#they would’ve gotten SO MANY angry actual hand-written letters!

[benbamboozled]

Wild to me that BRUCE was the one who decided that Jason was “lashing out” because Jason hadn’t come to terms with his parents’ deaths (WHICH…EXCUSE ME SIR????)…

Which led directly to the Ethiopia situation (which, btw, WHY DOES NOBODY EVER CALL BRUCE OUT FOR NOT KNOWING HIS UNDERAGE SON WAS IN ETHIOPIA???)…

AND THEN canon has the AUDACITY to have BRUCE blame JASON for his own murder!

Like…YOU WERE THE ONE WHO STARTED THIS WHOLE THING IN THE FIRST PLACE?!!!!

How…what…GAHHHH!!!

[eggrestes]

ladrien fic recs!

there are SO MANY amazing ladrien fics i cant possibly cover them all but here are a few!

(all the ratings used are ao3 ratings)

((this is a very long post!))

FLUFF

Of Ivy and Sunlight by cyanise [ T, 1509 words, 1/1 ]

When Adrien takes to wandering the streets of Paris in ungodly hours, Ladybug has no choice but to keep an eye on him. Still, things are bound to get a little out of hand between two overloaded teenagers with a lot of love and not enough self-control. 

a lovely post-chat blanc fic :’) it has a great flow and is just soft and so sweet and it’s just perfect. gosh i cannot really say more other than read it!!! also almost all of their other stuff is also ladrien so do check it out!

This can't be happening by PlaPla [ T,  6,467 words, 1/2 ]

Ladybug is unsure whether accompanying Adrien to a gala as his not-date is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to her. But when their table mates turn out to be none other than her long time friends Alya and Nino and with Adrien acting weirder and weirder she finds herself with bigger worries than an unrequited crush.

a djwifi/ladrien double date? hit me up! i love identity shenanigans, ball dancing, ladrien, and djwifi and this is a perfect mix for me. i know it’s incomplete but it doesn’t end in a cliff-hanger really, the part 2 is just a promise of more so it doesn’t feel incomplete! PlaPla also has a short oneshot of ladrien going for a motorcycle ride.

Falling again by emsylcatac [ M,  4,506 words, 2 Works ]

They had been dancing around each other for a while now, and while fifteen year old Adrien would have been ecstatic at the idea of dating Ladybug in secret, twenty-two year old Adrien knew better. But Ladybug wasn’t making it easy. It was like… she, too, was falling for him. And that surprisingly enough, she didn’t mind.

* * *

Or Adrien trying (and failing) to keep things professional between him and Ladybug when the two of them partner up for a mission. Older AU

things are a little steamy~ here (don’t worry, it’s only implied it’s very mild and closer to a T rating than the M) but it’s a great mature take on their dynamics! emsy has more ladrien one-shots in her collection of one-shots!

i'd love to go on a date with you by sae_what  [ G,  6,480 words, 1/1 ]

Once it had been falsely announced throughout Paris that Adrien and Ladybug are in a relationship, Ladybug pays him a visit to turn him down gently.

Only, she doesn’t. And instead, she has a formal dinner date. With Adrien. At 8 pm. Tonight.

LADYBUG IN A SUIT!! aaaaaaaaaaaaaa. okay but for real it’s so sweet and also??? they are on a date!!! a rooftop date!! (too man exclamation marks oops)

Always Welcome by  chatonne-rousse [ T, 1,683 words, 1/1 ]

Ladybug knows that Adrien's window is always open for her to swing by and stop in, whether for video games or a chat or, like tonight, for soft kisses and sweet nothings.

He loves these visits. His girlfriend is always welcome. Always. (Especially for kisses.)

Written for Ladrien June, day 8: bluebell eyes.

established relationship, pre-reveal ladrien. there is something very home-y about this fic and it’s all about the comfort and quiet that i adore about it!

Five Times Gabriel Agreste Caught Ladybug in His Son’s Bedroom (and the One Time He Caught Chat Noir) by agrestenoir [ T,  1,923 words, 1/1]

Gabriel Agreste keeps finding Ladybug in his son's bedroom. As a super villain and father, this will not stand.

this crack fic is... honestly so hilarious. it’s all through gabrie-i-am-trying-to-parent-and-failing-a-lot-agreste’s POV so it is so much ridiculous! 

an uncurtain discovery by  Missnoodles [ T, 4,684 words, 1/1 ]

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Adrien is being a cat and gets tangled in the curtains on his window and it’s utterly ridiculous. all the bug and the cat tendencies make it funnier and adrien’s inner monologue is just a cherry on top!

secret valentine by a_miiraculer [ T,  12,245 words, 1/1 ]

this is the moment that we will come alive brace yourself for love sweet love, secret love

If Adrien had known that getting himself stuck in a tree would end like this, he would've gotten himself stuck sooner.

A drabble series.

i just,,,, don’t have words for how much i love it! it’s ridiculous, it’s cute, it’s funny, it’s whole-some and just ladrien. the writer also has a M rated multi-chapter ladrien kissing (no the M is very much real here) and a heroic adrien and ladybug one-shot too! 

Those Benevolent Stars by peachcitt [ G,  23,696 words, 3/3 ]

“Will you come back?”

She looked up at the deep blue sky, as if she could somehow find the answer there. “I shouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head and looking back at him. But the stars were still there, caught in her eyes, and Adrien persisted.

“But will you?”

or

adrien meets his soulmate, a thief who calls herself ladybug. he falls for her, but she seems determined to maintain a space between them.

oh my god this au.... just no words!! it’s poetry and it’s tender and it’s about the yearning and just!!! perfect :’). Her current ongoing ladrien june fic is also akin to this (and the fic i linked before it) so do check it out too! (literally check out all of their works it’s so beautiful)

Flowers on the Window Sill by LNC [ G,  2,144 words, 1/1 ]

The first time Ladybug saw him, really saw him, the universe stopped.

this fic feels like poetry and it’s so lovely. LNC is always short and direct but it always hits right in the feels while also being hilarious. Her  other ladrien works are just as good and i highly recommend going through them because it fulfills all of the ladrien needs (along with Reiaji)

whatever a sun will always sing is you by komorebirei [ T,  32,980 words, 37/37 ]

“I didn't think you'd actually... do anything," Adrien admitted, cheeks prickling with warmth. "I-I mean, I never expected... I didn't know you watched my interviews.” That definitely wasn’t how he'd imagined confessing to Ladybug.

“Of course I do!” Ladybug squeaked. “Uhh, that is…” She looked down at her hands, nervously turning her yo-yo over, over and over. “Maybe you’re not the only one with a crush.”

(After an unexpected confession, Ladybug and Adrien start dating in secret. A progressive character- and relationship-study quilted from drabbles, with the intention of digging treasure out of the cove that is Ladrien. Written using kashimalin-fanfiction's kiss writing prompts from Tumblr.)

it does such an excellent job at exploring this dynamic along with the characters. it’s such a sweet fic, each chapter short and fun!

ANGST

whose woods these are (I think I know.) by  Reiaji [ T,  105,000 words, 25/25 ]

Four years after his future turns to cinders, Adrien is a servant in the house he was meant to inherit. Disowned by his father and abused by his stepmother, his days are filled with drudgery until he meets a masked huntress in the forest behind his father's chateau.

As his friendship with Ladybug turns to first love, he dreams of a future spent at her side.

Then, on the eve of the Princess's masquerade, he meets his guardian—and is granted a wish.

[Ladrien Cinderella AU]

Warnings: Child abuse, Graphic depiction of violence

this is absolutely gorgeous. it has so many troupes and so many amazing character arc and great build up and everything just flows so well. it left me in awe for weeks and i just. want to experience reading it for the first time again. look at this gorgeous art inspired by this! {and you have to read  leonard bernstein too because LETTERS and LADRIEN and YEARNING}

i would do it again (oh, a thousand times) by bugabisous [ T, 2,266 words, 1/1 ]

Knowing you can bring someone back doesn’t mean you’re free of the pain of seeing them disappear before your eyes. He can’t imagine he’ll be able to look at her directly without replaying every horrifying moment when he felt her slip away in a puff of smoke.

When it happens once again, he already knows he’ll be trying again. He just can’t give up.

it expands on adrien’s feelings in the episode desperada (my beloved <3) and it is just ouch. such great angst, such great potential. the kind of tragedy that it offers is unusual for ml (it gets only rivaled by chat blanc tbh). to rival this angst bugabisous also has a fluffy one-shot :)

when the world gets too heavy (put it on my back) by Taliax [ T, 4,720 words, 1/1 ]

Chat Noir isn't allowed to cry over his father. But even when he's just Adrien, Ladybug won't abandon him.

Hawkmoth reveal hurt/comfort + Ladrien

the plagg and adrien bond written is just perfect, and oh this hits right in the feels :’) it hurts all in the right way. tali also has so many other ladrien works in all genres too

By Your Side by omniousunflower [ T, 4,361 words, 1/1 ]

(Angry and alone, Adrien waits on top of the Eiffel Tower for his lady.)

“So, how did my kitty get stranded up here?” Ladybug asks.

Groaning, Adrien pulls his knees toward his chest and presses his face against them. “Because he’s stupid and impulsive.”

“Chasing pigeons, then?”

“No.” Shame burns in Adrien’s veins, white-hot now that Ladybug is here to witness his stupidity. “I threw my Miraculous, and Plagg wouldn’t get it for me.”

post-hawkmoth defeat, and adrien is not doing well at all. i am cheating because it is post reveal, pre relationship but it’s still ladrien. this fic is a roller coater of emotions, starting from a slightly crack scenario to a cute, awkward, hopeful ending.  More Than You Know is another of sunny’s angsty ladrien work!

Breaking The Rules (AKA The Ladrien Fistfight) by ThisKwamiNeeds_aNap [ T, 8,714 words, 1/1 ]

Marinette may or may not be dying, but she’s still going to do her best to fix every single problem in the world. She’s not expecting Adrien to be the one who tries to stop her. (Takes place immediately after Kwami Buster)

Warnings: panic attack, broken bones, PTSD. please read the tags!

*slaps this fic* this fic can fit in so much angst. it just?? left me in PAIN oof. it says ‘ladrien fistfight’ on the lid but nooo there is marinette is just having a freak out and it’s all so much??!! and it’s not just marinette there is adrien too and chloe and alya and- wow it’s amazing. love it so much it fills up my angst needs :’)

so that’s it for now! my personal commentary isn’t impressive nor does it do justice to the fic but i still hope you read a few of these!! happy reading!!

[cunningambitousdetermined]

Do You Love Me? (I Loved You Part 2: young!Sirius x Reader)

ahhh im so excited to write this! @aseriousfckingmess and @iamninaanna AND @maraudersbitvh​ asked for this and i was so happy bc i had so so many ideas and even more feelings. thank you to everyone who read my last two things i’ve written, i feel so so lucky and so happy. and thank you to those who spurred my ideas for a part 2! thank you thank you thank you. 

this is the second part to I Loved You which i wrote for @vogueweasley‘s challenge. so here it goes:

warnings: swearing, fluff, some angst, walburga being a butthole

not my gif

“Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?” With that she turned on your heel and ran out of the dorm. Sirius stood and watched as you got smaller and smaller and with step she took, his anger ebbed a little. And then she was gone, leaving behind the boy who loved her.

“Mate,” Remus’s voice was cool and collected but the undertone of fury shook Sirius out of his stupor. “What the actual fuck did you do?” Remus swore often- he was always tripping over his long limbs, mumbling curses under his breath- but this, this, was calm fury. His jaw was wound tight and his eyes bore through Sirius. 

“Moony, I- I- What?” Sirius whispered, his voice sounded like the sad ending chord of a symphony as it moved and filled and soared through the space between them. “I- I- She hates me?” The realization rocked Sirius so hard, he found his knees skidding the rough carpet of the floor, Y/N’s words filled every inch of his head, spilling out his ears, mouth, his nose. “She hates me.” The only person who had ever seen past the arrogant smirk, the only person who had ever wiped his tears, whispered his fears away. The only person who had ever loved him, was gone. Gone. 

Remus needed to sit down. His whole body was buzzing with anger at Sirius. How could he hurt her? Why would he hurt her? It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was how sad Y/N looked, how tired and then how angry she had become. That wasn’t the kind, soft, funny, Y/N he knew. This was hurt, and betrayed and broken. He went to move the lumps in Y/N’s pillow aside when his hand brushed against paper. Remus dug his hand down farther underneath the sheet and grasped the paper. It was a letter and a stack of small papers, crumpled and wet with tears. He glanced down at Sirius, in his current shocked state and began to read. 

Sirius shook the tears from his eyes and turned to find Moony reading some papers on Y/N’s bed. Y/N’s bed. The one he’d used to sleep in. The one that he used to whisper the love of his life to sleep in. His mind was filled with thoughts, memories, and ocean of words and kisses and hugs. 

“YOU ARSE!” a screech shattered the rose tinted memories, Remus was up and towering over Sirius. “YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD! I TRUSTED YOU! I TRUSTED YOU NOT TO HURT HER! YOU PROMISED! HOW COULD YOU?! SHE WAS NOTHING BUT GOOD AND KIND AND WONDERFUL TO YOU! SHE GAVE EVERYTHING TO YOU AND YOU BROKE HER! YOU BROKE HER!” Remus’s hands were shaking in an effort not to hit Sirius, he didn’t know the boy in front of him. It was occurring to him that maybe he never did. “YOU DON’T DESERVE HER AND YOU NEVER WILL!” He tossed the letters at Sirius’s face and with a turn Remus stormed out of the room and once again Sirius was walked away from, by the people who loved him most. 

Y/N was racing around the castle, trying not to break. She just needed to find a place. She paced past the stairwell to the Gryffindor Tower and stalled. She had taken those stairs and cuddled in his bed. She had kissed him awake and kissed him goodnight there. The memories came in waves, flowing down the stairs, kisses and hugs, fights and making up, crying and laughing until their stomachs hurt. Barefoot, racing toward the common room, collapsing on the couch, reading out loud. His smile, his eyes. His laugh, his cry, his nose all the way down to his toes. She knew it all. 

“Y/N?” a soft voice inquired, large hands placed on her shoulders, the soft smell of chocolate wafted through her nose. Remus.

She slowly turned around and was met by her best friends eyes drowned in worry. She croaked, “Did you know Rem? Did you know?” Her eyes filled with tears once more and she turned away, embarrassed. 

“No.” Remus slid his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “No, no no. I never knew. I never thought he could even...” Remus trailed off as the tears spilled down her cheeks, “Come with me, love.” He then tucked Y/N under his arm and started to walk. She dug her face into his neck and smiled softly as she felt his hand encircle her own with a soft squeeze. Right now she just needed her best friend, who had always been there no matter what. And somehow he always just knew what she needed. As they entered Remus’s dorm and he threw her some comfy clothes and a book, she thanked him internally. Thanked whatever higher being there was that she had ended up with the best friend in the entire world. Her heart felt a little bit light as she snuggled into his side and he began to read aloud as he had done so many times before. 

“Rem?” she questioned, turning her gaze to his soft green eyes. 

“Yes?” his soft smile gave her made tears fill her eyes in gratitude.

“Thank you,”

“What for, darling?” Remus let his hands card softly through her hair as she looked away.

“Everything.” That word held so much meaning for them. Everything meant all the full moons, all the hard days and the good ones. All the sad moments and all the happy ones, all the time they had just been there. The quiet moments of just reading and the loud ones filled with laughter and joy. Everything just meant Remus existing. Thank you, she said, thank you for it all. 

Sirius would watch them from afar. His heart would ache as he hid around the corners as Remus and Y/N would walk to class. He would turn in his bed to hold her only to grab at cold sheets, to tell her a joke but she wasn’t there. To ask her if she really thought he was enough even if his family didn’t. If she didn’t think he was an awful person. Before, she would have held him and with words so soft, she would’ve told him how much she loved him and that he was real, human and it was okay to feel. But now, he was an awful person. Remus wouldn’t talk to him, Y/N wouldn’t look at him, and he was tired. 

He didn’t sleep anymore. All he could do was lay awake in hope of never falling into the dreams where Y/N would yell at him. Would curse him, spit at him. It was all his fault that she was gone. His fault that she couldn’t meet his eye. His fault that she hated him. Even drowning in these thoughts, he felt a confusion. What had he done? 

Sirius was sitting by the dying embers of the fire one night when footsteps echoed from behind him. “Sirius?” James’s groggy voice called, “What’s going on?” He didn’t answer. The footsteps got closer until James was next to him, sitting down. “Pads?” his voice had softened to one of worry, “Hey, tell me what’s up?”

“I can’t sleep James,” Sirius’s voice sounded like broken glass, the echo of happiness all but lost, “I love her. And I don’t even know what I did, but she’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone. I love her. She was the only thing that mattered. I lost it all. I lost my family, my mom, my dad, my brother. My cousins. But I had her. And you guys but, with her... it was different.” James put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder and Sirius collapsed into James’s side. “She got it. And she was all I had. All that kept me good inside. The glue that held me together. SHE’S GONE!” and it went like that, Sirius sobbing into James, repeating how he didn’t know what he did, he loved her, he did. James just held him, his broken best friend as he cried for the girl he had lost. And James cried. He cried for his best friend who had been hurt so much and lost it all. He cried for the girl he once knew. But when his tears ran out and Sirius drifted off to let sleep’s greedy claws take him, he had an epiphany. Whether or not they liked it, Sirius and Y/N would forever be each others catalysts. The only way to balance was together. Apart, they would just keep on falling. 

James found a sense of resolve as he walked over to where Remus and Y/N lay under a tree, reading. 

“James...” Remus acknowledged him with caution, but James wasn’t done. 

“Remus, can I speak to you?” he asked, motioning to a spot not far off from the tree, “It won’t be long.” Remus glanced down at Y/N who offered James a tentative smile and wave. 

“Go on, Rem.” She said, “I’ll be fine.” With one last suspicious look, Remus got up and followed James to the shaded area where James leaned against the cool stone wall.

“Jam-” Remus began, but James was faster.

“Just let me say something.” James needed to know, “I just have to know. What happened?”

“Sirius didn’t tell you?” The bite in Remus’s voice made James flinch and he saw Remus’s face soften to apology. 

“No. He hasn’t slept, he lost it last night. Just blubbering about love and how he just didn’t know what he did!” James cried, “What did he do?”

“Tonight.” Remus’s face hardened now, “Room of Requirement, and bring Sirius. We need to have a little chat.” He then whipped around and resumed his position with Y/N, placing a brotherly kiss to the top of her head. Remus gave James a look which he took as a sign to leave. Sighing, he trudged off, hoping that Sirius wasn’t going to end up in the hospital wing tonight.

Remus paced impatiently in the seventh floor corridor as he waited for is roommates to show up. Just as he was about to go drag them from wherever they had gotten themselves sidetracked, James rounded the corner, dragging Sirius behind him. James stopped in front of Remus and shoved Sirius forward. He looked up and Remus’s heart clenched. His eyes were sunken deep and his eyes held a pain so deep he had to look away. He closed his eyes and heard the familiar scratching of the wall becoming the door. Remus couldn’t stomach a glance back at his friends sad face as he pushed the door open. Inside, there were plush couches and loveseats scattered around near a small fireplace. Remus took up a position curled into a loveseat and raised an eyebrow in expectation at James and Sirius. They quickly took their spots. James sitting on the floor while Sirius sat stiff backed on the couch. The silence and tension thickened as Remus started Sirius down, his eyes burning through his long tousled locks. James finally had enough, “AHEM.” Sirius’s head shot up, “Remus, please tell us what the bloody hell is going on.” Remus sighed and pulled the stack of well work paper from his pocket. Glancing down and then at Sirius’s hurt face, he let out another tired sigh. 

“What happened is that Sirius, our dear friend,” The way he spat the word friend had Sirius flinching and James’s eyes widening. “was using Y/N. To get back at his mother. And, and I quote  ‘ It doesn’t hurt that I get sex. I mean I could have any girl but damn, she gave herself to me so fast. Even I didn’t know I was that good. ‘” He let out a hard breath as Sirius’s face still looked painted with confusion.

James had stood up and was towering over Sirius, “YOU DID WHAT?!” he screamed, “YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS DIFFERENT!” Remus was in shock, he had never seen James yell at Sirius before. And he barely ever saw James angry. 

Sirius couldn’t even register the things that James was saying. He didn’t write that. No, no he didn’t. He loved her more then anything. She was the only one who cared. She kept him human in his family of monsters. She kept his feet on the ground when his head was in the clouds. He loved her. This was supposed to be the real thing. Like forever, this was it for him. “I didn’t- I would never- Remus-” The shock that she had read those words hit him like a knife to the gut. Remus threw the paper down at him and Sirius scrambled to read them all. Note after note after note saying awful things. Each time he read something he felt the knife twist as he realized she read this. His love. Thought.... he couldn’t even bare to finish the thought. He kept going and going. He knew he didn’t write these, his handwriting was neater then that, crafted to perfection by his mother. But all the things that the notes said; worthless, mudblood, fat, ugly. His Y/N was stunning, took his breath away, blood status didn’t matter. She was worth more then anything this world could offer. She was his world. The notes just kept going, the pile seemed endless. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to puke or go find you and get drunk on your kisses. He could feel Remus and James’s stares on him as he rifled through the papers. Just as he was about to turn away from them and tell his friends that theses weren’t his, a signet caught his eye. The Noble House of Black signet. He yanked the letter out and his eyes frantically scanned the page. His mother’s tone made his stomach churn. It was no wonder she hated him now. He might not be able to get her back, this was quite unforgivable, but he could put her heart at ease. He still loved her. But did she still love him?

“Remus, James; I didn’t write these” His voice came out raspy and shaky from the tears he didn’t even realize were falling down his face, hot waterfalls cascading on the papers. He cleared his throat and continued, “It was Regulus and Walburga. I know it. I love her. I don’t care about her blood status, I never have! She was it for me.” He lowered his head, “I know that I hurt her by putting her in harms way and she might still hate me, but I can try and fix what I’ve broken. I know I don’t deserve her and I never have, but she’s all I have and I need her. I need her to know how I feel. I need her know I love her and I’m sorry.” Sirius was crying harder but his voice was firm. Remus and James exchanged looks that very clearly said He’s telling the truth. Remus sunk to his knees and took Sirius into his arms. “Do you believe me?” Sirius’s voice was cracked and tired.

Remus tugged him closer letting Sirius’s tears soak through his sweater, “Yeah, yeah I do believe you. I’m sorry that I yelled at you, I didn’t even think.... but it all makes so much sense. She told me Regulus gave her the letters, and I mean Reg is a nice enough kid on his own but something seemed off. You’re my best friend and I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I’m sorry. But if you ever really hurt her...” Sirius made a noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. 

“I know, I know... you did the right thing. If I did that, I would murder me too.” The boys laughed and James joined the hug. Sirius gave his smallest but most real smile in the weeks it had been. He had his friends back, now all that was left was her.

Sirius was shaking. Like actually shaking. He stood outside your dorm door as Remus knocked softly. “Y/N?” he called, “Can I come in?” 

“Remus? Come on in!” A soft voice floated out the door and he felt his mind go blank, his only thought was to get to her. James tried to shake him but he could only think about his skin on hers. The delicate shape of her hips and the small curve of her smile. His mind spun, would she forgive him? Could she forgive him? With one last glance back, Remus pushed the door open. Sirius froze. There she was. She had never looked more stunning in shorts and a old t-shirt of... his? Yeah, that was his shirt. His heart leapt, she was wearing his shirt. 

Y/N was petrified. What was he doing here? Her heart clenched, he looked so soft, and her whole body ached with the effort to run to him. “Siri...?” her voice came out soft and wispy, high and broken. His whole face broke open at the tears in your eyes. Y/N whipped around, furiously wiping at her tears. “Leave.” she croaked, “please.” 

Remus let a hand massage her shoulder, “Love, just listen to what he has to say. I would not have brought him here to hurt you, you know that.” She gazed up at her best friend with glassy eyes and scanned his face. His face only held love for her and strangely enough, hope. 

She turned away again, letting Remus’s hand fall of her shoulder, “Fine.”

Sirius stepped forward and took a breath. This was it. There was no going back or do overs anymore. “Y/N, I love you.” he began, “And I always will. Those notes, they weren’t from me. Regulus wrote them after he told Walburga about us. He must’ve seen you sneaking in or with me in the yard. They took you away from me to hurt me. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. I’m sorry for making you a target. But none of that bullshit if true. I love you and you are perfect. You are my whole entire world. You are my oxygen and I’m struggling to breathe right now. I love you so much and I know I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness but I need to know. Do you love me?”

Y/N was shocked. It all made sense, the notes, Regulus. The tears pooled in her eyes slipped out and she sobbed, hands clasped over her mouth. She had missed him so much and here he was in all his glory, with his long hair and his grey eyes, asking her if she loved him. She did, there was nothing to ask. 

“Y/N?” Sirius whispered and she realized she had been silent for much to long. 

“Of course I love you, you arsehole!” That was all it took to break Sirius and he was running at her and sweeping her up into his arms. Her breath fanned over his neck and he pulled back to gaze at the face he had been missing so much. The soul that completed him. 

“Do you forgive me?” he whispered as he inched closer to her lips.

She closed the gap, pressing her lips against his and his heart had never felt lighter. She pulled away softly and Sirius panted as he laughed at the sheer happiness of it all. “There’s nothing to forgive baby.” She breathed against his lips and went back to kissing him. He kissed her neck and her cheeks muttering all the things he loved about her between kisses. James and Remus shared a disgusted but happy look as they slipped out the room.

 “I love you Sirius Black and don’t you ever forget it.”

wow sorry the ending was rushed and idk but it’s done! thank you guys so much for reading this ahhhh im so happy that you guys liked it enough for a part 2! i love you guys!

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(Another excerpt from my "accidentally made a 12k document out of this prompt" fic. Long post incoming)

The last gear turned at seven o'clock in the morning. The counterweights clattered, and the brass doors swung open. The boy looked dead on his feet. Vader knew enough about being the walking dead to recognize the exhaustion. 

"Congratulations," he said calmly. "Most never make it this far. I do confess-" he interrupted himself with a grunt as he left his throne- "That I expected you some hours ago. I'm afraid that time has run out."

"No."

Vader raised an eyebrow. Luke was pale, and trembling, and the cut over his eyebrow bled sluggishly. He could smell the boy's blood now. He could smell Padme's blood. If there had been any doubt about his identity before, it was gone now. And despite all he had fought through, the child was still clinging to a shred of defiance.

"I beat your stupid game!" Luke shouted. "You said I had to find evidence of my father. I did."

This was unexpected.

"Oh? Did you now?" Vader approached slowly. "And what have you found, little one?"

With a sharp, angry gesture, Luke motioned to the floor. "Your castle. The warding runes on every load bearing pillar in the great hall are all written by the same hand. They're laid out in the shape of a japor charm. Just like my mother's necklace."

Vader leaned back on his heels, astonished. He studied the boy's face, wavering between anger and fear, for some time before he burst out laughing.

"Aren't you clever?" he laughed, "I must say, I am impressed. I set you a trial and you've proven yourself admirably."

He sobered quickly. "However, you are mistaken on one point. I said that you were to find proof of your father's death. Not his life. There is ample evidence of that, though I would expect few to be able to interpret it."

He closed the distance between them with two great strides and offered a thin smile. "There will be time to decide your fate in the evening. For now, I suspect you have exhausted the last reserves of your strength."

Somewhere in the inner sanctum, the nursery he had prepared long ago sat gathering dust. It would suit the boy well enough for now. The infantile wall hangings might need to be removed, of course, but nothing else need be touched. 

It was, Vader decided, a good day.

[[MORE]]

Luke didn't remember collapsing. He knew he must have, or he wouldn't be waking up now. But the last thing he remembered was stumbling back to put some distance between himself and Vader. 

How was he still alive? 

Morosely, Luke wondered if the rumors of Vader being a vampire were true, and he was being kept for dinner. That probably explained why the dark lord had said his fate would be decided in the evening.

Well. Luke wasn't going to let that happen. 

Opening his eyes took a herculean effort, but he knew that if he wanted to survive, he had to get up. His head pounded, all but begging him to close his eyes and go back to sleep. It would've been so easy; he was already bone-weary from the midnight march to the castle, and the sheer number of traps he'd had to avoid and broken stairs he'd had to climb had steadily drained his remaining reserves of energy. 

It didn't help that he hadn't eaten anything since the day before. There had been puddles of rainwater here and there in the castle, where the roof needed repairs, but Luke hadn't been brave enough to drink from them. His throat felt as if it was trying to remind him very pointedly of this fact.

Slowly, as if by centimeters, Luke pushed himself upright. A heavy cloth fell to his lap with a quiet rustle, and Luke squinted at it in the darkness. Now that he was actually paying attention to his surroundings, this didn't look like a dungeon. Or wherever vampires kept their potential meals. For one thing, if you were going to kill someone, why go to the effort of putting them in a real bed?

It didn't feel like his cotton pallet on the farm -- the one Owen had worked so hard to buy when Luke outgrew the cradle -- and it certainly didn't feel like the back of the wagon Jabba's men had put him in. Luke bounced experimentally. It was firm, but soft enough that his hands left finger-shaped indentations in the mattress. Maybe all the rooms in the castle were like this?

Although, Luke had been starting to think there weren't any bedrooms in Vader's castle at all.

Had his father truly designed this place? All the runes, the layouts of the floors, everything suggested the hand of Anakin Skywalker. Had he built it for Vader, or was this where Luke would have lived if the Red Horde had never come out of the mountains?

Luke fought to untangle himself from the thick down comforter and rolled over the side of the bed. It was low to the ground, luckily, so it wasn't far to fall. Soft fur met his hands, and Luke recoiled. Had he landed on an animal?!

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Luke realized he was kneeling on a wolf-pelt rug. He thought of the Red Horde's lycanthrope troopers and shuddered.

There was a window somewhere above him, high enough that it only sent a sliver of fading light down into the chamber below. It caught the tarnished silver of stars, set into the two farthest walls in the shapes of galaxies and constellations. They would have been beautiful with some polish. For now, they were hardly visible against the stone.

Luke inched to the door and nearly tripped over a rocking horse. What was a rocking horse doing in a place like this?! He jerked back and looked around him a second time. The small bed, the bookshelf, the stars on the walls...his blood ran cold as he put the pieces together. This was a nursery. 

Luke very quickly decided that he did not want to know what had become of its intended occupant.

He scrambled to the door and was relieved to find that it was not locked. Relief soon gave way to unease once more. The nursery, apparently, extended beyond the bedchamber. Wooden swords of varying sizes hung on one wall, with a painted chest beneath them. Luke spotted tin knights, and little model chariots, and even a wooden castle with little dolls peering out of the windows. None of it looked like it had been played with. In fact, Luke wasn't sure they'd even been touched.

Despite himself, he felt an urge to take one of the tin knights with him when he escaped. His family had never been able to afford many toys. Beru had taught him to make soldiers of sticks and straw when he was small, and when they inevitably broke, Owen would let him use them for kindling in the winter.

Thoughts of home settled like a weight in Luke's chest. It was his fault they were dead. He knew that.

If Luke hadn't challenged the tax collectors at market, the baron wouldn't have gotten the idea of handing a Skywalker over to Lord Vader. They'd come in the middle of the night. Luke never even had a chance to bury his aunt and uncle. 

Luke bit his lip hard and blinked back tears. Old Ben had traveled upriver to teach the girl from Mother's old letter. Even if Luke did escape, there was no one to go home to.

There was only one part of the room that had not been touched by the dust. Someone had lit a fire in the nursery fireplace. It had to have been recently: the flames were only just beginning to die. On the table beside the fireplace a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of water had been set. Luke's stomach growled pathetically, and he clutched the front of his shirt. Grapes. Those were grapes, still on the vine! Luke sometimes got grapes on his birthday, or during summer festivals. But it was hard for the people in Jabba's territory to get fresh fruit.

He didn't know what the pink fruit was, but he could identify slices of orange and a whole pear. They didn't look like they'd been tampered with, but Luke knew better than to trust appearances. For all he knew, it was poisoned. 

Luke edged past the table, and the two wingback chairs facing the fireplace. He needed to focus on escaping. 

"Ah. So you've decided to join us after all. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep through the night entirely."

Luke jolted. Someone was sitting in the chair.

Lord Vader sat calmly watching him, a faint, pleased smirk on his face. There was an air of lazy satisfaction about him as he leaned around the edge of the chair and gestured to the bowl. 

"Please, help yourself," he said.

Luke raised his chin and hoped he wasn't shaking too visibly. "I'm not hungry."

Vader's sickly yellow eyes seemed almost to twinkle, and he smiled. "Liar."

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part IX

That Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts au that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

This fic is wrapping up and I love writing longform, so send me your new requests! (or ideas for oneshots, I love those too)

Robbe was ashamed to admit many of the things that made his apartment home. Here it was, the truth of it: everything here was in some way tainted by sickness. He didn’t talk about it while he was at school. He didn’t talk about school while he was here. It made sense to keep the two lives distinctly separate, save from a few consolation sessions with Jens and the occasional fact for Sander.

He bumped his shoulders on the narrow doorframe as he lugged his trunk inside, his mother right behind him. In the entryway, on a tiny side table, three bottles of prescription medication waited their arrival. Each had a sticky note designating the time of next dose. Past that, the hall led straight to a kitchen at its end. Three rooms—two bedrooms, one bathroom—broke off before then. Their living room branched from the kitchen, big enough for a couch and a flatscreen TV as well as a small-ish Christmas tree.

This apartment worked in a way that his friends’ magic-filled homes did not. Sure, when his father was around, they never did the dishes manually or resorted to blankets when the heating went out, but it wasn’t what Jens had. Perhaps that was why Robbe did not see Jens much over the holidays.

Robbe crossed the threshold to his bedroom and dropped his things on his bed. His thoughts returned, as they were wont to do, to Sander. Sander must be all alone at Hogwarts right now. Robbe didn’t know what to make of him.

“It’s Christmas,” said Robbe aloud to jar himself from that rabbit trail. He put away everything that mattered. Scattered everything that didn’t across the floor. There, now it felt like his dormitory at school.

Against his better judgement, he scrawled out something on a scrap of paper. Maybe if he could contact Sander, things would make more sense. Or maybe he was stupid. Either way. A simple tracking spell, an open window, and it would zip its way to its recipient at Hogwarts. He doubted he’d get in trouble for such a simple use of underage magic.

Happy Christmas. Sorry you have to spend it alone. Yeah, it totally didn’t sound sarcastic.

Robbe let the message go. He watched it disappear over the London skyline, dancing above the twinkling lights of the city. This view had nothing on the view from Hogwarts. After that, he was exhausted from exams week. He curled up on his mattress—the sheets on this one were a nice touch—and went right to sleep. There was time for life to happen tomorrow, and he didn’t fancy making conversation with his mother so soon into their two weeks of forced proximity.

***

Robbe spent most of the next days hiding out in his bedroom. Jens took care of his required communication rather early in their separation; the owl arrived at Robbe’s window before lunchtime the second day: Robbe, my parents invited Jana for Christmas dinner. She'd going to be there. Please inform me of your plans as soon as possible, so I can join you instead. Not really. I honestly think we're going to get back together. Wow, it sounds dumb as I write it. Have a Happy Christmas, if I don't write again before then, and make sure you eat all your vegetables. Love, Jens. Robbe hastily scrawled a reply and sent it right back: Jens, I never have any plans. You can come whenever you want to. Love, Robbe.

Around dinnertime on the fourth day, Robbe walked back into the hallway and down to the kitchen, where his mother poured hot chocolate powder in two mugs. She dumped a can of soup into a pot and set it to simmer on the burner, stirring occasionally, while she microwaved a measuring cup of water. Something rammed into the window at full force, startling her into dropping her spoon.

She put a hand on her forehead as if checking for fever. “Robbe, what was that?”

“Owl, Mom,” said Robbe. He tried not to be frustrated with her. There was just so much on his plate, and he wasn’t supposed to be here, because he was supposed to be with Sander at school. If Sander was doing okay.

Robbe’s mother had never gotten the hang of a magical household. Robbe didn’t have the right to be bitter about it.

“Should I open the window?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

His mother slid the window open. A barn owl flapped into the apartment building, despite their landlord’s explicit animal-of-any-kind prohibition. It landed on top of their refrigerator and ruffled its brown and white feathers. Clutched in its beak was a folded piece of parchment, tied with a long twine thread, sealed with a stamp of red wax. Robbe recognized the owl from the Hogwarts owlery. They were general-use.

He jumped up to take the note. Jens did not usually send two owls in one day. Aaron’s owl was white.

“I’ll never get used to that,” said his mother as the owl flew back out the window. An alarm on her cell phone beeped several times. “Oh, pills. I’ll be right back.” She rushed into the foyer.

Robbe surveyed the apartment in her absence. A sprig of mistletoe hung over the space connecting the kitchen to the living room. Several wrapped presents rested beneath the tree, one or two with his name in brightened cursive that he could see from this far away. He spotted the special picture ornament he made for his mother when he was little, the photograph of her and him riding on a swing in a public park. They used to get along.

He looked down at the paper in his hands and broke the seal.

There were no words written. Only a telephone number. Jens and Aaron did not have phones in their houses; muggle technology was useless in areas permeated with magic. Moyo owned one for clout purposes, sometimes, and this could be him—except, he did not use the school’s owls if he could help it. He borrowed from Jens.

That left one person who might want to contact Robbe.

“Alright, soup,” said his mother, reentering the kitchen. “Tonight, I was thinking we should catch up on TV. Honestly, I don’t know how you survive without it at Hogwarts.”

“There are other things to do,” said Robbe.

“Maybe, but not as exciting.” She took the soup pot from the burner and poured it into two bowls, which she then carried into the living room. They stored a small folding table under the couch. She set it up like a coffee table and left their bowls there. If they had any class, they might have the money to afford something made of wood, at least.

“Can I actually—” Robbe began. He gestured to the phone number.

“You’re spending your quality time with me,” said his mother. She patted the spot beside her on the couch. “C’mon. I’ve been recording everything. Oh, hang on.” She waited until he sat down to lean over. “What’s been going on at school. Tell me all about it. You never write.”

“You never got used to owls.”

“That’s an awful reason.”

“Nothing important happens,” he assured her. “I’d write if it mattered.”

“Nothing? No one special?”

“No, Mom, nothing you’d want to hear about.”

“You know I don’t believe that,” she said. “Handsome boy like you.” But she sat back and turned on the television. Christmastime here was TV shows, silence, dancing around one another. This was why Robbe would’ve liked to stay on campus with Sander, when Sander still wanted him there. If Sander ever wanted him there. They watched three whole episodes of Call the Midwife without saying a single word to each other.

Robbe’s mother was a good person. He knew she was a good person. She tried so hard to be things for him, to be involved in his life. He understood her illness wasn’t her fault at a basic level. He understood that he was wrong to be angry about an innocent, poking question that any parent would have likely posed.

But there was a part of him missing that she couldn’t give back after she’d taken it. What kind of parent leaves their fourteen-year-old in the house to care for everything while she lies in bed all summer? What kind of parent—

There was someone special, there was Sander. Sander and his mother were apart because they needed to be, because school and home did not mix.

Robbe rose from the couch during the credits of the third and motioned apologetically to his mother. He pointed toward the bathroom. On the way there, he snatched her phone from the kitchen counter. His fingers shook as he dialed the number.

Someone picked up on the second ring. “I just got home,” said Robbe. He didn’t know why he felt so bad about not calling sooner.

“You got my letter,” said Sander. Robbe’s heart turned into a dozen origami butterflies. He tried to catch them in a net and stomp them underfoot.

“Owls are cool,” Robbe said.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The line went silent. Was that it? Did Sander send a whole-ass latter to hear Robbe’s voice for two seconds? Kind of romantic, yes, but it didn’t do anything to fix anything. Robbe couldn’t reconcile the way Sander spoke to him with the way Sander acted around him, the way Sander acted around other people.

This could have been their time. Two whole weeks of kissing, or whatever it was couples did went they were unsupervised.

“Listen,” said Sander. “I’ve been thinking.” His sentences took on a sort of pregnant quality, as if each contained multitudes more within it. Sander was fighting down dozens of others to say each one.

“About what?”

“About, um, you. I guess.” Sander cleared his throat. “You really liked me?”

“I guess so.”

“How is—how’s your mother?”

Robbe didn’t know where something like that would come from. “She’s fine for now. We’re watching Call the Midwife.”

Sander’s laugh sounded forced. “My mother likes that too. Is it… not good to be there?”

“Well, she hasn’t drowned me in a bathtub yet. You sound like you have something to say.”

“I was thinking we could just—talk.”

What the hell was this? “Sander,” said Robbe, doing his very best to sound like a prefect. “It was a Christmas card. If you have something to say—” He tried to channel the voice Jens used when he was disappointed after a Quidditch match, the kind of steely cool that could only come from a place of care. As it was, he knew Sander could hear the hope festering beneath his skin. He wants to tell me he loves me.

“I—I don’t have anything to say,” said Sander, but it was an obvious lie.

“Then I’ll hang up.” Robbe braced himself against the bathroom counter. Polished marble reflected his face almost as clearly as the mirror ahead. “I said I didn’t want to be friends. I can’t handle being friends yet.”

“No, don’t hang up.”

“Any more questions about Mom?”

Sander’s breath caught. “You don’t like me.”

“Not this again.”

“No, really, you don’t.” Sander spoke faster. “You said so. I don’t know, when it was fake, I thought—” He coughed. “I can’t go back to nothing.”

“I said I liked you,” said Robbe. “You don’t make any sense.”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you really send an owl back to talk me out of a crush? Or are you in love with my mom?”

“No, I—”

“Good.” Robbe knocked his toothbrush cup off the sink, sending it clattering to the floor. He heard his mother shifting around in the living room, poised to come check on him any minute. This conversation would have to end sooner rather than later. “I have to go. If you’ve still got something, spit it out.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Robbe could hear the beginnings of a sentence several times, nothing quite reaching the air.

“Okay,” he said. “Goodbye.” He tapped the end button. That might have been a little harsh, yes, but it was Christmas. The couch and Call the Midwife awaited. He rejoined his mother in the living room, leaving her cell phone plugged into its charger beside their toaster.

They watched another whole episode. It pained him to think of her loitering about the house while he was gone, rearranging the cabinets and recording television shows, even if he hated the thought of staying with her more. He didn’t get Sander’s interest… come to think of it, Sander was concerned about her during their make-out session in the workshop.

The phone started ringing.

“I’ve got it,” said Robbe, before his mother could get off the couch. This time, he took it all the way to his bedroom and locked the door to answer it.

Sander was quieter this time. “You called the number.”

“It would have been rude not to. You didn’t sign it. It could have been anybody.”

“You knew who it was.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Robbe waited instead of responding. Sander filled the gap after a while, in something even smaller than a whisper, something that sent shivers down Robbe’s spine. “I miss you.” A whistle sounded somewhere in the distance.

Too much. Ugh, why did Robbe think he could handle something like this? He did what he always did when Sander was involved: he was honest. “Look, you don’t make any sense to me. I hear from Noor that you’re head-over-heels in love with me, I hear from you that you’re back with Britt. Well, you’re not, so I’m hearing you’re a liar, too.” Robbe bit his lip to keep from getting choked up. “We barely even had anything, Sander, but I loved every second. You can’t keep pulling on my strings, okay? I can’t handle it.”

“I don’t mean to be pulling,” said Sander. Something ruffled against the receiver. “Your mother, though, she—”

“Good, then don’t bother calling again unless you have something new to tell me. Goodbye.” Robbe smashed the end button this time, scratching the screen protector with his nail. He promised himself he’d fix it later, provided no one got him trouble for his magical Christmas card to Sander.

Back into the living room. His mother lay down across all the cushions and monopolized the space. She pulled a crocheted blanket across her legs, her eyes glassy as she stared at the TV. Robbe flashed back to his worst year again—getting up for school and seeing her there, unmoving.

The last Christmas they spent together, her medication mixture made her violently ill at the slightest hint of indigestion. That could happen this year, it could. There was too much going on in Robbe’s life to deal with her right now.

They’d make blueberry pancakes together. She’d microwave soup for dinner. This was his life.

The phone screen lit up once more with an incoming call from the number as before. Robbe let it ring out. Another came. When he let that ring, another. He answered on Sander’s fifth attempt.

“Please don't hang up this time. Your mother is sick,” blurted Sander on the other end, almost as if he read Robbe’s mind. If his speech was unhinged earlier, now it was a runaway train. “She’s sick and you hate her and I’m sick so you’ll hate me. That was it.” He took a deep breath and the phone line crackled—Hogwarts wouldn’t have the best reception, would it? “I have liked you for forever, okay? That’s my something new.”

Wow. Okay. What the fuck.

“What?” managed Robbe.

“That’s what I needed to say. Before. You don’t like me because you can’t. It has to be over because it can’t ever happen.” Sander’s voice lowered. “I thought it might hurt you less if you knew. But I also can't sit around and pretend that nothing's wrong.”

Robbe rehashed every conversation they ever had in a second. He did not talk about his mother much in any of those—he tried to keep her out of it. She frustrated him to no end. Her stupid pills, the stupid genetics that doomed him to a future of dealing with the same problems, his stupid father walking out. If it wasn’t for her, everything would be fine. But he didn’t—he didn’t hate her.

Why would Sander think he hated her? What was going on?

The library, the offhand comment on Lexapro. The workshop, how he said he didn’t want to return to her because she’d ruin Christmas. The way he referred to her on his and Sander’s second astronomy tower rendezvous: “sick in the head.” Every little thought he had about her.

“It was always going to be like this,” said Sander. Wind blew against his end of the phone; Robbe had to strain to hear most of the words. “I thought when it was fake, it could be okay, because, well, you know, but then you kissed me and I just—There’s no hiding it forever, is there? It's got to come out.”

“What did you say about my mom?�� Robbe demanded.

“I stopped it because it isn't what you want.”

More than that. Britt came to Robbe in the astronomy tower with a slip of paper and a warning of sorts—He isn’t going to tell you. And what had Willem said to his friends, when Sander was asleep the day after they kissed? Was that something that just happened? Were there times that Willem couldn’t wake Sander up?

Robbe knew what that meant. Britt’s voice echoed in his head. It’s hard to tell between what he wants and what’s a symptom. He’d thought it controlling at the time, and it was, but he also understood the feeling. When you loved someone, you wanted to keep them safe. Robbe was a certified idiot. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

Sander did not slow down. “You were going to stay here with me to avoid being there with her. But we’re the same. We’ve always been the same. It’s bipolar, Robbe, and it’s fine that you don’t want it. What matters is that I can’t live with nothing from you, okay? We can’t just not talk.”

Robbe’s hand went numb from gripping the phone so hard.

“I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want you to hate me like you hate your mom.”

“I don’t hate my mom,” said Robbe. “I won’t hate you—don’t hate you.” He felt bewildered, standing in the middle of his living room, with this crisis happening a whole train ride away. What the fuck was going on? His mother raised her eyebrow at him from her position on the couch.

“You do, you said so. And you’d hate me. I didn’t want to upset you, I didn’t—” Something in the background blared, loud enough to mask the rest of Sander’s sentence. Wind? Rain?

“Where are you?” Robbe asked. Britt’s piece of paper—what did it say? He should have taken the time to set it aside, stupid stupid stupid—

“This was stupid,” said Sander, suddenly even more rushed. “I’m sorry. I should have sent another letter. I let Jens talk me into it—” Robbe waved his wand in the general direction of his bedroom—the Ministry of Magic could expel him for underage sorcery—and summoned Britt’s paper. Still a mess of cursive lines. Still blurry.

His mother made a face like, is everything okay? He nodded back.

“I’m putting too much on you,” Sander continued on the phone. “I don’t want to be another thing you have to worry about. That’s why it has to be over. We’re over. But I don’t want to never hear from you again. That’s not what I want.”

“Are you alright?” Robbe whispered.

“I’m fine. I’m, out--” Sander sounded a million miles away in a snowstorm. The end of the sentence got lost. "Moyo and Jens said you'd be here, and free, so...I'm in love with you. This is my something new." The line clicked dead, although Robbe couldn't tell if it was Sander's decision to end the call or fate had intervened. His arms dropped to his sides, the phone to the floor. Something sounded at the door to the apartment. A knock? Robbe remained rooted to the spot.

There wasn't a list he could put together for this situation. He did not hate his mother. Sometimes he hated her. He hated what her disorder did to her. He hated coming home and finding her somewhere, not doing anything, holding a glass of water without the will to bring it to her lips. He hated having to search all the cabinets for bowls when she reorganized their kitchen at three in the morning. Everything he said to Sander, he meant. Everything about her. That could be number one on the list. Number two, he loved Sander. Sometimes he convinced himself he didn't. He thought of his mother wasting away on their couch, lying about taking her pills, camping out on the bathroom floor during rough weeks. Home and school were supposed to be separate. He did not want to think of Sander throwing up blueberry pancakes after taking a handful of pills. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He needed time to think.

The knocking came again, harder. Robbe walked over as if in a dream, barely touching the floor. He vaguely remembered Jens saying something in his letter about visiting, though this seemed short notice. He only said yes to the proposition because he knew Jens would never actually make good on the offer. Robbe opened the door to Sander, hair ruffled, eyes wild. Fucking Sander. What the fuck. Sander's brown roots were more visible than the bleach blond, even though they did not seem to be any longer. He wore the same leather jacket as their first date wrapped tight around his shoulders. In one hand, he held Moyo's broomstick— Robbe could recognize it by the scrapes on the wood. He had the same look on his face that he had that night in the dormitories when he was drunk and reaching out for Robbe. This wasn't happening. What the hell was happening?

"We need to talk to each other," said Sander, without pause for breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about everything, and I'll ruin anything else, I know I will, but you have to tell me we can."

[draggingthedregs]

Writing prompt: please please write about Kaz and Jesper where Kaz is actually treating Jesper like a friend and not an inconvenience? Something post-series, I guess? Like they could be talking about wylan or inej or anything! Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

a/n: okay, okay, i was super duper excited about writing this. when i saw it in my asks i immediately got excited for all the possibilities. i love jesper and kaz’s friendship so damn much and i always love their little moments in both the books and any other fanfics i’ve read. more people need to give them the best friend content they deserve.

word count: 1577

~~~

Maybe it was the weather, but Kaz and Jesper found themselves alone together. 

Everyone in Ketterdam believed they would have a few more weeks before the harshest of winter set in, believed the ice from the north would refrain from reaching them quite yet, they had been wrong. Frigid wind whipped through the alleys and streets, the tops of the canals beginning to freeze over, trapping the stagnant boats against their mooring. 

Jesper stayed with Wylan most of the time, all-but moving in with him. However, his room at the Slat still remained, just in case he ever needed it in between jobs or after a long night at the Crow Club. Jesper had asked Kaz why he never gave it to someone else, tossed whatever was left  of his belongings into Fifth Harbor, and Kaz could never give him a straight answer. 

On this night, as the cold settled deep into the bones of anyone stupid enough to be out, Jesper found himself thankful that he didn’t need to walk all the way back to Wylan’s mansion. He bounded up the Slat’s rickety stairs, taking two at a time, to pay Kaz an unexpected visit, one of which he was sure to enjoy. 

Jesper rapped twice before announcing his presence through the wood. “Your favorite crow has returned to the nest.” 

He heard Kaz’s uneven gait through the door as he approached, opened the lock with a soft click, and swung the door wide for him to enter. “Favorite is a very strong assumption.” Kaz turned and started back to his desk, “Lock it behind you.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say it, I know it’s true. I can feel it in my heart.” 

Kaz let out a scoff, but the smile on his face was genuine. “I’m sure you can.”

Jesper pulled a chair from the corner of the room, setting it in front of his desk. “Well, actually, I think I might be tied with Inej nowadays.”

The smile on his lips faded, replaced with an ache that was so apparent, it was palpable. Inej had been gone for over eight months and, from what Jesper understood, mailing letters to and from a ship on the ocean was exceedingly difficult. Not to mention never knowing if the girl he sent letters to was even alive to receive them anymore. 

The joking edge left Jesper’s words, replaced with sincerity. “Have you heard from her?”

Kaz shook his head, staring at the paper on his desk. “Not since I responded to her last letter.” 

That had been over three weeks ago. 

Inej had written letting Kaz know that she would be home later then she originally thought, months later in fact. She explained that the slaver she had been following was part of a larger fleet, and the Wraith would be their undoing. 

Jesper looked again at the papers laying in front of him, now seeing what they were. Inej’s original letter was there, her delicate scrawl dancing across the page, the ink remaining untouched and unsmudged. Above it lay another piece of parchment, this one unfinished and in Kaz’s thick, scratchy handwriting. 

He had been writing her again, possibly for a second or third time for all that Jesper knew. There were ink stains along his hand and even on his temple, where he had clearly gotten lost in thought. 

“Kaz, I’m sure she’s alright. She’s the Wraith, no one can get a hold of her.”

Normally, and with anybody else, Kaz would’ve ignored them, would’ve waved them off and pushed his pain aside. “Things are different at sea… Even Inej could fall victim.”

“But she won’t. She’ll come home and crawl right back through your window and feed those stupid birds.” 

Kaz sighed, his thumb tracing across her words. The closer Jesper looked, the more pain and exhaustion he saw. Kaz didn’t sleep on a good day, let alone when he was focused on a job or a fat sum of kruge coming their way, but this was different. The entirety of his body seemed weighted now, his shoulders drooping, the circles under his eyes purple, instead of their usual grey. 

Jesper’s voice broke the silence. “I miss laughing with her. She always found my stupid jokes funny. Or at least she pretended to.” 

Kaz didn’t even look up from her letter as he answered. His voice so raw, it almost felt as though these words weren’t intended for Jesper at all. “I miss her voice. I keep hearing it in my head… I didn’t think I’d ever ask for another Suli proverb to tell me what an ass I was being but…” 

“She did have a lot of those, didn’t she?” Jes couldn’t help but smile, “And she’d pop out of the dark, waving her finger, telling us off like the ghost of an angry grandmother.” 

Jesper saw the beginnings of a smile pulling at Kaz’s lips and he continued, hoping that these stories of Inej might make her reappear in front of them, clucking her tongue at their memory of her. 

“She’d stand with her arms crossed, staring as you explained a plan, waiting to call you out on something. And she could always find something. Then she’d shake her head and disappear again.”

“My ever-opinionated shadow.” Kaz chuckled.

“That’s certainly one way to put it. She was never afraid to say what she thought or to be who she was. I guess it’s one of the things I’ve always admired about her.” Jesper took another moment, the joke faded from his voice but a fond smile remained. “She’s the best of us.”

Kaz glanced again at the letter and, to Jesper’s shock, laughed. “Inej would kill us if she heard us talking like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like she’s dead.”

Now it was Jesper’s turn to laugh. He hadn’t even thought of how remanicient their conversation was to a funeral and when he realized it, he couldn’t help but find it hilarious. The idea of Captain Inej Ghafa, the Wraith, dying was nearly unthinkable, though Jesper was unsettled by certain memories that didn’t render the thought impossible. 

Kaz tucked the letters into a neat stack, setting them to the side, then reached into his desk, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. Along with the bottle, he set two glasses in the table. He poured them both generously before sliding one over to Jesper’s side of the desk. 

“Are we getting drunk at our non-funeral now too?”

He took a sip, his lips curling as it burned along the back of his throat. “Let’s just see how this one drink goes.”

Jesper lifted the glass in a half-cheers, taking a drink himself. 

“So,” Kaz began, “Why are you here?” Though it may have come off as harsh, Jes knew what he meant. After so many years, it was easy to tell when Kaz really wanted you gone. 

“I was picking up something at the club and it was way too cold to walk all the way home.” 

“Then I take it all is well with our sunshiniest demolitions expert?”

A laugh escaped Jesper. “We’re fine. He hasn’t thrown me to the curb yet.”

“And he won’t.”

“I mean- I might throw me to the curb too. Or maybe into the harbor.” 

Kaz took a nonchalant sip. “I wouldn’t.”

The remark caught Jesper off guard. Sure, he knew that Kaz had taken a liking to him, perhaps even cared for him, but hearing it aloud seemed to strike harder than he’d expected. Instead of pushing the matter as he may have liked, he simply shrugged. “You’ve never had to share a bedroom with me.” 

Another smile creeped onto Kaz’s lips as he leaned back in his chair. “And perhaps that’s a good thing.”

Jesper finished his drink, setting the empty glass on the table. “I suppose I’ve annoyed you enough for one night, I should probably get to bed. I’ll need to be home early before Wylan starts to panic.”

“Of course not but we wouldn’t want that.” Kaz glanced to his letter, already longing for the near memorized words beneath his attempt. 

“You shouldn’t panic either, if you even can. Truth be told, I’m never sure what emotions you possess, though Helvar does have a few theories.”

A small grumble escaped Kaz’s throat as he rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he does.”

Jes laughed, “I just meant that she’ll write. Or she’ll pop back up in the middle of the night and scare you out of your gloves.” 

With a roll of his eyes, “A man can certainly dream.”

As he made his way to the door, Jesper found himself stopping short, a question rattling around in his brain that he couldn’t keep down any longer. “Why wouldn’t you? Why haven’t you?”

“What?”

“Thrown me out. Everything is still in my room and earlier you said you wouldn’t throw me out… Why?”

Kaz considered him for a moment. The silence hung between them like a thick blanket, needing to be wrung free of water, until he finally answered. “I suppose I like having you around, Jesper. I don’t think I’m really ready to see you go just yet.” A wide, genuine smile took over as he continued. “Even if you are a little too comfortable gambling away my money and shooting bullet holes in my walls.”

Jesper nodded, realizing he had a smile of his own to match. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

“Goodnight, Jes.”

fin.

[spaceskam]

anon prompt: 08. I wrote my crush a note except I started it with ‘dear you’ and my friend stuck it into the wrong locker and now you think I have a crush on you Malex please?

meet ugly prompt list

warning: mentions of homophobia

ao3

“Today’s the day.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely sure,” Alex said, smiling through his nerves as he pulled out a note. He’d meticulously been perfecting a love letter meant for Kaliko Dyer. 

He was a gorgeous and incredibly kind guitar player and dancer and Alex had been crushing on him since he arrived at Roswell. They’d only spoken a few times, but he never was rude to Alex no matter how many times people warned him of his queerness. It seemed like a good sign that maybe he’d be interested in Alex right back. 

However, Alex was way too scared to actually say that to his face, so instead he’d written a note and was going to get Liz to put it on his locker. That way he could watch creepily from the safety of the other side of the hallway.

“Can I read it?” Liz asked, trying to peak over at it. Alex felt his cheeks burn as he contemplated it. On one hand, that sounded super embarrassing. On the other, he was going to give it to someone he knew a lot less than less, so why not?

“Just once.”

She gave a happy little squeak and they unfolded it, looking at the note together.

‘Dear You,

This is hard to write, but I’m going to do it anyway. From the moment I saw you, I knew that I wanted to get to know you. You’re cute and sweet and when you play guitar, I really just realized I like you. I like you a lot. So I wanted to ask you to homecoming.

It’s okay if you don’t want to, I’ll understand, but I really had to ask.

So, what do you say? 

-A.M.”

“You didn’t put your full name, what if he doesn’t know it’s you?” Liz asked. Alex pursed his lips in thought before pulling out his pen and adding 4th block choir after his initials.

“There, there’s no one else in choir with my initials,” Alex said, “Now go before I change my mind.”

Liz laughed and shook her head, “Alright, alright!”

Alex watched in a pool of anxiety as she looked around and taped it to the locker. As the end of lunch bell rang, she ran away from it so no one would see her as the halls started to fill. Now he just had to wait.

Deciding to risk being late to class, Alex pressed himself against the wall and peeked around the corner, waiting for Kaliko to walk over and see the note. Except he didn’t. Instead, a different boy, one with unruly curls, grease-stained jeans, and guitar skills walked up to it.

“Fuck,” Alex cursed, eyes widening and his heart pounding in fear. He knew of Michael Guerin, they were in choir together, but he’d never really spoke to him before. What if he got offended or angry?

Alex was frozen as he watched Michael Guerin pluck the folded paper off the locker with confused eyes. He looked around as if expecting to find who put it there in a sea of people before unfolding it. Alex held his breath as he watched him read it, waiting for him to laugh or get grossed out or something horrific. He should’ve doubled checked the locker.

Instead of getting angry, though, Michael Guerin’s face slowly turned as red as a fucking tomato. He had a small smile on his face and his shoulders were all slumped forward, every bit of his attention on the letter. He seemed to read it a few times with how long he stared at it before carefully folding it up and putting it in his back pocket.

Fuck.

-

Alex spent the entire day dreading choir which was something he never dreaded. 

He’d been thinking all 3rd block about how he was going to tell Michael that, sorry, he didn’t mean it for him and he appreciated that he wasn’t angry. He was going to avoid having to put rejection on Michael’s shoulders.

He sat in his seat in the tenor section and kept his eyes on the door. When Michael did enter, he came in with a shy smile and heading straight for Alex. He took a deep breath and gave him a polite smile, preparing to fix his massive fuck up.

“Hey, I got your note,” Michael said, voice all soft and sweet.

“Right, about that, I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

“No, it’s okay,” Michael cut him off, grinning and pushing himself on his toes. Was he always that cute? Had Alex missed that before? “Yeah, I’ll go to homecoming with you. It’ll be fun.”

“Oh,” Alex said, blinking through his shock, “Y-you really want to?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging a shoulder as his face slowly but surely started to turn red again. He rocked up onto his toes again. “I’ve noticed you since I first saw you too.”

And Alex couldn’t find it in him to say it was given to the wrong person.

-

By the time Friday rolled around, Alex was feeling more than a little guilty.

He’d seen Isobel Evans excitedly helping Michael Guerin come up with something to wear, he’d received multiple selfies from the man himself in suits and at work, he’d sent a couple of his own, they’d both sent a couple more risque snaps... Point was, it was based on a lie and he felt like a dick.

“You like him now, don’t you? So don’t feel guilty,” Liz said simply, curling her hair in the mirror. Alex was sitting, waiting for 6 PM to roll around so Michael and Kyle would show up to the Crashdown to take them to the dance. He had to explain more than he wanted to for why he couldn’t be picked up at his own house.

“Still, I feel like such an asshole,” he groaned, “He’s so nice and I didn’t even notice him. Shouldn’t I tell him the truth? That it was an accident?”

“If he gets upset, you’ll be dateless,” Liz pointed out. 

“Okay, but aren’t his feelings more important than me being dateless?”

As if his ears were ringing, Alex’s phone lit up with another snap from Michael. He bit down on his lip and opened. He was freshly out of the shower, hair already curling and tongue sticking out. He was shirtless and wet and Alex had to swallow hard to keep his mind on track. Seriously, how had he not noticed him before?

The caption he’d put was a simple ‘here’s before i get all dolled up so you know i put in effort for you :)’. 

"Haven’t you guys been talking all week?”

“Yes,” Alex sighed.

“And don’t you enjoy him?”

“Yes.”

“And don’t you think he’s super hot?”

“God, yes, did I show you that picture he sent me when he was at work?” Alex groaned, falling back onto her bed. It was weird to think that one little fuck up had led to him talking to a guy he never gave the time of day before, but god he was thankful. He not only liked the attention, but he liked him. He now knew more about him than he did about Kaliko and that crush had faded into the distance.

“Then why ruin a good thing?”

“Because I feel guilty,” he whined, “He thinks I’ve liked him since I first met him years ago and he actually has liked me that long.”

“That’s cute, Alex,” Liz said. Alex simply groaned louder.

Six eventually rolled around (after two more selfies of Michael smiling all sweet in his suit) and it was time to act like he hadn’t accidentally asked out the wrong guy to homecoming. Alex went outside to meet him at his truck while Liz and Kyle had their picture perfect moment inside with her sister and her dad.

Michael smiled, his face turning red all over again. It seemed no matter how cocky he could seem in pictures and over text, he always got flustered in person.

“You look... incredible,” Michael breathed, looking him up and down slowly. Alex shifted under his gaze and tried to keep his smile in check. “I mean, you always look incredible, but damn. Like... damn.”

“You look good too,” Alex laughed, stepping up closer. They hadn’t kissed or anything. Hell, they’d barely even spoke in person since that day in choir. They would look at each other across the room and text all night and send snaps back and forth, but there wasn’t much time to be in person except for a few minutes at lunch. But they’d sent shirtless pictures and suggestive messages, so did that give him the clearance to go in for a kiss?

He didn’t just to be safe.

“Not as good as you, though,” Michael noted. Alex rolled his eyes again. “You ready to go, Cinderella? Your chariot awaits.”

Alex laughed, but slid into the front seat of the truck.

-

“You wanna dance?”

“With you?”

“Well, yeah, I’m your date,” Michael laughed, still holding out his hand. The two of them had been leaning against the wall for a majority of the night, watching other couples dance. Alex, as much as he wanted to say he didn’t mind what people thought, was a little scared that dancing with a guy might bring unwanted attention. “Hey, if anyone looks at us sideways, I’ll kick their ass.”

Alex huffed a laugh and somehow knew he wasn’t lying. Michael Guerin had gotten suspended for fighting before. While he didn’t know the exact cause, he could definitely make some educated guesses now.

So, reluctantly, he let Michael drag him onto the dance floor and put his hands on his hips. Alex draped his arms around his neck and looked around. A few people looked their ways and a few rolled their eyes. The people around them gave them a little more space than necessary and that didn’t go unnoticed either. Well, to him. Michael was oblivious.

A few feet away, Kaliko was dancing with his date--a girl--and gave Alex a neutral look. It wasn’t disgusted, but it wasn’t exactly glowing with support. Suddenly, Alex felt pretty happy his note had fallen in the wrong hands. Kaliko would’ve said no.

“How are you so comfortable?” Alex asked Michael honestly. Michael shrugged.

“People are gonna judge me no matter what I do. Why not be my most authentic self while I can?” Michael said. Alex couldn’t help but smile.

“I guess, but I didn’t know you were out,” he said, “Like, I didn’t even know you were into guys at all. No rumors or anything. You fly so under the radar.”

“I’m straight passing,” Michael laughed, pulling more laughter out of Alex, “Nah, but out means different things for different people. Who I like is no one’s business but my own and the people who I’m interested in.”

“So did your friends know?” Alex asked.

“I mean, yeah. Just, I never, like, came out. I didn’t feel the need. I just spoke my mind when I saw hot guys and they were like ‘oh, okay’,” Michael explained. Alex smiled broader and shook his head as they swayed.

“I envy you, Michael Guerin.”

“Why? I’m the one that gets to dance with you,” Michael said softly. Heat pooled in Alex’s cheeks and, before he could even stop himself, he pulled Michael in for a kiss. It was short and simple, but it was enough to express that he really did like him.

Still, someone cleared their throat and one of the chaperones were giving them a distinctly disapproving look, shaking his head. Kids were looking their way too and Alex considered melting into the floor. But Michael just laughed.

“You wanna go to my truck? There’s less judgy people in there,” he said, loud enough that the chaperone and students around them could hear. Alex licked his lips and nodded.

So they left and Alex felt like he was floating on air. This boy liked him. Really, really liked him.

“Okay, I know a place we can drive to if you want,” Michael said, giving him that charming smile, “Somewhere, like, empty. It’s only a few minutes away.”

“Go for it,” Alex agreed.

Just like he promised, they were in the desert, making out in the front seat of the truck within 10 minutes. Michael was kissing him like he’d never been kissed before (which wasn’t saying much, he’d only been kissed twice) and holding him close.

“You wanna, um,” Michael breathed after awhile, “Go further?”

Alex pulled away a little to look at him, weighing his options. He hadn’t ever really gone further, but, honestly, with a boy who looked like that who was as ballsy as he was, he couldn’t see where he would have any regrets. 

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, “Yeah, if you want to.”

Michael grinned and nodded, going in for another kiss. He slowly laid Alex back on the seat, shifting them so Alex as laying comfortably with Michael between his thighs. He slowly started kissing down his jaw and his neck, hands roaming. Alex easily relaxed into the feeling, adoring the way it felt to be kissed and touched.

But then he opened his eyes and spotted the note peaking out from where it was held up by the sun visor. Then that guilt reared it’s ugly fucking head.

“Wait, stop,” Alex said. Michael shot up so quickly that he slammed his head against the roof of the truck. “Jesus, are you okay?!”

Michael’s face was contorted in pain as he rubbed the back of his head, but he still nodded. Alex sat up and reached up to rub the sore spot as well, frowning when Michael flinched at the pressure.

“Sorry,” he said. Michael shook his head.

“It’s cool, I’m okay,” he promised, getting situated again, “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I just... I saw the note,” he said. Michael blinked a few times in confusion, his eyes traveling up to where the note was.

“Is it weird I have it right there?” Michael wondered, “No one’s ever, like, written a note to be before. I didn’t wanna lose it ‘cause, you know, it’s from you.”

Alex involuntarily groaned, laying his head back against the window and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Michael was silent. So, so much guilt.

“The note wasn’t meant for you,” Alex admitted, sighing as he dropped his hands to look at him. Michael just looked confused. “Liz was supposed to put it on Kaliko’s locker, but she put it on yours and you got so excited that I couldn’t tell you no.”

Michael slowly sunk into the driver’s seat of the truck, all of his movements slow and lethargic as he processed what he was hearing. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was in a permanent frown.

“So... you don’t like me,” Michael said.

“No, I do,” Alex insisted, “I just... Hadn’t noticed you before this week. And, I swear, I like you way more than I ever expected. You’re cute and funny and sweet and--”

“I’m gonna take you home if that’s okay,” Michael said softly, “Or do you want me to bring you to the Crashdown?”

“The Crashdown,” Alex said softly, “But, look, I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you. It was super unfair of me to... to...”

“To let me think you liked me as much as I like you,” Michael finished. Alex, again, felt like he was drowning in guilt. “But that’s okay. You didn’t know me, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Yeah, but I feel so bad,” Alex said as he started up the truck, “And I like you now. Like really like you.” Michael just shrugged.

“It’s okay, don’t feel bad,” he said, “You don’t owe me anything. It’s only been a week.”

The rest of the ride was quiet and Michael made sure to give him back the note before he left.

-

Dear Michael, 

I’m an asshole. I should’ve been honest with you. What a great way to start a relationship, huh?

Honestly, I didn’t expect it to start a relationship. I expected to barely talk to you and then have an awkward time at the dance and then go back to never speaking to you. I thought it was going to just be that.

I didn’t expect to talk to you every waking moment all week. I didn’t expect to get to know you and how nice and smart you are. I didn’t expect to learn about you and your dad and how you guys work on cars together. I didn’t expect to get obsessed with how cute you are or your pretty smile or the way you turn all red. I didn’t expect to make you laugh or for you to make me laugh. I didn’t expect to talk about my shitty dad. I never tell anyone about him. I know you don’t think so, but you are special to me. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you first. I’m sorry that first note wasn’t to you.

But this note is. And I’ll write you more as I get to know you more and have more to say.

Forgive me?

-A.M. 4th block choir

Alex waited in choir that Monday morning, tapping his foot against the floor as he waited for Michael to show up. When he did, Michael again came straight towards Alex again. He sat right beside him, facing forward as if that was his seat.

“You’re not a tenor,” Alex said dully.

Michael sighed and looked over at him.

“It was only a week,” he said, “You could’ve lied longer. Or we could’ve hooked up or started dating or something actually legit before you told me, but it was just a week. Yeah, it hurt that you weren’t into me for as long as I’ve been into you, but... I’m not mad.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile. 

“So you forgive me?” Alex asked hopefully.

Michael held back a smile as he shrugged and said, “I don’t know. You really obsessed with how cute I am?”

“Yes,” Alex laughed, “And you’re hot too. I literally look at that picture of you covered in grease and working on that car to, like, get myself out of bed in the morning.”

Michael snorted and finally looked over at him, letting his smile show. It was the most beautiful smile Alex had ever seen.

“Kiss me, then?” he requested. Alex gave a quick sweep of the room to make sure Mrs. Bernard wasn’t in yet before he leaned forward and gave him a short and sweet kiss. “Just, you know, be nice to me.”

“That I can do.”

“I also expect more shirtless pictures.”

“Fair is fair,” Alex agreed. Michael’s tongue pressed against his teeth as he smiled wildly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek. He felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

“It’s all good,” Michael said, pushing himself to his feet, “I’m keeping this one in my wallet, by the way.”

“Okay,” Alex laughed, watching him walk over to the bass section and flop into his seat.

He felt really lucky that Liz had fucked up.

[lamiasluck]

Cheers to the Future

(Working for with this new version of Host I created. What if he didn’t mind Author and actually respected him? Much to think about.)

Author wrote his future self a letter to reflect on things. Host always cherishes the the gesture. It’s not everyday he can see relics of his past life.

@emptynarration @alvie-ashgrove @shy-marker-pliers @juju-on-that-yeet @m4delin @verse2wo @ferociousfangirlofmanyfandoms @lildevyl 

Warnings: swearing, minor violence

- 

Dear my future self,

I’m writing this stupid thing because I need something to calm me down. Another damn character ran away, again. A surprisingly fast guy,  considering he’s some brain dead office monkey. I don’t remember his name, but my bat had his goddamn name written all over it! People just don’t get it. Their safety doesn’t matter in this; I want to have fun. But whatever, maybe you’ll have better luck getting that through people’s heads. And it better work! I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. I’d rather die than become boring like that. 

I want a library full of books in the future. And I better have written every single word in them. It’ll be a whole collection of characters that get it. That they don’t matter, only the story does. You better understand that, too. I’m tired of thinking of the morality of it all, everyone keeps telling me I’m wrong and horrible. I know that! Dear god, I don’t need to hear it all the time. The same dialogue over and over drives me insane. I can only imagine how exhausted you are of that by now. Though, maybe you have a better way to make them understand what we mean. If only I could hear it… Nothing pisses me off more than an entitled character too stupid to consider the bigger picture. Now I’m repeating myself. I’m the asshole here. Well, I’m going to commit to it now.

I want things from you, even if you are me. You should have more power. I want you to be stronger than me, which is impossible already, but the only one able to do that is me. I want you to be a fucking god. It’s what we deserve.

Guess this wasn’t as stupid as I thought… I feel better after writing this. I’ll go out and get another character. Start things over. I’ll even keep this piece of scrap somewhere safe, in case you do read this in the future. If you’re alive. You better be. I hope life’s more of a joyride to you. That’s my dream, stick with it.

- Author

The Host fondly brushes his thumb over the worn paper. It’s long since weakened with age, feeling flimsy in his hands and crumpled. The messy handwriting is charming to see with his narrations, but at least they’re full paragraphs. He can never find himself jotting down more than a few notes for his radio broadcasts. His infliction makes him unmotivated to put in the effort. Not like anyone else sees them besides him, anyway. 

Author had such a way with words. Like how he kept swearing constantly even when writing a letter. A charming touch, added more personality. The Host doesn’t curse nearly as much. As it turns out, swearing aggressively puts many characters at unease right off the bat. He learned that soon after Author died.

This isn’t the first time he’s read this, nor will it be the last. Hell, he practiced his narrations reading it when he got reborn. It’s nice to reflect on who he once was. Author was always an interesting man, but far too narrow minded to improve for his own benefit. The Host wouldn’t be here if Author wasn’t so rash, though. He’s grateful for such a unique creation. No human is born like this. That always brings a smile to his face. Perhaps, he did turn into the god Author had wanted. He certainly feels like one with his power. 

The letter is carefully folded up and put into a safe drawer. It’s been taken care of expertly all these years, with only a small tear to prove otherwise. The Host wonders what Author would think of him some days. He lives in the same body as the writer, but it feels odd to call himself “The Author.” Perhaps, The Host is something Author expected. To be killed and reborn anew, into something greater than man. Maybe that’s why he stupidly faced every danger head on, tempting fate to turn him into a god, to complete his origin story. Or maybe, Author would be absolutely disgusted by The Host, scared even.

“No, I don’t want to die! I want this power. I don’t want you having it!”

With golden eyes widened in horror, while his shaky hands grips his bat like it’ll protect him. Expression morphed into a harsh, but confused glare, as he stared at his future. Why, The Host can practically hear him screaming curses at him. It’s always amusing to think about, but they’re only predictions of the impossible. All he can do is honour Author’s name. While he may not be a writer, he’s quite the storyteller. And, he’s gotten better at controlling those pesky characters’ minds. Though-

“Let me out!” a panicked man’s voice screeches from the other room. There’s sounds of a struggle, before The Host hears a loud thump, followed by a pained groan. Poor soul must’ve tipped over his chair. “You can’t keep me in here!” Still as determined as ever, though.

- Sometimes he has the same problems Author did. While he may have improved how he plays mind games, something Author never had the patience to do, there are always times a character’s too vain to understand the message. Some things never change. It never bothers The Host too much though, at least not enough to make him as angry as Author would’ve been. He alway finds ways to have fun with it. Again, another thing Author could never do; go with the flow and make every situation his. As they deserve. 

With age comes maturity, The Host supposes. As if he’s the shining beacon of maturity. 

With a grin on his face, he grabs his trusty, metal bat and stands from his desk. Well, Author’s bat, but he still cares for the weapon. “Another damn character ran away,” he repeats Author’s words with a giggle. “Or, almost ran away. The Host tries to be smart enough to catch them afterwards.”

He walks over to the room he keeps his uncooperative characters in. This guy did end up tipping his chair over, now flopping around like a suffocating fish. The sight makes The Host laugh through his narrations. He walks up to the character, dragging his bat against the floor to make a dull, scraping sound. The way the character yells and begs makes his grin grow wider.

“Now, now, friend,” he crouches down next to the character’s head, “with all that screaming, he may tear out his vocal cords.” He presses the end of his bat against the poor man’s throat, effectively quieting the screaming into a pitiful whimper. “None of that now, The Host wants to show his friend why he should’ve behaved.” He stands up then, spinning his bat in his hand.

“No, please-”

“It may be a long and hard lesson to take in.” He raises his bat over his head, “If it makes him feel better, The Host found it hard to learn himself.”

“God, please, no!”

“God only wants to make a good story. Let fate take its course.” He swings the bat down hard into the character’s ribs, laughing maniacally once he hears a sickening crack. The man shrieks in pain, but no one will hear him within the vast and empty forest. No one besides The Host. “Don’t worry, it’s for the greater good!”

Time to make Author proud.

[auggie-hunter]

the insomnia diaries;

❛ surprise. send an unexpected nsfw image to my muse.

truthfully, auggie should've known this could’ve happened one day. not that he’d ever expect it from her, or even ask, but he should’ve known teddy graham would find new and exciting ways to make him fall out of his chair.

(literally; he’s in the middle of a stream when it happens. he’d seen the notification go off while waiting for his game to load and had the capital idea to fully lean over to check instead of just reaching for his phone with his arm.

he’s could not be more relieved that he falls to the ground because he isn’t sure he could’ve kept a poker face on camera. or that he’d make it to his 23rd birthday with the way his heart is racing)

and while his viewers are likely laughing up a storm at his faux pas, turning his chat to chaos, he manages enough mental capacity to mute his mic, eyes still glued to his phone.

because his girlfriend, bare from the chest up with an arm tucked behind her head and a knowing, bright red smirk on her lips, stares back at him on his phone.

vlauggie: sorry dudes, technical difficulties, we’re back tomorrow, 7pm. ps: you’re all banned for laughing at me :)

…even if technical difficulties were, quite literally, him dramatically unplugging the computer and running to his bedroom where she laughed loudly when he all but jumped her bones.

worth it. totally.

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❛ abrupt. kiss my muse out of the blue.

she’s in the middle of a phone call with her sisters, giggling from her place on the barstool at the kitchen island. about whatever it is they’re discussing. he isn’t sure; he genuinely hasn’t been listening. what he is sure about is how happy she looks to hear their voices and be laughing with them.

he hasn’t seen her smile in so long, he thinks, and his heart squeezes when he realizes just how long it’s actually been. eight months since they lost lip.

her eyes look so bright, and she looks so much like herself. like his teddy. like the heaviness of her heartbreak isn’t weighing her down.

like she might fly again.

he’s missed this for her.

she’s mid sentence when he cups both her cheeks and presses his lips to hers, soft and tender and warm. it catches her off guard; he can tell by the way she stares back at him, lips slightly parted, confusion on her brow. but instead of answering her or explaining, he drops a long, lingering kiss atop her head, thumbs swiping softly over her cheeks.

she mutters something about calling them back and her arms are sliding around his waist a second later, drawing him into her arms.

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❛ go down. go down on my muse.

he almost hates that she’s here like this. almost. that she could come back after all this time, after he finally figured out how to make himself stop missing her long enough to move on. 

he almost hates that he’s so addicted to her that he’s willing to burn it all down for her.

almost. but auggie hunter could be  selfish like that. teddy graham would always make him selfish when it came to her.

they were just supposed to talk. she just wanted to talk, or so she said. the way she’d fallen into his lap in the middle of it all told a different story.

the way he falls right into her makes him angry, because he knows she knew he would, and that he always would. she knows her choosing not to talk and just go straight into the familiar is her way of having her cake and eating it, too.

but two can play at that game. and he can’t say he’s doing much thinking when he lifts her onto the desk in front of him though. or when he’s pulling lace that he wants to pretend wasn’t strategic down her thighs and letting his mouth following the same trail back up them.

the ring on his left hand burns with the weight of what he’s doing, and the pressure of soft, firm skin underneath it. he desperately wonders in the back of his mind if there will ever be a day in his life where he isn’t weak for the woman in front of him.

(he also wonders how in the world they got here)

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❛ note. give my muse a note saying : [ content ].

he’s surprisingly nervous today. ironic, considering he’s technically already done this. but til the day he died, auggie hunter was certain teddy graham would, without much effort on her part, make his heart race.

they weren’t even going to have a wedding. they’d talked about it, sure, once they’d gotten back from paris, matching rings on their fingers. they’d said they could do it one more time for their parents’ sake.

except the world had been put on pause, she’d turned out to be pregnant, and they’d had more pressing matters to attend to in the form of two babies and more love and life than they knew what to do with.

but that was then. this was now. their daughters are eight months old, the world’s eased back in, and their families are waiting patiently in the terrace of the house in maine he and teddy had called home for the better part of the last eighteen months.

they’re getting married. again.

and he’s nervous.

the thing is, if he could see her, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so antsy about it. call it separation anxiety after all the time they’d spent together coupled with way too much excitement.

and he’d see her soon; one glance at his watch tells him they’re only twenty minutes out from when he’d be waiting for her at the top of the beautifully decorated aisle in the garden.

(the watch is a present from freddie when he’d come in to help with his tie, their father’s initials engraved in the back. “he’s here, too…” his brother had said, and they’d both held back tears)

but somehow, twenty minutes feels like an eternity.

he closes his eyes and takes a long deep breath, trying to get it together, before reaching for his suit jacket. he’s getting married. (again).

while running both hands over the front to smooth out the neatly pressed material that makes him look older somehow, wise beyond his years, a crinkling grabs his attention. he furrows his brow, wondering if the dry cleaners had forgotten some kind of tag in the pocket. he’s careful with the boutonniere, trying to make sure he didn’t ruin teddy’s favorite flower resting delicately over the pocket.

an envelope.

he furrows his brow as he pulls it out. that for sure hadn’t been in there before. or at least… he thought he’d have noticed when he pulled it out of the garment bag. the paper crinkles in his hand when he turns it to read it, and then, he smiles.

auggie.

written in a familiar cursive he’s seen a dozen times on post-its, in journals, in love letters. teddy.

he’s careful not to rip it when he opens it, chuckling to himself when he spots the blue paw print sticker on the back. an ode to their ongoing blue’s clues binge when rosie decides she’s over sleeping promptly at 4:07 in the morning.

loving you is my favorite part of waking up every morning. and knowing i’ll get to love you the next day is my favorite part about going to sleep. thank you for taking my hand, and wrecking all of my plans. i wouldn’t have it any other way.

can’t wait to marry you (again!!!)

- ted

yeah. he’s ready now. and would be forever.

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❛ mark. leave a mark on my muse’s body [ specify where ].

working out your history probably wouldn’t end with a purple bruise on your hip bone.

(or it could; it would maybe just lead to a more fun memory than the painful one you’re currently dwelling on)

had you sorted your shit out, you wouldn’t have shown up late at night, dressed (or undressed) in the way you were, to jump into the arms of a married man.

(or you would’ve, except you’d have been his wife, and he’d have been your husband and you would’ve giggled in each other’s arms in the aftermath)

but the purple bruise on your hip bone is angry, a symbol of wanting and taking what doesn’t belong to you, of him having his cake and eating it, too, (literally) even if you’re the one who let him in the first place.

you’re the one who showed up to his restaurant late at night; you’re the one who insisted you talk; you’re the one who found your way onto his lap.

(even if he’s the one whose deep frustration led him to push you onto the desk in his office and find home between your legs, hands gripping your thighs like a lifeline. the red scratches on the side of your right thigh should fade soon; at least the reminder of the band on his finger not having the strength to last as long as the tender skin low on your hip bone.

the secret, wordless brand on your skin is a longer reminder of how much he resents you for leaving him.

or maybe he resents you more for coming back.

then again, he’s the married one, you think selfishly. although, there’s a ring on your finger that makes you a hypocrite since you’d be there soon, too.

had you sorted your shit out, you wouldn’t be staring at a reminder on your bare skin through the mirror. you’d be with him. where you belong.

and he’d be with you, where he belongs.

(but maybe the bullshit ends with you. maybe you’re the one who sorts it by slipping the ring off your finger.)

(and you refuse to be anyone’s secret. and you refuse to have him of all people be yours)

(you just desperately hope he feels the same)

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❛ pin. push my muse against a [ wall, table, other ].

teddy wasn’t even going to have a bachelorette party. she was just planning on grabbing auggie and eloping at the courthouse, wanting nothing more than to just be married to him. but she should’ve known her sisters wouldn’t be able to help herself. even her little siblings bixby and belly, freshly twenty-one, wanted in on the planning.

it’s how she finds herself leading a singalong of four of her siblings, her future siblings in law, her best friends, and fellow patrons while belting “africa” by toto at a karaoke bar, drunk on too many sugary lime mojitos.

there’s a tilted crown on her head that looks too perfectly placed for how tacky it’s actually meant to be, and she’s clumsier than usual, so while the room goes wild, daily has to come to her rescue and help her off the stage when it’s over.

she’s one step down when she spots him, all the way at the back by the bar. her jaw drops and she gasps like she hasn’t seen him in ages though it’s only been a few hours.

her fiancé, her auggie, watching her with his smile like sunshine and cinnamon bun wrinkled forehead. (good lord, she’s drunk) she loves him so much.

(she’s really gonna be his wife. she could cry.)

daily’s calling after her when she clumsily runs away from her and toward his direction, narrowly missing a waitress on her way over. but teddy ignores her, a woman on a mission.

her lips are on his before she even says hi, arms wrapping around his neck and crossing at her forearms. she nudges him back, pinning him up against the corner of the bar, and when he chuckles against her mouth and pulls back to look at her, she grins just as wide.

“sorry to interrupt your big night, i just wanted to—“

she shakes her head and kisses him again. “never, i missed you sooooo much.” this time her smooch is loud, and he laughs wrapping an arm around her waist when he feels her kiss more of the space above this lips than his actual lips.

somewhere behind her, she can hear olive mutter something about it being a bachelorette party, but she doesn’t entirely care. auggie’s here!

“baby,” he mumbles against her mouth, pulling back. “go back to your party. i just wanted to bring you this,” he pulls out her engagement ring from inside his pocket. “i thought you might’ve forgotten it. though i think i should hold on to it for now.”

she pouts, ready to protest, but he grabs her left arm from where it rests at his shoulder, a huge, pink toy diamond ring on her finger. “just until you come home; you’re already covered.” he kisses her cheek three times.

“el—“ she hiccups. “it was eliza’s idea. she said she saw it on one tree hill and was scared i’d lose mine.”

he snorts. “thanks, one tree hill.”

“go ravens.” she giggles and stands on her toes to kiss him. “wanna make out?”

“i think you’ve got that part covered,” he says against her lips, still so very amused at her.

“okay but over there so i can take your pants off,” she slurs, closing the inch of space between them so he’s pinned against the bar counter.

“how about you go have fun, and i’ll wait for you later with no pants.” though he knows a puddle of drunk teddy would end her night in sleep, but he humors her.

she gasps. “can we go now?” and he has to catch her hand before she unbuttons his pants.

“no, olive and allie are already glaring at me for being here,” he tells her and kisses her forehead. “go; i’ll see you at home, okay?”

“…fine. i love you. a lot, a lot. like, to pluto a lot.”

there’s that smile again, big and bright and she all but melts into her boots: “i love you, too.”

as she’s walking away, she turns back to look at him. “i won’t even tell anybody about your whole fake pretest. pretet… pre…” she huffs, tongue tied again:

he laughs. “you caught me.” and with a final wink, she’s finally back with her party, and he’s walking out the door, both hands in his pockets, and his soft grin intact.

__________________

❛ choke. intimately wrap your hands around my muse’s throat.

okay, so it isn’t shocking per se; all the time they spent surviving on stolen moments and making the most of them for so long (before deciding to just say screw it, secrets be damned) had turned into lessons and discoveries.

lessons and discoveries that led them both to understand they were all kinds of kinky.

like how auggie was easily putty in teddy’s hands at the sight of her in any kind of lace. or satin. or leather, and how much she loved how easy it was for her get him to bend at her whim. or teddy being really into being tied up (and tying him up). her affinity for being blindfolded (and blindfolding him)

“i like surprises.” she’d said it at her birthday dinner; herhad eyes met his across the dinner table, knowing he’d know what she meant despite being surrounded by all their friends, none of them any wiser.

there’s auggie’s obsession with going down on her, and the way her legs had a little too much power over him. he was convinced this was why she’d started wearing shorter dresses in his presence. though she’d never admit it.

(it’s how he put two and two together about how having him look, but not touch was a turn on for her, and how she’d put it into practice by having him sit at the edge of her bed while she showed him all the ways she touched herself without him)

marks that scream mine, a slight tug of hair (or two), a hand up her skirt hidden in plain sight was a bit of a power trip, only to be met with bare, wet skin. because two could play at that game.

teddy on her knees. auggie from behind. chasing orgasms in new and exciting ways…

the list went on and on.

so again, finding this out isn’t shocking. a little surprising, considering they thought they’d fully populated the mental list by now. but when she’s pressed into the mattress, and he stops moving in her for a second to help ease her head out of the uncomfortable position it had ended up in, another discovery is made.

she’d winced, and when she’d complained about her head, he’d cupped the back of her neck, and gripped gently to help her get more comfortable. except his thumb puts a little more pressure than intended against her throat in the effort to help her move, and the way her eyes flutter while lips part and she clenches tighter around him gives him pause.

teddy appears a little surprised herself, especially with how her eyes widen when he lets go and she realizes what had just happened. he’s a little blown away, but clearly not as much as she is. but then his brow raises, a silent “really?” appearing on his face with an upward quirk of his lip.

of course, before she can even put together an explanation, her cheeks rouge a deeper shade of red than just a moment earlier to match her averted eyes and bashful expression.

he bows his head to kiss her. a reminder that there’s no need to be embarrassed. not about this, and especially not with him.

(even if the way she usually blushed while turned on, all the way from her face down to her chest, easily made his head spin. the way he could tell the difference was pretty hot, too)

but then auggie slows it down, more deliberate and sensual, and yet a little dirty, his hand eases back onto her neck, fingers and thumb applying careful pressure. he pulls back to look at her. he needs to follow her lead on this one; he won’t do it otherwise. there’s a word for this, too.

 teddy’s eyes meet his, a slow nod of consent and trust allow him to keep going. and when those same eyes flutter again, and her lips part, he knows he’s found it. her sweet spot. and then he moves inside her again, picking back up where they left off.

she comes faster than either of them anticipate after that.

lesson #350.

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missed connections… what if we just missed who we were in a past life?

“wait, so you really just told indy you wouldn’t come to her wedding if she didn’t invite me?” teddy laughed, smoothing out the skirt of her dress, soft pink and ending just at her mid-thigh. indigo graff wanted a wedding of whimsy, which meant seventies florals and springtime energy. “you’re her maid of honor! it’s a small wedding.”

olive shrugged, the blonde highlights in her recently cut hair appearing extra glossy while styled in soft beach waves. “she knows i hate our cousins, i absolutely wasn’t getting through this without someone normal. and eliza couldn’t fly back from bali, and you know drew is still stuck in davenport because he’s the worst--”

“he’s not; you love him, and there’s a random springtime blizzard.”

“teddy stop being rational please, i’m being bitter, let me be bitter.” olive straightened out her own dress, the navy color as close to black as indigo would let her go for the day. she wasn’t hating it, or the way it contrasted with her red lipstick. “who plans an entire wedding in two weeks?!”

“okay,” teddy watches her trying to find the fine line between rational and letting olive be olive, but she’s still quite amused about this. “but scarlett is here. and forest is here.”

“forest is taking his photog job way too seriously so after we’re done being bridesmaids he’s gonna go off in search of the perfect wedding candids,” olive rolls her eyes while wrestling with the spandex shorts she’s wearing underneath to get them straight. “and i adore my sister, but scarlett decided she wanted to bring patrick to the wedding, and she adores patrick and will inevitably dump me for him once she’s done bridesmaid-ing. clearly my siblings don’t care about me and my needs..”

“on this day of all days? what a betrayal,” teddy snorts deadpan. “and you told me to bring ivy!” she walks around to help olive finish freshening up.

“i did, i know. but i like ivy. i don’t like patrick.”

“you don’t like anyone.”

“i know that, too,” olive says simply exhaling heavily before taking a look in the mirror. “okay, this is gonna have to do.”

teddy smiles at her through the mirror. “you look beautiful,” she tells her, wrapping both arms around olive’s shoulders and squeezing her tight. “come on, grumpy.”

as they make their way out of the bathroom, her best friend’s sigh makes teddy turn around. “i just can’t believe my big sister’s getting married.” olive’s lip quirks, pride swelling in her chest.

teddy grins. “you’re so cute. let’s get you over to her before all this real emotion goes away,” she teases, leading her out the door, but not before she bumps chest first into someone’s back just beside the door.

“oh!” teddy exclaims, grabbing onto a set or arms to find her balance.

“shit, sorry!”

olive glares, stopping short just before she could bump into teddy. “who stands in front of a bathroom door?!”

“sorry!”

olive looks to teddy. “auggie. fredward’s lame brother. and best man.”

“hi olive,” he shakes his head, seeming more amused at her antics than annoyed. like they’d been through this before. “hi, nice to meet you…”

“teddy,” she motions to herself. “best friend.”

he smiles. “teddy. that’s cute.”

teddy grins. “thank you.”

“don’t flirt with her, she’s taken,” olive interjects and teddy giggles when auggie blushes.

he clears his throat, shooting teddy an apologetic look before turning to olive. “i was looking for you actually. scarlett sent me. indigo’s ready to go.”

“and why didn’t scarlett come get me herself?”

auggie shrugs, but before he can say another word, teddy’s whisking her best friend away.

“come on, oli; it’s showtime, you can yell at your new in-laws later.” teddy shoots auggie a look of amusement and a friendly wave before disappearing down the hall.

the chaos of it all.

[pessimisticlatte]

Glass Roses ~ Chapter 16

Adrienette ~ Marichat ~ Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng ~ Platonic Marinette and Chloe ~ Chloe x Sabrina

Enjoy <3

Holding Adrien’s hand in her own, Marinette held the door of the bakery open for her boyfriend as he entered. He’d been to the bakery millions of times but hadn’t had the chance to actually meet Marinette’s parents, let alone meet them as her boyfriend. He was nervous, they’d met him as Chat Noir and he’d ended up making Marinette’s father so angry that he was akumatized; Adrien didn’t want to do that to Mr Dupain again.

“Hello, Adrien,” Tom spoke as evenly as he could. This meeting was nothing like the one he’d had with Chat Noir so many years ago now. This boy loved his daughter and was here to meet her parents as someone who cared deeply for her, but that still didn’t quell the angry worry rising in his chest at the thought of this golden haired boy breaking his daughter’s heart like Chat Noir had. Awkwardly, Tom stuck out his hand.

“Hello, Mr Dupain,” Adrien firmly shook Tom’s hand, smiling slightly as Marinette released his other one and shrugged off her coat, folding it over her arm. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“You must be Adrien!” Sabine appeared at the bottom of the stairs up the the apartment above with her short hair pulled back into a low, messy bun. She smiled at the boy who returned it with a sheepish half smile before Tom let go of his hand so Mari could take his coat for him. Crossing the room, Sabine appraised her daughter’s boyfriend with scrutinising eyes, scanning left and right and up and down before her shoulders rolled back and she pulled him into a sudden hug. “It is wonderful to meet you, come upstairs!”

Adrien’s cheeks had flared crimson as Sabine released him and led him up to the apartment, chattering about the pastries and things she had set out upstairs for him.

“He’s remarkably calm,” Crossing his arms, Tom watched Sabine and Adrien disappear up the stairs as Marinette hung their coats on a coat rack near the door into the bakery. 

“Well, his father isn’t the most emotive type so Adrien is used to stonewalling. I’ll tell you now though, Papa, that he is terrified that you won’t like him,” Tom chuckled deeply, glancing at his daughter before the two of them began to make their own way upstairs. Pausing slightly before they reached the top, Mari turned to face her father. “He’s amazing, Papa, and I really want you to give him a chance because I think you two will get along very well. Adrien doesn’t have the best home life and I don’t want him thinking he’s unwelcome here because the least he deserves is his girlfriend’s family treating him nicely.”

“I know, Mari,” Tom’s voice was sad, slightly dismayed that his daughter had sensed his apprehension toward Adrien more suddenly than he’d expected her to. “He looked very strange when your mother hugged him, almost as if he hasn’t gotten a proper hug in a long time.”

“First of all, ouch,” Mari jokingly put her hand over her heart as she joked, eliciting a small laugh from her father. “Second of all, his mother passed away a few years ago and his father really doesn’t show affection of any kind beyond what the public sees. I think Maman hugging him is the first time in ages that he’s felt like he’s not missing something. If you know what I mean?”

Smiling sadly, Tom remembered his own childhood and how harsh his father had been on him. How he’d spent too long unaware of how whole physical affection like a hug or even simply squeezing someone’s hand could make him feel. It saddened him to know that his beloved Marinette had found someone like him when he’d been Adrien’s age, though Adrien was coping remarkably better than Tom had been at that stage of his life, but he was proud that she’d brought him home to meet her family who were more than willing to love him where his family had not.

“I think I know what you mean, Mari,” The two continued up the stairs to find Sabine and Adrien sitting at the dining room table with steaming mugs of tea in front of them as they spoke in rapid fire Mandarin. Adrien’s pronunciation was perfect, as usual, and Tom struggled to hold in a broad grin as he saw how lit up his wife was to be talking in her native tongue to someone who spoke as quickly and as well as she did. Sabine didn’t visit her family much, they often came over to visit her in Paris, and she hadn’t realised that she’d missed the sound of natural conversation in Mandarin. Walking to his wife, Tom pressed a kiss to the top of Sabine’s head before both Adrien and Sabine dropped out of Mandarin and into French.

“He speaks Mandarin, Tom!” Sabine was visibly excited. “This boy, Marinette, is a keeper, do not let him go.”

Both Marinette and Adrien flushed before Mari slipped into the empty seat beside her boyfriend and poured herself a cup of peppermint tea from the steaming pot in front of Adrien.

“I’m sorry for how I greeted you, Adrien,” Tom took his seat beside Sabine. “It was rude of me, I was quite nervous to meet you but I was probably less nervous than you are to meet us.” Sabine looked up at her husband with a loving smile, she was proud of him. This apology wasn’t one she’d expected him to give.

“It’s alright, Mr Dupain, I can imagine that my father will be very much the same when he meets Mari for the first time,” 

“Please, call me Tom. As long as you’re with Marinette, you’re family,” The words were sincere, making Marinette’s heart light with happiness as she saw the subtle changes in Adrien’s face as he held back tears. He hadn’t thought that Mr Dupain would hate him but he also hadn’t thought that he’d call him family so soon. “Marinette told me that your father isn’t the most…,” Tom paused for a moment. “Physically affectionate person and I want to let you know that we’re huggers. I don’t want you to feel left out and I really don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask us, both Sabine and I, for a hug if you need one.”

“T-thank you,” Adrien wasn’t sure what to say. 

“I won’t touch too long on what it’s like to have an awful parent but my father wasn’t the most affectionate either and it impacted me badly later in life,” Tom met Adrien’s eyes with reassurance. “You’re not alone and you’re never unwelcome here if you need to escape. You won’t be staying in Marinette’s room of course, but our guest room is always open to you if you need it.”

“Consider Tom and I your second set of parents, Adrien,” Sabine leaned forward slightly and placed her small hand on Adrien’s as a single tear slipped down his cheek, Mari rubbing his back lightly to remind him that this was real and that he deserved it. “And please don’t call us Mr Dupain and Ms Cheng, we’re not overly formal people. You are more than welcome to call us by our first names, Sabine and Tom, or even Maman and Papa like Marinette does as long as it feels comfortable for you to.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Chloe?” Answering her phone with an air of confusion, Marinette couldn’t remember how or why she had Chloe’s number saved to her phone.

“Hi Marinette, I hope I’m not intruding with my call,” Chloe sounded genuine, though there was still a lingering sense in the back of Marinette’s mind that it wasn’t sincere. There had been many changes to Chloe in the past few months with her coming out to her parents, a huge fight with her mum over her sexuality and the barely written plans on how to get the butterfly Miraculous away from Gabriel Agreste, but Marinette was nothing if not wary of the girl who used to bully her so badly. “Is this a good time?”

Adrien had gone home an hour ago, tears in his eyes and his bag stuffed with the best baked goods her parents could supply. Her father had taken to calling him ‘my son’ already and her mother was raving about his aptitude in Mandarin, both demanding to know when he’d come back to the point that Mari had escaped to her bedroom and locked the trapdoor down to the lower level of the house to keep her parents out.

“As good a time as any,” Trying not to let her caution seep into her tone, Marinette sat down on the pink swivel chair in front of her desk.

“I heard Adrien met your parents today?” 

“Yeah, he did,” How could Chloe possi-Adrien had been her friend since childhood, of course he would’ve told her that he was going to meet Marinette’s parents today. 

“How’d it go? I haven’t heard anything from him since he left this morning and I know that no news can be good news but in this case I just want to know how everything went,” Marinette smiled at Chloe’s words. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge when she’d picked up the phone, Chloe genuinely cared about Adrien and this call proved it. Chloe had Sabrina afterall, and she was fully out and happy with her identity so any worried Mari had once had about Chloe and Adrien were beginning to dissipate. 

“It went really well, my parents keep asking when he’s going to come back,” Mari couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice as Chloe cheered happily from the other end of the line.

“Hold on one sec, Mari, Sabby wants to ask me something,”

“Sure, I’m not going anywhere,” So Sabrina was at Chloe’s house and Chloe had still made the decision to call her best friend’s girlfriend to see how everything had gone today? Maybe it lost her some points in the good girlfriend book but won her a million in the best best friend book in Marinette’s mind.

“Sabby wants to know if I can put the phone on loudspeaker, she’d like to hear about how everything went too. Is that alright?” It was a first for Chloe to ask if she could put the phone on loudspeaker, she generally did it anyway, but Marinette agreed and returned Sabrina’s chirped ‘hello’ with one of her own. “So, did Adrien talk to you about the party his dad is throwing at all?”

“No, he didn’t. I got a letter in the mail yesterday from Gabriel with a little card thing that says my name and ‘Adrien’s girlfriend’ on it, which is a little weird,” 

“Well, you are his girlfriend,” Sabrina giggled, Marinette could almost see the look on Chloe’s face at hearing Sabrina laugh. They’d been together for two months and Chloe was absolutely smitten with her red-haired girlfriend, what once had been an almost master/servant relationship where Chloe had ruled everything and not taken no for an answer had turned into something balanced, something equal; even though Chloe almost appeared to worship the ground Sabrina walked on. “But he and his dad had a huge fight about it when he got home yesterday and Adrien’s been a bit off, if you know what I mean, since it happened. He called me after and I really don’t think I’ve ever heard him so angry.”

“So, he wasn’t even as angry as when your mother went off at you after you came out?” The subject was still touchy but Chloe’s laugh was immediate, Sabrina in the background chuckling nervously. Marinette hadn’t meant to ask the question as a joke but she took Chloe’s response as a sign that she was coming to terms with her mother’s outburst. Audrey had said that she’d never accept her daughter for being gay and had tried to turn Andre against Chloe too, but the Mayor of Paris had stood by his beloved daughter and banished his estranged wife from their house until such a time as she could love Chloe for who she was.

“Not that angry, I think that was the only time in my entire life, and I’ve known him my entire life, I’ve seen him want to punch someone but this anger, it was a mix of, well, anger and betrayal,”

“Hmmm,” Marinette couldn’t think of anything to say but her hummed response was the closest she could get to showing Chloe how her heart was bleeding for Adrien after those words.

“He was really looking forward to today though, when I mentioned it to him this morning he perked up. He was really, really nervous to meet your parents but he was excited too and I’m so happy to hear that it went well,”

“Thanks, Chloe,” Marinette smiled and relaxed back into her chair, tucking her leg up underneath herself as she spun slightly. “He seemed to have a good time, my parents have practically adopted him.”

“That’s really good!” There was no missing the sincere happiness in Chloe’s tone, or the slight thump and following ‘oof’ as Sabrina launched herself at Chloe and snuggled into her. “He needs a win, it’s been a while since he’s had one.”

“Yeah,” Mari trailed off slightly. Since finding out that Gabriel was Hawkmoth, Adrien had been struggling with his mental state. There were times when he wasn’t any different to how he was normally but there were also times when he struggled to speak, when the mention of home shut him down, when even seeing his father on a TV screen made him distant. She’d been tempted to message Nathalie and tell her that Adrien wasn’t having the best time but she didn’t know what to say to her that wouldn’t give away Adrien and Marinette’s identities. 

“Hey, Mari, don’t worry,” Chloe used Marinette’s nickname for the first time ever, but the way she said it wasn’t cruel or vindictive, just calming and reassuring, the best she could hope to provide her best friend’s girlfriend when she knew both of them were struggling. “Adrien is tough and once we’ve sorted everything out with his dad, I’m sure he’s going to be fine. Nathalie came over here the other day to talk to dad and I kinda eavesdropped a bit-.”

“Chloe! No!” Sabrina reprimanded Chloe, smacking her lightly on the arm.

“I’m a curious person, Sabby, cut me some slack,” Mari laughed slightly, she wanted to hear why Nathalie had gone to see Mayor Bourgeois. “But Nathalie had come over to talk to dad about getting emancipation papers for Adrien.”

“Emancipation papers?” So Adrien wanted to be emancipated from his father? But that would mean that he would no longer have a fund for university and he would be completely alone in the world, without a home or a family.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too excited to hear her say that because, god knows, Adrien wants to go to university and I’m not sure he has enough in his personal bank account to cover it but Nathalie then asked about adoption papers. She wants to adopt Adrien,”

Mari’s heart grew lighter. He’d spoken about Nathalie a lot, she’d been the one to look after him after his mother had passed and basically been both parents to him since he could remember; if she was going to adopt him then there was no doubt in Marinette’s mind that he was going to be loved and cared for.

“That’s great news!”

“I totally agree, I’ve seen how much she loves him and he really does deserve to have a parent, a legal parent that is, who puts the effort in to be there for him. And once we defeat Hawkmoth, it’s okay, Sabby knows who we are and she’d promised me to keep yours and the others identities a secret. I’d trust Sabby with my life, but once we defeat Hawkmoth, it’s likely that Gabriel will end up in jail and Adrien will inherit the whole Agreste fortune, which is more money than he knows what to do with, but it should be able to cover university for him as well as any court proceedings that need to be done to make sure she gets full custody of Adrien,”

“Chloe, I can’t thank you enough for telling me this. I seriously can’t,”

“It’s alright, Marinette, if it was Sabby in Adrien’s shoes, I’d want you to tell me what you knew so I could better support her. Plus, Adrien really needs his girlfriend by his side for the next few weeks at the very least, he’s not a party kinda person and interacting with large crowds makes him uncomfortable,” Adrien was a model who didn’t like large crowds of people, he’d explained to Mari that it was different when he was on the runway, everyone could see him but he couldn’t see them and they made no effort to talk to him, just about what he was wearing. But the minute he was off the runway and in the middle of a function, he hated the crowd that grew around him and the noise of people talking and music playing and glasses clinking made him feel like he was trapped. “But I think that he’ll be fine if you’re there with him. I’d love to be the one supporting him but it’s time for me to step back because he has you now and he really doesn’t need me trying to play a protector/girlfriend/mother role when he has both you and Nathalie. I’m still going to be his best friend, but I’ll let you do the girlfriend stuff, alright?”

“Thanks, Chloe,” Mari laughed, spinning on her chair again slightly.

“I do have a favour to ask and it is one I can pay you for but I completely understand if you can’t do it,”

“What is it?” Leaning forward slightly, Marinette furrowed her brow as the phone became hot against her ear.

“Well, would you do me the honour of designing my dress for Adrien’s birthday ball? I’ve seen your designs and they’re amazing and I would love to wear one for the ball. If you can’t do it though, if it’s not enough time, I’ll scavenge something from my mum’s closet and wear that to spite her,”

Chloe...Chloe was asking her to design and make a dress for Adrien’s birthday ball? Was this even real? Marinette was so sure that Chloe’s father knew thousands of designers who could make a dress for Chloe but she’d asked her, she’d asked Marinette Dupain-Cheng, to make one for her.

“T-that would be incredible, Chloe!” Chloe wearing one of her designs was going to be incredible! She had the build of a supermodel and was a perfect canvas for a design of dress Marinette had been working on for just over six months. Mari had thought the design would suit Alya but after making the mock-up dress, the style had made her look shorter and more blocky than she was. Alya had taken the disaster dress in good humour but Marinette had almost abandoned it due to embarrassment, now Chloe was here with her height and slender frame to provide Marinette with the saving grace she needed to be able to complete the dress. 

“Yes! Are you free tomorrow at all?”

Mari pulled her calendar up on her computer, today was Sunday and she had school tomorrow but she finished at 1:15 so she had all afternoon free. Adrien had fencing practice then ballroom dancing classes so she wasn’t going to be able to spend much time with him tomorrow anyway.

“I’m free from 1:15,”

“I finish at 12, so we can meet outside school after you’re done and then go fabric shopping,”

“Sounds great,” Marinette’s smile stretched from ear to ear as she spun slowly on her chair.

“I’ll cover everything, by the way, you’re already making the dress for me and I will pay you for it once it’s done but I’ll buy the fabric too because, knowing me, I’m going to pick something really expensive and delicate and I don’t want to send you broke,” Both girls laughed, Sabrina joining in with a giggled joke about how only Chloe would make making a dress into climbing Everest. 

“Awesome, then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You can count on it,” 

“Alright, bye Chloe, bye Sabrina,”

“Bye Marinette!” The phone conversation ended, Mari swinging on her chair before releasing a loud cheer.

“You sound happy, purr-incess, good news?” She spun, seeing Adrien dressed as Chat leaning against the frame of her open balcony doors with his arms crossed loosely and a charming half-smile playing on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~

Snuggling into Chloe’s side, Sabrina felt her girlfriend begin to play with the loose strands of her auburn hair, rubbing her fingers slightly against her scalp.

“If there was enough time, I’d get Marinette to design a dress for you too, Sabby,” Chloe pressed a soft kiss to the top of Sabrina’s head. “But I don’t want to overwhelm her and I really want her to know that I’m sincere about being her friend. I’ve been so awful to her in the past and I’ve been so awful to you too and I don’t want to be awful anymore.”

“You’re not awful, Chloe, you were young and misguided but the fact that you’re trying to be a better person now means that you’ve change and you’ve done it for the better,” 

“I don’t deserve you, Sabby,” There was a sadness in Chloe’s voice that made Sabrina’s heart ache.

“Yes, you do, and I never want to hear you say those words ever again,” Sabrina sat up and looked Chloe dead in the eye, the blonde girl giving her full attention to her girlfriend instead of the movie playing behind her. “Who stood up to your mother when she lost her shit about you being gay?”

“I did…,”

“Who went out of her way to tell me that she loved me even though she thought I wouldn’t return her feelings?”

“Um...me...I did,”

“Who is trying her absolute hardest to repair the relationship between her and her childhood best friend’s new girlfriend not because her best friend asked her to but because she wants to?”

“Me,”

“We can’t all be wonderful people all the time, Chloe, and sometimes you need to go through a period where you’re so lost that you can’t let others help you find your way, you’re out of that period in your life now. You’ve come out the other side and you found your own way there,” Sabrina grabbed Chloe’s hand and squeezed it tightly, tears welling in the redhead’s eyes. “Your past does not define you, it’s what you choose to do now. If you choose to be a good person, to rebuild what has been broken and forge new bonds, then you are worthy of anything. If you choose to go back to being a heartless bitch, then I’ll slap you out of it because that’s not who you are.”

“You’re wonderful all the time, Sabby,” Chloe wrapped her girlfriend into a hug, resting her chin on top of Sabrina’s head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

~~~~~~TAGLINE~~~~~~ @katieykat513 @lady-charinette @maniic-pixie-dream-girl @mochegato @nifflerstorm @beauty-and-her-books @camelliaflwr @a-star-with-a-human-name @hnbutt @aussie-lesbian @imgaydontshoot 

DM to be tagged!

[sugagimmesugar]

Would you like to have some Ramyeon?

Cook!Seokjin X Reader fic. Fluff. Youre a cook, hes a cook. Nationality & cuisines clash and thats a lil conflict but not much.

Set in germany, I am german. I wanted to use the contrast between german and korean food since its a food anchored fic.

pls enjoy

First chapter word count approx 2.5k

Chapter 1: Kimchi Stew and Japchae

You had only just gotten out of cooking school, so you desperately needed a job.

On a drunken tuesday night you had decided to just apply to anything. Any restaurant, whether they cooked what you liked or not, whether they had a job opening up or not, you just applied to anything in your city. Of course, the next morning was filled with regret for your half-heartedly written cover letters and how you had basically sent some of the most well-respected restaurants spam applications.

Out of 36 sent applications, only 5 replied. Three were invitations to interviews and two just said "No, thank you." .

So the next week was spent getting ready for interviews at three restaurants or varying prestige-levels. The first one was an old-school family lead restaurant that served german classics. The food you had eaten all your life, the dishes that had made you fall in love with food, with experimenting with old recipes and improving them with new ingredients, techniques and spices. So you were excited, putting your all into the preparation for the interview, even going as far as to bring some homemade cookies, the use of your grandma's recipe meant to charm your way into the owner's heart. Or at least the kitchen.

But as it turned out, the interview had just been a courtesy, the position had been way out of your reach, cookies or no cookies, they had only invited you to tell you how to properly apply to jobs so that they would actually consider you next time.

After a minor breakdown at home, you decided to put your best foot forward at the next interview. A quite prestigious french restaurant, trying to achieve it's first star. It would be a super hard job, plus you'd be cooking food you didn't like, but where better to get experience from than a restaurant that was aiming high on the culinary sky?

To everybody's surprise, the interview went very well, the boss had been impressed by the gutsy decision to apply to a high caliber restaurant right out of cooking school. So they had offered you a job. Only an apprentice, but you would be able to try out the different jobs, making it possible for you to freely decide which part of the kitchen you actually wanted to work your way up in, in the long run.

It really sounded too good to be true. So you decided to think about it. Go to the last interview and see if the other kitchen better suited your person than this fancy french place.

That night, sitting at home, you decided to do some actual research about the last restaurant, seeming you didn't bother with something as trivial as that when you actually applied to it.

The restaurant was very new, it had only been open for a few months, and many of the reviews seemed to be quite angry about the head chefs attitude.

It was a korean restaurant, something quite unusual in Germany. People here aren’t adventurous when it comes to food. Sushi is still some “stupid newfangled idea” to many of your countrymen.

But somehow, the owner and the chef had decided it would be a good idea to serve very spicy food with names the people can’t pronounce to the general public. And somehow, it was working.

While many reviews were annoyed with the attitude of the chef, all of them still loved the food. Many reviewers had written something along the lines of “When I was able to taste something through the pain, it tasted amazing.”, while those who were fine with the spice level only raved about how amazing it had tasted.

Thinking about it, you weren’t sure if you had ever tasted korean food. While japanese and chinese food where quite common by now, korean food was not. Not Yet, as this restaurant seemed to already be making headlines about their cooking, their attention to detail and their refusal to tone down their spice level for their clientele. Which had gained them a lot of respect from the culinary community. Cooking what you want and not listening to everything that the customer says, most of all in the first years of opening a new restaurant, that shows bravery…. Or stupidity.

Looking at the menu and the restaurant’s instagram, you had to admit both the food and the chef looked very tasty. Even though the chef seemed incredibly uneasy about having his picture taken, his face sourly even when he was standing arm in arm with what you had read was his best friend, the owner of the restaurant.

You were curious who you were going to meet tomorrow. The owner or the head chef?

Emptying your drink, you looked at the clock. Only 8 pm. You would’ve thought it would be later by now. But 8 pm meant restaurants should still be taking customers. So you decided to try some korean food, checking out “This Night” before going to the interview tomorrow.

Stepping into the restaurant, you are quite surprised, the minimalistic dark blue and white interior so unusual for a restaurant with prices normal people can afford. You pick a table close to the open kitchen, the almost empty restaurant making you bold enough to stare at the chef working away in his kingdom, the tall, broad-shouldered man easily spotted while he flits through the kitchen, concentrated and working circles around the other cooks.

Ripping you away from your staring, a waiter comes over with a menu.

“Good Evening, would you like to have something to drink already?” He says, smiling down at where you’re already looking at the drink menu.

“I’ll have a cola, and what would you say is the perfect introduction into korean food? I’ve never had it and would like to try it, but I don’t know where to start.” With a small laugh, you look up at the waiter, immediately cursing yourself for your words. It’s not just a waiter, it’s the owner himself, aka the man who received your CV. The man who you’re trying to get to hire yo to cook korean food, who knows what you look like, and who is now laughing at you.

“Ah, you have never had korean food? That’s too bad, but I guess Chef Kim will just have to teach you. I’m glad that you’re at least trying to inform yourself before lying to me tomorrow. I’ll talk to the chef and have him whip up something nice for you.” A bold answer to your stupidity, which makes you remember how young both the owner and the head chef are, both only in their twenties. They obviously don’t care about how restaurants usually work. As you bury your head in your hands, trying to hide the embarrassment on your face, the young man continues: “Looking at the time, I actually have to say that we close in half an hour, but since it’s you, we could pull your interview up a little bit, seeming you’re already here. You can have a drink, on the house, and then join us in the kitchen after so that we can teach you about the food. Mr. Kim gets a lot nicer after hours, so he can cook something for us while we conduct a little interview out here. Would that be okay for you?”

Overwhelmed by the beautiful man in front of you as well as the speed at which all this is happening, you just nod, still somewhat in shock.

You want to bang your head against the table in front of you as your drink arrives, the owner quickly informing you that the chef agreed to the plan as well, so you can just relax and prepare yourself for the upcoming interview. He winks at you as he leaves, pointing at the kitchen.

As you turn, you see the head chef almost hanging out of the hatch, looking at the two of you. He only waves at you before returning to what you now realize to be the beginnings of cleaning the kitchen.

So that’s why the restaurant is so empty. Cursing yourself for your stupidity again, you decide to browse instagram while you wait for what will probably be your doom.

The time goes by faster than you would’ve liked and soon the restaurant closes, the owner locking the doors before waving you over to follow him into the kitchen.

Suddenly you’re standing there, in the restaurant’s kitchen, looking around as the Chef is still busy fixing something.

“I am Kim Seokjin, nice to meet you. I heard you haven’t eaten korean food before? And you’re the cook that applied to work here, right? Why did you apply? Also, here try this, we had some leftovers from the kimchi stew we made for the team before. And I made you some Japchae to have on the side.”

He waves you over and as you try to process the wave of words he just chucked at you, you stammer out: “ Uh, nice to meet you, Chef. I am y/n y/l/n. I have never had korean food before because, to be honest, yours is the first korean restaurant I have ever seen. And I have had no contact with korean culture as far as I know so the food was never brought to my attention. Now that I checked out your website and instagram I am very interested and would like to learn. And I applied because I just got out of cooking school, I need a job.”

Behind you, you hear a short laugh, as you turn, you see the owner, a plate in hand, shoveling food into his mouth as he smiles at you, gesturing for you to go take some from the Chef.

So you take a deep breath and go over to the man who’s still whizzing around at his station, readying yourself to try some completely new food.

Hearing you approach, he quickly grabs some plates, heaping food into both, before he stops in front of you, holding the full plates out to you with a big smile.

“Which is which, and what’s in it? Wait, this looks like a stew, where’s the spoons?” Talking half to yourself, half to the cook in front of you, you set down the bowl with what must be Japchae, and look around for a spoon when one suddenly appears in your field of vision.

“There, now eat.”

You huff out a laugh at his command before you take a big spoon of the steaming hot stew, only blowing it slightly before you taste it.

The spice hits you like a truck, and you can’t help but cough a little. This is not the kind of spice you’re used to. Where you’re from, white pepper is deemed spicy.

At your reaction, the man’s shoulders sag, his expression suddenly only full of disappointment, as you take a deep breath, trying to get through the spicyness.

And then you take another spoonful, and another, and another. And his smile gets bigger with each one, since, although it takes you a while, you are obviously enjoying what you’re eating.

“Ok, so in the stew, we have some pork belly, some tofu, kimchi obviously and some shiitake, as well as onion, green onion, garlic, mirin and soy sauce. Oh, and quite some chili as you noticed.” He says with a smile, counting up the ingredients in his mind as he looks at you.

“ Now try the Japchae, please. It’s my special version, so I can’t tell you what’s in it until you sign the contract. It’s also less spicy, so it’ll give you a little breather after the kimchi stew.”

He holds out a pair of chopsticks that seem to have appeared from nowhere, and again, that smile. You almost choke on your last spoonful of stew at that smile.

As you dig into the Japchae, your eyes widen with surprise. “It’s amazing. This is probably some of the tastiest food I’ve ever had. Thank you, Chef.”

Both of the men are now laughing, the man who introduced himself as Kim Seokjin pointing at his friend behind you: “I told you, Joon. I could get anyone with my japchae. Now do your little fake interview shit so I can start to train her tomorrow.”

This time, you do choke. “Fake interview shit”... what’s that supposed to mean?

You turn around, pulling up your brow since your mouth is still too full to speak. The owner just looks back and forth between the chef and you and says something in korean, a mocking grin on his face at the shocked gasp that leaves the taller man’s mouth.

Seconds later, Seokjin pulls the bowl out of your hands, ignoring your small whine. “You will join our team, right? We could really need the help of someone who actually enjoys our food.”

You think about it, but it doesn’t take long for the obvious answer to pop up, crystal clear in your mind. This is way better than some fancy french restaurant. The owner and the Chef seem like great people and even if the spice needs some getting used to, it’s still some of the best food you’ve ever had. So you nod. And earn a bright-as-the-sun smile for it, which you can’t help but return.

Suddenly you hear a voice behind you: “ If you like her so much why don’t invite her over for some ramyeon?” At your confused face, the owner smacks his own forehead. Which makes him miss the fact that his friend just threw a spoon at him, which hits him in the shoulder.

As your eyes fly back and forth between the two “grown men” the chef just waves you off. “Go sign the contract so that you can go home and I can clean the kitchen for tonight. Work starts tomorrow at 12. Don’t be late.” And with that, he turns away, busying himself with putting food in takeaway boxes and cleaning up the rest of the dishes. So you turn away and follow the owner to the dining room, to sign your contract.

A few minutes later, you have a job. And as it turns out, the opening you applied for was sous-chef. Leaving you with an amazing job without any experience under your belt, but with what seems to be two great colleagues.

As you say goodbye to the owner, who unlocks the front door to let you out, you stutter trying to remember his name. “Uh, Goodbye Mr…” At your panicked eyes, his face drops. “Oh shit, I never introduced myself, huh? I am Kim Namjoon, nice to meet you. We will be expecting you tomorrow at 12 for prep. Good Night y/n.”

[mooxnlights]

Stay

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Characters: Michael Gray x reader

Warnings: Very brief mention of John’s death, like one swear.

Word Count: 3,121

Requested: Yes

@poisonxxvy: hey there :) I just found your blog and I'd love to see you write more about the peaky blinders. soooo I wanted request something with michael, maybe the reader and Michael knew each other when he was still Henry and he just left her without saying anything, so after years she finds him and shows him a brick from that wishing well he wanted to blow up (as in she did it for him) and you could decide the ending :)

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I thought it was so cute and I think this the first piece I’ve written in a while that I actually kind of like? Let me know what you think of it x

y/n = your name

You let out a breath as you stepped on the train, your heart racing a mile a minute. You held on tightly to your bag as you searched for an empty compartment, settling for one that was occupied by a friendly looking woman and a child you assumed must have been her son. You smiled politely as you took a seat across from them holding your bag in your lap as you closed your eyes momentarily to take in the situation you were currently in.

You had never left your village before, you were born there, raised there and for a while you believed you were destined to die there. That was until your best friend Henry found his way out when you were both 17. He told you with remorse how he had to leave, how he had to find out the truth about himself after a strange man with fancy car had shown up at his door. He wanted to know about the life he should’ve had, even if that meant leaving you behind. He actually almost backed out of it, telling you that he couldn’t leave you behind by yourself, you were each others only friends in the quaint yet boring village. But you reminded him of all the conversations the two of you had in the past about finding a greater purpose rather than staying imprisoned in a place shut off from the rest of the world. After that it didn’t take much to convince him to go, and with the promise that he'd write to you as often as possible if he didn’t come back, you saw him off.

That was nearly four years ago and now here you were, on a train bound to Birmingham from Sheffield after Rosemary, the woman you grew up believing to be Henry’s mother, had informed you that he was in hospital, how she found out you had no idea but you didn’t care, you just got the address from her and packed a bag taking the small amount of money you had to pay for a train ticket. Rosemary had also told you that she went to visit him, she told you about how much he had changed, how he smoked now and went by the name of Michael Gray instead of Henry Johnson, something he never mentioned in his letters that he ultimately stopped sending in the first six months of him living in Birmingham. You didn’t care about any of that though, what you cared about the reason he was in hospital, gun shot wounds.

Learning that was when you decided that he indeed was Michael Gray. Your Henry would never have gotten himself involved in anything that could put him in so much harm. The most dangerous thing he had ever thought of was to blow up the wishing well that sat in your village.

You smiled at the memory of you both laying underneath the old apple tree in your backyard one warm afternoon, coming up with a plan to destroy it only a month before he left for Birmingham. It wasn’t with malicious intent that you two decided this, it was your own way to find some sense of closure. The amount of coins that were sat at the bottom of that well full of desires for love, good health, thriving crops and two specifically wishing for a greater meaning, to find purpose outside of the only life you had ever known. You and Henry were 15 when you had tossed those coins into the well and you both had regretted it since, concluding that you had to achieve this on your own instead of waiting around putting all your faith into a coin and an old brick well. So once Henry had left you did it, you managed to blow up the well you both despised with the hope that it would be the first thing Henry noticed if he decided to come back, only he didn’t.

When he told you he was going to stay and live in the town of Small Heath in the first letter you received from him your heart broke, but you were mostly filled with anger. You were angry at yourself for being so selfish, for hoping that he would come back to you even though you pushed him to leave, you were angry that you believed he would return to this boring lifestyle after getting a taste of the real world. But most importantly you were angry that you thought he would even consider any of those things all because of the feelings you had never confessed to him.

So you decided to save every single penny you could find in hopes that one day you would make it out with enough money to find a cheap flat somewhere, anywhere, you didn’t care, as long as it was far away from Sheffield. But there weren’t many jobs available in your small village which is why it has taken you almost four years to save up the money you had with a portion of it now going to a train ticket leaving you with not nearly enough for a cheap apartment, but you didn’t care, you’d spend the rest of your life in that god forsaken village if it meant that you got to see Henry one last time.

The train ride seemed to pass by rather quickly as you were pulled out of your day dreams at the sound of the train whistle and the conductor announcing you had reached your stop. Glancing at your wristwatch once you stepped onto the platform you noticed almost two hours had passed since you first got on the train, you had no time to dwell on the fact that simple memories of Henry had managed to distract you for so long because as soon as you looked up it felt like a cold bucket of water had been thrown on you. You were being hurried along in the crowds of people as you attempted to take everything in, the new change of pace was almost overwhelming as you looked around and took note of the different style of clothing and fashion standards surrounding you. You pulled a handkerchief from your coat and held it to your mouth as you coughed into it, your lungs and nostrils having been invaded by the second hand smoke from cigars and cigarettes that every second person seemed to have between their lips or fingers.

Finally making your way out of the crowd and onto the street you managed to hail down a cab giving the driver the piece of paper with the address of the hospital Henry was currently at. As you sat in the back seat you took the time to think about how he would react when he saw you, if he would be annoyed that a piece of his old life had returned or if he would be excited to see you again. You dismissed the latter as you assumed if he really did still care about you he would’ve stayed in touch.

You sighed as you gave the driver the coins he required for his service once he pulled up outside the hospital and decided to take in the streets then and there as you knew the short time you were going to be spending in Birmingham would be your only chance to experience life outside of your village but you reminded yourself it was for Henry, whether he likes it or not you had to make sure he was okay with your own eyes.

You gulped nervously and walked through the doors of the hospital, asking a nurse where you could find Michael Gray’s room before being escorted up stairs and to the end of a hallway where she turned and left you in the company of two men standing in front of what you assumed to be Henry’s door, they were dressed similarly, with peaked caps adorning their heads despite being indoors. Their stoic postures and what you noticed to be handguns poking out of their coats was intimidating to say the least.

“What’s your business here?” One of the men demanded in his thick Birmingham accent, not caring for how uncomfortable you obviously were.

“I- I’m an old friend,” you stuttered out, as you nervously pulled your coat tighter around you.

The other man looked you up and down and scoffed, “you’re scaring the girl, surely she cant do too much damage.”

“Damage? I’m just here to visit,” you responded to his comment in confusion.

“Right,” the first one said snatching your bag from your hands before he started to go through it, before you could protest however the second man walked forward and started patting you down and checking your pockets. You stayed quiet when you realised what they were doing, remembering the reason why Henry, or Michael you should say, was in the hospital in the first place. Common sense also reminded you that you probably shouldn’t argue with a couple of huge armed men.

Satisfied that you had no weapons on you, you were handed back your bag while the second man took his hands off you and backed away turning to open the door just enough to poke his head through, “Michael mate, you got a visitor, says she's an old friend or something.” Closing the door and stepping to the side, the men let you pass, you nodded politely to them and hurried past opening the door and slipping through without a word.

When you first laid eyes on him your breath caught in your throat, he was sitting at a table with a cigarette between his fingers and a newspaper that he had dropped on the table second he saw you. He didn’t look much different, he looked more mature, more like a man, but that being said he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He looked just as handsome as you remembered, despite looking a bit more rough, that only made you wonder even more what he was doing now that ended up with him in a hospital bed.

It was only when he said your name that you came back to reality, you watched him as he stood up and butted out his cigarette in the ash tray on the table, now noticing a cane that was propped up against the chair as he grabbed it and walked over to you stopping less than a metre in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked quietly as he stared at you, almost like he was trying to figure out if it was really you.

“Your mum- I mean Rosemary, I know she’s not your real-” You stopped yourself, you were at a loss for words. You had imagined all the possible outcomes for how he would react to seeing you but you never thought about what you would actually say to him. You cleared your throat and gathered yourself as you stared into his eyes, “I, um, I heard you were in the hospital and I wanted to make sure you were okay, I know it’s been a while but I was worried.”

All Michael could do was nod his head slightly while he looked down at his feet, a lump caught in his throat after seeing you for the first time in years. You noticed his hesitance and felt your eyes begin to water as you finally acknowledged the fact that you had lost your best friend.

“Why did you stop writing?” You whispered, knowing that if you tried to speak any louder your tears would fall.

His head shot up at this and he took in your appearance, you had barely changed, despite how much more beautiful you had gotten the main difference was how vulnerable you were, you never showed him that side of you, in fact he couldn't remember ever seeing you cry, so this sight absolutely broke his heart.

“I didn’t want to,” he responded.

“Then why did you? No one has ever been able to force you to do something you don't want to, or was that just Henry?”

Michael took your bag out of your hands and swallowed the lump in his throat, “please come sit down and I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

You said nothing but followed him over to the table where he sat your bag down next to it and took a seat across from you and dove into the story of who he is nowadays, not leaving out one illegal detail. You took his hands in yours when he told you of what he’s had to do for his family, his real family. He told you about the two men you met outside his door, the Peaky Blinders, his cousins, his real mother. It was when he told you about what happened to him and his cousin, John, and the black hand that him and his family had been dealt that it was his turn to hold your hands. He told you how Tommy warned him that it wasn’t safe to have ties back home, how that if your information fell into the wrong hands there would most certainly be consequences what with the amount of enemies the Shelby’s had. He told you how much it broke his heart to receive the letters you sent after his last one knowing that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to you purely because of you being associated with him.

Once he had told you everything you two just sat in silence for a few minutes, him looking down at your hands he was still holding, he furrowed his brows and turned your right hand over and brought it closer to him after feeling the rough patch of skin.

“What happened?” He asked concerned staring at the long thin scar that went diagonally across your palm. That was one of the things you loved about him, how observant he was to notice something so small such as a scar.

You felt your face heat up and you looked down, “that actually reminds me,” you smiled and leaned down opening up your bag and pulling out what you were looking for. “A souvenir,” you said casually sliding the bundle across the table.

Michael looked at you confused before unwrapping the cloth and pulling out the jagged piece of white brick, a quarter of the size of what it should have been. You watched as the gears shifted in his head, his eyes darting from the brick to your hand.

“You- You did it?” He asked letting out a breath, you bit your lip to hide your smile as you nodded.

“Got in a hell of a lot of trouble for it too without you there to blame, so you better appreciate it,” you joked watching him stare in awe at the piece of brick still in his hands.

He finally started laughing and put it back on the table, taking your right hand in his and bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm softly. “You’re incredible,” he mumbled against your palm.

You let him continue to press soft kisses against your palm, staring in adoration as his eyes closed, his delicate hold on your hand never wavering. That was it. You had to tell him or else you never would.

“Michael,” you call his name softly, it being the first time you've used his real name but the sound of it seeming so natural and familiar at the same time.

“You can call me Henry if you want,” he responded his eyes open and his lips now off your palm but your hand still in his. You just shook your head at his offer, he wasn’t Henry, he never was.

“I’m in love with you Michael.”

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders the moment the words left you mouth, you weren't even fearing his reaction, it just felt so good to finally say it to his face after all these years.

“Do I need to say it back?” He questioned and before you could allow your brain to process what he had just said he continued, “because surely over the years you've caught on to how besotted I am by you,” you let out a relieved laugh as your eyes began to water for the second time today and Michael went back to kissing your hand. “I love you so much,” he admitted against your skin.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered after a moment of silence, “don’t go back there,” he said between kisses.

“I have to,” you said pulling your hand away from him gently and looking down, “I don’t have enough money to even rent a place out here.”

Michael got up, without his cane and walked over to you, you stood up quickly to make sure he was steady. “Michael,” you huffed and went to grab his cane to which he took your arms in his hands prohibiting you from moving as he looked in your eyes.

“Live with me y/n,” he said sincerely. “I know it’s selfish for me to ask but for once I want to be selfish, being around me might be dangerous now but I can’t let you leave, not after this. I promise I will protect you from anything and everything that could possibly hurt you, just please stay.”

All you could do was nod your head as you stared up at him, taking in the desperation in his tone, conveying exactly how you felt. He sighed in relief and pulled you to him until your lips met, despite his lips being rough and chapped the kiss was nothing short of loving and soft. When you pulled away Michael’s hands slid to your waist and yours to his shoulders. He stared into your eyes for a few short moments before letting out a laugh.

“What?” You asked at the sound of his laughter.

“That fucking wishing well,” he responded smiling back at you.

“What about it?”

“My wish came true.”

You looked up at him in confusion, “yeah, four years ago, when you got out of that bloody village.”

He shook his head with a grin, “I kind of lied when you asked me what I wished for that day.”

“Why?”

“Well because it wouldn’t have come true obviously,” he stated.

“And what was your wish?” You asked smugly. Michael said nothing but instead pulled you in for another kiss, smiling as you giggled against his lips.

Despite the literal holes in his body he had never felt so full of love and life until right now, with you in his arms.

[caliamyourrightfulkingcalore]

Untitled - a Marecal fic, Chapter 4

It’s here! I had to cut this chapter in half because it was just too long. But the moment we’ve all been waiting for is so, so close! Enjoy!

WAR STORM SPOILERS BELOW

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside my window. I don’t have to open my eyes to know I’ve slept in. Still, I lay on my bed for a couple more minutes relishing the aches in my bones as I stretch my already sore body.

I open my eyes and the sky from my window is the first to greet me. It takes a while for them to adjust. I’m not used to waking up to the blindingly, bright blue skies. I sit up, trying to find any hint of what time it is, but even Gisa is not in her bed.

I glance around the room and something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I look over to the brown nightstand separating our beds. There lay an off white envelope with my name stamped elegantly on it. I hesitate before I reach for the letter. No indication of who it may have come from. I turn it over and notice the wax seal used to enclose the envelope. Ruby red in color with only the letter “N” in bold, cursive lettering stamped on it. My mind tries to unravel who might’ve sent this, but I come up empty. For a long while, I sit on my bed undecided about opening the letter.

Of course I’ve gotten letters before. From Cameron back in New Town, from Ada in south Montfort overlooking the newbloods training program, from Kilorn when he goes for fishing trips, and countless ones from Davidson and Farley. But something about this letter sets me on edge and I find myself unreasonably nervous.

I put the letter down and walk over to our connecting bathroom. I decide taking a hot bath is more important. I am glad for the distraction. I reach over to turn on the faucet, the sound of running water already calming my nerves. I pick up one of Gisa’s many bath bombs, red and purple in color. It smells like musky lavender and vanilla with traces of fruitiness. I throw it in the tub and watch as the water turns into plum red with hints of violet. I take a deep breath as its scent fills the bathroom.

I force my muscles to relax under the soothing hot water. It is much easier than trying to quiet my brain. I close my eyes, evening my breaths as I try to sway my mind away from the letter awaiting my return.

I don’t succeed.

I quickly drain the tub of its water and finish washing up. Careful to stand, I grab my towel from the rack holding it.

I walk towards the sink. My things scattered along the counter. Such a contrast to the neat and orderly of Gisa’s side. I make a mental note to organize my side later.

Wiping the haze from the mirror, I stare at my reflection. The difference a sufficient amount of sleep and food makes is astounding. My cheeks are fuller. My skin beginning to tan into a golden brown. My hair longer, still with hints of faded purple covering its lower half. And my eyes, the most drastic of all. No longer haunted by the hollows of war and terror.

The memories remain though. No matter how hard I try to keep it away, it always finds a way to emerge. This is what war does to people, I tell myself. It happened to dad, my brothers, Farley, Cal. I guess I’ll just have to keep finding ways to tolerate it.

“It never gets easier,” I hear Cal’s voice in mind, however faint it may be. Still, it comforts me. He warned me of the implications war brings, tried to protect me from it. But I remained loyal to my cause, no matter the cost. I learned to fight. To survive. And if anything, I am glad for that.

I begin to braid my hair as my mind fights off the lingering memories of my past. I focus on the purple of my hair. A constant reminder of who I am. What I am capable of. Both a gift and a curse. A comfort and a fright.

-

I make my way back to our bedchamber. Back to the piece of parchment sitting on my bed. I tell myself there’s nothing to be afraid of. It is just a letter after all. And after minutes of contemplation, I finally open the envelope.

I am met with achingly familiar cursive, words so delicately written. My heart quickens and I am suddenly so aware of its every beat, it’s almost unbearable.

I am afraid to touch it.

But my fingertips brush over the words knowing it’s his.

Mare,

           When I envisioned my first words to you in almost a year, this was not it. And quite frankly, I am still very much contemplating sending this. But I’ve ran out of excuses after today.

          Norta is officially announcing its democratic innovations in the upcoming weeks and it’s meant to be a celebration of sorts. To display unity, commitment, and promise.

           I am lost in all this. More than I care to admit. But you are the answer to all my questions, the reasoning behind my judgment. You continue to change my being from a thousand miles away. It is times like these that I ache for your presence.

           I would be grateful for your company.

Yours faithfully,                                                                                                    Cal

P.S.: The mountains of Montfort suit you.                                                          You look wonderful.

I can’t hear myself think over the thunderous beat of my heart. Treacherous thing, I think to myself as it refuses to ease.

I read the letter once again, and then thrice more until I’ve memorized every word in it. The latter part of it sending my stomach fluttering in the way only he can. My cheeks are fuming red; I can tell by the way they feel. They also start to ache, because I’m smiling like I’ve never smiled before.

Yours faithfully. I shiver at the implication but I don’t let myself hope. I haven’t heard from him in nearly a year. Who knows what else has changed.

Lost in his words, I almost forget the second letter beneath his. A formal invitation to Norta. Instead of the Burning Crown adorning its letterhead, it is the “N” that stands out, similar to the one on the wax seal. N for Norta. A small change, albeit an important one. A statement.

I had decided last night that I would go back. But I didn’t expect it to be so soon. Of course I’m not obligated to say yes. But half of me has a hard time believing this is all a coincidence.

I sit on the edge of my bed for much longer than I anticipated. Gisa walks in with rolls of fabric in her hands. She stops short when she sees me. I can see her wondering eyes, but my sister doesn’t ask any questions. She simply nods my way, letting me know she’s there to listen if I want to speak.

“What time is it?�� I ask her to break the silence.

“An hour past noon” she replies as she makes her way to her bed.

“You let me sleep for that long?”

“No one wanted to wake you” my sister explains, “you’re always up before dawn, we figured you were tired if you didn’t wake up on time.”

My family, ever so considerate. I let the last of her sentence hang in the air before I whisper so softly Gisa barely hears. “I’m going back to Norta”.

“I’m sorry, did you just say you were going somewhere” she asks, her brows beginning to furrow as she tries to understand what I said.

“To Norta” I say, louder this time. It makes it more real when I say it aloud.

I expected my sister to be surprised, a little angry even but she just stares at me knowingly. My sister was always mature for her age, but I can’t help but think something else makes her understand – someone else rather.

“I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you’re thinking” Gisa says. She can read me like an open book. “It’s something you need to do, Mare. I’m actually glad you’re coming to terms with it.”

“You are?” I ask.

“Yes. Maybe then you’d stop moping over him” she teases.

My jaw drops in shock, but I start to laugh “I do not” I yell back at her.

“You do” she smiles, the corners of her eyes beginning to wrinkle.

“You’re old enough to make your own decisions. Just be careful,” she says more seriously this time.

“Will you come with me?” I ask walking towards her. “You can even bring what’s-her-name” I give her a nudge.

She laughs noisily this time “her name is none of your business, and I would’ve said yes even without her company” my sister says. “I’ve been wanting to go back home for a while now.”

Home. My mind lingers on the word.

But isn’t this her home? I think to myself.

Then I remember someone once told me that home is not a place, but a feeling. Of belonging, of security, of unconditional love. I wonder, is there still a home for me in Norta?

Marecal reunion coming up y’all. I apologize if it takes longer than usual. I want the moment to be perfect so I’m being really meticulous with it. Let me know your thoughts!