your jacket–“ she floundered her reply, earning a laugh from her best friend. 

Luka looked around him in surprise; he’d taken off his jacket to keep it from getting in the way. He felt a little naked without it but hadn’t wondered if it made him look weird until now. Great, now she thinks I’m weird and a stalker.

“Real smooth, girl.” After a pointed glare in Alya’s direction, Marinette turned back to him, finally noticing the dough in his hands. 

Her lips broke into shy smile. 

“What are you making?” She asked curiously, skirting around the awkwardness of him being here, in her house, when both of them knew she’d been avoiding him.

“Just bread,” he said, almost apologetically covering it with the flat of his palms, “–but I think Baking might not be the right instrument for me.“

“Here, let me see.”

Luka moved back in surprise as she came to stand beside beside him, dusting her own hands in flour. He’d expected her to be nervous and uncomfortable around him now that they’d broken up (for reasons neither of them could articulate), but Marinette only furrowed her brow in concentration, pulling the baking sheet towards herself, and got to work. 

“There,” she beamed up at him, barely ten minutes later, “All done.”

Marinette had managed to pummel his sickly-beige, barely-dough concoction into the dusky brown colour of before-bread with only a few shakes of flour and the twist of her wrist. 

“O-oh, wait,” She mumbled when he’d stared at her in awe instead of replying, “I didn’t mean– I wasn’t trying to show off or anything–“

“You’re amazing, Marinette,” It escaped his mouth before he could fully realise what he’d said, and now she was looking at him with big eyes. Crap. That was probably a bit too strong. 

“I.. am?” 

“–at baking!” He added quickly, not meeting her gaze, “A real magician, Marinette!”

Why couldn’t he stop saying her name? The awkwardness and the lingering effect of his words seemed to envelop the two of them and Luka had to force himself not to react to the spark of electricity that shot through his nerves when their forearms accidentally brushed. 

“That’s right, my daughter’s a genius!” Tom swooped in between them to examine the dough, and Luka moved back, relieved. 

If this kept up, he would start pulling out the finger-guns before lunch; and absolutely, under no circumstances, could he have Marinette realising that the ex-boyfriend she thought was cool and mature, was actually a huge dorkasaurus. He’d done enough damage already.

Tom swept the dough into a tray and lovingly placed it into the oven as Sabine handed them both a wet towelette. He tried to look at Marinette out of the corner of his eye, and found her gaze already transfixed on her best friend’s phone.

“We gotta leave soon if we want to make it before André splits,” Alya said matter-of-factly, pointing at something on her screen, “It’ll take us at least 20 minutes to get there on foot.”

“And guess who’s going to be there because of the Bourgeois’ anniversary party?”

Luka didn’t need to turn around to see Alya shake her friend’s shoulders and quietly mouth ‘Adrien’ to know who it was. 

To know who it always would be, with Marinette.

“Marinette, could you be a dear and get the apples I left out by the door before you leave?”

“Sure, Maman!”

Luka smiled at her retreating back as she pushed open the bakery door, and stored the sorrow somewhere deep inside him instead. 

He’d meant it when he said he’d be happy for her when they got together. Not ‘if’ but ‘when.’ Because that was yet another curse he carried by remembering the events that he’d lived through, akumatised as Truth– Marinette’s secret was that all her roads ended up at Adrien Agreste, wether she wanted them to or not. 

All of Paris seemed to know that it was only a matter of when. 

He would be happy, He would be happy, he would be happy. Even if the stars fell from the sky and the moon broke into a thousand pieces. Even if every instrument he’d ever made went up in flames. Even if Shadowmoth won and all of Paris became a wasteland.

If Marinette loved Adrien, he’d be happy for her even if it killed him.

...

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was going to kill her best friend. 

Not only would she have appreciated knowing about her frickin’ ex-boyfriend baking bread with her father, Alya also had the gall to laugh in her face when she’d nearly fallen to pieces in front of him. 

She sighed as she curled her fingers around the crate of apples; Marinette could hardly blame her bff for the latter. Her heart had spontaneously combusted when she’d walked in to see Luka Couffaine of all people, behind the counter without his jacket, up to his elbows in flour, clearly out of his element and did she mention without his jacket??

In all the time that she’d known him, she hadn’t ever seen him jacket-less, and she hadn’t expected to feel so flustered by the strange intimacy of seeing Luka’s tanned forearms for the first time. Or those same arms baking bread.

Well..trying anyway.

Marinette stifled a smile at the thought. Luka was normally so calm and collected, there was something almost gratifying about knowing that he could be just as much as a fish out of water as her, even if it was just while kneading dough.

She felt the her cheeks flush as she recalled his awestruck expression ‘You’re amazing, Marinette.’ Alya had cackled knowingly and Marinette’s back pocket had buzzed with a text from the brunette. She didn’t even need to open it to know what it said.

@alya.ladyblogger: tryna impress someone r we

( ͡° ᴗ ͡°)

Marinette shook her head to clear away the blush. 

Alya had it all wrong; she wasn’t trying to impress Luka with her bread-making skills. If anything, she was trying to impress.. uh.. herself! That’s right, it’d been so long since she’d helped out her parents at the bakery that she started to wonder if her baking had become a little rusty. Yeah, that was definitely it.

Not seeing Luka in over a week had momentarily made her forget why she was avoiding him in the first place, and now Marinette wondered how he was handling the after-effects of the Truth akuma. 

She’d wanted to ask him about Jagged, about his mom; she’d wanted to ask him if he could ever forgive her for getting him akumatised, for any of it, but for once, she was afraid the answer might be exactly what she’d expected.

So she settled for Juleka’s mumbling and the close up pictures on her purple-haired-friend’s phone, telling herself it was for the best, it was for the best, it was for the best. Unlucky girls like her didn’t get to fall in love, and besides, Luka couldn’t get akumatised if she wasn’t around to let him down. Again. 

Marinette tried not to sigh, as the memory of the last time she talked to Luka rose up in the back of her mind: she’d broken up with him over the same bridge he’d taken her to that very evening, because it was easier than telling him the truth. 

No, not easier– safer. It was safer for the both of them if she stayed away. Or at least, she hoped it was. Oh, and Adrien too, of course. 

Though, she supposed, Adrien was hardly in danger with the way her words twisted themselves into pretzels around him. In fact, the only chance he’d ever become akumatised because of Marinette, is if he completely misunderstood everything she’d said– like Marianne.

And after everything that’d happened on French-American friendship week, even her feelings about Adrien had become pretzel-shaped; the inextricable threads of shame and disappointment weaving their way into the “love” she’d been so sure she held for him, less than a month ago.

Marinette took a breath and hoisted the crate up to her hip, trying not to recall that final night in New York, the cold shards of rain that peppered her face as she pedalled as hard as her burning calfs would let her. Hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she screamed and screamed after the car, only for Adrien to leave without even turning once. 

What a mess.

As Marinette was about to push open the bakery door a single apple fell from the crate and rolled backwards.

She tried to reach for the runaway fruit with one arm while balancing the crate in the other, and ended up losing her balance and toppling over instead, spilling the apples onto the sidewalk and earning sympathetic glances from the pedestrians on the street as she fell. 

“Are you okay, Marinette?” Tikki flitted out of her purse as if on cue, perching on top of an apple, as her big bug eyes widened with concern. Marinette could see herself reflected back in the glassy blue tint, from the shadows under her own eyes all the way to the the defeated slump of her shoulders.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gotten a good night’s sleep– mess was an understatement. 

“I’m fine, Tikki,” she sighed rather than said, gathering the fruit back into the crate. 

“Just the same old, klutzy Marinette.”

The kwami frowned up at the mouse miraculous pendant hanging at her neck.

“Maybe you shouldn’t..” 

Whatever Tikki was going to say was immediately interrupted by the hum of a motor as a black taxi pulled up in front of the bakery, and a blonde girl, about her age, got out. 

The kwami quickly flew out of sight as the girl promised the driver she’d only be a few minutes, oblivious to the disarray Marinette herself was sitting in the middle of–  and the single red apple that had rolled to wait right under the girl’s colourful sneaker.

“Wait, WATCH OUT–“

But it was too late. 

A slip and a stumble later, the girl found herself right beside Marinette on the pavement, her fall jostling the blue beanie she was wearing off of her head, so Marinette could see a faded streak of pink hair peeking out of the blonde. 

“Oh my, is everyone alright?” The bakery door swung open to reveal a concerned Sabine, holding her purse tightly, with a bemused Tom in tow. 

The girl gave Marinette a weak smile as if to say ‘oh, clumsy me,’ and the idea that there was someone out there in the world who was just as uncoordinated and graceless as her was so silly that she grinned right back, and the two were soon in stitches on the floor outside the bakery. 

“Here, let me help you.. uh..”

“Zoé,” the girl smiled, taking Marinette’s outstretched arm, “I’m Zoé Lee.”

“Hello Zoé,” Marinette smiled, dusting herself off, “I’m Miss-Walking-Disaster, but everyone calls me Marinette. Please let me spot you some of our macarons to makeup for all this.”

“Oh, that’s not necessar–”

“I insist,” Marinette interrupted bending over to put away the last of the apples, “It’s the least I could do after introducing you to our lovely Parisian pavements.”

Before Zoé could reply however, Sabine sighed and took the crate off of the ground and handed it to her husband, who dutifully retreated back into the bakery.

“Maybe that’s enough excitement for the day, dear,” Sabine added, not unkindly, “Why don’t you let your father handle the macarons, hmm?”

“Yes Maman.”

“Wow!”

Zoé glanced down as Marinette got an eyeful of the bright sneakers and looked up at her with sparkling blue eyes.

“Your sneakers are awesome! Did you decorate them yourself?”

If there was anything Marinette loved more than designing, it was seeing other people’s designs. Particularly DIY ones. There was just something so inspiring about them.

“Yeah,” Zoe agreed tucking a lock of hair behind her ear sheepishly, “I’ve written down every nice thing that anyone’s ever said to me.”

“To keep them with me all the time.”

A single I ♥ U, was scribbled on to the toe cap of the left shoe.

Marinette frowned, “But there’s only one message.”

“I.. uh.. only had one friend.”

Both Sabine and Marinette let out an ‘oh’ sound, the sound wavering somewhere between pity and second-hand embarrassment. Zoe shifted on her feet, suddenly uncomfortable. 

“Why don’t you two come inside?” Sabine smoothly changed the topic, holding out an arm to help her daughter up, “And you can show your new friend around the bakery, Marinette.”

“That’s a great idea, Maman!”

“I mean..,” Marinette held up her hands apologetically, “Only if you’re free Zoé.. I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

Zoé shrugged, “I’m not in a rush.”

Sabine looked back and forth between the two girls fondly, smiled and turned to leave. Marinette quickly checked the left pocket of her pink jeans to make sure the bee miraculous was still where she’d left it and missed the strange glance Zoé gave her. 

“By the way,” Marinette added over her shoulder, as the two of them followed her mother back into the bakery, “–where’s your accent from? It’s really pretty.”

“New York,” the other girl replied, bending over slightly to tie her shoelace, “I’m from New York.”

“Wow! How exciting– I was just there on a class trip!”

“No way!”

“Yeah– so what brings you to Paris?”

“I’m here..“ the light in Zoé’s eyes darkened.

“...to see my family.”

______________________________________________________________

END NOTES:

This chapter was basically: Luka on the inside: asdfghjsjdjhbjhrwkjefehfhrgbkrhIstillloveyou Luka on the outside: oh hi marinette Mari on the inside: *Mari.exe stopped functioning after seeing jacket-less exboyfriend* Mari on the outside: *baking to not process feelings*

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[aggressive-almond-cookie]

Lately I've sort of gotten my second wind in wanting to get better at anarchy. I thought that setting myself an ambitious rank goal might push me into working harder for it, but it actually just made me over-focus on winning which made it hard for me to want to take risks, experiment, and learn, and ultimately stressed me out and made me too nervous to play much. I ended up avoiding it, and then feeling bad for avoiding it, and then feeling worse when I did play because I was so out of practice due to avoiding it. So... lesson learned, I need to not do that. I still need to set goals, but stick to personal learning goals.

To some extent, it's mentally easiest to just trust that rank will naturally put me wherever I belong eventually. I don't need to focus on getting rank to put me in a certain place as much as I need to focus on 1) cultivating enough skill to belong there, and 2) then play enough games for the randomness factors to even out well enough that my placement is accurate. I don't know if that makes any sense, but it sort of lets me relax and not get too stressed out about results of individual games. I trust that I'll get to the next rank when I'm ready, and I don't know what 'ready' means-- that's up to the games to decide. All I can do is keep learning.

The last several times I have played anarchy have been pretty demoralizing. Some of that is because now I have friends that are willing to do open with me, but they are far better than me and it's a difficult environment to learn in. We get matched against teams way above my skill level and everyone is just sooo efficient and aware and precise; it's hard to get practice in when I take two steps into mid and die immediately. Additionally it's hard feeling like the weakest link on the team. I am making the majority of the mistakes that cost us games and when the knowledge of that starts to weigh on me I start inwardly tilting pretty quickly. My friends are patient and kind with me but I'm not sure they know how to help me, and I think the only way I can realistically start helping myself is in solo queue.

So I was dusting off and tuning up my old system of tables and spreadsheets that I was using to track my learning progress last season, getting ready to put them to use again. And once thing I did find very heartening, I realized, as I was going through my list of things I wanted to improve on, that I actually had improved on quite a few of them. I retagged more items to the 'improved' list than I expected to, and it gave me some faith that.... I am still improving, ultimately. even if it doesn't feel like it compared to others. I guess since others are also improving at a similar rate as me, it's a lot harder to notice my own progress. Even though I am improving compared to my past self, I have been perceiving my progress based on how much I am closing the skill gap between myself and others, and that's not really an accurate metric.

So I've added to and reformatted a bunch of stuff in my learning systems specifically to help me better track my own personal improvements more objectively. I am hoping having the numbers in front of me will keep my morale from tanking too badly next time I'm on a 5+ loss streak. Plus tables and spreadsheets and data just make my brain happy. I just need to be careful to avoid the trap of spending more time fine-tuning my learning systems than..... actually using them to learn things, lol. I know I'm prone to that, especially when I'm nervous about practicing.

Meanwhile, well, I'm still stuck in B+ where I was when the season began, and with my win/loss ratio I haven't moved the needle very much. So.... maybe this weekend I can put these systems back into action and see where I end up by Fresh Season.

[ducknotinarow]

“Hey, uh, Raph? I think I might need your help with something.” Don starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “So there’s this guy I maybe have a crush on, but I’m not sure if it’s right to move on a friend of a brother’s, you see.” ( shfbshsbdbdh; I had to follow up :’ 3 ‘03 verse! )

| Muse Interaction @starsandsavages

Raphael, was busy in the garage tinkering away with his shellcycle. Don may have built it, but he was the one that tended to the maintenance. Or tweaked things here and there mostly in an attempt to get it to go faster. He would just love to show up Casey when they wond up getting into a race. Thier dumb face left to go slack jaw and eat his dust. Chuckling to himself as he was trying to see if there was a way to make the frame lighter. That help with his speed, he could reduce the compression ratio as well. Mulling it over a second as he hears footsteps work their way in to the room.

Raph doesn't really give much attention to who it is. The safe bet was Don anyway. Reaching for the drill ready to contuine woth what he was in the middle off but he can just feel Don staring at him so he turns to look at them letting the purple banded turtle knkw he had hus attetion.

“Hey, uh, Raph? I think I might need your help with something.”

Watching Donatello rub at the back of his neck had Raphael tilting his head to the side. He moved to sit on the floor to better show Don had his attetion. "Kay guessin' this ain't one of those give me a hand with an enegie or help me move some junk around calls for help? Alright brainaic what's eattin' at ya now?"

“So there’s this guy I maybe have a crush on, but I’m not sure if it’s right to move on a friend of a brother’s, you see.”

"Uh interestin" was all the turtle had to say at first "what it's you Don I have expect ya to marry ya computer before ya get a crush on another person." He smirks a little as he teases them over it nit focusing on the question well the bit Donnie likely would want him to at least. He was curious who's friend it was. Even rubbing at his chin.

"Well ya talkin' to me so can' be any of my friends. Pretty sure ain't any of Mikey's, cause I'm pretty Mikey would love to set you up." That left one brother Leo, so that would be. "Ya 'ike Usagi?!" It wasn't to hard to land on that answer Leo wasn't excatly one that had a lot of friends. But he was the one that made sense for Donnie to be a bit worried about having a crush towards.

"Shell, I say do it. Shoot your shot Dee. I said it as a joke bro but I really 'm worried ya come an' tell me ya got hitched to a circuit board or somethin'" the lack of a grin was to show he was serious about it now. "If ya worried about Leo wouldn' hurt ta ask 'ight? He lokes the guy so clearly he might not have an issue but I still say go for it."

Moving off the floor so he could make hus way over to Donatello. Throwing his arm over thier shoulder and tugging them into a side hug. "Aww looked at Don, gettin' all them warm fuzzy an' shit. Kinda surpised since ya started off on the wrong wit' 'em. But eh could pick worse I guess." He takes a second to look over his brother. Fixing a look on them before he speaks again.

"Look ill go with when ya talk to fearless if it helps ya knkw moral support or whatever. Or mediator either works." He smiles clearly kidding still. "Come on lossen up bro. I gotta back here. Promise. Just gotta mess with you too."

[tsuki-sennin]

It's bigger! It's badder! Ladies and gentlemen, it's too much for Ukiyo Ace!

Welcome back to the Jyamato Grand Prix!

Joining us today is Buffa, God of All Jyamato! And boy is he mad~! Kamen Riders beware. This bull's gonna ran through the China shop that is your lives~!

...in theory, at least :3

Spoilers, I guess...

-Where is the Fox Man?

-Sara-neesan...

-She truly remembers nothing about what happened to her brother.

-Oh fuck, Kyuun!

-Oh fuck, John and Ben! Hell yeah!

-"Everything's different again... even you, Neon."

-Holy shit

-Kurama really went there, didn't he?

-That fucker.

-Beroba offers you more battle.

-"The answer's obvious. I'm gonna win again."

-"And?" Holy shit, dude.

-Chirami's still got reality TV brain.

-Speaking of which, I hear another Hollywood writer's strike is on the horizon, so... I hope you 2000s kids are ready for an all new CN Real block.

Chirami: "No no no, you don't get it! It'd be fantastic for ratings~!"

Tsumuri: "...ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?"

Chirami: "Now, I realize that nobody's got a chance in hell against Buffa, but that'll just add to his allure as an unbeatable God! People will wanna lay him out~! And that means people will be tuned in from all across space and time for when he inevitably bites the dust~!"

Tsumuri: "Two thousand years worth of contestants, quite literally innumerable innocent people, and my little brother fucking died because of you people."

Chirami: "Business expenses~!"

-Letting the mask slip right off, huh?

-I miss you, Giroli.

-Don't you diss my girl like that, you weasel.

-Yeah that's what happens when you try to play god, Admin Man.

-Ah, yep. Arranged date.

-Gonna be real Neon, I don't think this is going well.

-Oh shit, the boys!

-There's something so funny about Ben just saying "Ojou-sama" among the rest of his dialogue.

-I appreciate these subs also applying to English dialogue, that's very considerate.

-"Nooooo... I'm sorry :c"

-White Tiger, Black Panther. Welcome back to the Desire Grand Prix.

-Er... well, I suppose that's just a name now.

-"Whoooooo...?"

-My heart breaks for Miss Navigator.

-OH FUCK BEN

-Buffa, you leave that beautiful man alone.

-"Go home, little kitty."

-Yeah, I kinda gave up my "name" basis with Buffa, in case you haven't noticed.

-Nooooo, John D:

-omfg Michael that was so slick

-Tom too, that was amazing

-Here they are! The Riders!

-Double Beat!

-...don't quite get to see it, huh?

-Beroba Jumpscare.

-"Oh! You forgot this, honey~!"

-Neon's misery swells once more.

-"I can't wait to watch you cry in 4K, Na-Go~!"

-Takahashi, you are just beating on the poor girl, huh?

-Kyuun appears!

-"Forget about your lives as Riders. That's the only mercy I can offer you."

-Neon's resolve has never gone away.

-"You can be whoever you want... in the future!"

-Neon, 3,033 AD.

-Oh fuck, a Ninja!

-Ninja Doggo!

-Buffa killed Eitoku!

-Er, excuse me... Retired.

-Victory Royale.

-"...we're completely foxless... piece of shit would be our only chance."

-"Ukiyo Ace-sama..." :(

"Pwease pwease pwease!"

Ziin: L + Ratio, you fell off, cringe, fail. ...that's the ancient slang from this era, right?

Kekera: No no, sonny. You don't get it. He's an old man, we never get slang. Let me try something he'll definitely understand. Buzz off.

-Oh

-Okay, thanks Ziin.

-He's based now.

-"Yo, Game Master."

-Hello, Buffa. ...I can't believe I'm saying this, but you have my permission to do what you want to the Game Master. I'm sick of these people's bullshit too.

-No shade towards Yamazaki-san, of course <3

-"The only Riders left."

-"No fighting :<"

-"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH, WOMAN! It's my time."

-Yoshitsugu Matsuoka and Yoshitsugu Matsuoka, together at last.

-Faito!

-Fever Zombie!

-Tsumuri's just so done with all this crap.

-Buffa's in the middle of his Turbo Mecha Sonic arc.

-Speaking of which, I hope I get to see the SMBZ reboot's third episode sometime soon, I've been waiting years to see Metallix return.

-Not even a dent has been made in Buffa's armor from all that fantastic technology.

-"This is the Jyamato God's world."

-I'll be real, I'd have given Tsumuri like ten super forms by now. I can't guarantee it'd be a good watch at that point, but hey I'd be happy.

-Boom! Laser Victory!

-An unkillable zombie! Don't that feel familiar?

Chirami: No! No, wait, please, I... We can make a deal! If you spare my life, I'll give you a planet! Three planets! Two and a half?

Buffa: You just went down.

Chirami: I'm a haggler...?

-As needlessly cruel as Buffa, he's at least got one point from me for one reason.

-Recognizing he benefitted from that corrupt system and realizing that it only worked out for him because it worked out so terribly for everyone else.

-There's your little bro, Tsumuri.

-And Glare2 is out of the battle!

-Oh shit, there he is! Fox Jesus~!

-"No, no no, no no no NO! How dare you?!"

-He's back!

-"I'm a ghost. ...or to be accurate, a kitsune."

-Boost! And... Magnum!

-Ready... Fight!

-"You don't mean shit to me anymore."

-"Yeah? Well, me neither."

-Desire Royale.

-Tsumuri has awoken.

-Oh fuck, that's a new rider! ...OH FUCK SARA-NEESAN

-Is that a badger? Er, wait no, she'd be an otter like Tycoon...

-Hang on, lemme look something up...

-John and Ben's Rider forms are called "Garun" and "Lancer", respectively. I feel cucked not seeing them as Riders. ...maybe they didn't wanna dig through the prop closet for them.

-Beagle Eitoku, or... rather, Nagayama was called "Groovy". ...that's cute, I'll admit. ...I forget, do the participants name their Rider forms themselves?

-Pretty okay episode overall though, I give it a 7.2/10 for Rider Revival Episode Standards. ...that's still a C- by American School Standards, but it's a solid C-. (meaning, I liked all the stuff with Buffa and Neon and Tsumuri makes me sadge but in like a good way.)

[muerteporfavor]

Hola!

It's been a bit again. I've been busy. (Not too busy for language study- although I do want to get a better structure for that soon.)

Today won't be a listing day. As it is pretty late where I am currently. But I wanted to write up an update about my life and this little Muerte Por Favor mission.

On Sunday of this week I made a decision that I would section off one day of the week to clean up one aspect of my space that I had been neglecting.

Monday: washing blankets. to be honest I had not washed my blankets for probably almost a year if not a little more. (granted I did switch out my comforter and one of my throw blankets during that time, but i didn't wash them. I just put on new blankets to replace them and moved on) Which is kinda gross but I have clinical depression so I get a pass.

Tuesday: (today!) I set up the mission to dust my room which I also have not done in about a year give or take. But I did it!! It took me like 4 hours because I also had to clean out my desk, reorganize my bookshelf, and hang some posters. But I did it.

Both times I did the thing even though I really did not want to. I wanted to curl up and not move or do anything. But I did the thing. And still had plenty of time to do fun things or work on other projects. I also called my dentist (got an appointment for tomorrow yay!) and I called a business about my application (to receive no response. Not so yay).

But I did the things and I'm proud of myself. I stuck to my goals and I followed through for me. The only point of this silly little thing. I didn't do the tasks when I intended to. I wanted to do them in the morning but alas I ended up doing them mid afternoon both times. Which I'm going to say is okay. Because they still got done.

Tomorrow I have to do laundry (which I'm actually going to have to force myself to get up early to do because I have dentist at noon so it has to get done before then).

Then Thursday I have to buy new jeans (I have none that are workplace appropriate- prior I had just been wearing leggings at my old job cause they allowed it but few other jobs seem to. So I'd like to get ahead of that) and clean out my car.

And then Friday is celebration for a long week of Getting My Shit Together. (I'm thinking I might go try out a cute coffee place that I've been meaning to for months now.)

I started this because I'm not sure what I want to do with my life right now. And I decided to completely reset my life in terms of cleanliness. Just to have something concrete to focus on in the meantime. I'm thinking I might go back to school but nothing is set in stone at the moment as I'm still trying to work on my commitment - follow through ratio.

So far I think its going well!!

That's all for now.

Its Muerteporfavor <3

[ktrivia]

Pull Your Punches (Levi x Reader Boxing AU)

Summary:

Moving to a new city should have been scary, could have been lonely, but thanks to your giant of a childhood friend, it was easy.

He trained some of the best boxers in the world, one of whom just happened to be the man whose poster you had on your bedroom walls when younger. His pictures did him no justice though, much better in the flesh than you could ever have imagined.

To find out he had the same penchant for winding your friend up was a surprise, something you did for fun and relaxation. But this was just for entertainment, it wouldn’t ever come to anything, it couldn’t. Would it?

Author's Note:

Hi everyone! Here is part 2 of the fic that I'm transferring over. Originally this was written by me and a co-author (@zedsdead1001 ). We did alternating chapters initially so this one was hers! I hope you enjoy it!

<- Previous Chapter : Next Chapter ->

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 2

As the trip to the diner was underway, you remembered just how awkward Erwin could be when confronted by anything sex-adjacent. A few boys at school had made some terrible attempts at asking you out, childish mumbles which you'd defended against well but the usual protective nature from your friend turned into nothing, as if his strength never existed and the blonde would simply stutter and have a full on body blush. During your life a flirtatious streak had become evident, cheeky and inappropriate at times, one which Erwin had never seen. Until now. And now, it was time for some good natured fun.

"So Levi," you began with a lazy yet sultry tone, nails inspected in a show of boredom. "Remind me again what your vital statistics are?"

The pale man smirked, eyes forward and hands in pockets as he could feel his trainer and friend turn to you in disbelief, mouth slack and words unattainable. Oh, this was going to be excellent.

"Which ones, Y/N?" Giving it back with an equally seductive growl, Levi glanced over to catch your flashing stare, saw the small smile of mischief that told him you were most certainly on the same page.

"Only the important numbers."

"Well in that case, eight…" He was cut off by a large elbow to the ribs, Erwin's cheeks blazing and blue eyes burning with warning whilst you tried your best to keep calm, wondering if that were really true. "I was talking about my fucking shoe size. No need to get violent, big man." Silence descended as the walk continued, all three of you mulling over the next thing to talk about. The tallest in your group quietly pondered a way to bring the topic of conversation away from his fighter's genitalia, drawing in breath to start a soliloquy that centred around the diner, only to be interrupted by another low purr. "But then, you know what they say about men's feet and certain ratios…"

It was out there again, a filthy yet unassuming sentence which you began to laugh at, face dusted in pink and shoulders hitching with hilarity. You may have found the perfect counterpart to terrorise Erwin with.

Taking a seat in the red leather booth, you slid over, joined by Levi as the other shuffled in opposite, lips pressed tightly together as he watched how close the pair of you were sitting. A menu laid on the table and you leant over, making a huge show of brushing against the body by your side as you peered to view what was on offer.

"Hmm…it all looks so good." Tapping your pout with a finger, you stared with affected concentration, not noticing the exchange that was occurring above. Shards of silver gleamed and an expression made from pure smugness almost challenged the cobalt scowl he was met with. An impressive brow was raised and Levi shrugged, gesturing to you with a nod as if to say 'not my fault she's practically lying on my lap'.

"Y/N?"

"Uh huh?"

"Give the man some space, please. This is a diner, not one of those…clubs." Upright again, you smiled sweetly and felt a slight bit of guilt - there he was, poor Erwin in his standard vest and sensible attire, hair flawlessly slicked as it always used to be. He hadn't changed that much, had just expanded somewhat and all of the things he'd done for you came flooding back.

"Sorry Erwin. What do you recommend?" He lit up, excited at the prospect of gushing over his much beloved milkshakes, a favourite treat since childhood.

"Well, the vanilla…" Gleeful explanations ensued and you did your best to listen intently, but that was rather difficult when lithe fingers were running up and down your thigh. Levi was in this whole heartedly, the chance to behave badly and without care too good to pass up; given his fame and reputation, he usually only ever met lame fangirls, women who would throw themselves at him and reeked of cheap perfume, make-up caked on and lashes as false as their breasts probably were. But you…you had an air of superiority and fun, the way you'd called him out instantly upon meeting adding to his interest and he decided why not, let's have a little bit of enjoyment in life, especially if it meant being able to watch Erwin squirm.

The tanned male had always been an upstanding pillar, kind and gentle with that undercurrent of rage that had to be let out on the bags or in the ring, mostly a 'swell guy' who most certainly needed to relax once in a while. Even he couldn't be so straight laced at all times, there must be something inside so to pick at that flawless exterior made up for all the gruelling hours of workouts he'd enforced.

"…and the chocolate comes with a little wafer, but it can get a little…a little…what are you doing?" Erwin could tell his champion was up to no good, the way you twitched every now and again speaking volumes and he frowned. "Hands on the table. Both of you." Raising like you were under gunpoint, you showed that none of this was your fault. "Levi?"

"Order for me. I've got to take a piss." The touch on your leg swept away as he stood, stretching dramatically to lift his hoodie up and expose a muscular back, all a display like a peacock showing it's colourful feathers. As he walked away, you managed to drag your eyes onto the parental gaze that was pinning you down.

"What?"

"Y/N, when did you become so...so…forward?"

"I'm just having fun Erwin. What's so wrong with that?" You weren't ready to get into this now, the truth surely not a conversation to be held on your reunion day but your old friend could sense a tone of accusation - here it was, his virtual abandonment of you coming back to strike. He still felt terrible, leaving when he did and knowing the family he'd left you with. But he had to, needed to be selfish and the large man sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry Y/N."

"Why?" Stiffening, you sensed the incoming discussion and took the lead. "After you went, I had to adjust, sure. Become stronger and not just physically. So I did, and this is one thing that helped to get me through." Picking at the corner of the card menu, you nodded. "I don't sleep around Erwin, I'm not a slut, if that's what you're worried about. Some people read, others see a movie, I flirt. It takes the edge off and relaxes me."

"No no, I wasn't suggesting that…I…" He was getting flustered, not accustomed to seeing you fully grown and exploring sexuality - to him, you were still the little girl he'd defended and taught. "I guess I'm just not used to this. In public." A wry smile danced over your lips, about to make a comment when the waitress appeared, orders given with thanks.

Levi returned, scooting in close again to begin meddling, head tilted in your direction.

"So is this one a groupie then?"

You glared, eyes dark and full of playful malice, arms crossed as you angled backwards away from him with a look of distaste.

"Please. Like I have nothing better to do than fawn over pumped up macho men."

He got near, own tilt matching yours so your noses nearly touched, his scrutinizing stare threatening to break away any kind of walls you'd erected throughout life - his pictures really didn't do those silvery orbs justice and his voice was deep and silky, words spoken from almost an unmoving mouth.

"Seem to be doing a pretty fucking good impression of one then, Y/N."

"You should know. How many have you fucked? Must be like a kid in a candy store."

"I don't like candy. I prefer a more bitter taste." Grey eyes flicked down to your confrontational smirk, saw the way you were building up to a retort, one which he suddenly rather wished to hush with a kiss. That would be too soon though, way too easy. Whatever weird game was being played, it needed to be played properly, not ruined on day one.

"Well if you like bitter, I know a few men…"

"Here we go folks!" The waitress had stopped proceedings again, much to Erwin's delight as he'd been watching the whole exchange with a gurgle in his throat, unsure how to sufficiently stop this unexpected thing from happening. Three hugely embellished milkshakes were delivered, all of you thanking the woman who skipped away oblivious and a low mumble sounded from your right.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Hmm? It's a milkshake, Levi. Jeez, must be all those steroids ruining your brain cells."

"Don't be fucking smart. This. What is this?" Poking the bright item, Levi sneered and flicked it to one side, white liquid spraying out and splashing on your arm.

"Watch out!"

"Ever so sorry, Y/N. Allow me." Pale hands took your limb and for a split second, you were sure he'd lick the offending droplets away, his almost cat-like smile promising a raise in the stakes.

"Use a tissue. I'm begging you, please just drink your shakes like normal human beings." The hissing plea from Erwin was amusing to say the least and a napkin was swept over your skin, apologetic glance given.

"Got to do what the boss says."

Shrugging, you picked up the paper umbrella which had been ejected in your direction and twirled it between your fingers, sipping slowly on what was actually a pretty damn good drink.

"How did you find this place? You come here a lot?"

"At least twice a week, Y/N. I find it calming. At least I used to." Erwin sulked, proper and correct exterior demanding the same kind of behaviour in return and you wondered why this seemed like such a great pastime - it was so simple, using your skill of steering away from the serious things in life to forget and you queried internally. How long until you broke him? That in itself sounded mean, yet the man's pout was even twitching, a sense of fun somewhere inside of him and you laughed.

"Sorry Erwin. We've got a lot of catching up to do, we could make this a thing?"

"I'd like that. Very much. Preferably alone next time."

"Oh don't mind me. You carry on. Reminisce." Levi waved his hand to dismiss any fears, drinking deeply from the straw and disguising the look of pleasure that was dangerously close to emerging.

"Thank you. Well Y/N, tell me. You might not watch it anymore, but do you still box?"

Milk was nearly ejected, coughs coming from the pale man and you slapped his back a little harshly.

"Something funny?"

"You? Boxing? I'd call that fucking funny."

"Levi, don't make assumptions. She used to have quite the right hook back in the day."

Beaming, you winked across the table and switched sides, thanking your friend with the gesture.

"Yea right. And I'm a shitty little rookie."

"Ok, Mr Olympic medals. You and me. Bring it on." Squaring up, you took the cherry from your shake and held it by the stalk, red fruit sucked suggestively, tongue swirling as the creamy substance was cleaned away. Levi gulped visibly and you lifted your brows, popping the round item out from full lips and pointing it at your current rival. "Or are you dickless as well as brainless?"

"Oh Y/N, you'll find out soon enough that I am most certainly not dickless."

Erwin groaned, head down on the table and hands in his lap like a prayer for redemption, voice muted as he spoke.

"Let's not discuss your penis again, Levi." He sat up, blue eyes strained and tired. "And that didn't answer my question Y/N."

"No, I haven't for a while. Don't really need to anymore." The newcomer to this old relationship straightened, sensing the tone of something deeper but it wasn't his place to delve so he remained quiet, soft sips now his only sound of participation.

"It's good to keep in shape though." A kindness radiated from the blonde, unspoken history shared and you nodded.

"I suppose. Would be quite nice to get back into it Erwin, for fun rather than anything else."

"Well then, that's decided. Come down once you're all settled in at home and work and we'll have a spar like we used to." Even Levi didn't make a snide comment, just allowed the comfortable moment to settle upon those gathered, two acquaintances reunited and stopping short of dredging up the past. For now. It was only a matter of time before you talked about everything, how you'd coped after Erwin's departure, what occurred at home and your eventual move here. But for now, this was just fine.

The cordial atmosphere continued as a few stories were swapped, the odd snap sent in the direction of the dark haired man which he took well, gave some back but his attitude had changed - he sensed an internal fire within you and was interested to find out more. Perhaps it would manifest at the gym?

After your drinks had been finished, Erwin paid as his treat, any offers to assist waved away and you found yourselves outside again, slow walk taken as the large male pulled your case along, delivering you to the place you'd be calling home from now on.

"Well, here we are."

"Need a hand up with this?"

"There's elevators, thanks though Erwin." Standing on tip toes, you planted a peck on his smooth cheek, gentle hand on your shoulder squeezing in support.

"Where's mine?"

"Kiss my ass, Levi."

"With pleasure, Y/N. Maybe when I've finished wiping the fucking floor with you after a round?"

"You wish." Giving him the middle finger, you laughed as they turned to leave, Erwin's head shaken in exhaustion and Levi spun, walking backwards and palms out in question.

"Can I at least get your number?"

"Nah, I know yours though." He frowned, unsure what you meant until eight fingers were held up, your cheeky and slightly sarcastic show given with confidence until the reply came, man still stepping further away but facing you, nine of his own digits raised with a wink and you shouted over. "Yea, now I know you're lying!" One finger was retracted and Levi shrugged, calling back to where you stood.

"This isn't a lie though Y/N. You'll see."

"Levi! Jesus, please." Erwin grabbed his fighter's collar, using size to his advantage and he twirled the smaller man round, forwards travel enforced and you smiled. It had definitely been an interesting first day in the city.

Taglist (Let me know if you would like to be tagged):

@rouge-variant @missam @leviackermanmyhero245

[freedomseeker91]

The Ultimate Betrayal....

Chapter 23

Title: Love & Honour

Summary: Beca and Chloe finally break down the last of the barriers between them and Beca receives a letter from high up places.

Rating: T for Angst

Warnings: Mentions of bodily scarring from beatings/abuse which some may find triggering.

As they exited the courtroom, Beca found her steps more sluggish, her physical energy zapped by the emotional rollercoaster ride she had just been through. She was silently regretting not using her wheelchair. Chloe could see that it was taking everything in her fiancée to navigate walking with her prosthetics and the crutches, so she walked by Beca’s side, her own arm looped through Beca’s, softly grasping her bicep to steady her and if needed, to offer support should the former solider feel herself stumbling.

Rounding the corner, Chloe suddenly found herself ambushed by an irate Miranda Walp, her husband mildly trying to hold her back, though little effort was being exerted.

“This is all your fault. The day my son met you was the day his life was ruined,” she snarled, as she stepped closer getting in Chloe’s face.

“You were never good enough for him. You’re nothing but a cheap whore….”

Whack

The whole place stood in silence as the sound reverberated around the hall, Miranda Walp stumbling into the wall in shock, hand resting over her reddened, stinging cheek, one Aubrey Posen standing over her.

“If you ever so much as speak to her again, I’ll sue your ass for defamation of character. And with the win/lose ratio with Walps and court cases currently not in your favour I would think twice about retaliating.”

Miranda Walp stuttered over her breaths gazing back and forth between the women and her husband before she stormed off, leaving nothing but dust in her tracks. As Aubrey turned around, she was met with Chloe’s shocked face before all the women burst into laughter.

“Damn Aubrey I didn’t know you had it in you,” Beca said and Aubrey just shook her head.

“That woman has been the biggest, most condescending, pain in my ass for too long. It felt so good to finally do that.” Aubrey beamed, genuinely chuffed with herself.

Chloe smiled at her best friend, reaching out and stroking her forearm.

“Thanks Bree,” Chloe said.

Beca glanced between the two women, her thighs quivering a little the longer they were stood around.

“Hey, not to break up this sweet moment, but could we continue this back at the hotel? I really need a break from these crutches. Everything aches,” Beca whimpered as she adjusted the way her arm was resting on the crutch.

Both women snapped out of their moment and agreed, making their way to the elevator and back to their SUV.

A little over half an hour later, Beca was entering her room, mumbling about needing a soak in the bathtub as she perched herself on the foot of the bed. Chloe placed Beca’s jacket and hat on one of the chairs and then gestured with her thumb towards the adjoining door to her room.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said making to leave only for Beca to call after her, halting her from making any further progress.

“Hey, you don’t have to go,” Beca said, rubbing at her aching thighs, “I mean, you’re gonna have to see this mess in all its glory at some stage, might as well be now before we’re married.”

Chloe took a deep breath and glanced down at the floor her brow furrowed as she shook her head at what her fiancée had said.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I want you to be open with me when you’re ready, not because you feel obligated to before we get married. I can wait,” Chloe sighed.

“I know,” Beca whispered, gaze lowering to the floor, “but I don’t know if I can get married if I’m not completely open with you. My body, it’s not like it was before.”

Chloe sighed, she hated this part of Beca’s recovery, the part that made her feel so vulnerable and scared. To witness her insecurities over something that she feared other people would ridicule her for. Having been at the hospital upon Beca’s return, Chloe was acutely aware that the body she had been familiar with before, was no longer there.

What was to be found instead was a canvas that illustrated horrific trauma. Chloe knew this, she had been preparing herself for the day when Beca would be comfortable enough opening up to her. She had discussed it at length with her therapist about how best to approach it.

The last thing Chloe ever wanted was for Beca to feel like she was repulsed or intimidated by her physical appearance because to Chloe, Beca was still the most beautiful woman in the world to her. All of the components that made her fall in love with the brunette in their initial interactions were still there, and the parts that had captured Chloe’s heart had only been magnified upon her return.

Beca was still the same quick witted, intelligent, loyal, courageous stubborn soldier she had always been. Her body may have changed but those core elements were still there, still relatively unchanged. That was all that mattered to Chloe. When she looked at Beca, she still saw the woman she was so deeply in love with.

Approaching the foot of the bed, Chloe stooped down onto her haunches and placed her hands on Beca’s thighs, gently caressing them as she gained the other woman’s attention.

“Hey, I need you to do something for me okay,” Chloe said softly, finally catching Beca’s eye as the woman gave her a meek nod of the head.

“I need you to listen to what I’m about to say, really listen, cause I’m only going to say this once,” Chloe elaborated as she removed her hands from Beca’s thighs and gripped the other womans’ instead.

“I’m not gonna lie and say that I won’t be affected by what I see because I love you too much for it not to resonate with me in some way,” Chloe said, following her therapists’ advice to just be open, “and I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know how I’m going to react.”

Beca swallowed thickly at this, trying to be patient and hear Chloe out before she settled on which emotion swirling around in the pit of her stomach was the one she should settle on. Then Chloe was squeezing her hands.

“But I want you to know that, whatever it may be, it’s not repulsion or anything close. It’s not anger or discomfort, it’s love. All love, 100% unconditional love. And yeah, I might cry, I might even get a little overwhelmed, but it’s only because I can’t stand the thought of you in pain, and those scars are gonna be a physical visual of what you’ve been through,” Chloe elaborated, pulling herself closer to Beca so that she was now nestled between the woman’s thighs, hands coming up to rest against her chest.

“I hate thinking about what you’ve been through, because it hurts so bad knowing there’s nothing I can do to erase that or make it go away. I hate the fact that I wasn’t there for you and that you had to go through that alone,” Chloe began to whimper, eyes welling with tears.

“The thought of what those animals did to you makes me sick to my stomach, but not you, never you Bec’s. I love you and nothing you show me could ever change that.”

At those words Beca brought her hands up and cupped the sides of Chloe’s soft slender neck, thumbs stroking the skin there as she lowered her head so that it was nestled against Chloe’s, absorbing the love and care she found in her presence. Her tears now freely rolling down her cheeks.

“I want you to see me, all of me,” Beca finally whispered.

Chloe didn’t respond, just simply nodded her head and leaned up to kiss Beca, silently communicating that everything would be okay.

“I’m gonna go run a bath and grab a change of clothes. You get set up and I’ll come back in a little bit. Take all the time you need,” Chloe said, giving Beca one last kiss before standing up and heading for the ensuite.

By the time she came back out of the bathroom, Beca had already pulled over her wheelchair and removed her prosthetics and was half undressed as Chloe smiled at her and retreated to her own room.

Gathering up her own comfies to change into, Chloe took a moment to collect herself, taking a couple of deep relaxing breaths before tying her hair up in a loose bun. She wiped away her make up and washed her face with a cleanser to remove any stubborn residue. She wasn’t planning on washing her hair so knew that her face would be relatively untouched by the water. It also allowed her time to slow down so Beca could ready herself for the bath.

By the time she finally entered Beca’s room in a white fluffy robe courtesy of the hotel, the brunette was nowhere to be found, the only clue of her whereabouts being the adjacent bathroom door. Chloe deposited her clothes on the end of the bed and then slowly walked up to the door, one hand resting on the handle, the other gently knocking.

“Come in,” Beca called from the other side.

Chloe carefully pushed over the door and slipped inside, the steam from the hot water having already filled the space. Beca’s chair was parked right by the bathtub, empty save for a towel she had spread across it for when she was finished.

As Chloe stepped further into the room, she noticed Beca sitting upright at the far end of the bathtub right where the glass partition that had covered half the length of the bathtub was positioned for those opting to use it as a shower. Somehow, probably through sheer upper body strength, the former soldier had managed to climb in on her own, though the pool of water by the edge of the tub indicated it wasn’t without its struggles.

Chloe slipped off her rob and hung it on the back of the bathroom door before making her way over, carefully dipping her toe in to test it before climbing in and immersing herself in the warm soapy water. Once she was settled, Beca gazed at her for a long moment before she found the courage to slowly move herself up the bath, using the handrails for support.

Once she was close enough, Chloe reached out her hand, indicating that it was okay, and Beca took it, allowing herself to be pulled closer to the redhead before finally, she began to angle herself sideways so that she could turn around.

Chloe had been honest when she said she wasn’t sure what to expect, and the audible gasp clearly gave way to this as Beca was now fully facing forward, her back now on full display to the woman behind her.

She wasn’t sure what Chloe’s reaction would be and as she felt fingertips begin to trace the scars on her back, she held her breath, not sure what would happen next.

Chloe had to blink a couple of times to clear the tears that blurred her vision, her fingers gently ghosting over silvery lines and angrier scars that protruded from Beca’s back. There was barely a patch of skin untainted by trauma. Some scars created cross markings from where she had been repeatedly abused and whipped and she could make out the haphazard edges of scars that hadn’t healed properly.

Beca was about ready to pass out from holding her breath when suddenly, she felt the faintest sensation of a pair of lips pressing against the nape of her neck before they began to press against the her shoulders and along her back. The she felt two arms sneak around her waist, hand coming up to stroke her sides and across her stomach, lovingly caressing the surgical scars that lay there.

Then, a chin came to rest in the crook of Beca’s neck as the arms around her waste hugged her close, Chloe’s front now resting snug against Beca’s back, holding her tight against her.

“I love you,” Chloe whispered, “all of you.”

As if a weight had been lifted, Beca felt herself release the deepest breath she’d expelled in years. She placed her hands around the arms wrapped around her waist and gripped them tightly, willing them to stay there, and Chloe’s arms flexed in reassurance that they weren’t going anywhere.

An hour later, with the water now lukewarm and their skin nicely shrivelled, the women found themselves lazing on Beca’s bed, empty room service dishes discarded on a tray by their feet, Chloe now snuggled up in Beca’s arms, a reverse of the redheads’ earlier position as the one offering comfort.

“Thank you,” Chloe mumbled, as her finger softly traced the valley of Beca’s chest between her breasts displayed to her by the lowcut v neck t-shirt the woman was wearing.

Beca leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

“For what?” Beca asked as she stroked her hand up and down Chloe’s arm.

“For trusting me,” Chloe replied dropping her hand to wrap around Beca’s midsection, hugging her tight, Beca reciprocating.

“Thank you for being my safe space,” Beca said, pressing a kiss to Chloe’s forehead, “I love you.”

Their little bubble was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. Chloe untangled herself from Beca’s arms indicating she would get it and crossed the room, opening the door. Beca couldn’t make out the full exchange but Chloe appeared a moment later with a letter in hand addressed to Beca.

“This was left at reception for you, they said it was urgent,” Chloe explained as she climbed onto the bed and handed the letter to Beca.

The brunette took it from Chloe and eyed it suspiciously for a moment, before she caught sight of the official White House seal.

Flipping it over, she opened it carefully and extracted the neatly folded letter, which carried the Presidential Seal. As Beca read the contents of the hand written letter, her eyes widened and her mouth sat agape. Chloe watched her curiously, sitting up straight against the headboard.

“Bec, what is it?” she asked as Beca’s eyes scanned the letter again to make sure she had read it right.

“The letter, it’s um, it’s from the President,” Beca said, Chloe’s eyes almost bulging out of her head at the reveal of the sender of the letter. Beca glanced towards Chloe, lifting the letter.

“He wrote to me to personally thank me for my service,” Beca said and Chloe’s face broke into a soft smile and then Beca was shaking her head indicating that she wasn’t finished.

“Chloe, they’re awarding me the Medal of Honour.”

Chloe’s mouth dropped open at this, bopping up and down as she tried to find words to speak. The Medal of Honour was the highest and most distinguished award bestowed upon those in recognition of their service. Those who sacrificed everything for their country. It was a huge honour, one so few were privileged to receive.

Still unable to find words, Chloe settled for doing the only thing she could do in that moment, she kissed the love of her life. Her very own American hero.  

[tfwlawyers]

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

-

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

-

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

-

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

-

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

-

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

-

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

-

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

-

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

-

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

-

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

He

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

-

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

-

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

-

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

-

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

-

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

-

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

-

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the  proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

-

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

-

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

-

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

-

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

-

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

-

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

-

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

-

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

-

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.