#this is pinned in case I do a small project that I am planning

[dreamingofmuses]

New Year's Resolutions: RP Edition

Howdy all, Ash here. I've been having a think while with family this week, and I've decided I'm going to implement some new 'resolutions' to try and help make writing in 2024 be way more successful than in 2023. This will include things from the running of blogs to jobs I really want to get finished. I'm putting them under a read-more to keep the dash nice and clean.

I will say, this has taken me an hour to write up, and I'd recommend you doing likewise if you think there's little ways you want to improve.

-

Overall Running of Blogs

I'm going to experiment a new approach to running the blogs. For this, I'm going to put all active blogs to low-medium activity. In other words, even if I am personally lurking on mobile, I won't be constantly writing things if I'm not able to. (Work is just about to get super busy and I'm anticipating chaos)

A queue/schedule function will be used for all blogs. I intend to dedicate one weekday evening to working without interruption on replies. Taking commutes to the city and family visits into account, this is looking to be a Thursday, which is the only day I am neither travelling to the city nor have a guaranteed family visit. Of course, this may fluctuate, but that's what I'm hoping to work with, assuming those things stay as they are.

However! What all this means is that I am going to tentatively take skullandbowties off hiatus. With that blog being quiet, it should be possible to juggle it better now. Plus, it's officially off-season so the demand for him from new blogs ought to be low. I'm very smart :D

I also plan to update all pinned posts. I am aware some of them are marking a vacation from months ago.

Individual Blog Maintenance

Create "New Here?" posts to add to the pinned posts/info tags. This is going to be a very quick crash course on what to expect from the blog, especially where some characters might diverge from fanon expectations.

FINISH. WILF'S. BIO. It's not actually relevant to anything being written on the blog itself at present, but I really want to flesh out his character and show that he was stuck in stories for years, decades even! The doc has the word count to 4,888 at this precise moment. This is a mix of summary and brainstorm. Since it's getting a 'little' out of hand, I intend to have a 'tldr' at the start that people can read, and then longer versions if they're curious to get the full story. Maybe even have it that they can jump to particular parts but... I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Likewise, Noah's version of Space needs to be finished. This one is going to be a summary, but it's a case of making sure the pieces are in place sufficiently to have parts match canon Space, but also make it clear that there is a lot of differences between canon and what he went through, with his plot entirely spiralling away for 'Part 2'. This is at 5,794 words, and the ending has yet to be ironed out...

(I am going to stop creating needlessly long-winded projects for myself that realistically add nothing of value to my blogs. These two projects are exhausting...)

Theauthorlives is returning to a very small multimuse. Any muses that aren't ones I genuinely enjoy writing are being fully archived, unless they are muses that get no traction but I want to keep the possibility open. Details of that will be shared when I do this.

Redo some muse icons (not all of them!). Though the selection I have for particular sets is a lot, I still feel like I'm missing some expressions or poses. I would like to remake one batch of icons for three characters, and finish iconning a third. Replies seem to be shifting toward iconless, but I like them for asks or IC commentaries.

OOC/Mun Related stuff

Following matters that have happened both online and IRL, I've decided to take a step back from actively engaging with people. My focus will be people that I have been in good communication with for the last twelve months (as well as people I don't talk to frequently but am on friendly terms with) rather than people I feel I have to 'chase' after. Saying that, I'm going to try and not let past experiences meddle with anything in with new writing partners - whether these are brand new to the community or people I've not had the chance to properly interact with prior to this. Just be aware that I might not be super outgoing at first. (This is where setting limits and boundaries is good practice, everyone! Don't sell yourself short, and don't spread yourself out too thinly!)

Which is where I now say I want to send even more asks! Not just memes or sentence starters, but general questions about headcanons or muse opinions. I want to get people thinking more.

My stance on Discord still stands, in that it's solely for OOC stuff, but I'm not giving it out to everyone. However, I have been in two group servers that have little-to-no connection with writing rp threads in them. I would hope that I can fully regain my sense of comfort using Discord as a whole.

Art related

Despite socially stepping back, I still want to keep some semblance of 'community' where my blogs are active so people don't feel isolated. For instance, I want to do something that encourages invasions of ask boxes. That was good fun to watch as the chaos began to spread, and when people are good-humoured to go along with my silly ideas.

I want to have one huge art-related event at some point this year. I'm not entirely what or how to do it, but I think it would be a great excuse to practice something. Portraits, comics, something like that. I'll have a think. (For those who remember, the water gun event was supposed to have an art conclusion but plans for that fell through.)

I want to try and upload drawn responses to heythereneighbor once a week if I can. Obviously, this is depending on how busy it is.

I'd also like to try doodling more on other blogs? But I'm not sure if this is even something people want to see anymore. People might prefer I focus on writing if I have free time instead of doodles or little comics.

... the writing blog. I need to do stuff with that in general. Whoops.

Finally, I want to do what I can to the best of my abilities on a particular day. I've always told people over the years that real life comes before rp, and I still stand by that. Whether I'm around or not every day isn't the end of the world. The communities I write in are a lot slower paced than they were when I started, which is great! I need to remind myself that I don't need to be writing just because I have a bit of free time.

[moe-broey]

Jacket!!!! Ye olde varsity I got at the very beginning of my transition thinking "Oh fuck yes I am going to pass so hard in this" and. Well. It never worked I just have never passed a day in my life I don't think 😔 Eventually it just became a beloved test subject and has since gone through a bit of a transition itself LMFAOO

Some Notes:

> A lot of the decorations are taken from old backpacks I loved dearly that got absolutely fucking destroyed by the weight of all the shit I'd lug around in highschool LMFAO (sketchbook, diary, all kinds of notebooks...). Never had the heart to get rid of them. Specifically: The pink zippers, the holographic pockets, the glow in the dark stars, and the holo angel wings!

> The pink/blue checkers are from a small decorative quilt I thrifted years ago, I wouldn't be surprised if it was handmade (it's super soft material, btw! Important LMAO). I only took out one line of squares, I plan on stitching the rest of it back together (haven't done it yet though LMFAO). The reason for this was to upsize the jacket, so I can button it without it clinging. The pockets were added for funsies ESP cause it lined up very well and aren't really practical LMFAO (BUT YOU CAN PUT THINGS IN THEM! If you want!! 🎉🎉🎉)

> The patches (esp the name/pronouns one) were the first additions actually. Eventually more and more things were added, but I will say all the pins on the opposite side of the patches were haphazardly placed for a concert I VERY BADLY wanted to look good for LMFAOO (that's when the stars were added too! Fighting for my life on the car ride over speedrunning sewing and trying not to throw up about it AHAKHSKSHDK)

> Spike placement may be odd and I'd like to add more, but also I do frequently still carry around big heavy backpacks so I have to take that into consideration. Which is also why the wings have been bolted on. Those motherfuckers are NOT going anywhere LMFAO (has a really cool visual effect too!!)

> The material of the jacket itself (sort of a swishy windbreaker fabric) IS ABSOLUTE ASS TO WORK WITH. BY THE FUCKING WAY. IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING. I would NOT recommend it to anybody ESPECIALLY someone who is just starting to fuck around and find out. I literally am just sticking it out bc of the sentimental value this fucker has to me 😭😭😭

This jacket was my first plunge into customization and punk fashion, I didn't have a plan and still don't have one (and I think it kind of shows lmfao). I do worry that it's too soft and cutesy. Kind of the whole point for me, when it came to leaning heavy into punk, was to feel sharper, like I had some bite to me. I might be getting closer, but I think I'm still just kind of a silly guy LMAO. But, I do think in a way, esp as my first project, it represents me well -- where I started, what I loved before the beginning, what I tried desperately to be, what I still wish for, reuniting with the things I loved and embracing them in a brand new context. It's still an ongoing project too! So maybe as I keep growing, it'll grow alongside me, maybe finding that grit I've been striving for along the way.

[neko-naruto]

the only bone in our body that we share is the one that likes Kyle

Summary: Wherein Kennedy McCormick and Kenneth McCormick have to make the most of their universes deciding to fade into each other once more, thankfully, a stack of playboys and a case of root beer keeps them distracted from the existential dread of being one and the same.

Warnings: suggestive themes (they critique playboys together), swearing, implied character death, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I know exactly what possessed me to write this (category seven lesbian event) and I don't know why it ended up over 1K words. I hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking out the Ao3 port, it really means a lot

Waking up in a bedroom with some blondie that looks both nothing and everything like her was not on Kenny's list of plans for the day. He's standing on the other side of the room, presumably freaking out, and she is in a very similar position.

The bed creaks under her weight as she presses herself against the wall. This is her room, almost everything is the same down to the stack of playboys on the bedside table. She lingers on that for a second too long and hopes he doesn't notice.

"Okay, I don't know who, or what you are, but this is my room," Kenny spat boldly, confidently, try too at least. The sense of sheer terror and confusion underneath it all is very, very strong and probably showing through at least a little bit.

He pauses his terror, "Look, lady, this is my room. Owned by Kenneth 'Kenny' McCormick, middle child and poor kid."

"Funny, cause I have a room just like this, except it belongs to me," She said and she hopes her smirk is convincing, "I'm Kennedy 'Kenny' McCormick, also the middle child and the poor kid."

There's a beat of silence.

"This is that stupid multiverse Cartman was screaming about, isn't it?" She asked.

Kenny nodded, "Gotta be."

"I should go find Kyle," Kenny stepped down from the bed and grab the magazine on top of the stack, "Taking this for good luck."

"Like hell you are! I haven't even taken out the pin up yet!" Kenny snapped.

She raises a brow, "You haven't?" Fingers tease at the edge of the pages.

"It just came in the mail," Kenny said quietly.

"Well then," Kenny said before flipping it open and paging to the average section where the pin-ups where. She tugged the pages taut rather gently, being careful to avoid tearing the pages. There's a slow nod as she flips the magazine and traces down the picture, "This month is looking nice."

Kenny doesn't even know what to say, the hot chick version of himself just landed in his bedroom and now she's criticizing his playboys. Not even criticizing, just, commentating on them. He's speechless, "We're gonna need to find a different name for you if you're gonna be stuck here for a while."

"Kelsey, sounds similar enough," The ravenette said, refusing to raise her glance from the playboys.

Kenny crossed his arms bitterly, "Are you gonna hog it, or am I gonna get a chance to see it?"

That snapped her out of it, "Yeah, totally man," She flipped it shut and tossed it over to him, the desperation on his actions to catch it was humorous.

He carefully placed it on top of the stack and straightened it out. He needs to have some class, sure, he's being abruptly visited by himself, and if they are the same her room is just as much a shit show as his. But he needs to at least try. He turns to face her and she's smirking, "What's so funny?"

"Dude, you and I both know you have a dildo under the bed, you don't have to stack your playboys nice," Kelsey accused and Kenny's face flared up bright red.

"I do not have a dildo under my bed," Kenny said defensively.

She raised a brow.

He gave a small huff before picking up a playboy, "I'm not having this discussion with you," He sits down and flips it open.

"I'm just joking, promise," Kelsey said, she even gave the girl scout honor.

"Fine," Kenny tossed aside the magazine, "What do you want to do then?"

"You're me, right?" Kelsey asked.

Kenny nodded, "Supposed to be."

"Then you must be thinking what I'm thinking," She gave a small smirk.

Kenny stood up and held out a hand, "You better be right about the 'thinking the same stuff' thing."

Kelsey grabbed his hand and stood up, "Lead the way, and I can almost assure you I'm right about it."

-/-/-/-

"This is not what I had in mind at all," Kelsey said.

Kenny gives a hum, "In a good way or a bad way?"

"A good way," She tilted her head a little bit more to get a better view through those massive windows in front of the gym. Her eyes stuck to the various women working out, fuck, she'd love to be in there, say hi and the such. Her pace slows, "Maybe even a great way."

Kenny kicks at her ankles a bit, "The security guard in there hates me already, can't get caught loitering out front."

"What did you too him?" Kelsey asked as she followed Kenny past the perfect window. She could stand there for days.

"He threatened to throw me out and I flirted back," Kenny said nervously as he led his counterpart down the sidewalk.

"You fucking what?" Kelsey asked, sheer disbelief heavy on her voice.

"I called him daddy," Kenny choked out quietly, shame impossibly clear on his voice, "He really didn't like being called daddy."

Kelsey nearly breaks out laughing, it'd be weird to just start wheezing with intense laughter in the middle of the sidewalk which is really the only reason she doesn't. Instead she just grins, "Dude."

"Worst day of my fucking life," Kenny said, "I swear to god, I'd rather die then face him again."

"Well how else are we gonna look at anyone in that gym if you're pissing your pants scared over a security guard?" Kelsey asked.

Kenny smirked rather impishly, "You see, there are benches nearby right? That little court for smoking or eating or just sitting down, what we do is we get a subway and then we sit down, eat a sandwich and watch."

"I like the way you think, Kenny," Kelsey said, "Shocked I didn't think of it first."

"You're in the womans rights hyper diverse universe, it makes sense your mind hasn't been blown open to horny nineteen year old white boy levels of desperate, Kelsey," Kenny said matter-of-factly, "There are books under my name in how to be respectful and classy yet pervy."

"That includes buying the pretty girl subways right?" Kelsey asked.

"It's always classy to buy the pretty girl subways," Kenny answered with a roll of his eyes, "I wouldn't classify you as such considering you're me, but, I'll still buy a subway for you."

"Thanks,"

"I doubt they'll take a dollar bill if George Washington has tits in the picture anyways," Kenny tacked on before the kindness of the offer can make itself clear.

She punched him in the shoulder, "Not cool."

"And you know I'm right too," He countered with before pushing open the subway doors.

"I don't even know if I have any money to use, I don't usually fall asleep with my wallet in my pocket," Kelsey said.

"Neither do I," He reached absently for her hand.

"Gay," Kelsey said quietly, the shock at the accusation made him retract his hand.

"How the fuck is that gay?" Kenny asked.

"It's always gay to hold hands with a dyke," Kelsey said nonchalantly.

Kenny feels his heart stop dead in it's tracks for a brief moment. He sweeps away an entire category of thoughts he should not have been having about a different version of himself. He pulls out his wallet, "That tracks, tuna sub?"

"Tuna sub," Kelsey repeated back at the blonde.

-/-/-/-

"You wanna know my favorite place in my South Park Colorado?" Kelsey asked before taking a chunk out of her sub.

Kenny gives a hum and a nod, glancing between the gym and Kelsey.

"The beach," Kelsey said, "That or the girls changing room at the pool, but, you've never been in there before."

"Yeah, I'll never get in either," Kenny said bitterly, "I've only heard tales of what it's like in there- women, clean floors, women, individual stalls."

"The floors are just as clean as the guys locker room floors, don't worry," Kelsey said, "But yeah, the amount of women is definitely way more than what you've ever seen in a single room."

"No need to brag about it," Kenny said and she laughed.

"I'm not bragging, I'm just telling you how awesome my life is," Kelsey said.

"Do you wanna sit out here and watch the show, or head back to my place? Our place. Your place- the place," He rambled briefly before tearing another chunk out of his sub and glaring at Kelsey.

"We should get some root beer before we head back," Kelsey said as she stood up and brushed down her jeans.

"Why not real beer?" Kenny asked.

"Clerks at the beer store are less prone to fall for a promise of getting some than gas station clerks," Kelsey explained, "It's a two person operation, I distract, you snatch."

"I like the sounds of that," He grinned as rewrapped his sub and stuffed it in a pocket, "We should hurry, the new guys shift ends in an hour. He gives me discounts, some people get off for free."

"Someone who works at a gas station lets you just, have stuff for free?" Kelsey asked, "That would never fly in my universe, 'everyone has to play their role into making the world a better place' sort of stuff, and that includes paying bullshit amounts of money for chocolate. It's fucking stupid."

"Sounds stupid," Kenny said, pivoting on a heel to face his counterpart as he spoke. He raised his hands to rest behind his head, "So, what do you wanna do when we get back?"

"You have a Genesis right?" Kelsey asked.

Kenny nodded, "Obviously, it still does what Nintendon't to this very day," He rolled his eyes a bit. Of course he still had the Sega Genesis, definitely because he wanted too and not because he couldn't afford anything newer.

"We could play Mean Bean Machine," Kelsey offered, "You have the cartridge right?"

"I don't know if it works anymore after a terrible event of Kevin spilling a beer on it," Kenny said wistfully, "It probably will cause those things are built like fucking bricks."

"It definitely will," Kelsey added on in agreement to the sentiment.

-/-/-/-

"Well that's a fucking shame," Kenny said as the error message popped up on his TV screen.

Kelsey gives a hum, rolling to rest on her stomach. Kenny sat with his back pressed against the bed frame, her head rested on crossed arms as she lounged on his bed. She ruffles up his hair, "Shit happens, hand me one of those playboys."

"Which year?" Kenny asked as he tugged a couple boxes from under his bed. Each one had a label on it with a range of years, even going back to issue one in the year of fifty three.

Kelsey shrugged, "Whichever one is best."

"That, my lesbian friend, is a loaded question," Kenny said stiffly, "Personally, I like the earlier ones. The photo quality has a certain artistic sense that Cartman's been trying to emulate with his own photos, a sort of fuzzy, almost grainy look."

Kelsey nodded.

"The newest ones have all colored photos right? But they're up to the metaphorical tits in advertisements, it's kind of discouraging," Kenny said as he reached for a box labeled as '2000-2005' and popped it open, "I bookmarked the best pages."

Kelsey reached for issue number one, "I never got my hands on this one."

"It's got Marilyn Monroe," Kenny said with a nod of approval.

Kelsey flipped to the pinup, "For the first one ever taken, it's really nice."

"It's vintage, but classy," Kenny said as he pulled a couple issues from a series of boxes, "If you're anything like me, you'll enjoy these issues."

"Right, and what makes you so sure I am?" Kelsey asked as she closed the booklet and placed it back into the box carefully.

"On the count of three we'll say the hottest thing possible," Kenny offered, "One, two, three-"

"Big boobs,"

It's unanimous and the synchronization garners a bit of a laugh from the both of them.

"Jeez man, aside from you being a dude we're damn near exactly the same," Kelsey said as she reached for a can of root beer which Kenny tossed to her.

"Just about," Kenny answered with as he popped open a can of his own and changed the cartridge in the Genesis, "Sonic 2 still works."

Kelsey took a swig of root beer before reaching for the controller, "Hand it over noob."

Just to spite her Kenny holds the controller a little bit tighter and starts up the game. He jumps in the first pit available even though it hurts him as much as it hurts his counterpart.

"You suck at this," Kelsey said, pulling up a different playboy to sift through as she watched Kenny play.

"Am not," Kenny said as he expertly sped through act one.

Kelsey gives a hum, "Are too," She takes a small sip of root beer, "This pinup is real good."

"Lemme see," Kenny said as he leaned back his head, it partially rested on the small of Kelsey's back. She flipped showed him the page, "The lighting in that one is fucking phenomenal."

Kelsey nodded, "It really adds more depth to the curves."

"One of the issues from '54 has a chick lounging on a tiger pelt, if my memory serves me well," Kenny said as he made his way into act two, he crossed one leg over the other.

"I never got that issue," Kelsey mused as she grabbed another magazine.

"Only reason I got it is because of a free pile," Kenny mused.

"These things are outlawed where I'm from, the whole playboy organization is a black market thing," Kelsey said, "You could get thrown in jail for owning them."

"They're fucking what?" Kenny asked as he paused his game and turned to face Kelsey.

"Yeah, cause they exploit females and show favoritism towards white women," She mimicked the law with a roll of her eyes, "It's bullshit! Where's a girl supposed to find some tasteful nudes if not from the playboy pinups?"

"That is stupid, that is so monumentally stupid," Kenny spat venomously, "I'll make photocopies of the pinups for you before you leave."

"I'll get thrown in the brig for photocopies," Kelsey said.

"If you really are me we both know you have a nude photograph that Kyle gifted you on your eighteenth birthday," Kenny accused.

"I do not have a nude photo of Kyle," Kelsey said defensively.

He raised a brow, "You keep it in an envelope taped to the underside of your bed because you're afraid you'll get in trouble if anyone finds it. The difference is that in your world you could probably get thrown in jail for having a nude of your best friend, long-term crush."

"You're right," Kelsey said quietly, voice heady with shame, "And if you're me you'll never confess to them either."

Kenny nodded, "Yeah."

There's a beat of uncomfortable silence.

"Do you want me to photocopy the pinups for you?" Kenny asked, "Cause I will risk my access to the library for you to print them."

"Definitely, I'd rather get thrown in jail for a room plastered with pinups than the odd playboy here and there," She punched his shoulder gently before yanking the controller out of his hands, "Can I have two copies of the Marilyn Monroe?"

Kenny pulled out the remaining boxes and started sifting through them, "Totally, got a friend?"

"Promised Clyde I'd find her some nudes for her birthday, I think she'll appreciate a Marilyn Monroe," Kelsey said as she played through the level.

Kenny gives a hum, "Everyone appreciates a Marilyn Monroe, especially one as artful as this."

The sound effect of rings scattering breaches the calm, "Fuck!"

"Died?" Kenny asked smugly.

"Shut up," Kelsey spat back as she narrowed her eyes at the blonde. She tossed down the corded controller, "We should go find Kyle."

"Which one?" Kenny asked.

"My Kyle, she probably isn't even here," There's a heavy sigh, "We should visit any Kyle, they always know what to do."

"Kyle is definitely the smartest person I know," Kenny said.

"Oh you'd love my Kyle, she's smart, pretty, tall- the whole package," Kelsey said with a bit of a dreamy sigh.

"Probably, there's a certain charm to ginger basket ball player," Kenny said, "He's so strong too."

"My Kyle could definitely hit the weights if she wanted too," Kelsey said with a hum.

"My Kyle could bench press me if he so desired, he gives the best piggy back rides," Kenny slumped further against the bed, "This one time his little brother Ike tried to teach me how to make maple syrup snow taffy- some Canadian bullshit like that, I was raiding Kyle's pantry for months after that."

"My Kyle's little sister Aika taught me how to make a killer poutine," Kelsey said as she eased into the mattress a bit more, "I got food poisoning and died but it was really fucking good."

"Food poisoning death is always so lame," Kenny said, "At least Kyle didn't remember watching you wretch until you died, I'm pretty sure my Kyle is catching onto the deaths."

"At least your Cartman didn't spill pictures of when you got fucked to death," Kelsey said bitterly, "She's kind of a douche."

"We definitely didn't get fucked to death the same way," Kenny said, "I sucked dick so hard it ruptured my throat," He pointed to stitch marks on his neck, "These are from them trying to save me."

Kelsey gives a hum, "Someone sat on my face so hard she broke my neck," She gestures to the fracture like scar on the back of her neck, "It was a heck of a way to go."

There's another pause before a shared question enters the air.

"It was Kyle wasn't it?"

They laugh again, of course it was Kyle. Of course they both share the perpetrators of their oral sex deaths, an odd thought to cross their minds, but a fair notion.

"What about the auto-erotic asphyxiation death?" Kenny asked.

"Oh yeah, that was a doozy," Kelsey answered with.

"Fuck man," There's a breath of relief, "I haven't been able to tell anyone about that.

"Neither have I! Not even Kyle remembers killing me," Kelsey said as she flipped onto her back, "It's shitty."

"At least we can be Mysterion and put the damn curse to good use," Kenny offered desperately, a fact they both knew, it didn't really make either of them feel over the moon about their curse. It just softened the terrible edge like a painkiller just a bit too weak.

Kelsey nodded, "Yeah, at least we can be Mysterion."

Kenny stiffly takes a sip of his root beer, "Wanna head out and look for our Kyle's?"

"Naw, let's rate some more playboys instead," Kelsey said, "I haven't seen half of the issues you have."

"It's so fucking stupid they're outlawed in your universe," Kenny scoffed as he tossed some up to Kelsey who was flipping through eagerly, kicking her feet just a bit.

"At least I ended up here so I could get some quality images burned into my head," Kelsey said, ruffling up Kenny's hair once again.

[sheliesshattered]

After my last rambling post about my recent and future sewing projects, I was able to make some real progress on the project currently on my table, the Lengberg Castle Bra interpretation. Setting the cups ended up being less of a pain than I thought it would be, possibly because I just went ahead and ran a gathering stitch right at the seam-line on the cups, then marked the 12, 3, 6, and 9 o'clock positions on each and pulled the gathers until it was just small enough to match the circular holes in the front of the body piece. Pinning each cup into place and sewing them to the body after that was easy.

Getting all the tiny wrinkles out of the mockup when I was draping it on myself was always going to be a longshot, and I guess in the end I didn't quite get them all smoothed out. But there's really not all that much gathering on the cups -- once I've fiddled with the fit and flat-felled all the seams, it probably won't even be visible, certainly not through clothing.

Eventually all those raw edges will be getting flat-felled, but for now I've left nearly all of it as is so that I can adjust the fit once I can really try this thing on. I did do a little bit of flat-felling to the vertical cup seams right where the cup meets the body, since I wouldn't be able to get in there again after that seam was sewn. In a theoretical future version of this I might actually want to take those vertical seams in a little more right where they meet the body, and thus avoid having to gather the cups to ease them in, but at least for this version I'm not going to mess with the fitting along that cup-to-body seam.

To really be able to try this on and check for fit, I'm going to have to get the eyelets for the side spiral lacing in place. I have been meaning to make a set of lacing strips with a little bit of scrap coutil and left over grommets from my Rhaenyra dress, but eh I don't feel like doing that much hammering right now. And I think that because this whole thing is un-boned, lacing strips might give me an approximate fit but not the real fit. Getting the side lacing in will allow me to fit it the way I actually intend to wear it.

But before I can start on the hand-bound eyelets, I needed to finish the top edge of the reinforced lacing area, and continue that part of the way around the armscye. I did this with a little twice-turned rolled hem held in place with a whip stitch. I continued that finish up towards the shoulder seam, but didn't quite get there -- I expect that in the fitting phase I may need to adjust that shoulder seam again, so I'm leaving that area unfinished in case I need to move the seam.

I left my long thread tails in place so that I can just finish this up once I'm solid on the fit of the shoulder seam. I did almost all that handsewing while on the phone with my brother last night (my 10 year old niece, who generally loves hanging out with me in person, always cries out "noooo!" when she realizes her dad is on the phone with me, because, and I quote, "you always talk for hours!!"). It was a good mindless handsewing project with lots of tiny stitches to do while chatting for not quite 3 hours, lol.

I didn't realize until a few hours later how much I had overdone in sewing all those tiny stitches, and my right wrist has been hurting since late last night. The spoonie chronic pain and weird joint issues are a primary contributor to how slow of a sewist I am, and I'm definitely going to have to delay my plan to start on the eyelets for at least a day or two, maybe longer. I might be able to handle measuring and marking out the locations for all the eyelets today, but at this point I'm doing as much with my left hand as I can just to give my right a rest. I'd rather take a couple of days off now than a couple of weeks or months off because I continued to push when I should have rested.

So the plan for finishing this, whenever that happens to be and at whatever slow pace I need to go, is to get the eyelets in for side spiral lacing, and then adjust the fit on the shoulder seams and the vertical seams of the cups (and maaaaybe the cup-to-body seam, but I'd really prefer not to mess with that one if I can avoid it). Once I'm happy with the fit in the shoulders and the cups, I'll be able to flat-fell those seams and finish up the armscye hem. After that it'll be down to handsewing a narrow rolled hem on the neckline and attaching a skirt of some description. I have some ideas for what I want to do with the skirt, but I'll figure out the specifics if/when I get that far.

If I need to take a longer break from handsewing and put the eyelets off for more than just a few days, I might shift gears and work on one of the projects with less handsewing. It might make sense to sew the mockup for Jack's Very Fancy Santa Hat while I have the muslin out and the white thread in the machine, but that's like, maybe an hour of work total. I also recently pulled out the 7 yards of brushed cotton herringbone that is destined to become a smokkr/Viking apron dress type over-layer piece, and if my wrist isn't in too bad of a shape, cutting that out from my existing pattern should be pretty straightforward.

And yeah, I'm mixing eras all over the place with my silly Pre-Raphaelite inspired historybounding -- 15th century Lengberg Bra and 13th/14th century cotehardies and 9th/10th century apron dress. But eh, that's the fun of historybounding in contrast to actual historical reenactment costuming: I can pull inspiration from whatever era I feel like, use whatever fabrics and colors and weaves (or knits!) that I want, put the seams wherever works best for me. And hopefully much like the Pre-Raphaelite art, I'll end up with something that is a little fantasy and a little historical, while still being comfy and practical to wear in my every day life. And hopefully my chronic illnesses will actually allow me to sew all the things I so desperately want to make and wear, sooner rather than later.

[botchallthethings]

okay I think I'm doing the thing again where I have six projects at once or something...might need to commit to finishing some of them

Spinning wool for the sweater (long term, goes hand in hand with designing the sweater)

finishing the nalbinding of the mittens (then felting them)

embroidering the lizard on the stained shirt now that I finally have a design to cover the ink stains

finishing the sock now that I'm at the easy gusset part

(at my own pace) combing through the rest of the cria blanket

starting the crochet hook holder (I literally have everything I need now*, the only thing holding me back is intimidation)

Okay not quite as bad as I thought, since some of these are long-term off-and-on-again projects anyways. but still, I should probably rotate back into some of these.

whoops, I forgot I need to finish nalbinding the third mitten (this one uses my handspun and I'm going for a more traditional/historical shape). Jury's still out on if it's worth it to make a pair...it might be good to do that and practice some more traditional embroidery motifs on the back of them once I'm finished. but to be honest I would rather knit or spin than nalbind right now...

* so I'm trying an experiment here with making my own quilted fabric for this, and decided to try making my combing waste into batting instead of going for the leftover polyester batting I used for a quilt last year. I was ready to start on the case yesterday then had this idea and promptly chickened out of pinning (I'm using a zipper in the construction and it's bending my brain a little, plus I might need to cut my fabric again and ew, that's intimidating). I checked the batting this morning and I think it's going to work!

I wasn't sure what was going to happen--the principle behind this was inspired by a kids book on hatmaking that featured the protagonist making felt by using a bow to distribute loose fur fibers evenly and randomly, then spraying the mat with water through his teeth. In the book, it all shrunk together miraculously!

That seemed miraculous to me when I was younger, and today raises an eyebrow since most felting methods I know are, well, more vigorous than that. But, I don't need to make a dense felt, I just need batting, so maybe it would work? (I didn't feel super comfortable using a more vigorous friction method because this is combing waste, after all, and the fibers are pretty short and thus a lot more easy to separate)

I re-washed my combing waste since there was some residual lanolin on it, rinsed out the soap, squeezed as much of the water out as I could, then sort of lay the fibers out out on a paper towel and teased teased them open, bit by bit, so the fibers were laying every which way within a rectangle shape. When I had a decently thick, even layer, I patted the wet wool down with the backs of my hand to encourage it to be coherent and then took it to a drying rack and lay it out to dry.

This morning, I checked on it and was very pleased! I don't know if it's as coherently intertwined as a commercially-made polyester batting (and it certainly doesn't resemble the natural fiber batting sold at stores; that stuff really does look like true felt), but it's certainly not as loose as last night and it seems to have shrunken well together.

I am planning to use quilt it into place with diamond lines of stitching like you see on commercially-pre-made quilted fabric, so even though there's a lot of short bits inside, I think it will stay in place. I've also heard that wool batting tends to keep its spring for longer than polyester? I don't know if that's true, but even if it's not, it's not a big deal. This is a small bag for crochet hooks, not a quilt, and the hooks are not particularly fragile or pointy, so the protection offered by the batting is more to give the project a nice handfeel.

[igniakino]

HEADLINE

Pre-Production, Set-up, Shoot and Post Thoughts

PRE-PRODUCTION

I took on the role of HoD production designer when asked by the producer, Esther. I thought the script sounded very interesting and wanted to take on the challenge of transforming a lived-in space to an abandoned room. The reference images I was originally given consisted of shots from Requiem For a Dream, which is a film I really admire the set design for and wanted to emulate so I agreed to work on this project.

Link to my Pinterest board that inspired by ideas:

Here is the colour palette I was working with:

Originally, the script called for a policewoman and a mostly abandoned house. I had many ideas on how we could find a setting like this and how I could dress the frame. However I ended up having to change my ideas a lot when the character was transformed into an estate agent to fit the script better. This meant that I had to rethink a lot of my established ideas as it wouldn't make sense that this estate agent was trying to sell and maintain a house that was falling apart. This made things a little harder for me as not only did I have to take into consideration that whoever's house I would be transforming would be a landlords property (so unfortunately I couldn't destroy any furniture or tear up the wallpaper), I also had to think about how logically in disrepair this room would be if an estate agent was trying to sell it.

This meant I could not do as much as I had hoped in terms of set design. I couldn't destroy things or dirty them up too much or batter the walls or even stick my own wallpaper to them. The director wanted the room to be almost like a show-home so it ended up being more barren than I had wanted, however I still enjoyed the project and I am happy with what I achieved. I had many meetings with both the cinematographer and the director to make sure we were all happy with how the film would look and how the set would influence colour and mood.

We visited two locations. The first we felt was too small for everything we wanted to achieve and we were not allowed to pin anything to the walls or move much the furniture around. The second location was much more spacious and we could change what we wanted (within reason of course). Once we were set on our shooting space I went about planning how the room would look with Saskia, my art department, and started to complete costume.

The day before the shoot everything was moved out of the living room. All unwanted furniture was relocated, all posters were taken down and the curtains were removed. Everything from the kitchen was also moved out of shot so we had a complete blank slate to work with. All the rest of the set up was done early the day of the shoot.

COSTUME AND MAKEUP

Costuming was relatively simple for both characters. I knew I wanted a typical estate agent outfit for our female character so I went with a pencil skirt, tights, a smart cream shirt (white would have been too bright and clashed with the camera) and a blazer. I was very happy with the shoes, though they are not shown much in the movie, as I thought they were the perfect style of professional heels and added a lot to the outfit. For hair and makeup I also wanted simplicity so as not to distract from any of the conversation. I asked the actress to wear light foundation and wear her traditional day-to-day makeup, bringing setting powder with me just incase the makeup was too shiny on the screen. Hair was put into a simple claw clip, neat and tidy at first and then becoming more messy and loose as the film goes on, showing her character letting down her defences to the protagonist.

For Robert it was just a case of layering him up in plain clothes. I wanted him to be bundled up like he had been wearing the same outfit for a while, no style needed just warmth and necessity. Makeup wise I used red, brown and a tiny bit of purple to give him slight eye bags and feed into the exhausted look.

PROPS

I had the most fun on this project creating the newspaper prop. I was given an article by our writer Duncan and created a front page of a made up tabloid to symbolise the films name and the situation Robert is in. I used Canva to create the article, visited a local print store to get it to the right size and stuck it to the front of an actual newspaper to give it depth. Lots of fun was also had when I had to write the neighbouring column, choosing to write a vapid segment about a fake celebrity breakup to contrast the horrible news of manhunt after a suspected "mother killer".

The radio was bought off of ebay and the sleeping bags were borrowed from other crew members. I gathered all the takeaway boxes I could find in my house, along with cans and plastic bottles to decorate the room. I thought this would make sense logically in the story as he would have no place to cook, so takeaway food would be his only option. This made the area feel more lived in and gave the impression he had been at this location for a while. Other props consisted of blankets, pillows and other miscellaneous items that would bring our protagonist comfort while also hinting at his life on the run.

SET

I bought a lot of green fabric to cover one of the walls, as the director did not want all an all white setting. This helped with shaping the room and adding depth as well as colour. I also bought a few sheets that it used to cover the windows on the day of the shoot. This worked both within the world of the story, as it makes sense for Robert to want to cover the windows to avoid being spotted, and to enhance the lighting our cinematographer wanted. It was an effective way to shape the light in the room and give it atmosphere.

SHOOT DAY

We only had one day to film and though it was very long it was a lot of fun and went smoothly (apart from a camera incident!). It was a great crew to be apart of and everyone was very professional, listening to my ideas and asking me or Saskia before they moved any of the props. I spent most of the filming time out of the room as there was not enough space for the whole crew to be in the same space, but every few cuts I went in to check continuity with Robbie, our script supervisor/ editor, and reapply any makeup that seemed to be rubbing off. The only issue on set production design wise was figuring out how to pin the green fabric to the wall in a way that looked believable and not like someone had gone up and stuck some random fabric on the wall. I think we achieved this as it looks natural works well to apply some more colour to the film. I cleaned up as much as I could after the shoot and removed all pinned wall pieces carefully. The next day I returned to the flat we were shooting in to rearrange their furniture and return the room back to normal.

A few behind the scenes pictures!

All in all, Headline was a very smooth and professional shoot! I wish I could have done a little bit more with the production design, as I would have loved to find a truly abandoned place and craft the film around that. I also wish you could see a little more of the props I created, but I know the main point of the film is not the setting, but the story being told. I am proud of my contributions to the film and think I pulled it off creating the look of a runaway man's living situation effectively.

[elizabethchristenia]

‘Mask’

I just finished my entry for the 2021 Foundations Revealed costume competition and got it entered a few hours before the deadline. Whew. It’s been... a long week.

I came across a poem, ‘Mask’ by Beth Bachmann and had the sudden idea... “Hey, that costume competition was for a literature character this year, wasn’t it? I wonder when that ends...” 11 days. It ended in 11 days. And with the business still shut down and me in isolation, I decided... why not? What else am I REALLY going to DO with the next 11 days anyhow? Could a mask count as a character? Here’s to hoping it does!

I made a mask from the pattern by @mctreeleth and also a jacket pieced from the giant pile of cabbage left after making over a thousand face masks while in quarantine. 

I started by pulling a pattern off my husband’s old patched 4XLT work shirt that has become my favorite house coat during the pandemic, so I had a fairly simple pattern to make out of the fabric I was going to piece. 

My original plan was to have an ombre effect on the jacket, light at the shoulders to dark at the hem. When I started laying out the pieces, it ended up also having a rainbowy effect from reds on the left to blues and purples on the right. It took about two days to sort and cut all the pieces of fabric from the mask scraps - the largest is 4″x 5″, and I drew the line at the smallest being 2″x 2″. When I wasn’t sure in what order to put the brighter colors in terms of going from light to dark, I pulled out my phone and used it as a tool to look at them in greyscale mode, and went with what order they looked like they should go when the color wasn’t involved.

I pieced each panel over top of the pattern piece it was going to be on, and added a little extra for wiggle room, then thread traced each piece onto the panel, stay-stitched just under 1/4″ from the edge, and cut. I bagged out the bottom hem as I flat-lined each piece to stash fabric that had been too loosely woven for masks, but was perfect for lining fabric. I then joined everything together with french seams and boom - quilted patchwork jacket.

Making the mask took longer than I expected. Based on the amount of Bridgerton and Fate: The Winx Saga that played in the background while I was working, it took about 14 hours from start to finish.

Printing the mask pattern onto interfacing was brilliant - although trying the DIY scotch tape/interfacing trick didn’t go so well. The time it took me to unjam the printer isn’t part of the 14 hours. I did manage to print it onto a 8-1/2 x 11 commercial poplin meant for printing your own photos onto fabric to put into craft projects - then I added Heat ‘N’ Bond onto the backs before cutting out the pieces. That went wonderfully and made the mask pretty sturdy once it was finished.

For the most part, I followed the instructions that were with the pattern - but I did end up making a few changes: 

I didn’t bother to top-stitch the bottom center seam. There’s no way to go all the way to the tip of the beak by machine, and nobody’s going to be looking at the bottom of the mask much anyhow. I just pressed the seam open very well on a sleeve board.

I didn’t add a fabric face strap - instead, I put two eyelets at the top and bottom of piece #10 after I was done and ran a lanyard through them with a cord lock, which worked very well.

On the round eye pieces, I edge stitched a line on the inside after flipping the lining around to the back side to keep everything smooth and in place.

Rather than folding the edge of the large circle down and pinning a ton of tiny pleats in place, I ran a line of small gathering stitches around the edge of the larger piece and used it like a drawstring to pull the large circle to the back side of the eye pieces and hold it in place. I ironed it well, and ran the gathering strings through the eyehole to the inside of the mask. I didn’t cut them off until after I had the eye pieces stitched down onto the mask. (I wish I’d taken a picture of this step, because it’s a lot quicker than the pinning - alas, it was 2 am and I didn’t think to.)

I didn’t slip stitch the eye pieces down onto the front of the mask. I pinned them in place, with pins situated kind of like spokes on a wheel. I edge stitched the eye pieces onto the mask by machine, walking the machine over each pin by hand. (Note - I was using an industrial sewing machine that handles thick fabric just fine and has a much heavier foot pressure than most home machines, so that probably helped this turn out well.)

If I were making this again, I would attach the bias for the eye holes from the front and fold it around to the back instead of the other way around - just for an aesthetic factor. It was a lot easier to make the final line on the bias look clean - which, sadly, will never be seen inside the eyepiece. The line around the bias inside the mask is the one part of mine that looks a bit messy.

Over-sized round “John Lennon” Sunglasses worked perfectly for lenses on this. After a while, they do fog up - I’m betting that wipes meant to keep the inside of goggles from fogging up will probably fix this.

I paired the jacket and mask with my pre-quarantine garb skirts and leather hat (shaped much like the quintessential illustration of a plague doctor), a shirt from my closet, and a cotton duck corset I had already finished as an experiment in color (Each external faux bone casing is in a different color radiating around half of the corset.) and also as an experiment in edge shaping - I made the corset extra-long, and then hand drew scallops around the bottom of the corset - not quite deep enough to count as tabs. I wanted to see if the bones were enough to keep these down and flat on the corset, or were they long enough they would flip up when worn? (Spoiler: They actually sit flat - yeay!)

Also learned on this project - when your husband is taking the photographs, and he is much taller than you, every picture that isn’t of your back will end up being a boob shot. XD

[earthlyyan]

Taming a Cicin (Platonic!Yan! Albedo x Cicin Mage!Reader)

Sorry if Albedo is OOC here, I haven’t written him before and he’s quite a challenge as I have come to realize. 

Warnings: Human Experimentation, taking advantage of amnesia? Drugging. Violence, Needles.

________________________________________________________________

Hot, searing, pain.

Arms outstretched and bound to the table, you waited for the man to return.

‘Patrol the Liyue-Dragonspine boarder’ they said, ‘it would be easy’ they said.  

You had finally grown powerful enough as a Cicin to be trusted with tasks outside of Snezhnaya, and of course you had to be compromised on your first mission outside of your home. You had finally grown useful enough to be placed elsewhere, and they were expecting results. Too bad you were too incompetent to actually complete the job.

Something in the bindings were preventing you from being able to use your abilities. Your delusion had been removed when you lost consciousness. And when you awoke, you were burning. Something foreign was pumping through your body, significantly weakening you. The side effect seemed to be intense pain. Or it could be the other way around, who knows what the man was up to.

You’d seen the man before you were knocked out. He humored you with a fight, but you were easily disarmed and defeated.

His clothing seemed to be that of Mondstadtian origin. Light and flowy, like the anemo god protecting their city. It’s safe to assume he is a knight of Favonius.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

His voice drew you from your contemplative stupor. It was smooth, and calm. During any other circumstance, a voice like his would be a blessing upon your ears.

“What’s going on here? What are you—”

“My name is Albedo.” He said. His footsteps were near silent as he walked towards the table. “I’d ask your name but,” he stood beside you, his face mere inches from your own. His hot breath fanned your face. “I don’t think you’ll be around much longer, so I don’t think bothering with the formalities past this point is important.” He’s going to kill you. Oh archons.

He pulled your delusion from his pocket and brought it up to the light. It didn’t shine in the way a vision would, it was matte, and muddy, like dirty frosted glass. He took it over to a table and scribbled down some notes.

“I already tested its reactions to you while you were unconscious. I wasn’t about to risk you getting the upper hand.” He said, making a show of placing it next to a crafting table.  “I had been trying to get my hands on a delusion for quite some time. But all the other fatui agents and mages had been smarter about spying around here.” He scoffed. “I suppose finding someone daft was key.”

You scowled and tried to defend your wounded ego, but the look he sent you silenced any protests you had the stones to make.

He turned back to the table and began shuffling through cabinets, grabbed a few brightly colored vials, and began working over a crafting table.

“You’re researching delusions?” You cleared your throat. You needed to play nice for now if you wanted to survive. “You could easily just ask me and I’d be happy to—”

“I’ve gotten what I need to know about how they react with the body.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I’m researching is… well…” He hummed. “Well, how to figure out how they are assembled. And I highly doubt a lower level Cicin such as yourself would have that sort of information.”

He was right. But your face flushed at the notion.

“So you’re going to kill me?”

“No.” He gave you a quick glance. “Well, I suppose in a way I am. But you’ll still be very much alive.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You will.” A small puff of smoke came from the table as he lifted a brightly colored liquid to his lantern. He hummed and squinted at it. “Or you won’t. That’s not my problem.”

You struggled lamely against the restraints. The burning ache in your veins made it harder to protest.

Albedo approached with the vial in his hand. He placed a cold hand to your forehead. It was a welcome relief to the scorching pain within.

“Alright, mage.” He swirled the concoction in his hand. “We can do this one of two ways. Either you open your mouth and drink this and behave yourself, or I hold you down and inject it directly into your blood stream. What will it be?” His indifference with the situation was chilling. Was he even human? Even Il Dottore had some sort of emotion when experimenting on his victims. Sadistic glee, yes. But it was better than cold and calculating. You felt like a butterfly pinned to corkboard.

You wanted to see him make a face. Some sort of small victory before you’re forced to partake in this bright green liquid.

So you spat on him.

The clear saliva slowly dripped down his cheek before he wiped it away with his hand. He gave a disappointed sigh. “Seems I was correct about dealing with a fool.”

His arm was on your bicep in seconds as he pulled a glass syringe out of his coat pocket. He sucked up the fluid from the glass and tapped it a few times before abruptly stabbing you with it.

It was a practiced precision, though somehow aggressive enough to draw blood, the sickly green vile was emptied into your arm.

The burning stopped.

Though something much worse filled its stead.

Your head felt like it was splitting apart, being torn at the seams. You swore your brain was leaking out, staining the table under you, but the dryness of your body proved otherwise.

Albedo pulled out a notepad and pen, he looked expectedly at you.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was impassive.

All you could do was scream. Albedo sighed and scribbled down something on his note pad.

“If you focus on nothing but the pain your suffering will only get worse.” Albedo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Now, elaborate.”

You tried to conjure thoughts other than the extensive pain encompassing your body, anything at all. You grit your teeth and shut your eyes, concentrating. “Hurts—my head—splitting—”

“Yes?” He walked forward and placed a hand on your forehead. His cold skin against your burning flesh was a welcome distraction.

“Dizzy—Its hard—” “You’re doing much better than I had anticipated. I was under the assumption you wouldn’t be able to hold your mind together enough to speak.”

His hands covered your eyes, soothing more of the blazing pain temporarily. You could feel the edges of your vision darkening. You tried to reach out to the alchemist, but your restrained hand only tugged weakly at the binding, before flopping down unceremoniously.

You saw the man above you sigh as your body slowly began to loose feeling.

*

Bright. It was bright and cold.

There was a chill in the air, you reached to hug yourself for warmth. Coming to realize your body wasn’t sufficiently covered. Nothing but a thin white sheet covering you. Where were you? … Who were you?

You scramble to your knees, bringing them to your chest. You wrapped yourself in the sheet to help keep your warmth close.

“Ah, you’re awake.” A voice startled you, sending you scrambling to cover yourself further with the cloth. “No, no. You’re alright. I’m here to help you.”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

A man with sandy blonde hair entered your frame of vision. He held a bundle of clothes in his hands before placing it gently on the table. He took note of how you trembled more in his presence than had he not made himself known. He lifted his hands in an act of surrender, he wasn’t planning on hurting you.

“My name is Albedo. You are in Dragonspine, a mountain in the country of Mondstadt. I happened to find you in the cold. You were absolutely soaked. I feared you’d freeze to death.”

“Oh…” Your head swam. A thick fog wrapped around it, keeping wandering thoughts at bay. “I don’t—” “Remember much? Your head seemed to have taken significant damage when I had found you. I ran a few tests and it seems you’ve gotten yourself a case of amnesia.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to let you go until I know for a fact that you aren’t a danger to yourself.”

“I don’t know where I’d go.”

“That’s also a problem.”

Albedo smiled at you. Had you known any better you would’ve considered his smile a sinister one. But to the naïve, it was as right as rain.

You didn’t think anything of it when he offered to help you change, your body was still sluggish and you were dreadfully cold. You didn’t think anything of it when he offered you a room, seemingly prepared already, nor did you bat an eye when he would look at you and write things down on his notepad.

Your body would start to ache after a while, a headache creeping up your neck.

“Mister Albedo?” “Just Albedo is fine.” He said. His nose buried in his notes.

“My head is spinning.”

He looked up from his notes, meeting your gaze. “Ah, let’s get you to bed. I’ve got some medicine to take care of that.” He smiled, his hand resting against the small of your back as he led you to the room at the end of the hall.

He tucked you gently under the covers and placed a cold hand on your head. You sighed at the welcome touch. He sighed and walked out, only to return with a small vial of green liquid. He held it to your lips, which you dutifully swallowed. You were out in a matter of moments

He looked at you with a sense of swelling pride. He had done it.

He not only gotten his hand on a delusion, but he also got his hand on a body fit to wield it.

He had tamed a Cicin.

His hand went to caress your cheek, which your body eagerly responded. A smile crept up his face. You were his. His little mage. His little pet project.

[ravennm84]

Complicity

Hey everyone! Sorry I’ve been missing for a while, but I’ve had a lot going on and lacking inspiration, until the other day! I know that Lila thinks she’s the smartest person in the room and that everyone else it too stupid to figure her out. So, I decided to let her “think” she’s being smart, but gets caught because she did something stupid. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!

Lila was happy. Since she had become a model, she had acquired a small fan base of people that thought she had beauty and talent. Granted, it wasn’t as large as she thought it should be, but she had only done three photo shoots and had been mentioned in one magazine. But this was just the beginning; soon, all of Europe would know her name and reporters would be clamoring after her for pictures. 

But at the same time she was very angry.

This was because Marinette had been mentioned in the same magazine as her. And where Lila got a single photo that showed more of Adrien than it did of her, Maribrat had gotten an entire article and multiple photos about her designs and the collaboration she was doing with Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois since the woman had decided to stay in Paris. She had even looked at the girl’s website and saw that there was an actual wait list to receive one of her original designs.

Enraged that someone she considered to be plain, talentless, and all around lower in status than her, Lila started coming up with plans. She wasn’t about to share her spotlight with anyone, let alone Maribrat.

She was tempted to accuse the bluenette of stealing her designs and ruining her reputation, but since she had been designing for longer than Lila had been in Paris, that had too much of a chance to backfire. She’s thought of sicking one of her classmates/sheep to break into her house and destroy her commission projects, but that also had too much of a chance to backfire since they would likely blab if they were caught.

No, she needed a different type of plan. Something that would be farther removed from herself so nothing would blow back on her, but harsh enough so that even Maribrat wouldn’t connect what happened to her. It took a few weeks and a lot of planning, but she came up with something that would work. It had been the perfect plan, a way to get Marinette out of her life and the spotlight for good. 

All it took was some sweet talking one of her new followers; a large, burly boy named Henry that was a couple years older than her and not very bright. He would have done anything for her… including going after a “stalker” that had threatened to hurt her. She barely even had to suggest anything before the boy assured her that he would protect her at all costs. It even seemed to be working when Maribrat was suspiciously absent from school for a few days after Henry said he would “take care of it”.

It had been the perfect plan...

Until the police showed up. 

She had just gotten home when the police arrived, saying that she was wanted for questioning in an open case. They had already been in contact with her mother and Greta Rossi had promised them their full cooperation. Rather than risk looking guilty, Lila called her mother to make sure they were telling the truth before grudgingly going with them. 

When she got to the police station, she was met by her very confused and furious mother. This wasn’t the first time she had been in trouble with the law. There had been an incident in Rome where she’d been accused of pushing a boy, Simone, down the stairs, and her mother had been forced to pay his medical bills. She had made it very clear that if Lila caused any more problems at school, it would not be pleasant.

So there she was; sitting with her mother and a couple of police detectives that she didn’t recognize, who were giving her condescending looks. “I am Detective Cooper, and this is Detective Raimus. We understand that you have been made aware of your rights, correct?”

“Yes, multiple times. What is this all about? You can’t just bring my daughter in for questioning like she’s some common criminal.” Her mother said as she stared down the two men.

“Mme. Rossi, we need to ask your daughter some questions in connection to an assault that took place against one of her classmates.” Stated Cooper, a detective with a thick mustache.

“Are you or your daughter familiar with a M. Henry Mortaure?”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Lila lied with a shrug.

“Neither have I, who was attacked?” Her mother asked, suddenly worried about what her daughter might have gotten involved in.

“A Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, are you familiar with the name?” Asked Raimus, who looked a bit older than his partner.

Greta Rossi thought for a second before nodding. “Lila has mentioned her a couple of times, said that she was a bully. What about her?”

“The Dupain-Cheng residence was broken into a few days ago by M. Mortaure. He was armed and confessed to be doing so with the intent of killing Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.” Mme. Rossi gasped in shock while Lila was attempting to hide her smirk with a look of worry. “The Dupain-Chengs were not harmed, although the same cannot be said for M. Mortaure.” Cooper placed some photos in front of them on the table, gaining another gasp from Greta. Three of the man’s limbs were wrapped in heavy gauze, his face was swollen and bruised from a black eye and a seriously broken nose. 

Lila didn’t flinch when she saw the photos, but was now fighting a scowl at the knowledge that Henry had failed her. And since she was here in an interrogation room, it could only mean that the idiot had blabbed. But that didn’t matter, she could just say that he must be a crazy stalker who had somehow found out that Maribrat was bullying her and decided to take things into his own hands. After all, it wasn’t like she had called or messaged him from her personal phone. She had bought a burner phone with cash just for this occasion. 

“Despite being armed with a pistol, he never had a chance to use it,” Raimus stated as pushed one of the photos towards Lila. “He will require reconstructive surgery on his face from being hit multiple times with a rolling pin. His arms were severely burned when he fell into a fryer, it’s likely that he’ll never have full use of them again. Despite the burns, he attempted to go for a kitchen knife after being disarmed. That knife was turned on him and he ended up with a perforated lung.”

Greta looked like she was going to be sick, unable to look away from the pictures in front of her. But she eventually did, casting a harsh stare at her daughter. “Please, tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

Doing her best to fake her shock, she shook her head and pushed away the photos. “I swear, I had nothing to do with this. I don’t even know why he would do this.”

“We were wondering the same thing and discovered that he’s a fan of yours. He has multiple pictures of you, as well as Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. We suspected that he had been stalking you and came to the conclusion that he thought she was bullying you and decided to protect you on his own-”

“Oh no, that has to be it!” She exclaimed, skillfully faking shock. “Marinette followed me out of school last week and threatened me to stay away from my boyfriend. This boy must have seen her and decided to get rid of her.”

“If that’s the case, why are you questioning my daughter?” Greta pressed, not completely believing Lila but seeming to be coming around to her side.

“As I was saying,” stressed Detective Cooper. “We had suspected that M. Mortaure was stalking your daughter, until we got the warrant for his phone. It seems that someone, supposedly Lila, has been corresponding with him for many weeks. She had been flirting with him, sending him photos of herself, and then Marinette. She went on to tell him that Mlle. Dupain-Cheng was a stalker and had threatened her. M. Mortaure seems to have done what he did with the understanding that he was protecting Lila, at Lila’s own behest.”

“I would never do that!” Lila cried before reaching into her purse to pull out her personal mobile and set it on the table in front of them. “Check my phone, I never messaged him.”

“We have already checked your phone records against the one that has been messaging M. Mortaure, and found that the numbers did not match.” Detective Raimus said, and Lila watched her mother visibly slump from relief… but it was short lived. 

“We did, however, track the number to a burner phone that was purchased in cash from a gas station. We thought it was a dead end, but the person who bought the phone made a mistake.” Raimus continued as Detective Cooper pulled out his own mobile and dialed a number. “The person who bought it has kept it on, and it is currently active.”

Seconds after Cooper pressed send, a ringing came from Lila’s purse. Greta Rossi stared at her daughter in shock before yanking the purse out of Lila’s hands and pulling out a second phone from inside. When Cooper cancelled the call, the second phone stopped ringing. 

“What have you done?” She spat at Lila.

Panicking, she shook her head while looking around the room for an exit. “That’s not mine! They must have planted it on me when they brought me here! They’re trying to frame me!”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Greta screamed at her daughter, causing Lila to practically fall out of her seat in fear. “You convinced someone to commit MURDER for you! That makes you just as guilty as him!”

“But-but I have diplomatic immunity! I can’t be charged for any of this!”

“Yes, you can,” Greta said, her voice going cold. “I may be a secretary to the Italian Ambassador, which grants me immunity, but that doesn’t extend to you! I told you to behave! I told you to never cause trouble like you did in Roma after what you did to that boy that called you out on your…” Understanding washed over Greta’s features as her expression morphed from anger, to understanding, and then disgust. “That’s it, isn’t it? Marinette never bullied you. She knew about your lies and you set out to hurt her just like before!” 

Standing up quickly, her mother started pacing the room before looking back to the detectives. “I’ll still need to speak with the ambassador, but you can expect our full cooperation in this.”

“Mom, no!”

“What are the charges?” Greta asked, acting as though Lila wasn’t even there. 

“As Lila is a minor, she can be charged with Complicity to Commit Murder, the decision of sentencing is ultimately up to the judge. But seeing as she purposefully bought a burner phone to use and has also lied to the police, I wouldn’t hold much hope.”

~oOo~

The trial took longer than expected. At first, things had been looking up since her followers from class had come to act as character witnesses. All of them saying how wonderful she was, a great friend that did so much for them and everyone she knew,   and that she would never do something so terrible. That Marinette was just jealous of Lila, so it was better to take whatever she said with a grain of salt.

Then, the prosecution started their case. Showing evidence of Lila falsifying records at school, video evidence of her purposefully framing Marinette for assault and theft. As well as the communications between herself and Henry, encouraging him to kill Marinette. 

Her followers had still been a bit sceptical to believe what the prosecutor was saying about her, not wanting to believe that they had supported someone who would try to get another person murdered. But then came her past victims, many of whom her mother had never known about. Simone from Rome, Sara from Florence, Giulia from Venice, Daniel from Viterbo, and Sofia from Palermo. All of them testifying against Lila, many with screenshots of threatening texts from her, photos of ruined property and injuries she had inflicted on them, and all around proof that Lila was the reason behind many hardships that had happened to them. And all because they had figured out that she was a liar and she had done everything in her power to hurt them.

After all that, the judge had not been kind. 

“It is clear, Mlle. Rossi, that you are a very disturbed girl in need of help,” the judge said, not bothering to hide how offput he was by Lila. “I cannot, in good conscious, allow you to roam freely. Having seen that these habits of yours have not only been repeated over and again, but have escalated to attempted murder. I have no choice but to have you returned to Italy where you will be kept in a juvenile detention center until you turn 18, at which point you will be transferred to a mental hospital for treatment for no less than five years. At which point, you will be evaluated to see if you will be able to safely rejoin society.”

Lila was immediately escorted back to Italy in disgrace. Her name slandered across every newspaper and magazine across Europe for what she had done. She was now famous, with most everyone knowing her name and reporters scrambling to take her picture as she did her walk of shame out of the courthouse. She was finally famous, but for all the wrong reasons

In case you are wondering. Henry made the mistake of coming after Marinette when she was with her parents. Tom and Marinette were in the bakery kitchen and Sabine was at the front. Tom saw the gun and hit him in the face with his rolling pin twice. He dropped the gun but was still coming after Marinette, she tripped him and he landed in the frier, which had been turned on to make donuts, and splashed oil all over him. Sabine had rushed back in time to see a bleeding and badly burned Henry grabbing a knife, she did some wicked moves that resulted in Henry stabbing himself. By then, he passed out from the pain and the Dupain-Chengs had called the police. The officers that came were both impressed and terrified by what happened to the boy, but the surveillance footage proved that they were only defending themselves.

TAGLIST:

@2confused-2doanything @7-sage-7 @aadnrsstar @abrx2002 @awkwardromances @bayball @babylovebug18 @botanicalfoxx @caffeinetheory @cheshire5210 @chocolateherringtacofan @city-of-all-tunas @classycollectorreviewworld  @corabeth11 @darkened-flame @delightfulcookiesrecipespizza @fandom-trapped-03 @ghostmaster @iamblinkmarvelarmy @interobanginyourmom @izang @jesussavedevenme @kazedancer @kitten12113 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @lilypotter2018 @lunataravler @maskedpainter @ miraculouslydumb  @nerd-nowandforever @ola-is-dead @pandacatxd @plushbookworm @plz-excuse-my-inner-ravenclaw @pheonix-biach @raiderofthelostbooks @ramos123 @rowanrouge @rowanyx @ren121 @seesea22 @seraphichana @sashakoi @shypeacekitten @tazer6787 @that-girl-sakea @thecrazyfantrollshasmoved @the-smallest-kittenz @tishwinchesterannabethjackson @t1dwarrior-of-earth @ulmban @with-forward-motion @wonderbat91939 @zoiechance

[clocks-are-round]

screw saving omega headcanons for whenever i am able to get back to my Three Months O’Malley fic.

- omega is deeply lonely. he is shown to talk a lot. there is no discernible reason he could not live in a machine (robot, vehicle, etc) yet he chooses to inhabit people (that he is shown to be able to converse with even internally). omega and tex were kept separate from the other freelancers and fragments (with the exception of omega helping gamma and sigma with creating more fragments). he was formed from rage, likely isolated because of that, and only ever really talked to 3 people that could maybe be considered friends— then sigma starts forming fragment voltron, gamma peaces out without a word, and tex decides at some point while they’re alone together that omega should be destroyed. lonely, trust issues, i rest my case.

- omega wanted to kill the director but changed his story to the lofty fantasy of universe domination. several potential reasons for this; could be any or all. he knew or suspected blood gulch might be monitored and didn’t want to let his plan slip. because he was fucking terrified of failing; rooming with tex may have helped in psyching him out. he never felt like he had enough resources to succeed. it could also have to do with painting someone in a strong light (whether negative or positive) puts them on a pedestal and can make them seem even more unreachable. at least part of him deep down was afraid of succeeding. he pinned all his rage as the fault of one person (which, yeah, 100% was). if he’s gone, then what? what purpose would he have left? (all right that’s enough existentialism until the fic •<•)

- the “evil” thing is a persona bc he’s extra AF (think chuunibyou or megamind vibes) as well as an excuse to do whatever he damn well pleases

- it was actively uncomfortable for omega to be hiding in caboose for those three months and it was terrible for his mental health… which is why he took it out on caboose (explanations not excuses, omega is a fucking bastard for fucking up caboose’s brain). imagine repressing your feelings as much as possible for three months— except you’re an ai so that might as well be decades or centuries— and not being able to indulge in your favorite activities (violence, explosions, malicious cackling) because it would give you away. he definitely went stir crazy in there.

- omega liked doc’s company. they got on each other’s nerves and omega made excuses for why he stuck with him for so long, but they kept each other company. in a way, they needed each other. not gonna pretend it was healthy sunshine and rainbows, omega was still a parasite, but i like to think omega cared about doc to at least some small degree

- the low hanging fruit of abusee becomes abuser as a way of feeling in control, perpetuating the cycle of abuse yadda yadda

am i reading too much into this bastard? possibly, but it’s done out of love. he is a fantastic and entertaining antagonist and i love to speculate what makes him tick. i’ve got a lot written for the fic so far so i’m looking forward to finalizing and posting more chapters.

my fic will return. a lot of my for fun things are on hiatus right now because of my school project, but i’ll be back in may!

[sweetteaanddragons]

Innocence

Nolofinwe’s first thought was that Feanaro had sired another son and neglected to mention it.

A second thought dismissed this as ridiculous, given a moment’s comparison between the age of the child (halfway to adolescence) and the length of time Feanaro had previously been able to resist announcing that he had another child (half a breath).

His second thought was that Curufinwe had sired a child, but given that then he would have had to miss both a birth and a marriage announcement, he was inclined to doubt it.

“I did say Atar was unavailable for a reason,” Pityo said helpfully from behind him.

“No,” Nolofinwe said after another moment of stunned silence spent exchanging stares with a bright eyed and half sized Feanaro, “you said, and I quote, “Atar is unavailable for - reasons.” Forgive me for assuming you were just trying to get rid of me.”

Feanaro had hopped up to perch on the scarred wood of his much abused workbench, presumably so he could continue the staring contest from a more equitable position. “Why do we want to get rid of you?” he asked. “Who are you, anyway?”

Nolofinwe blinked.

He wasn’t quite sure which sentence had hit him harder. It was probably better not to think about it.

“He doesn’t know who I am either,” Pityo in a voice that was clearly trying to substitute manic cheer for sanity. “I think an experiment went wrong.”

“How do you know it went wrong?” Feanaro demanded. “Maybe I was trying to do this.”

Well, at least some things hadn’t changed. “But we are accepting the premise that this was an experiment.”

Pityo looked helplessly around Feanaro’s workroom, with its profusion of strange tools, unidentifiable substances, and suspicious jewelry, as if to ask, What else could it be?

“That’s what the - my notes say,” Feanaro said, and the stumble revealed the first hint of uncertainty in this whole mess. “I think.”

Nolofinwe snatched up the closest sheaf of papers.

It immediately became apparent why Feanaro had not been able to make that statement with any more certainty.

“He’s developed another system of writing,” he said blankly. It was not quite a question. “Wasn’t coming up with one enough?”

Feanaro brightened. “I made a new system of writing? What’s it like? Will you show me?”

“It’s not a whole new system,” Pityo said at the same time. “It’s just his code. I suppose . . . “ And he gestured helplessly again, this time at his miniaturized father.

“I recognize some of it,” Feanaro said defensively. “And I figured out some of the rest. I’m sure I’ll get it eventually.”

“He’s stuck like this until he can decode his own notes?”

Pityo shook his head. “Curufinwe should be able to decode it. Probably. He taught it to all of us, it’s just . . . been a while.”

“He said I have seven sons,” Feanaro said. He sounded enormously impressed by this information. “Are you one of them?”

It took a lifetime of controlling his expression in court not to choke.

“No,” Pityo said, sounding horrified.

Nolofinwe was not particularly eager to hear how one of Feanaro’s sons would explain him.

“I’m your brother,” he said. “Nolofinwe.”

He was not at all prepared for the way Feanaro glowed.

Or for the way Feanaro flung himself off the worktable and wrapped himself around Nolofinwe like the octopus Arafinwe had once shown him.

Before Nolofinwe could react, Feanaro had already clambered up, tiny limbs jabbing into Nolofinwe and awkwardly pulling at the jewels pinned to his court finery, until Feanaro had secured himself firmly on Nolofinwe’s back, pointy chin digging into his head.

“There,” Feanaro said triumphantly. “Now I’m taller than you again.”

“Again?” Nolofinwe asked, automatically adjusting his grip on Feanaro’s legs to keep him from falling. He was abruptly thankful that Pityo had managed to dig up some child sized clothes before he got here.

“You’re my little brother,” Feanaro said matter-of-factly. “I’m taller than you.”

Nolofinwe was, in fact, about a hands-width taller than Feanaro, a fact that he was privately and perhaps bit embarrassingly proud of.

He resisted the urge to share this fact with his currently younger half-brother.

This bit of maturity was helped by the fact that he was still processing the look on Feanaro’s face when he had found out who Nolofinwe was to him.

He took a deep breath. “Back to our most urgent concern,” he said. “If Curufinwe is the only one who can translate these notes, where is he?”

Pityo bit his lip. “Out with the others, probably. We were all helping Makalaure set up for his performance at the festival tonight. I just came back to grab something and found . . . “

“Me,” Feanaro said, small arms temporarily squeezing tighter in their grip.

“Right,” Nolofinwe said. He resisted the urge to rub between his eyes. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why you were trying to make yourself younger in the first place? I assume you intended to keep your memories while you did so, but that still doesn’t explain the rest of it.”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” For once, Feanaro’s voice wasn’t smug, just matter of fact. “I was probably trying to figure out how to make other things younger and just tested it out on myself.”

“But why? We already have the means to preserve items - “

“But not animals,” Feanaro said, one arm releasing him so he could wave it excitedly. “Or we don’t, at least, and I bet you don’t either. If I could make this work, then people could have horses or cats that they’d never have to lose.” His voice was passionate with excitement for a project that wasn’t even really his, and for all the distance and anger between them, Nolofinwe didn’t have to wonder even for a moment why.

“But did you have to try it on yourself first?” he asked instead even though, rationally speaking, it was a waste of time to direct the question to Feanaro just now.

“I don’t think he did,” Pityo said. “There’s a loaf of bread on the table that I’m pretty sure was stale this morning, and when I opened the door to come in here, a kitten ran out. This was just . . . the next logical step.”

Nolofinwe gave him a flat look. Pityo jerked his chin up stubbornly.

Feanaro tugged on the collar of his robes to regain his attention. “Aren’t you even a little impressed, Nolo? I turned back time!”

“Of course it’s impressive,” he said, automatically reassuring. It had the benefit of also being true. “It’s just also insane.”

Feanaro was apparently not bothered by the second part of this because he settled back down almost immediately, pointy chin once again burrowing into Nolofinwe’s shoulder.

Pityo looked about to protest, but apparently he didn’t want Feanaro’s pointy chin any closer to his own shoulders because he kept his objections to himself. “Look,” he said instead. “I’ll go get Curufinwe and bring him back here to start working on things. I would have gone earlier, but I couldn’t leave him alone.”

And the last thing they needed was for word of this to spread around Tirion, which went unsaid.

Technically, of course, he was one of the people such word would have been kept from; there were a half dozen plans that could be pushed forward in the court with infinitely more ease with the knowledge that Feanaro would not be interfering for the foreseeable future, and Pityo knew it.

But it was hard to think of that while Feanaro was clinging to him like Nolofinwe’s own children had been too old to do for ages. And if Pityo hadn’t trusted him not to turn the situation to his own advantage, he at least trusted him enough to look after Feanaro now that he knew.

That was something.

So he just nodded, and Pityo took off like a deer with the whole hunt of Orome behind it.

When the door swung shut behind him, Nolofinwe turned his head so that he could better see Feanaro and said, “You’re taking this very well.”

He’d waited in case Feanaro took that as he cue to start not taking things well; he didn’t think the situation would be in any way improved by Feanaro bursting into tears in front of his son.

But Feanaro just shrugged. “It’s an adventure!” he said with a blinding grin that faded a bit into thoughtfulness. “And I’ve seen my notes in here and . . . and some of Amil’s tapestries upstairs. It looks like a house I’d have.”

And of course there was no reason to be concerned, Nolofinwe supposed; Feanaro was safe, there was no reason to suppose he’d ever be anything other than totally safe. This was Aman, not long ago Cuivenien, but still.

He supposed the world had changed since Feanaro was a child after all because he still couldn’t quite suppress a thrill of vicious vicarious unease. Feanaro in his right mind would not want to be this vulnerable, especially not in front of the half-brother that he now seemed for inexplicable reasons to adore.

But Feanaro was now squirming down from his place on Nolofinwe’s back. He let him down quickly, and Feanaro circled around and reclaimed his perch on the workbench, face suddenly very serious.

“Those weren’t the only things I saw upstairs,” he said. “I saw the bedrooms too.”

“Oh?” Nolofinwe said, at a loss as to why this, of all things, would upset a child-sized Feanaro.

Feanaro’s shoulders were tense. “I saw my bedroom,” he clarified, and when this still provoked no answer, his chin jutted out. “Don’t play stupid with me,” he insisted. “I saw. It was my bedroom, just mine. Something happened to their mother, didn’t it?”

His voice shook over the word “something.”

It probably said something too that he said "their mother" and not "my wife," but given his current age, mothers were probably an infinitely more comfortable topic, even considering the history of his own.

Nolofinwe sat down beside him. “Nothing happened to Nerdanel,” he said gently. Feanaro perked up just a little at the extra information he had just inadvertently provided, so Nolofinwe gave him some more. “That’s her name. She has hair just as red as Pityo’s, and she’s a sculptor. Her workshop should still be here. Have you seen it?”

Feanaro shook his head.

“She’s the best in Aman,” Nolofinwe said, and it was no empty flattery. “She’s gone to visit her family, that’s all. Nothing bad.”

“She went to visit her family, and she took everything with her?” Feanaro said skeptically.

Nolofinwe had come here hoping to discuss a few details of the festival with his brother before he went to push his case for the new university's funding in court. He had prepared for that. He had not prepared how to discuss the difficulties in his brother’s marriage with a child who wasn’t familiar with any possible difficulties in marriage beyond death.

“You had a fight,” he admitted.

Feanaro considered this. “Did I win?”

“That depends on how you define winning,” Nolofinwe said dryly. “But regardless, she is very much still alive.”

This seemed to satisfy Feanaro. At the very least, he moved on. “So how much older than you am I?” he asked, and there was a strange look on his face now.

Nolofinwe didn’t really see how the answer could do any harm, but something about the look on Feanaro’s face made him wary. “You had already started your apprenticeship when I was born,” he said, leaving at least a little ambivalence in case he needed it later.

Feanaro’s shoulders slumped a fraction, but he recovered quickly, leaning forward eagerly. “But I started that young, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he admitted. “You’d finished it before you were of age.”

Feanaro nodded, calculations running behind his eyes. “And I bet she didn’t have you right away,” he said, fingers tapping quickly, like a count. “They would have waited.”

“That’s . . . true,” he said warily.

“So it won’t be much longer then,” Feanaro said cheerfully. “From my perspective, I mean, I know it’s already handled here.”

Cheerfully?

Feanaro had apparently noticed his confusion because he rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot,” he said with a deep scorn that was far more familiar than any other expression he’d worn that day. “I know where babies come from. Atar couldn’t have given me a brother on his own.”

“Two brothers,” he said blankly. “Arafinwe - “

Feanaro grinned. “Even better.” But the grin faltered quickly. “Did she - blame me? When she came back, and you turned out alright, did she think it was my fault?”

When she came back.

He had wondered, earlier, just how old Feanaro was.

Too young, apparently, to know of his father’s decision to remarry.

That explained . . . a lot.

Feanaro’s face had crumpled in the face of his silence.

“Of course not,” he said. “Of course not, she would never blame you.” He wrapped an arm around Feanaro and pulled him closer.

Feanaro’s shoulders shook. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, stubbornly not crying. “I’m not a baby.”

“She didn’t blame you,” he invented wildly. “She blamed Atar. But she forgave him, as Arafinwe obviously proves.”

It came out almost naturally. It would have been entirely naturally if it hadn’t belatedly occurred to him just how much trouble he would be in if Feanaro asked the obvious follow-up question and demanded to see her.

Thankfully, at that moment, the muffled sound of the door to the house banging open rang out, followed quickly by the door to the workshop slamming open in its turn.

Curufinwe ran through first, and Fenaaro’s jaw dropped at the older reflection of himself.

For his part, Curufinwe’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tears still trembling in his father’s eyes. Thunder clouds immediately began to form on his face.

Maitimo was a slightly calmer presence behind him, but his face was still flushed from moving too fast in formal robes in the summer heat. “Uncle,” he said, inclining his head. “We appreciate your assistance.”

Curufinwe opened his mouth. Maitimo very firmly snatched the relevant papers from the workbench and steered him to the other end of the workroom. Curufinwe went, though he kept sending rather understandable glances back toward his Atar.

Maitimo was gentler when he approached Feanaro, kneeling so that they were at eye level. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Maitimo. Did Pityo tell you who I am?”

“You’re the one with all the letters in your room,” Feanaro said, a little warily.

Maitimo’s mouth twitched up in amusement. “That’s right.”

Curufinwe was in sweat stained work clothes, but Maitimo’s were finer; he must have visited court before going to help Makalaure. Regardless, there were jewels glinting around his neck, and Feanaro, perhaps inevitably, was drawn toward them.

“Did I make those?” he asked eagerly, successfully distracted from his earlier distress, eyes tracing the chain of gold framed rubies that looked like sparks from a fire that wrapped from Maitimo’s shoulder to his waist.

Maitimo’s smile widened. “You did,” he said. “They were a gift for my first appointment of any real substance at court.”

Feanaro’s attention turned to Nolofinwe’s own court finery and the sapphires twisted into the silver circlet in his hair. “Did I make that?” he demanded.

Nolofinwe resisted the urge to wince. “You did not.”

That was no crime, of course; it was just that this piece in particular was very pointedly not made by Feanaro. It had, in fact, been made by a Vanyarin smith who had been trumpeted as their very best, and while the Vanyar were not generally known for their smiths, some had boasted that he could challenge even Feanaro’s skill.

Commissioning the piece had been a statement, a declaration that he was not ashamed of his Vanyarin heritage, that Feanaro’s supremacy was not unchallenged, that -

Well. A lot of things. Wearing it was also always a very deliberate jab, and it was one he had been wholeheartedly in favor of this morning.

But he couldn’t tell that to the painfully earnest Feanaro of right now.

“You’ve made me others, though,” he said, which was actually true.

There was the delicate silver bracelet that had likely been a long forgotten statement of some kind that Feanaro had gifted him upon his birth. He still had it tucked into a corner of his jewel box despite the fact it was now far too small to be of any possible use. There was the necklace Feanaro had presented to him when he was still very small, and Nolofinwe had been dragged out to Tol Eressea for the first time. He had been terrified of the shadows there and of the sky so dark that stars could peek through, and Feanaro had presented him with a chain of jewels that glowed when his tiny hands squeezed them. There had been a more formal piece too, a diadem, when he reached adolescence and was formally presented to the court. Feanaro had given it to him shortly after he confessed in a tense whisper to his nerves.

There had been a handful of more minor trinkets too, but those had trailed off after that last diadem. Feanaro had been . . . distant, frequently, in his youth, but that had often been a matter of physical distance as much as anything else, and the vast gulf in their ages. When that distance had been crossed, he had been - kind, in that fierce way of his, especially when Nolofinwe had felt weak and most in need of him.

It was when Nolofinwe had proven himself strong that the tension between them had truly arisen as a force in its own right instead of merely an echo of their parents’ lives. Childish fears of the dark had melted, and a gift for persuasion and rhetoric had sent him on a meteoric rise in courtly influence in their place.

It had not meant the end of gifts, exactly; Feanaro had as much desire to appease their father as Nolofinwe did, and so the gifts had continued at all appropriate occasions. It was just that they were never from Feanaro’s own hand anymore, and with only a few small exceptions, he strongly suspected them to have been selections of first Nerdanel and then Maitimo.

But there had been one exception, even to that. It had, ironically enough, been presented to Nolofinwe shortly after he had first worn the set he was currently draped in.

Unlike every other piece Feanaro had ever given him, the chains had been gold. Most of the jewels had been blue, glowing with a faint light, like the light of the Mingling reflected on the ocean, but the centerpiece, the largest jewel, had been like blood spreading on the water.

A violent image, but still beautiful.

It had been a statement, just like Nolofinwe’s own commission, only he had never been entirely certain of the extent of the statement involved. That it had been a defense of Feanaro’s superior craftsmanship was certain, and also a point it was difficult not to concede. The piece looked like a song given form, and it was difficult to tear his eyes away from it when it was in sight.

The rest of it, though - and there surely must be a rest of it - was less certain, and so for the most part, Nolofinwe left it quietly in its box.

Just this once, though, it surely couldn’t do much harm.

“If you’re still like this tomorrow, I’ll wear it then,” he promised.

Feanaro’s dark mood vanished for a moment before being replaced by new urgency. “We can’t wait that long! I have to be older again by tonight.”

Tension immediately reentered the room.

“Oh?” Maitimo asked with forced calm. “Did you see something concerning in your notes?”

Feanaro shook hs head. “No, but Pityo said Makalaure’s concert was tonight, and he said I couldn’t leave the house until I was back to normal, so I have to be back to normal by tonight, I have to.”

Maitimo smiled as the tensions slowly drained out again. “I’m sure he’ll understand, just this once.”

But Feanaro shook his head fiercely. “Atar always comes when he says he will,” he said firmly. “I have to do the same thing.”

“You can help me decode these if you want,” Curufinwe offered. “It would go faster.”

Feanaro hesitated a moment, but an encouraging smile from Nolofinwe sent off him quickly.

Nolofinwe looked after him for a long moment before turning back to Maitimo. “I hate to do this to you,” he said in a low voice, “but I do have other matters to attend to before the festival begins. If there’s nothing else I can do . . . ?”

“Of course,” Maitimo said. “Let me show you out.”

“Good,” he said, rising. “There’s a few things you should probably know . . . “

He explained his lies with a hint of guilt as Maitimo showed him to the door, but if Feanaro's eldest resented them, he said nothing of it.

He should at least say goodbye. He knew he should. He would be late to see Atar if he did, but Atar would never hold it against him, especially if he explained the cause.

He just - couldn't.

. . .

He hadn’t wanted to leave, exactly, but with both Feanaro and his sons pouring over the notes, Nolofinwe had little doubt the issue would be resolved quickly.

He simply preferred not to be standing right there when it was.

He had no idea whether or not Feanaro would remember what had happened. He wasn’t sure which alternative would be worse.

Either way, he would return to find things largely unchanged by his absence. He had resisted the urge to tell the king what had happened. They would have to if things persisted, of course, but he truly did not think they would, and in the meantime - it felt like a betrayal, as absurd as that was, to reveal Feanaro's joy at what could have been to anyone else.

Perhaps that was why as he dressed for the concert, he couldn’t quite help his hand lingering over a certain box.

It wasn’t quite what he had promised, but it was probably the best he could do.

And it was, after all, almost certainly the finest he owned. It was a shame to let a few complications keep it hiding in the dark.

. . .

(The concert is out in the open, great flocks of elves streaming through the festival streets to gather around the stage. Nolofinwe walks with his wife on his arm, waiting for the first golden note.)

(It is struck just as the Mingling starts. The light shimmers as it dances off the jewels on Nolofinwe’s chest.)

(For just a moment, through the crowd, he spots Feanaro, once more only a hand’s width shorter than Nolofinwe’s own height.)

(Feanaro does not approach him.)

(But his gaze catches on the dazzling jewels, and just for a moment, his half-brother smiles.)

[chocoluckchipz]

Not a Spying, Not a Fake Date

The day Marinette met Adrien Agreste—the hottest supermodel alive, an only son of fashion icon Gabriel Agreste, and her long-time, embarrassing celebrity crush—was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Instead, not only did she present herself as a total klutz, but his friend Nino had stolen Alya only two weeks later.

On a Saturday afternoon, no less!

Don’t get her wrong. Marinette was happy that Alya finally was interested in a guy more than the latest scoop. And she absolutely didn't mind skipping one of their weekly get-togethers in favour of her BFF going on a coffee date with their new classmate. Marinette wouldn’t be bored. She could work on one of her projects or play video games… if the day wouldn't be so perfectly gorgeous and sunny. Wasting it inside would’ve been a crime. A walk around a local farmer’s market, on the other hand, sounded just about right. And if said market happened to be across the street from where her friend was meeting Nino, that was a pure coincidence.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Marinette was absolutely not spying on anyone, and if she glanced the couples’ way once or twice, it was only to appease her morbid curiosity. No harm done. She wasn’t interfering. She couldn’t even hear what the two of them were talking about. Surely not about Adrien. Or her. Or her and Adrien. Nope. No way. Impossible. She wasn’t curious at all.

“You know you aren’t very subtle?”

Marinette froze, her blood running cold. She knew that voice. It was ingrained in her memory by now. But there was no way Adrien Agreste was standing right behind her, whispering in her ear. It must be nothing but a product of her imagination. Yes! A hallucination of a post-pubescent girl with a crush of irrational proportions.

Still, she spun around just to check if it was time to make an appointment with a therapi—  

Her jaw hit the floor, eyes widening. The man in front of her sounded like Adrien, yet he barely looked the part. Most of his hair was hidden under a beanie, a pair of glasses framed his face. Baggy, black clothes covered his body. His chiselled jaw sported a light stubble, and a hippy backpack was slung over his shoulders. Not a shred of his classy self left, replaced by a sexy, casual chic version of the man.

“Adrien?”

He winked. “Looking beautiful as always, Princess.”

Her cheeks flamed despite her knowing better. He’d given her that nickname only because she was a clumsy mess, not because he was trying to flirt. Princess, aka "damsel in distress", someone in need of being saved. In her case, frequently being caught before she hit the ground as she kept tripping around him. Stupid Agreste and his stupidly handsome face.

A movement in the cafe caught her eye, and Marinette nervously grinned. Adrien was Nino’s best friend. There was no way he wouldn't know where Nino was taking Alya for their first date, which meant Marinette better be very careful in her words and actions, or else she wouldn’t be the damsel for much longer. The title of a “Creepy Stalker” didn't sound the bit least appealing to her.

“You look nice too,” she said, looking her best innocent self. “Different. I barely recognized you. I like the glasses. And stubble. Stubble is nice. Little of it. Not too much. Too much would look shabby. But yours looks good. Perfect. Not shabby at all.”

He chuckled, a corner of his lips curling into a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. It was one. A compliment.”

“Why, thank you.”

Another couple left the cafe, catching both of their attention. Marinette quickly shifted her gaze to the apples at the stall she was standing by. As long as she acted natural, Adrien wouldn't suspect a thing.

“So, what are you doing here today?”

She inwardly groaned and stashed a few apples in a paper bag. “Apples. I’m here for the apples.”

“What a coincidence.” Adrien picked one of the red ones and twirled it in his hand. “I’m here for the apples too. By the way… Nino just asked for the bill, so if you were planning to do more shopping in other places, I’d say that’s our cue to pay for these and get ready to leave.”

Marinette glared his way, her whole face burning up. That cocky smile, that glint in his eyes. Of course, he’d catch her. But she wouldn’t give up so easily or she wasn’t Marinette Dupain-Cheng: her papa’s pumpkin, her mother’s sweetheart, the future of Paris’ fashion! “I’m not spying on anyone if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wouldn't dare to accuse you of such a thing.” He grinned, putting the apple back. “But… may I suggest a few tweaks to your disguise? You know, in case you’re still up for some non-spying activities today.”

“I don’t need any tweaks. I’ve been here for an hour, and they haven’t noticed me. I could tail them all day if I wanted to, and they would not notice me.”

She froze, the last of her hopes to escape this unscathed vanishing right before her eyes. Curse this man! It was his fault her brain was shutting down around him.

The corner of Adrien’s lips curled in a smile as he leaned closer. “You might be well hidden amongst the rainbow of produce here, but, believe me, as soon as you step outside, that bright red hoodie of yours will give you away instantly.”

“In your dreams,” Marinette huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “This hoodie is the only thing in my closet Alya hasn't seen yet. My sunglasses cover half of my face, and I let my hair down instead of my usual ponytails. They would never recognize me.”

“Well, I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s because you came close. They are at a distance.”

“Nino will notice someone trailing them in a bright red hoodie. Believe me, that man lets no detail escape him. But give me five minutes, and your own parents won’t recognize you even up close.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “What for? The date is over.”

“Far from it. Nino planned coffee, a walk around the city, and a movie. He bought the tickets this morning.”

Adrien seemed to be confident in what he was saying, but Marinette couldn’t trust someone she’d recently met over her best friend, even if she was in love with him. “I don’t believe you.”

“There is only one way to find out if I’m lying.” He stretched his hand towards her. “Shall we?”

Shall they what? Why was he even here? She had to get out of the house for physical rest and mental health. What was his excuse?

“And what are you doing here, M Agreste?”

“I told you already.” The corners of his lips curled up in a sly grin. “Apples.”

“Right. And you went all out on a disguise for that?”

“Precisely.” He grinned wider. “I also knew Nino was having a date nearby, and being the great friend I am, I didn’t want them to see me and think I’m spying on them.”

She wanted to smack that shit-eating grin off his face. But Nino and Alya were exiting the cafe, and Adrien tilted his head to the side, his hand still outstretched toward her. “So? Want to not spy on them some more, or do you have other plans for the day?”

No, she didn’t, and perhaps she should be smarter, but something inside her was melting by the second, Adrien’s smile slowly massacring any scraps of reason she still had. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny every word.”

“No one shall ever know.” He grinned. “Now, may I suggest a few tweaks to your disguise? To minimize our chances of being discovered.”

“Fine, but be quick. They are walking away.”

Adrien nodded and pointed to her hoodie. “Take this off.”

There was no time for questions, so she silently obeyed. The moment Marinette removed the garment, Adrien was already pulling his black sweater over her head.

“Wait! What are you—“

“Black is less conspicuous.”

“But what about you? It’s chilly, and your shirt doesn’t look very warm.”

“I’ll be fine. I wore that sweater for fashion, not because I was cold.” Stuffing her hoodie in his backpack, he looked her over once more. His face suddenly brightened. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out to the street in the direction of the nearest convenience store.

“We don’t have time for this,” Marinette protested as they neared the door of said establishment. “We’ve already lost them.”

“No, we didn't. We might not see them, but I know where they are.”

“I know that, too,” she grumbled. “In Paris. Where else? Europe, Eurasia. Planet Earth, Solar system. Hard to miss if you fly toward the Sun. ”

Adrien laughed. Long and heartfelt, the sound of his laughter brightened the space around them. There was still a glint of joy in his eye and a hint of mischief in his voice when he recomposed himself. “Nino spent hours planning their route yesterday, and yours truly was helping him. I know where they are headed. We’ll catch up.”

Hesitantly relenting, she followed him in the store, and once inside, Adrien disappeared somewhere between the rows. When he walked out, he was carrying a hairbrush, a couple of pins and hair ties, a small mirror, a plastic tablecloth, and a can of temporary hair dye. Quickly paid for, Adrien pulled her into the nearby alley. "Do you trust me enough for a blind makeover?"

A loaded question. She hardly knew anything about the man behind the carefully crafted image of his public persona. But Marinette loved surprises, and it wasn’t like Adrien even had anything that could potentially cause serious damage to her appearance in his hands.

“You aren’t going to cut my hair, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dare to even think about it.”

“Strangle me with that tablecloth?”

“It’s to protect your clothes from the dye. And before you freak out, it’s a temporary one. It’ll wash out with the first shower.”

At least it was pink—her favourite colour. "Don't make me regret this, Agreste."

“I promise, you won’t.”

She sent a glare his way. “If I do, you’re dead.”

Adrien laughed and slightly bowed. “Your trust means the world to me, Princess. Now, if you’ll allow me, I shall start.”

Marinette nodded, removing the sunglasses from her face. Adrien quickly draped the plastic tablecloth around her shoulders. The moment his hands ran through her hair, her brain short-circuited. It felt like heaven. Pleasant tingles cascaded down her skin at every touch as he brushed, tied, and clipped for what felt like an eternity yet was way too short of a period before he whispered in her ear, “Close your eyes and hold your breath for me for a moment.”

That would not be a problem; Marinette wasn’t sure she was breathing for the last few minutes anyway. He was too close. She could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath, and that was doing things to her she’d rather not experience in a random alley off a busy street in the middle of Paris.

Oblivious to her internal turmoil, Adrien sprayed her hair with the temporary hair dye and proudly pronounced his job finished. The plastic tablecloth off her shoulders, he pushed a small mirror in her hands. “You can open your eyes and look now.”

Her speech was gone the moment her eyes caught her reflection. Most of her bangs were pinned back in the middle, only some of the hair framing her face on either side. The rest was gathered in two cute, messy buns on top of her head that had pink highlights all over them, something the tips of her bangs sported as well. It was a look she’d never thought of doing herself, yet somehow found herself loving more with each passing moment.

“Not bad,” she said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Are you secretly a stylist by any chance?”

Adrien chuckled, putting her sunglasses back on her nose. “Nope. But I did grow up in a fashion tycoon’s house watching makeup artists transform people to an unrecognizable degree with simple tricks.”

“Well, you have a talent, M Agreste. I really like this.”

"Why, thank you." Adrien grinned. "I do like the outcome, too. You were always cute, but now you're straight-up adorable. Like a little mouse. An extremely lovely little mouse. ”

Marinette looked away, taking a step towards a street. He wasn’t flirting. He was just complimenting his own work. He wasn’t flirting. “As long as Alya doesn’t recognize me.”

“She won’t.” Adrien followed her. “Hey! Maybe we should hold hands and pretend to be on a date? They’ll never figure us out if we do that.”

Her eyes widened as he offered her his hand. “Are you… are you asking me on a fake date?”

“Do you want me to ask you on a fake date?”

“I’ve never liked anything fake,” she huffed. “Says a lot about one’s character.”

Adrien chuckled. “Then it’s good that all I’m asking is to hold hands. For a better disguise, of course. Not faking. Real hand-holding.”

An earnest smile on his lips, he stepped closer, silently waiting for her reply.

Marinette swallowed, her eyes falling to his outstretched hand, one that looked more and more appealing to hold by the second. How would it feel to have her palm in his? If she chickened out now, she might not get another chance to find out. “Only for the purpose of a disguise.”

"Only for that," Adrien assured, entwining their fingers together, his gaze on her soft and gentle. "Allow me to be your guide on this non-spying, not-a-fake-date mission, Princess."

His words fell on deaf ears as Marinette struggled to keep her composure. Big, strong, and very warm. Somehow safe and secure. Like a lover’s embrace. Holding Adrien’s hand was everything Marinette didn’t know she needed up until now.

He must have noticed something was amiss, cracking a dumb joke to break the awkwardness as they started their walk. Marinette tried her best not to laugh, but Adrien kept going, each joke worse than the preceding one. Ten minutes in, and she couldn't believe she ever had a crush on this… man-child. Adrien was the dorkiest dork she'd ever met. A dork who asked too many questions. So many it felt like he wanted to know everything there was to Marinette. She didn't mind. There were quite a few things she wanted to know about Adrien, as well, and what better way to ask if not as a retaliation to his inquiries?

About an hour later, they spotted Nino and Alya on a promenade by the Seine, walking hand in hand just like them. Her friend beamed, laughing so hard, Marinette could swear there were tears in Alya’s eyes. Nino looked no less happy, grinning at Alya with a satisfied look on his face. A smile found its way onto Marinette’s face. Adrien watched them mesmerized, slightly tightening his grip on her hand.

“Everything looks good,” he said, turning to her. “Their next stop should be a music shop a few blocks away, and there are a few cafes just across the street. Want to get a headstart and have an early lunch?”

Marinette nodded. She could use a drink or two right now. A nice large glass of the cold water because Adrien seemed to take their… whatever-this-was way too seriously, being all attentive and gentlemanly and extra charming, and if not for his assurance they were not on a date, Marinette would’ve surely thought otherwise. Just as she suspected, her silly crush on this man seemed to slowly be turning into something more than a simple attraction. Something different. Something deeper and more profound.

“Awesome!” Adrien grinned, turning back to the town. “I’ll buy us movie tickets once we’re there. Where do you want to sit? I prefer the middle, but I’m pretty sure Nino got the middle row seats, so that’s a bit risky. Shall we try for the back row?”

A pinch of guilt nagged at Marinette. Another glance at their friends in the distance and she stopped, slowly pulling her hand from Adrien’s grasp, mourning the loss with every inch lost. “Perhaps, we should stop here.”

He halted his steps, looking down. Seemed like she wasn't the only one feeling guilty about this. “You’re right. This wasn't a good idea.”

“They deserve more than two stalkers for friends.”

“They do. I was just too curious. This is the first time Nino’s been so crazy about someone.”

“So you decided to secretly third wheel them?”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “You don’t get to judge me. We’re in the same boat in this. Apples and all.”

Marinette couldn't hold back a snicker.

Adrien interlocked his fingers behind his head, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I was really looking forward to that movie, though.”  

“You’ll live.”

“Will I?”

“Absolutely, you big baby. Just go watch it by yourself if you want it so much.”

“But that’s not fun.”

“Better than stalking your friend on his date.”

“Then perhaps I should get my own. A date, I mean. For the movies.”

Marinette fell silent, her chest tightening. A guy like Adrien could have any girl he wished. And while she didn't think herself to be worse than anyone else, what were the chances he’d want her when girls like Kagami Tsurugi openly confessed their love to him?

“I guess you could,” she said, pulling out her cellphone to get an Uber.

“Then will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Go to the movies with me? Lunch and movies. A date. A real one. Nothing fake about it.” He was looking straight at her, a trembling smile on his lips, a soft glint in his eyes.

She blinked once. Twice. Her ears must be deceiving her. “Me?”

He nodded. “You.”

“But… Why?”

“Because I like you.” He stepped closer. “Because ever since you fell into my arms that first day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Excuse me, but I did not fall into your arms!” Marinette huffed. Amazing or not, she wouldn't allow him to trample her reputation like that. “I just tripped, and you happened to stand in the trajectory of my fall. Or rather, you moved into it because, if my memory isn’t failing me—and my memory never fails me—you almost ran across the room to catch me.”

Adrien laughed. “Guilty as charged, but can you blame me? You’re amazing, Marinette. You’re smart and brave and confident and so very beautiful. A guy like me could only dream of being worthy of your attention.”

“You kidding me, right? A guy like you can have any girl he wants.”

“But there is only one I need,” he purred, leaning closer. “Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I’d be the happiest man alive if she’d give me a chance. I’m prepared to beg on my knees if that’s what it’ll take.”

Somehow, her hand was in his. He brought it to his lips and laid a lingering kiss on her knuckles. How could she say no to those eyes and that confident smoulder with a hint of childish worry behind it? The way she felt about him, she wouldn't want to say no even if her life depended on it. Marinette kept her eyes on Adrien's when she shifted her hand in his grasp, entwining their fingers together. "Only if we go to a different movie theatre. I don't want to run into Alya and have to explain things."

“Sounds good to me.”

“And we’re getting soulmate ice cream at Andre’s before that. I want to check if we’re meant to be before I commit to anything.”

Adrien laughed, pulling Marinette into a hug. “I’m pretty sure I won’t even have to bribe the man to get the result I want.”

“You’re way too confident, M Agreste, you know that, right?”

“Only when it really matters.”

“And is this one of those situations?”

His gaze soft and loving, Adrien leaned down, his lips gently brushing against the flustered skin of her cheek. “You’re at the top of my ‘Really Matters’ list, Mlle Dupain-Cheng.”

Another kiss to her nose, he lingered for a moment before whispering, “May I kiss you the way I know you want me to kiss you now? Or shall I wait until the end of our date?”

There was only one answer Marinette could give him. “Right now would be perfect.”

***

This is a reworked chapter from my upcoming "Dreams of You" story. If you're planning on reading it, don't be surprised to see part of this as one of the chapters. Hope you'll enjoy both of them!

[fatandnerdy30]

Some Irondad g/t fluff? Pretty please 🥺

Okay....you twisted my arm. This is part one, so if you want to get updates, message me your username and I'll make sure to mention you in the future updates!

After the whole Germany fiasco, the only way for the Avengers to be safe in the world, they had to agree to be put on house arrest, only coming out when the world needed them and no other time.

A lot of the time, the team would hang out in the compound, or just spend the day in the training room, trying to keep busy. But, it was never enough. Every day they would watch the news and see all the evil in the world and want to be out in it, protecting people. No one more than Spider-Man, who was outcast to his apartment in Queens.

And as a hyper-active teenager, he was going crazy! He was banned from watching TV or working on any of his machines or projects. All he was allowed to do was go to school and come home under the watch of government officials. He was so bored!

He wasn't even allowed to call Happy, which he would gladly do if it meant he got to talk to someone! Sure he got to talk to Ned in school and text him when he was bored, but he missed his friend. So that night, he had had enough!

He got his old Spider-Man costume down from the attic space in his room and put it on. The little ankle chain was no problem. Since he wasn't able to eat as much as he needed to due to funding problems, he had lost enough weight to be able to slip it off his body no problem.

Leaving the tracker on his bed, he checked the street. There were three people watching his apartment....but, his room was in a dark spot, which made it so much easier when he had to leave in a hurry, which this was one of those cases.

So, turning off his light, he opened his window as quietly as he could, the teen slipped out into the darkness, his spidey-sense not even twinging. Peter smiled as he crawled across the roof, then let loose a web and jumped off his apartment building, feeling free for the first time in weeks.

While on the way to his best friend's place, he stopped a few muggings, not leaving any evidence he was there and getting a free twelve inch sub out of the deal, which he had devoured in seconds.

Ned's light was off and when Peter checked, his friend was sound asleep, clutching a Yoda plushie, drool covering the poor toy. He didn't want to wake his friend, so he left quickly, webbing his way towards a tall building, sitting on the edge. This was the best he'd felt in like, forever, but he still missed talking with the Avengers. He especially missed Mr. Stark.

Part of his punishment, even though he didn't do anything major, was he was not allowed to even speak to Mr. Stark or any of the Avengers, which Peter hated. He turned and saw the dark Stark Tower and felt tears come to his eyes, burning them.

"You know what? I didn't even do anything during Germany! True, I broke a couple of windows and even though I didn't exactly break the jet walkway, it had fallen on top of me during his fight with Captain America.....so, in a way it was I guess it was my fault. But, I didn't do any major damage! So it wasn't fair that I'm locked up along with the Avengers!"

He sighed and laid back, wishing he could see the stars, but Queens was too bright. You know what, even if he was caught, he was a kid. He could use that to his advantage! And he missed the Avengers, even if he had never officially met them out of his mask. So, he was going to go see them.

It was the holidays, and he had sent the presents to the compound. So, that's what he was going to do. He was going to go to the compound. But, how would he get there? It was basically in the middle of nowhere....that was a conundrum. He went to take out his phone, but he remembered he'd left it home just in case someone tracked it. He began walking along the edge of the building, swinging a leg every now and then over the edge until he got an idea.

Buses were always going everywhere in America, so he had to just find a bus that was going to LA and catch a ride on top! With excitement, he flung his webbing until he sat on top of Madison Square Garden, scaling down the dark side of the building until he got to a point where he could see the terminal and focused on the board. There was a bus leaving for Los Angeles right now!

Smiling, Peter quickly located it and shot a web, pulling himself towards the moving vehicle, landing on top of it as quietly as he could. Now, the trick was to stay warm during the ride. Peter was shivering as the bus pulled into the terminal.

Six long days, riding on the outside of a bus, during December was not a good idea. He should have thought it through, but he was determined to see Mr. Stark. So tired and very hungry, Peter shot a web and the boy took off towards the compound, feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long time. The lights were off in the building, which was perfect for Spider-Man.

Quietly he landed against one of the windows, pressing against it to see if it opened, which it did. Slowly Peter began crawling up to the ceiling when a noise caught his attention and he snapped his head up, looking down to the ground. Peter couldn't keep his eyes off Dr. Banner, who stared back at him in shock. "And who are you?" the man finally asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, um....I'm Spider-Man...." the boy stuttered. This was the actual Bruce Banner he was talking to! The man who had been his scientific idol since he discovered a beaker! "Th-this isn't what it looks like....I-I mean I know I kind of came in like a thief, but, I can explain that and.....crap."

"I should get Tony," Bruce started, but the boy's eyes widened and he ripped his mask off, brown eyes wide.

"Please don't tell Mr. Stark! He'll kill me if he finds out I'm here!" He dropped in front of the doctor, grabbing the man's white coat.

"Whoa!" Bruce cried, backing up a step. "Okay, okay, I won't tell him. Just, take a breath and try to explain, okay?"

The boy nodded and took a deep breath. "I-I'm Spider-Man, as i said...and I just missed Mr. Stark so much, I'm not allowed to call him, even though I didn't even do anything in Germany, I'm locked up with my Aunt and I just needed to get out, and I thought I would visit with Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers.....and I'm just realizing how bad of a plan this was. Am-am I in trouble?"

Bruce sighed. "I can't answer that, kid. I'm not Tony, but I will say he'll be shocked when he finds out, which he will."

Peter's face went white and he shook his head. "No, I have to leave. I'm sorry I came here, Dr. Banner. I gotta go!" He turned and suddenly his stomach rumbled loudly, making the boy blush.

"Wait," the man said as soon as the boy let a web loose from his wrist. "It's obvious you're starving and I can't let you leave like this. So have something to eat and stay the night. You can leave in the morning, OK? I would hate for a kid to go hungry and I could have prevented it."

Peter paused and nodded. "Y-yeah, yeah, you're right. Thanks Dr. Banner." He shook the web from his wrist and walked over to the table where the man had been standing....in the dark. He looked down and gasped. "Whoa! Isn't that the size-changey guy's?" He leaned in closer. It was in some kind of magnetic force field, pinned to the table by pins and clips.

"Yeah. Tony brought it back after Germany, and with being stuck here with nothing to do, I decided to study it. I know it's used to make things grow larger, but how it's done, I have no clue." Banner took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I'm gonna go get you something to eat. You stay here, kid, unless you want Tony to find you and punish you." The boy's body shook at that and Bruce smiled. "I'll bring you back a hot cocoa, then I think it's time you got some sleep." Peter nodded, trying to hold back a yawn, failing spectacularly. "Do no touch anything, okay? I'll be right back."

Peter stood in the middle of the lab, swinging his hands back and forth, just looking around when a flash got his attention and he turned to see something tiny moving around on Dr. Banner's table. "What is that?" he wondered out loud, then his eyes widened. It was the size-changey guy! "Hey!" he yelled, and pointed his wrists toward the little guy.

"Being here is a big no-no, especially for you, little....big guy..." He shot a web at the small man, but he dodged it, continuing to run across the table. "Whoa, you're fast! Try this!" He shot multiple webs, but the little guy dodged all of them like he knew where they were going to be. "Oh man, you're awesome! But, like I said, you're not allowed in here!" He ran towards the table, webbing a beaker on his way, about to drop it on top of the little man, when suddenly he grew to a full size man, who stood there, staring at him.

"You're Spider-Man!" he cried. "You're just a kid! I could have killed you!"

"Hey, I'm fifteen!" Peter defended. "I'm not a kid anymore! Now get out!" The man moved to the thing he'd come after, not wanting to hear Hank's lecture about his inventions landing in the wrong hands and all that.

"I will, but not without this," Scott said, grabbing the disc from the table, wincing when he passed through the magnetic field that protected it, and feeling a tingle through his whole body. He saw the boy move and he brought his thumb to his activator, when suddenly the kid jumped and landed on his back the instant he pressed the button.

Something went wrong, because suddenly, he was getting smaller, but also the weight on his back wasn't getting heavier. In fact, it stayed the same....Scott looked back and was met with the face of a scared boy, brown eyes wide as they were pulled to the ground. He let go of the button, stopping his shrink much larger than he was used to. He had to be five inches now. "Wh-what did you do!?" Peter cried.

"Don't blame me!" Scott yelled. "You're the one who jumped on me!"

At that, Peter scrambled off the man's back, staring at his arms, then lifting his head to stare at everything else. "No, no this is not cool! Change me back!" Suddenly the ground started trembling and Scott shot the kid a sad look.

"Sorry, kid, but I gotta go." He clicked his generator and grew, running towards the window just as Bruce came in, shock showing in his face as Scott ran to the open window, jumping through it, clicking his alternator as soon as he made it out, landing on his waiting mount, taking off with a sad look back at the building. He hoped the kid would be all right.

Peter was freaking out. He couldn't believe this....he'd been shrunk! He was just trying to protect Dr. Banner's lab from the Scuba suit guy, and he shrunk him! In full panic mode, Peter's hands fisted in his hair as he turned in circles, looking up with wide eyes. "No, nonononononono," he moaned.

Suddenly, a black shoe landed next to him, and Peter screamed, his senses going wild. He ran from the shoe, only to have another land on the other side of him. "Peter?" he heard Dr. Banner call his name, his voice holding a worried tone as his head swiveled, looking around. "Peter, where are you?" The volume of his voice hurt Peter's too sensitive ears and he covered them with a wince, eyes looking at everything his senses were calling a threat, which at the moment was everything.

"Doctor Banner!" Peter yelled, waving his arms. "Doctor Banner! Down here! Please, look at the floor!" The boy started jumping up and down, but the doctor never looked at him, instead, he kept looking around at all of the webbing on everything. That's when it came to Peter. He had powers. "I feel like an idiot," he grumbled, feeling his face heat up.

He was about to start running when Doctor Banner took a step, his shoe sailing over Peter's head, the ground shaking when it landed and he walked over to the table. Peter took that chance to run over to the lab table, not wanting to waste any webbing just in case, and latched on to the table leg, crawling up as fast as he could, slipping a few times from the slickness of the metal table. Finally after ten minutes of climbing, he made it to the top, panting and clinging to the metal top.

"Oh man that was scary," he said. It reminded him of the trip he took to Washington. Resting a minute, he got up and saw Dr. Banner making a face while he tried to pull the webbing off of his stuff. "This is disgusting," Bruce muttered. "Doctor Banner!" Peter cried, running over to where the blue disc had been, slipping on the metal a few times in his rush.

"Hey! Down here! Please look at the table!"

Bruce's ears picked up a voice calling him and turned, but it told him to look at the table...slowly he looked down and when he spotted the tiny human shaped thing calling his name, his eyes widened to a comical size. "Ahh!!"

Peter covered his ears at the man's scream and shrunk back from the giant man, looking up with a wince. "Not so loud," he cried, shaking his head. "It hurts my ears." Peter walked over to the doctor, stepping around the fingers that were the size of him now.

"What happened?" Bruce asked, keeping his voice lower.

"I-I don't know! I did what you asked, when suddenly, I saw the giant guy from Germany come in here. I tried to protect your lab-sorry about the webs- from him. I tried to stop him, but he took the blue disc, and I jumped on his back, when suddenly a shock went through me and when he shrunk, so did I! And then, he left me like this!" Peter raised his hands, letting them fall to his sides, tears burning his eyes. "Y-you're a doctor, right? Can you fix me? Please tell me you can..I don't want to stay like this!"

"Calm down, kid....take a deep breath, you'll be fine. It may take a while, but I will find a way to fix you. But, for now, I think we should let Tony know."

At that Peter's eyes went wide and he started shaking his head so fast he got dizzy. "No! Please don't tell Mr. Stark! He'll find out I snuck out and probably punish me by sticking me in a box for the entire time I have to be here!"

Bruce chuckled. "Don't over-exaggerate. Tony's an understanding guy, so I'm sure if you pour on the cute act and tell him you missed him so much you had to sneak out to see him, he might forgive you." Banner started to reach for the boy. "Now, let's go explain things to Tony."

Peter watched the giant hand come at him and screamed, his body reacting before his mind could. He grabbed the overly large fingers as soon as they tried wrapping around his body and he heard the doctor let out a yell, and Peter opened his eyes just in time to see the man go flying over the counter, landing on his back with a loud wheeze.

"Holy shit!" the boy cried, running to the edge of the table. "Doctor Banner, a-are you alright?! I'm so sorry, I don't even know what happened!" Bruce stared up at the tiny face staring down at him, trying to get air back in his lungs.

"It's okay," he puffed and rolled to his front, shaking his head. "Just, tell me, what was that?" Peter took a step back when the man grabbed the table by him, shaking it.

"I-I just felt I was in danger, and my senses have been going haywire since this happened, and I reacted....I did whatever I do to things that are a threat to me...I threw it."

Banner smiled at the kid, seeing his tiny face go red. "Well, now we know not to grab you. Just know, I won't hurt you."

"I know, but right now, everything feels like a threat! Everything is so big, Doctor Banner.." Peter sniffled and wiped his nose on his suit. "I-I'm scared.."

The man sent a sympathetic look to the boy. "I know, but we'll get this taken care of. I promise, okay? Now, let's try this again." Bruce got to his feet and slowly lowered his hand to the table, flattening it out. "Take your time."

Peter just stared at the large palm before him. He was shaking, but that was thanks to his senses. He knew Doctor Banner would never hurt him, in his current form, anyway. He heard too many stories about how gentle the man was when he wasn't angry, and from those stories alone, Peter trusted him.

So, he took a step, then another, until he was stepping into the man's hand. It felt squishy yet firm under his feet. "Whoa! I can fell your heartbeat!" he called up to the doctor, missing the smile he got. "And your muscles keep twitching everywhere I step." He wanted to try something. He took a leap and landed on the other side of the doctor's hand, falling on his face when the muscle he landed on jumped and tripped him.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked, feeling the odd sensation of the boy on his hand.

"Yeah...sorry about that, just an experiment." Peter settled on the man's hand, sitting facing the now giant doctor. "Do..do we have to tell Mr. Stark tonight?" he asked nervously.

"I think that would be best, kid....If he finds out in the morning, he'll be even angrier knowing you've been here all night. Speaking of, why hasn't Friday spoken?"

Peter brought a hand to his neck. "That's my fault....I asked her, if I ever came again, not to tell anyone..."

The doctor shook his head. "Tony's not going to like that."

"What won't I like?"

[ka-writes]

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Notes: READ WARNINGS!!

Please I really want you to be safe.. anyways, this is mainly a set up for the next chapter.. it has a shit ton of angst prepare yourself.

Also am very sorry it is late!! ‘‘Twas very hard for me to start writing it, btw I started another AU please go check it out, thank you <3

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Warning: Torture I go into detail, gore, cussing manipulation, characters lose sense of reality.

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In case you missed:

Chapter 1:

Chapter 6:

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Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

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Ao3 link for this work:

And my other AU:

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Change 7: This is a dream… right?

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He was back where he started this whole thing.

In a cage.

One cage over from the door and now in the middle of the room. It felt empty and bare, yet full of an uncomfortable sense of dread and fear, though he would never admit that aloud.

This time there was only one other cage in sight. The room had changed as well. It was no longer covered in grime, or smelled of blood. Instead it was a sickly white and smelled of rubbing alcohol. Which caused his nose to burn with the overwhelming scent of the cleaning supplies, making the entirety of the room feel more and more like one of those horror stories in hospitals, the only difference being that this one was real.

The thing that replaced the other cages and humans was an operating table with vials and tools that Tommy couldn’t identify.

There were no lights currently, except for the same small door window, which was the only thing that really stayed the same.

It was cold, it felt empty. There was no description fit for the amount of dread Tommy felt. It was built up after laying in the dark for so long. It burned his gut and made his head swirl with thoughts of what would happen next.

He wouldn’t ever admit he was scared, but the situation kinda explained itself.

Without warning the door swung open. No squeaks like last time, just a smooth motion allowing the room to be basked in yellow light from the hall.

Then the lights turned on, immediately causing Tommy to shut his eyes. His head started throbbing and every fiber in his body screamed at him to run. The lights turned into blurry blinding blobs that lit everything in a white fire, making it apparent that the room was indeed scrubbed of any stains or blood. Once his eyes finally adjusted, his migraine caught up to him, making the entire thing unbearable.

“Hello there!” An alien stepped in the room. Their features were outlined in white and their skin wasn’t even recognized, simply because it looked like a shadow. They had claw-like hands and wore glasses over their white to red eyes. They had a black doctor’s coat and wore black pants with white knee high boots. They had a devilish tail along with devil horns and a floating white halo. Their fangs poked out from a blinding white mouth, which was curved into a practiced smile.

“My name is BadBoyHalo, but you will refer to me as Dr. Halo.” They finished with a sickly sweet tone and a side smile, “My pronouns are he/him, and I will be taking care of what happens while you’re here.. not that you will ever leave of course.”

His mind was racing. Everything told him this was real, but he couldn’t help but pray that it was all a sick dream.

“Now we will start off easy and move onto the harder stuff later! Please refrain from trying to run, we have a shock function attached to your translators.” This caught him off guard. Why was he using plural tenses?

He looked towards the other cage, that’s when he noticed the strange bee alien also wearing a petrified expression. His eyes didn’t wander to the other cage, only watching Dr. Halo.

“Now who do we start with?” The doctor asked, even though he clearly already knew. A twisted smile shone on his face letting the light catch the awfully amused glint in his eyes, “Let’s start with the droneling!”

——————

There was no explanation for where the two went.

They simply vanished. No traces to follow or reasons to run.

The only logical explanation was Dream catching them. Which meant Techno would have to ask around for where the ship was harboring. The only problem being, he was awful at talking to people.

“So what do you wanna know?” A tall Wollylock person asked, she was the only known person to know anything about Dream, being his mother and all.

“Er- information on the Dream Team Ship.” Techno stated rather awkwardly.

“Why?” The captain asked, impatience clearly visible with her expression.

“They took two starlings from my crew.” At that the captain practically fumed with furry.

“I will help. After all, that boy needs to learn some manners.” The captain stated, her determination was infectious. “What is your craft’s name?”

“The SBI Craft, piloted by captain Philza.” He said robotically.

“Course it has to be Phil. That man has what, four kids he claimed to his crew..”

“Technically, I am not a kid, neither is Wil- Er our scientist, so really he’s only harboring three kids, now one since two were taken..” Techno decided that was the best explanation he could come up with, though there was really no point.

The captain chuckled and brushed off the other’s attempts at defending the crew. “Just send me the ship’s cords and your captain’s contact and I will be in touch.” With that the captain slid a communicator over the table and walked out of the sketchy bar.

Techno made his way back to the ship and delivered his captain the news. He tried to ignore the gut feeling that everything was wrong…

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(The next section has graphics depictions of torture and gore, please skip this section if it could or will trigger you in any way, there is a summary at the end. Thank you <3)

The world moved unbearably slow. The cage opened ever so smoothly, making him want to throw up. It was the sign that everything was going to go to hell.

That’s what this has to be right? A hellish nightmare that wasn’t real..

No that wasn’t right..

Did it matter?

A hand yanked his wrist out of the cage and into the blinding white room, that felt like fire surrounding him as he stepped to the operating table.

Needles and scalpels were set neatly on a silver tray. The restraints were heavy and felt like they burned his wrists and ankles. He was pushed onto the table as the ‘doctor’ slapped on gloves. More restraints were clipped over his waist and thighs.

Then something pinched his leg. He felt the blood rushing it’s way down to the cut, as a scalpel carved out a rectangle. He could hear scissors cutting something, and distant screams… were they from him?

He didn’t know at this point. More agonizing cuts on his legs along with a couple of needle pin marks.. a couple snaps of an illusion disk and a bit of writing, on both his skin and paper..

He couldn’t really feel anything after the first one, only simply knowing that his body was reacting to the pain yet his brain hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

It was like he wasn’t exactly controlling his body, just simply existing in the dream-like state. Time didn’t exist there, neither did recognition of the pain. Emotions ran wild. Turning all of his thoughts sour as he attempted to remember what happened.

It wasn’t until the doctor un-clipped him and put him back into the cage that he noticed the other.

That’s who did this to him. That’s the person that pushed him through pain.

The human wore a terrified expression as the doctor took him out for his turn.

He couldn’t help but smile at the other’s pain. The other deserved it..

Right?

(If you skipped this, Tubbo got tortured and blamed Tommy for the situation.)

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“IT’S BEEN A FUCKING MONTH! And you still haven’t found your son’s damn ship?!” The man on the other line was furious, and rightfully so.

Puffy undoubtedly understood the anger the man had. I mean she had been in the situation before when her youngest was kidnapped by another crew of pirates. The only difference in this situation was she was fighting against her son, her duckling… when did her duckling turn sour?

“You’re right about that, Phil. I can assure you Niki is doing everything in her power to track them down, along with Jack.” Jack joined the team after Puffy met Niki.

She must admit that having someone working in the ISF had its perks. Though no one could fully trust him. For good reason of course.

“Ponk is ‘talking’ to Sam, he sure as hell ain’t cracking yet.” She finished bitterly, “Like I said Quakity is waiting for his monthly letter from his fiancé, which would hopefully give us a clue at where to look.”

“I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been a month.. Wilbur said the humans barely last a full week if they aren’t treated..” The worry was lining his face and causing the bags under his eyes to look more like nasty black eyes. His face was sullen making it apparent the man hadn’t been eating properly. His wings ruffled at every noise and he seemed to be running purely on coffee. Puffy wanted nothing more than to return the man’s unofficial sons back to him.

——————

Everything was great!

The plan worked perfectly, and Sam hadn’t cracked yet.

Meaning he could easily start on the next faze. The only issue would be he’d have to gain both of the starling’s trust.

Even if the present was a bitter reality lined with things that would annoy him, the end result would be worth it.

Having a human and a nuke expert by his side would allow him to have everything he ever wanted.

Power.

Not just power, but all the things that came with it. He wouldn’t be questioned again, and everything and anything he said would be the final word.

It would be hell for those who crossed him, and even worse for those who abandoned him.

Wilbur, Sam, Ant, Quackity, Foolish, and even mother dearest, Puffy. They would all pay for their disloyalty. Once this is all over, they would never cross him again.

I mean he did give up everything to gain this life.

There was nothing to lose and everything to win, and he’d be damned if he didn’t win.

I mean he sold his soul for this!

It was all worth it.. right?

Of course it is. Stop doubting me child.

——————

28 days of torture, and now they were sitting with their captors playing house.

It was wrong. So utterly wrong.

“Eat your food Tommy.” The captain commanded.

Tommy complied not wanting to go back in the cage. Every day he woke up there, more things were shoved into him and more pain was given.

“You too Tubbo.” The command was given and the other complied, the same fear visibly shown.

“Reports.” Dream stated sternly, the rest of the crew compiled without hesitation.

It was a bunch of regular reports of how no one knew where they were, what supplies needed to be restocked, the current condition of the ship, and any developments with the news. A bunch of boring bullshit. He bit back any sarcastic remarks that threatened to spill, but refrained in fear of what they would do to him.

The crew was dismissed leaving Tubbo, Tommy, and Dream alone.

“I want both of you to listen.” Dream started his tone raising all hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck, “Phil and his crew led you to us. They didn’t comply the first time and poisoned your minds. We did the right thing, and fixed you. Now, there are some rules you have to follow. You may not wander the ship, only go anywhere with one of the crew members. You will both share a room and follow the same schedule. Anything you do that is not an order deserves a punishment, for it is proof of what the other crew poisoned you with. Now! Go to your room, it has a black door.” With that the man finished and the pair headed towards their room.

The speech sounded right, yet felt wrong. But everything was justified, therefore it was fine. Plus the worrying was just a problem for future Tommy, maybe that’s what Dream meant by the other crew poisoning him.

The other said nothing as they entered the room, only fixing Tommy with a bitter gaze which turned into something of confusion. Neither one slept, they couldn’t bring it in themselves to sleep, especially since Dream hadn’t told them to.

Instead both of them settled into a silence as they lay on their bed, only getting up when the man told them too. This was all they could really do as they faced their new reality. Slowly but surely their brains began to believe every word of the speech. Finally when the man asked to join him, a bubbly sickly joy gave them the grace to finally help their rescuer.

Six months after the initial capture, one month of torture and five months of vigorous training, consisting of fighting, weapon design, and hours of studying blueprints, they were finally able to go on their first mission with their rescuer, not questioning anything any of the crew said at this point. Sick months of training and they became living weapons ready for whatever the cruel world threw at them…

This is a dream.. right?

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Chapter 7- End

Words: 2221

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Notes:

Hahahaha I am in pain from writing this... please bare with me.. ;-;

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Dream is being a manipulative bastard... I mean the character. More specifically my take on Dream’s character in this situation... ahhhhh

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I hope you’re staying safe, don’t forget to take care of yourself!! <3 also likes are appreciated but reblogs are always better! <3

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[hotchley]

that’s when i could finally breathe

Me: oh yeah, I am definitely going on a fanfic writing break. Also me: this. 

As always, I have no idea what I’ve done. I really was taking a break, but then I was listening to Clean and... this happened. All of my pieces have been weirdly cathartic, and I think this one was just like: HAHA PROJECTION!!

I also did not proofread this, and wrote it in one day, so... do with that what you will :) 

Also, do not comment on my inability to come up with decent titles. I know. I know this is a terrible title, but I HAD NO BETTER IDEAS OKAY!!!

Word Count: 2289

Trigger Warnings: child abuse, funerals, death, past suicidal thoughts, grief, self-destructive behaviour (Hotch does not pull his hair out, but he does have thoughts about doing so)

read on ao3!

He has always found a sense of peace in the rain.

Where other people would run to try and find shelter, Aaron has always loved to just stand and let it soak through his clothes to his skin, chilling his bones and body. Haley had found it endearing as a teenager. 

As an adult, it had concerned her.

He could tell her it was nothing till he was blue in the face, but there was a sense of panic that came with looking out the window to see the clouds weeping, combined with her husband’s lack of presence in their apartment.

More than once, he would come home, shivering and teeth chattering, but smiling. She would force him to change, to wrap himself in a blanket, but he would usually be too dazed to do so without her assistance. He caught a cold more than once.

Jack has inherited his love for the rain. His love, like everything else about him, is childish and innocent though. A love for jumping in puddles and splashing his parents. A fascination with the different types of weather, and a love for the yellow coat that has a duck on the hood that was a gift from Penelope.

Aaron’s love for the rain can be described in one word. The same word Haley has always used to describe the way he loves everything. His love for the rain is complex. It is born from the best and worst moments of his life.

His love for the rain comes from the little boy that wore his heart on his sleeve. Who wanted nothing more than to turn the terrible things that happened into a story, and who just wanted to use his brain to find a reason for all the bad things that seemed to keep happening.

It rained the day of his father’s funeral. His mother and Sean shared an umbrella. Haley tried to get him to stand under hers, but he refused, choosing to stand in it, letting it numb the fire in his stomach. He didn’t shed any tears at the funeral. He had already mourned the death of his father. He had mourned when he was eleven, and learnt that his father did not love him. Not in the way he was meant to. Not in a way that was right.

The rain made it look like he was crying. It soaked his hair and dripped onto the collar of his coat, and when his uncle drove him and the last people that knew the truth about Mr Hotchner, his mother seemed to realise what he had been doing. She chastised him, but it was weak and with no real threat.

Aaron would confess to Haley, months later, that the rain had made him feel like he was being listened to. Like the God he had stopped believing in believed his father was a bad man, and the rain had been to disrupt the final event where anyone would truly care for him. The rain made him feel like there was a happy ending at the end of the tunnel waiting for him.

It made him feel like he could breathe again.

When Haley kissed him for the first time, it was raining. They had been running home from their date, not expecting the summer night to turn out like that, and he had paused because of the stitch in his side. 

She had turned around, laughing hysterically because of course this had happened. Of course their first date, which she had spent hours preparing for, Jessica styling her hair and convincing her the dress she had picked was perfect, ended in rain. With her hair coming loose from the pins she had slid into it. With Aaron’s shirt plastered to his skin. If she had stepped close enough, she could almost see the scars on his back. 

She wouldn’t ask though. Not today. 

He looked at her, slightly apologetic, and she was once again struck by just how pretty he was. His eyelashes were longer than she had first realised, and the rain seemed to drip off of them in a way she had only ever seen in the movies.

His hair was an untamed mess. Her heart had dropped a little when he rang her doorbell, because she liked the chaos of his usual style, and seeing it without a hair out of place made her feel like he was trying to be a different person. The rain had ruined it all though, and it now fell onto his forehead and stuck to his face in a way she loved.

To everyone else in their little town, he likely looked like the villain. Like the demon creeping in through the window to steal the beautiful princess away to their terrible castle. But Haley is not everyone else. And to her, Aaron looks like the dashing prince, ready to save the heroine from the terrible prejudice of her home.

So when he opened his mouth, probably to ask her if everything was okay, she took a step forward, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. It was messy and wet and awkward, but it was their first. And it was special.

Her cheeks were flushed when she pulled away. Aaron just stared at her for a few moments, something like panic written all over his face. But then that panic gave way to something else, and Haley felt like she was watching someone realise they were in love.

It was more beautiful than she could’ve ever imagined. 

He smiled at her, still bashful after the events of the evening, and held his arm out to her. She took it, allowing him to walk her all the way to her front door, where he placed a single kiss to her cheek.

He laughed, once he was out of her line of sight. He laughed, and he ran through the puddles, splashing the water everywhere, and he let out loud cheers because the night was silent and only the stars were there to keep him company.

Haley Brooks liked him. No. She loved him.

It made him feel like he could live again.

The moment he felt clean, like the blood had been washed from his hands, like he could breathe again, like he could exist and not feel like there had been some massive mistake, it was raining. Haley had been dead for six months, and it had been six brutal months of cases, of processing his grief, of shutting down in front of the team.

Of teaching Jack that being sad was part of life, and that being happy did not mean he was forgetting Mom, or a terrible person. Of wishing there was someone to hold his hand, just for a moment.

Of flashing Jessica little smiles, because he had lost the first woman to love him the way love was supposed to be, but Jessica had lost her baby sister, and nothing was ever going to bring her back to life. Not his own self-destruction. Not his guilt. Not his pain. Not the way he threw himself into cases that caused the ink to blur before his eyes.

Not the way he was trying so hard to teach his son exactly what love was so he would grow up unafraid to jump in head first, and would always believe in its existence.

Jessica asked if Jack could stay with her for a few days. She had a break in between one project finishing and the next starting, and she was going to use it to look at some of the things Haley had left at her house. Aaron was yet to deal with the things in the house and in storage. He just couldn’t do it.

But Jessica wanted to start, and she wanted Jack to see some of the things. He spoke to Jack, and Jack’s therapist, about the trip, and when both people signed off on it, he packed his son a bag and dropped his son off at his aunt’s for the weekend.

The quietness of the apartment had a greater impact on him than he thought it would’ve. He had gotten used to the sound of Jack racing around. Of Jessica washing dishes. Of their quiet existences that left a mark on every inch on every wall of the convenient location that had somehow evolved into a home- something he thought he’d lost forever when Anderson handed him the divorce papers.

He couldn’t handle the silence. It was suffocating. It reminded him of his childhood house, and of walking on eggshells. It reminded him of the thirty-four days he felt in silence, recovering from stab wounds he wished had killed him, and mourning the loss of his family.

So he drives. And he drives. And he drives.

And he somehow finds himself at Gideon’s cabin. He’d only been there twice since he left the team. Once to pick Reid up once he had the strength to phone and say that he’d found a letter, but he didn’t know what he was meant to do, but Gideon was gone and he didn’t know why everyone always left. Once to pick Rossi up, after the case with the three children that ended with no real sort of justice.

Gideon left him a key. It was in the drawer of his desk, with no explanation. No letter. No apology. Hotch had taken it, and attached it to the keyring that held his house keys. He’d never used it though. 

Not before now.

Because that day, when he goes to Gideon’s cabin, he lets himself in. He walks through the different rooms, smiling at the small traces of his former mentor that still remain there, and the pieces of the other team members that have somehow found themselves a home in the various areas.

He exits out the back door.

Haley had taken him here once. After she found out she was pregnant, he was meant to step down and take a transfer. They’d had it all planned out. Then he’d gotten a phone call saying there was a case, and that case had been Adrian Bale so before he knew what was going on, he was pushed into the role of Unit Chief and trying to rebuild a team that was never meant to have been his.

She had taken him here to remind him of all the reasons he couldn’t leave. Of all the lives he would feel responsible for if he acted selfishly. And he had looked at her, with such love in his eyes, and agreed with her. It had been a quiet trip. A peaceful trip. A warm visit. They had been together, still the teenagers that linked hands during the final bows of their performance.

Haley was dead, and he was left to patch up his own pieces. The visit had been tense and silent, but the uncomfortable type, and even as he walked through the cabin, he wondered why exactly he had bothered coming here. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, or what he thought this was going to do. He just knew it was something he needed to do.

When he stepped back out into the woods that surrounded the cabin, the rain started.

He had never believed in signs, not truly, but this one was too big to be anything but that. It was pouring. Enough to cause the branches to sag with the weight of water. Enough to create proper puddles that could be jumped in. Enough to remind him of the first time Haley had kissed him, and how that simple touch had brought him back to life. Enough to remind him of his father’s funeral, and how the feel of the cold had reminded he had no longer had to be afraid.

It was loud enough to drown out the sounds of people.

He had one chance to do this. One chance to see whether or not his love for the rain would still help him the way it always had.

He screamed. He fell to his knees, and he fisted his hands in his hair. He didn’t pull it out, but he tugged at it, and Haley wasn’t there to grip his hands till he could trust himself.

He screamed. And he cried. And he begged for an answer. And he shoved his blazer off, not even caring that his trousers were stained with mud that would likely never come out, and not giving a damn about the cold.

He screamed. Until his throat went dry and his words seemed to fade into nothing, not only because the rain swallowed his noises, but because he couldn’t be loud. 

He screamed until he was soaked and the rain had caused him to go numb and start shivering.

And then he turned around and walked back inside. As he passed the bathroom, something caught his eye. A towel he had thought he had just misplaced whilst on a case, and a hoodie he’d assumed he’d given to Sean and forgotten about. Almost like Gideon had guessed what he would be doing here, and wanted to apologise for what he had done.

Haley would not want him to get sick. Neither would Jessica. Neither would the team. Neither would Jack.

So he went into the bathroom, and he dried himself off, and he zipped the hoodie up. And then he took a final look around the cabin. He smiled to himself, knowing that, no matter what happens, the team will always have this as their safe haven.

He drives home, despite the rain.

It makes him feel like he could love again.  

[perlukafarinn]

Coffeeshop and Mob au for destiel? :)

(send me two numbers)

The Coffee Hut may just be a front for an illegal money laundering scheme but Dean still takes pride in his work there.

Okay, that’s not exactly true. Their coffee is pretty bad, their selection on baked goods extremely limited, and Dean couldn’t give less of a shit about the difference between a mocha and a macchiato. He really only works here because Dad thinks he needs to prove himself on a smaller project before he can trust him with the heavy stuff.

But for fifteen minutes a week, at around 10:30 am every Tuesday, Dean’s job suddenly becomes the most important task in the world. Because that’s when Cas comes in, ordering his small black coffee in a medium cup that he then drowns in cream and sugar.

Cas is a few years older, an office worker of some sort, and he’s got this dark, handsome and intense thing going for him in spades. He looks at Dean like he’s the only person in the room, like everything he says is important. Dean’s not used to being looked at like that.

It takes only a couple of visits before their usual pleasantries evolve into actual conversations. Before Dean starts looking forward to each Tuesday and taking particular care while getting ready on those mornings. 

Dean is sure the only reason Cas hasn’t asked him out yet is because hitting on someone in the service industry while they’re on the clock is an extremely dick thing to do and Cas is not a dick.

Unfortunately, this means Dean is gonna have to make the first move. It also means actively making Cas a bigger part of his life, potentially dragging him into a world he would never wanna be a part of.

Then again, what’s the harm in a couple of dates? 

If Dean were a better person, he would let Cas walk away, no matter how low the risk to him might be. But he’s not, so the next Tuesday morning, a few minutes before Cas shows up, he takes aside a medium cup and scrawls his name and phone number on it. 

There’s no one else in the shop when Cas arrives. There usually isn’t; what morning rush they have has always dried up around ten and the lunch rush is still an hour away.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greets him warmly, leaning against the counter.

Dean smiles. “Hey, Cas. Small black coffee in a medium cup, right?”

“Not this time.” 

“Oh.” 

Dean scratches the back of his neck. He’s gonna have to write down his number on another cup, then. A small hitch in his plan; he really didn’t want Cas to see him writing it down, just in case he wasn’t interested. But maybe it’s better this way, now Dean will know for sure that Cas has noticed the number.

“Then what’ll you have?”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says instead of answering.

Sorry about what, Dean doesn’t get a chance to ask, because then he’s reaching into his waistband, pulling out a gun and aiming it at Dean. He’s holding it close to his body, hiding it from anyone who might happen to pass by with practiced ease. 

“Please show me to the back.”

Dean licks his lips, heart hammering. If Cas has been casing out the joint for this long, then chances are good he knows exactly what’s hiding back there. He also knows that Dean is alone in the shop this time of day, that the actual business doesn’t get going until in the afternoon. 

“Come on, man, you don’t have to do this,” Dean still pleads, hoping Cas is just a regular robber who picked a really bad target.

“I’m afraid I do.” 

Cas at least has the good grace to look genuinely sorry, though that isn’t worth much. Was all that flirting just a front, too? Has he been stringing Dean along, buttering him up with flattery just to make him an easier target?

Maybe John had it right. Maybe Dean’s not ready to be in this life. 

“Fine,” Dean says stonily. 

He waits until Cas has joined him behind the counter before moving, keeping him at his side rather than behind him as they enter the back room. He pretends to stub his toe on the threshold, stumbling across it and as Cas reaches out to steady him, elbowing him in the gut hard enough to loosen his grip on the gun.

It goes flying and Dean darts after it but Cas is quicker, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and sending him sprawling to the ground. The gun lands with a clatter somewhere further away, out of reach, and Cas is pinning Dean down to the ground, holding him by both wrists and straddling his thighs.

Dean lets himself go limp, considering his options but having a difficult time thinking. Cas is warm and heavy and he smells so fucking good, and Dean hates that he’s noticing that, because Cas just had a fucking gun pointed at him a few seconds ago. That should be enough to erase any interest he has for the man, and yet.

Cas shifts and it hits Dean then that he’s blushing. Looks like he might not be the only one affected by their current situation.

“You know, Cas, if you wanted to get on top of me that bad, you only had to ask.”

Cas turns even redder. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dean. Just give me what I want and I’ll be on my way.”

Dean flexes his fingers experimentally, heart skipping a beat when Cas tightens his grip around his wrists. 

“Pretty sure my boss wouldn’t like that,” he drawls.

“I could give you protection,” Cas offers immediately. “I have connections to the higher-ups in my organization, we could hide you.”

Dean blinks. He’s grown up in this life, knows the kind of trouble Cas would be taking on to ensure his safety, but he looks completely sincere about his offer. 

He also seems to have no clue about who Dean actually is.

“I can’t betray the family like that,” Dean says slowly, testing that theory.

“I admire your loyalty to your employer but the Winchesters aren’t your family.” Yep, no clue. “Is staying true to them worth risking your life?”

“Is going up against them to protect me worth risking yours?”

Cas hesitates. Then, seeming to have made his mind up about something, “It wouldn’t be as great of a risk for me. I don’t just have connections to the higher-ups, I’m Chuck Shurley’s son.”

Dean’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. “Chuck, as in head of the Shurley family Chuck?”

Dean had figured Cas was working for them; the Shurleys are the only ones comparable in power to the Winchesters on the East Coast. The two families have been rivals for decades. The last few years have been marked by an uneasy peace but clearly, Chuck Shurley’s looking to change that.

“If you know who he is, then you know the kind of power he has.” Castiel gazes at him imploringly. It’s almost sweet, the way he’s so intent on protecting Dean. "The Winchesters could never lay a hand on you.”

Dean can use this. “You’d do that for me?”

For a moment, he’s worried he laid it on too thick, his voice too soft with feigned disbelief. Then Cas is nodding, painfully sincere.

“Of course.”

The relief that floods Dean is genuine and he lets it show. Then, to seal the deal, he cranes his neck upwards, closing the scant few inches between them. Cas kisses him back immediately, letting go of one wrist to cup his cheek, and Dean takes his chance. 

He plants his feet on the floor, twisting his hips and rolling them around. Cas makes a surprised noise against his lips but isn’t quick enough on the uptake, and then Dean’s got him pinned, reaching out with his now free hand to grab the gun taped underneath the counter to his right.

He points it at Cas, brutally stomping down the guilt that flickers in his chest at the betrayed look on his face.

“Let go off me,” he commands calmly and after a beat Cas obeys, releasing his grip on Dean’s other wrist.

Dean gets to his feet, gesturing with his gun for Cas to do the same.

“You’re going to walk out of here,” he tells him, “and you’re going to tell your dad that whatever plan he’s got against the Winchesters, he can forget it.”

Cas says nothing. Dean raises his eyebrows, cocking his gun, and finally he nods. 

“Good.” Dean tilts his head, giving Cas a teasing grin. “And just for the record, I never needed your protection. You’re not the only one with connections to the higher-ups.”

Dean can pin-point the exact moment it hits Cas. 

“You’re-”

“Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.”

Cas stares at him, his expression inscrutable. 

“This isn’t over.”

Dean licks his lips. Cas’ eyes follow the movement and he smiles.

“Not by a long shot,” he agrees.