#this is super old but I was going through my sketchbook and was like huh might as well

[it-came-autumnally]

an old drawing, but since it is his birthday…

[toxic-aries]

my tattoo artist went down on me (2k words)

paring: tattoo artist!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson offered to design a new tattoo for you, during the session things got a little heated.

warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), oral (f recieving), fingering, squirting, some strong lanuage, and some cringey writing, if i missed any please let me know.

a/n: this is a super old draft from a few months ago so I hope you all enjoy <;3

feedback & criticism is very appreciated. please let me know if you have any thoughts on how I can approve. thank you :)

You stood outside the Munsons trailer, a tad bit nervous, but it is a normal feeling…especially when it comes to getting a new tattoo. But, the thought of Eddie Munson giving you said tattoo made your heart race even more���not that you didn't trust his tattooing skills…oh come on you didn't trust that boy's art skills at all.

All of a sudden the screen door of the trailer swings open, and there stood Eddie. Shirtless. Kind of sweaty. Messy curls as always. Slightly tighter jeans than normal. This look of his caught you off guard, rightfully so…it was a stunning look. “Are you just going to stand there like a creep?” He leaned his body against the door frame, crossing his arms while examining you.

Your mouth parted slightly like you were going to answer his question, but no words were coming out. All you wanted to do was stare at him. He knew. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He whispered as you stepped through the doorway of the trailer, those words sent shivers down your spine. “Come on, I have everything set up in my room.”

“You do know what you're doing right, Munson?” You teased as Eddie led you to his room down the hall.

“Well how else do you think I got these sweet ole’ tatties, huh?” He points at the bats on his arm, “This is my newest work, you like?”

“Not really my style…but they're cool.”

“You seem hard to please…” He mumbles to himself as he sits down in a rolly chair, then opening a sketchbook turning to the page with your design on it. You just wanted some simple roses on your thigh, not too much. “Does this look like what you had in mind, darling?” He really needs to stop with these pet names.

His artwork was actually…good. Surprisingly. “Oh my gosh, I love that!” You exclaimed. He rolls over to the edge of his bed and pats it motioning for you to sit down. The workspace area wasn't the greatest but hey…it’s more professional looking than others. A single towel sits on the edge of the bed, the tattoo gun with the ink caps on a random nightstand and a pair of normal gloves beside it. “Well, I’m glad you like it…hopefully I can draw the sketch again actually on your leg”

Eddie says as he pulls out a couple markers, biting the cap off of one and spitting it out onto the floor, he rolls himself over to you. Putting his knee in between your legs, “Now which thigh are we putting it on.” His pretty brown eyes look up at you as his free hand caresses the side of your right thigh.

“U-uhm…my right one. I want it…” You pointed to the upper thigh of your right leg, making a general circle motion around the area. “About right here.” He moved his hand to that spot, retracing that circle you had made. “So, you want it right here?” You gulped at his question, feeling the slight tension building in the room. “I guess you're going to have to take these things off so we can get started.” His finger moves from your thigh to your hip, pulling on the belt loop of your jeans. “I thought I told you to wear something short.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I had just gotten off work and -”

“Y/N, i'm only playing around…” Eddie chuckled as he pushed himself back, giving you some space to take off your jeans. “Unless, you like to be told what to do?” His eyebrow raised as he watches you stand up and unbutton your jeans.

“Maybe I do, Munson.” His eyes widen at your words. “Oh really…” Eddie's words lingered as he rolled over to you, your hips perfectly in line with his head. “Maybe…I can help take these off for you, sweetheart.” His hands moved up your legs to your hips, pulling down on your belt loops. Pulling down your pants slowly. The feeling of his hands against your bare skin sends tingles throughout your body. The cold metal from his rings sent chills. The intimacy was a bare minimum, but your body craved more.

“Sit back down.”

You listened. He grabbed the marker again and began to draw the rose design on your upper thigh. About thirty or some extra minutes pass and he’s done with the sketch. It looked just like what was in his notebook. “You ready?”

“I guess so…lay it on me.”

Eddie’s been tattooing for about an hour. The vibrations from the tattoo gun piercing your skin sends tingles throughout your entire body. Causing you to grip onto the sheets of his bed, tighter and tighter and tighter. Eddie notices. He moves his free hand to your opposite leg, gripping his hand in the skin of your soft thigh. “Do you need a break?” You shook your head to signal no, you were lying.

He pushed himself back slightly as he lifted the machine up from your skin, placing it on the table beside him. “I can tell you need a break…” His words faded off almost like he was going to say more, which made you curious. Your eyes met his. He uses the chair to pull himself closer to you, leaving you face to face, merely inches apart. “Maybe, we can do something else…instead.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” He pushes your body against the bed, now hovering over you. His finger pulls your chin up closer to his face, staring directly at your lips. You need him. All of him. You couldn't take the tease anymore, so, your arms wrap around his neck and pull yourself up to meet his lips. Clashing into each other. You wanted more. His lips trailed off yours, moving down to your chin, then your neck. Leaving a few marks on his territory. “Let me take this off of you.” He whines into the crook of your neck while pulling at the edge of your t-shirt. His hand starts pulling it up as you move with his movements finally taking it off. Exposing your bare chest.

Suddenly the heated makeout session paused. “Oh shit, I don't want you getting an infection with this thing being exposed. Stand up real quick.” He said as he stood up, reaching his hand out to help pull you up. He put a few layers of paper towels over the half-way done rose, taping the edges to your skin, making sure he doesn't make it too uncomfortable for you. “Does that feel okay?” You nodded at his question.

Eddie places a few soft and gentle kisses on your other thigh, getting closer and closer to you. You feel as his hand moves from the side of your thigh to palm your clothed pussy. His touch caused you to jump a tad, “Oh. Do you not want that?” He said as he looked up at you.

“N-No, I do, trust me. I want that.” You whined, practically begging for him at this point. A smirk grew on his face. Using his pointer he slid your panties over, running said finger down your pussy, “You’ve been this wet the whole time?” He sighed, “Fuck Y/N.” His pointer finger then enters your core, making slight pumping motions. Then pulling it out, putting his hands on your hips, his face directly in line with you.

“Take them off, please.” Your voice was breathy. Eddie wasted no time, pulling your hips closer to his face then using his teeth to drag your panties down your legs. Finishing taking them off using his hands. He stood up from the chair, towering over you, “Lay down on your back, bend your legs too.” He demanded.

You did just as he said, of course. Watching him get down to the right level, he threw your legs over his shoulder. His fingers danced around your entrance, sending pains to your stomach as the heat began to build. Your pussy was throbbing, craving for him to do something…literally anything. You weren't really an impatient person, but you just craved him. “Can you please do something Mun-”

You were cut off by him licking your cunt, tasting you from bottom to top. Sending you to throw your head back letting out a soft moan. Using his pointer and middle he spread your lips open even more, sticking his tongue into your core. Your hands reached between your own legs to his hair, yanking and pulling at his roots. “We’ll see if youre so hard to please…” He groaned into your pussy, the vibrations from his voice causing that heat to build even more in the pit of your stomach.

Eddie put his lips around your throbbing clit, while locking eyes with you. Your back pressed harder against the bed, he continued to lick and suck on your cunt, randomly pulling up to plant kisses on the inner thighs. His ringed hand rubbing up and down your thigh as the free fingers finds its way to your core again. His lips stayed on your clit as his fingers fucked your tight hole, his tongue dancing around your clit in circular motions. That intense feeling in the pit of your stomach gets warmer and warmer. “Eddie fuck!” You moan out, trying to catch your breath while he hasn't eased up one bit. “Are you already getting close sweetheart?” He whined as he pulled up from your pussy, removing his fingers from your center, “God, youre so fucking wet…” His hand reached up to your mouth, “Open for me…” His fingers that are covered in your juices enter your mouth, you take them deep, nearly down your throat.

He pushes your legs from his shoulders and plants them down to the bed, spreading your legs open further. Making his access to your pussy easier. “You can only cum when I tell you to, okay?” He says as he gets back down to your level, maintaining that intense eye contact still.

You nod, “O-Okay.” His tongue meets your core, in and out, circular motions, he then licks all the way up your cunt again taking in all your taste and juices. The feeling was incredible. He definitely knew how to use his tongue. He sucks on your bulging and throbbing clit again, using his pointer and middle to pound your hole again. Pumping them in and out. His free hand moved to your hip pushing you down deeper into the bed, the cold metal from his rings against the warmth of your skin. You were getting close, but he hasn't told you yet.

“Are you close, princess?” He moaned as he came up to catch his breath, how in the fuck did he know. “If you're close…you can cum.”

He didnt have to say anymore, “Eddie, fuck.” You cursed out as your head flung back, your chest rising up and down faster and faster. That warm pit in your stomach is nearly on fire. His fingers got faster and faster as they pounded into your core, “Cum for me baby…” he groans, your legs start to shake as an even more intense orgasm builds.

Then you did exactly what he said. As it snapped, you screamed, Eddie pulling his thick fingers from inside you, still pushing against your clit, a hard stream gushing forth. After a few moments, you are still shaken by the sensation. As his digits plunge into your dripping pussy,a few curses and moans of his name escape your lips, he pumps in and out a few more times before pulling them out and watching you squirt again.

“Fuck Y/N.”

“Shit Eddie, I am so fucking sorry.”

“No, I dont give a fuck about that.” His tongue licks off the excess cum dripping from your warm cunt. “That was fucking hot.”

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” You leaned down to his level planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. “Then let’s finish this tattoo.”

“Another round once I'm done?”

if you enjoyed please consider commenting or reblogging, it makes a huge difference ♡

[sondepoch]

HC: They see MC’s sketchbook!

Art. It’s a private thing. Showing someone your work is akin to showing them a piece of your soul, an insight into who you are and everything that lies within. So when the Obey Me! boys get a glimpse of your sketchbook, they find themselves wanting for more—and all in different ways.

Word Count: 6.0k

*Mild NSFW themes for Asmo & Diavolo

Characters: All Brothers + All Undateables + Luke

MASTERLIST

Lucifer

At the beginning of the year, there is 0 trust between the two of you

Not only has he actively tried to kill you, but he’s already so suspicious of the pacts you’re making with his brothers that he can’t help but be wary every time you cross paths

So when he realizes that you’re always absentmindedly scribbling in a notepad every time you interact, he’s more than a little perturbed by it

100% thinks you’re secretly taking notes on his and his brothers’ behavior to use it against them

So, obviously, when he next sees you using it in his presence, he wastes no time in snatching the notebook from your hands

“Oh hey, Lucif—what are you doing?!”

“Nothing you should be concerned with, human.”

“That’s my sketchbook you’re holding!”

“Sketchbook?”

Instantly flips it open and sure enough, inside there’s nothing but doodles and sketches

luci.is.confuzzled.exe

He’s still convinced that there must be something incriminating in the book, so he continues flipping through it. But the more he sees, the more he realizes how wrong he is

It’s only when he flips to the section with his family that he begins to feel guilty

In the beginning, you just draw basic poses. Mammon, glancing at you over his shoulder. Asmo, posing for a camera. Beel, about to bite down on a hamburger. 

But the further he goes, the more elaborate the sketches get, and as he flips through the pages, he can feel the amount of work that has gone into each piece

And then he gets to the page where you drew him

Keep it lowkey, but he thinks his heart stopped for a second

He stares at the picture and wonders if that’s what you see every time he shifts into his demon form, because for the first time since his fall, he can’t help but think about how beautiful he looks. Everything looks so right in your art style, from the diamond on his forehead to the way his wings flutter out of his back.

It’s perfection

“I’m confiscating this,” He says quickly, not looking you in the eye.

He then escapes the room faster than you’ve ever seen, and never speaks of the incident again to you

But roughly a week later, you find a small red book on your pillow, and you know that it's a sketchbook from him, to replace the one he took

And even later—after the two of you grow close—you find your old sketchbook stored in his most secure drawer, locked away with a key he keeps hidden. And you know that he’s spent hours looking through the book on rough nights, through the doodles of him and his brothers and everything else you’ve ever drawn

And though he’s too proud to admit it, you know he loves your art 

Mammon

He found it when he was going through your stuff, absentmindedly checking to see if you had any valuables on you

And the moment he flipped open to see your little notebook of doodles, his mind went B I N G O 

He loves your art the second he sees it, spending a whole hour just sitting on your bedroom floor, flipping through the pages

Adores everything about your art style

And when he starts to see the little doodles you do of his brothers, he’s even more enraptured

You draw all the things he’s imagined but never seen: a sketch of Lucifer dressed in a onesie, snuggling a giant teddy bear. Beel, using a sleeping Belphie as a food tray for a pile of snacks as large as the sixth-born himself. Asmo with cat ears, being chased by Solomon, who appears to be a wolf.

And yet, there are no pictures of Mammon

Man is hurt by the fact that you’ve drawn all his brothers but not him. He’s your first man, after all. You should have been the first person he drew!

Gets a bit upset about it and throws your sketchbook back into the drawer he found it in, stomping back to his room with childlike indignation

Is just a bit petty about it afterward

“Hey, Mammon, can you walk me to school? Class starts in half an hour.”

“Huh? Oh, so now ya want me to do it, huh? Well, why don’t you ask Asmo instead?”

“Okay? I will???”

Soon everyone in the house has realized that Mammon’s being a bit off, and while it was nice at first to have peace and quiet from the resident troublemaker, you guys grow concerned pretty quick

And eventually, you go to his room to talk things out

Let’s just say that when you found out he’d been going through your stuff, you were not pleased. But seeing that he wasn’t going to be the mature one, you sucked it up and whacked the demon on the back of his head, telling him to “wait a second” while you went to “get something”

Cue the retrieval of your second sketchbook 

And when Mammon sees it, he’s not sure what he feels more of: guilt or happiness

Every single page in this second notebook is of him. Only a few are colored, but Mammon finds himself enraptured by even the casual doodles in the corners, where he’s doing little things like eating a banana or flashing the viewer a few Grimm

Man is touched. He’s never had anyone do this for him, and certainly not out of their own volition. So suffice it to say that when he tackled you for a hug that night, he didn’t let you go for a long time

And maybe some other stuff happened too. Who knows? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Leviathan

TSL

The second Levi sees you sketching in your artbook (after an incoherent stumble of words which you assume are synonymous with praise), the only phrase coming out of this man’s mouth is TSL

Begins begging you to draw fanart of the Shadow Lord, asking you to sketch him in different outfits, draw him in different poses, put him in various backgrounds, etc.

Basically wants you to bring his imagination to life

“Oh! Oh! Can you draw him baking a cake now? Wouldn’t that be so cool?!”

Absolutely does the wwooooooOOOOOAAAHAHHHHHHH sound effect every single time you show him your work, even if you’ve only made minor changes from the last time you showed him

He takes you on a spending spree, pulling up Akuzon and offering to pay for whatever supplies you want if you’ll just make him a super fancy poster

And so you start

It actually gets to be a pretty good way to grow closer: every day, after school, you head up to Levi’s room to work on the poster he asked you to make him. In exchange, he lets you borrow his manga and you guys watch anime together

Eventually, boi gets the idea of throwing Ruri-chan into the poster, and the second he thinks it he won’t shut up about it

“Oh, come on! You can do it—look, just put her in this little corner right here!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi?! Ruri-chan and the Shadow Lord are two completely different characters who are meant to be drawn in completely different art styles! If I mush Ruri-chan into the corner, it’ll ruin the poster’s dynamic!”

“But pleeeeeaaaassseeeee?”

Cue extra pouty Levi

Eventually, you agree to make a separate drawing of Ruri-chan for Levi to hang up next to the poster, because you think that otherwise, he’ll go crazy

When the date rolls around where you’re almost done with everything, Levi formally sends out an invitation to everyone of importance

Man invites everyone from Luke to Diavolo over for the “revealing ceremony” where he plans to hang the poster on his wall

Actually tried to get the demon king to come as well, but Lucifer stopped him before he could get an invitation out

When everyone sees what you’ve been working on for so many weeks, they’re all MEGA impressed because hello??? they did not know you were this skilled???

It quickly turns into a competition, with each one of them trying to outdo each other with how vigorously they can compliment you

And soon enough you find yourself swamped with requests from every other demon in the room, begging you to make them something as elaborate as you did Levi

Satan

It’s a system you guys have set up, where every Tuesday and Thursday night, you’ll sit in the common room on the couch facing each other and will simply open your books to do what you will

You always draw, and Satan always reads

And neither will bother the other until the grandfather clock chimes twelve times, whereupon you both bid each other goodnight and wait for the next session where you do it all over

Except for today, that is

“What are you drawing?” 

Ah, there it is

The one question you were hoping Satan would never ask

You subtly (incredibly awkwardly) change the subject, commenting on the color of Satan’s jacket to distract him from his inquiry, and he picks up on the hint, quietly huffing as he turns back to his book 

But the mild irritation he feels doesn’t let him fully delve back into the realm of the nonfiction novel he was reading, so he’s more than a little distracted as he goes back to reading about human anthropology

And it’s in this state of distraction that he notices the little glances you’re stealing every so often, before returning to your sketchpad

Yeah, it doesn’t take long for Satan to put two and two together

“Are you drawing me?”

An incredulous question, asked in such an offending tone

He sounds so irate by the fact that you can’t help but helplessly deny it, muttering something about drawing plants and flowers instead

But Satan doesn’t believe it, and in an instant he’s standing behind you, staring at the sketch in your hands which has oh-so-beautifully captured the essence of him on the couch, engrossed in a book with the light from the flames in the fireplace flickering gently against his skin

The anger at being drawn without having agreed to it quickly melts into a quiet awe for your skill

“Can I see your other drawings?” He asks gently, no longer irritated but actually impressed

“I-I’m not sure if you’ll want to—”

“Nonsense. Show me.”

And so you do

You hand him the sketchbook, avoiding his eyes as he flips to the very first page—and imagine his surprise when he sees that even that is a sketch of his face, though the artwork is significantly less advanced than the piece he just saw. Satan flips to the next page, and then the next, and the next, and sure enough: they’re all of him

“I-I just needed a model to practice my artwork on,” You mumble, gaze fixated on the couch. “And you were right there, so I couldn’t resist...and then I needed a model again. And again. And you were always there, and I know I never asked, but I’m sorry, and if you don’t want me to, I won’t—“

“Nonsense,” Satan murmurs, pressing a finger to your lips. His smile has never looked as sincere as it looks now, his gaze flickering back and forth between your face and the sketchbook in his hands

“I’ll be your model, if you so desire it. Just tell me how you want me to sit.”

Asmodeus

Your model for everything

You’re trying to draw the Hulk and you a good frame of reference? And you need a really muscular model? And Beel ABSOLUTELY fits the bill? 

Yeah no, Asmo’s your model

You want to draw a child? Someone small and short, roughly the exact same height as Luke (who is an ANGEL and would absolutely help you)? Yeah no, Asmo’s still going to be your model.

Want a cute guy? Asmo. Cute girl? Asmo. Cute animal? Still Asmo.

Man refuses to leave you alone - the second he learns that you’re an artist he insists on gracing your work with the holy sight of his body

Highkey wants to model nude

And you’d be lying if you said that he was a bad model—man can hold a pose for hours without moving even a little, his only fault is that he talks incessantly—but you can easily quiet him by saying that you’re drawing his lips - and the moment you do so, he’s suddenly he’s stiller than a statue,  doing his absolute best to remain frozen so that you can capture his perfection

Boi posts 100% of your content on his Devilgram, and while you were hesitant about it at first, now you’re just used to it

Thanks to him, you’re a lowkey celebrity

Like demons love your art style 

It’s apparently very refreshing and human-like as compared to the dark and dreary art found in the Devildom, so people go wild over Asmo’s Devilgram page for it

Man thinks that they’d go even more wild if you drew something where he modeled nude

In fact, it’s lowkey a business deal that the two of you have - you allow Asmo to post your work on his Devilgram (giving credit to you, of course), and in exchange he pays for all your art supplies, acts as your model (though that’s really more of him wanting to than it being your choice), and even goes as far as to keep Mammon apart from you while you work, insisting that you need “privacy” and “quiet” while you draw

100% acts like he isn’t even more chatty than Mammon when given the chance

On the bright side, it’s thanks to these weekly art sessions where you draw and Asmo models and talks that you’re always up to date on the latest gossip. You’re 100% caught up with the fact that Zahhak just found out he has another illegitimate son and that Baphomet just liked Rusalka’s post from fourteen centuries ago

So yeah, the two of you have a mutually beneficial relationship

Asmodeus still insists that one thing would make it better though: him modeling nude

But Asmo is a sweetheart about everything, and he goes out of his way to pamper you 

Specifically, your hands—after all, those are what work your artistic magic!

Expect him to always be peppering your dominant hand with kisses, massaging it whenever you look tired, giving you weekly manicures completely free of charge, all out of the goodness of Asmo’s heart

*ahem* and weekly requests to model nude

Beelzebub

a m a z e m e n t 

Boi is entranced

Like, he’s so mesmerized by your art that he’s not even paying attention to the food sitting right in front of him, simply opting to stare more intently at the drawing you’re holding up so eagerly

It’s quite beautiful, really: The seven demon brothers surrounding you, a reworking of a photograph Lucifer took a few months ago but in your art style. And for that last fact, Beel thinks he likes this version better

“Wow,” He finally manages to say, still too impressed to really think of anything else

He lets his brothers shower you in praise and compliments, silently nodding along and agreeing with every plaudit they thrust your way

But the moment you’re alone, expect to be scooped into his arms and carried to his room

Boi instantly wants to know the process

When do you draw? How long does it take? Where do you do it? How are you getting your supplies? Who pays?

It’s not so much the physical process he’s interested in, but rather the nuances of art that make your work look so you. He’s not interested in learning for the sake of doing, but simply for the sake of understanding because he already appreciates your art so much

Absolutely invites you to his room to have you show him the art process the next time you start working on a piece

And after the first time, then, he invites you back a second - then a third - and then the two of you have settled into a routine where after school, you come to his room and pencil away in your sketchpad, with Beel watching in the background, munching on snacks

It’s quite relaxing for him, actually

He likes watching as you bring a piece together, going over previously flat areas with a second layer of shading to make certain elements pop—and even if he doesn’t completely understand what you’re doing, he’s entirely willing to learn, listening peacefully as you explain what the various tools do

By the end of the month, man has actually memorized all the names of your supplies, handing them to you every time you ask for it - be it something as simple as a request for an eraser or just the blending stump

Lowkey, your work has actually improved since you began working up in Beel’s room

Not only does he have the most comfortable setup, but the man pampers you like royalty, always making sure that there’s water or food for you in case you need something

(And if you do happen to require something that isn’t already in Beel’s room, man will 100% get it for you so that you don’t have to stop what you’re doing)

Honestly, it’s the perfect arrangement: he gives you the ideal working space and you give him hours upon hours of intrigue

And if you happen to begin sitting in his lap one day while you work, something which quickly turns into a pattern, who’s there to stop anything? ;)

Belphegor

Man naps

A lot

And you just happen to be his favorite pillow, so it’s hardly a surprise when all your free time is spent in the presence of a dozing Belphie, always passed out over your legs

So once, just once, you pull your sketchpad out from under your pillow and work on it, a cautious eye trained on the seventh-born’s every move in case he stirs

And when that first time goes smoothly, you pull your sketchpad out a second time

Then a third

Then a fourth - and suddenly, you’re caught in a pattern

It was really just a matter of time until Belphie woke up one day and you didn’t notice

And it’s already too late when the drowsy demon lifts his head, peering curiously onto your lap to see what you’re working on—much to your horror

“Y-you’re awake,” You mutter halfheartedly, a sick feeling settling in your stomach as you watch the demon’s expression shift as he studies your artwork

You hate it

A bubble of anxiety begins to rise, fear over whether he will like your work or call it bad, whether he’ll make fun of your work or tell the brothers, whether he’ll be kind about it or mean

But then, much to your surprise, he flops back onto your lap, utterly unphased

“Nice,” The demon comments casually, stretching as he rests his head along your thigh. “It’s pretty.”

You can only blink as he falls back asleep, utterly confused as to what just happened

He woke up, right? And he saw your art? And he complimented it, telling you that he thought it was nice and pretty?

A sound of disbelief escapes your mouth as you try to process the utter nonchalance with which the whole exchange had concluded with, your shock only interrupted by the light sound of Belphie, who’s already snoring

You groan

But now that Belphie has seen your work, it’s not like there’s much point in hiding it any longer, right?

You pull your sketchbook out, silently continuing to work on the design that the man napping on your lap had said to be “nice,” adding some finishing touches to it 

And when Belphie wakes up, he speaks nothing of the entire exchange

From that point and onward, you become a little more comfortable around him, relieved that you don’t need to talk about it with him

And he gets it

For all your free time, while he naps, you draw, and the two of you find a comfortable form of peace together, an odd tranquility lurking in the fact that there are no questions, no answers, just you and him, the sound of scribbling and snoring, your sketchpad and his pillow

And really, who needs anything else?

Solomon

He’s probably the first one to realize, on his own, that you’re an artist

The two of you have nearly all your classes together, thanks to Lord Diavolo, so it’s hardly surprising when the ever-astute sorcerer picks up on the fact that every time he casts you a second glance, you’re working on some mysterious sketch underneath your desk

Doesn’t really care at first

Until he sees your work

Man actually stops when he picks your sketchbook up off the ground, inspecting the page it had flipped open to after you dropped it

“Holy shit”

Doesn’t even ask for permission, he just begins browsing through the sketchbook, growing more and more impressed with each new page he sees

You only snatch the book back from his hands when you realize that the sketch he’s staring at so intently is one you drew of him, thanking him for picking it up with a huff and awkwardly trying to remove yourself from the situation as fast as humanly (heh, yes that is a pun) possible

Wizard boy stops you, ofc

“Come with me”

“But I have class soon—"

Again, doesn’t even wait for your agreement, man just drags you by the forearm to the library and flips open a book, throws down his own notebook, and demands that you use your “art skills or whatever” to help him

Sigh

Precious wizard boy isn’t very good with words when he’s all worked up

It takes you a good 5 minutes to understand that he wants you to compare the summoning circle outlined on the book with the one he sketched to identify where he went wrong, because apparently you have an “artist’s eye” and therefore you should be able to assist him - and he refuses to believe you when you try to convince him that no, this is not your strong suit and you will likely be unable to help him

He gets whinier than Asmo (probably where he gets it from) and will not stop nagging you even as you try to leave, so eventually you just give in and agree to try to help him - and it wounds up being surprisingly easy for you to realize that he missed the secondary outline of the inner circle, among another few minor mistakes

Huh, maybe you are naturally inclined toward this

From that moment and onward, Solomon decides that you are officially valuable (not only do you have magical potential, but you have an eye for summoning circles too? how UNFAIR) and begins spending all his time with you

Doesn’t really care about the fact that you’re an artist at first—is really more interested in how your skills can be applied

But then one day, after a particularly rough night of going through twelve whole summoning circles for twelve powerful demons, he takes a nap and wakes up to find you passed out on the floor, sleeping on top of your sketchbook where you fell asleep doodling him

Highkey touched

And slowly, he begins casually “falling asleep” around you more often, to see and flip through more of your artwork when he wakes up 

Sigh

Bby is fucking shady even when he does wholesome shit

Simeon

Okay let’s be real

There’s no peace with the seven demon brothers. Solomon is chaotic. Luke, as much as we love him, is just a lot to be around. And even with Barbatos next to him, Diavolo is a walking tornado that tends to wreak havoc whenever he wills it (and he usually wills it).

So honestly, being with Simeon is the only place of tranquility you can find in the entire Devildom

Specifically, his room

*Which is off-limits to all the aforementioned individuals

He extended the invitation for you to spend some “relaxation time” in his quarters whenever you pleased at the beginning of the year, his angelic heart already sensing the absolute whirlwind of disaster you were walking into when you joined RAD

And while you declined his offer immediately out of politeness, you found yourself sheepishly knocking on his door not one week into the program

And now it’s become an every-day sort of thing

So yeah

Simeon knows about your art

In fact, you can’t seem to draw unless you’re in his presence, because at this point, he naturally soothes you so much that your hand is only steady when you hear the sound of his calm breathing in the background

In fact, you work best when the two of you are spread out on his couch, your back resting comfortably on Simeon’s shoulder while he writes (yes, he manually writes all his books on pen and paper) and you put your legs up on the couch, sketching away in your notebook

It’s the very image of peace, something you can’t seem to find anywhere else in this realm

And Simeon, bless his heart, may be a master of calligraphy, but the precious angel cannot draw to save his life - a fact which you have taken it upon yourself to handle

See, the angel gets tired every now and then—understandable, given that he produces literal masterpieces at his hands

And so when he gets tired, what does he do? 

Make incomprehensible doodles in the upper left corners of his papers

So, of course, you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring those doodles to life (even if it requires a half-hour of inspection before you can make out what the sketch was supposed to be) and Simeon loves it

The expression of eagerness that surfaces every time you inform him that you’ve finished a piece is so rewarding, because the childlike glee with which he takes the paper from your hands to inspect it always sends a rush of warmth to your heart as he gushes in appreciation

But uh 

Simeon is a special kind of chaotic, something that manifests every time he doodles something on paper

You stare at the angel in disbelief as he informs you that his latest doodle (what appears to be a banana-looking creature in sunglasses?) was actually a monkey ironing clothes—unsure what to say in light of this information

But it’s okay :) There only needs to be one artist in this relationship, and it clearly isn’t him

Luke

It started with cake

He needed “inspiration” to make something for Barbatos, as a thank-you gift for the pastry lessons the elder gave him, but Luke claimed that everything he made, while it tasted fine, lacked in the aesthetic department

And while normally you would play it Simeon-style, leaving it to the younger angel to handle things on his own so that he can grow individually, you felt too bad watching him discard another batch of cupcakes into Beel’s mouth, rubbing his head in aggravation over how annoying it was that nothing was looking right

So you helped him out

It was nothing major, really

Just eight doodles—subtle yet elegant designs for a triple-tiered cake, childish and bouncy arrangements to store flan, little details in frosting to give cupcakes the added element of specialty that makes them infinitely better

But the second Luke saw your paper, he went wild

Boi was running to the kitchen so fast he barely even had the time to shout “thank you” 

Apparently, your little sketches sparked inspiration in him so strongly that the flames burned til midnight (much to Simeon’s disapproval), but when Luke was finally done with everything, he walked out of the kitchen with a tray of desserts that looked so perfect it was hard to imagine that he brought them to life from your sketches

Luke spent ages thanking you, shoving desserts down your throat even when you insisted that you were full, so unimaginably grateful that you helped him out of what he called “chef’s block”

Each “thank you” was accompanied either a brownie or a slice of mango mousse or whatever new pastry Luke was creating that day, and before long you were getting to enjoy luxury foods on the daily (much to Beel’s jealousy)

Boy only believed that the debt was paid when you told him that there was no debt to pay, that you sketched those quick little doodles for him out of kindness and not obligation

Believe it or not, Luke’s eyes actually welled with tears for a second at that, before he wrapped you up in a giant (is it really giant if the hugger is so little?) hug, wailing something about you being too “pure” and “perfect” for the Devildom, and that one day you would be very happy in the Celestial Realm

You pat his head, telling him that if it truly made him this happy, you would be glad to help him out again and sketch some food doodles whenever he wanted some new ideas

Cue another round of hugs, muffled crying, and sobs about how amazing you are

Barbatos

Barbatos knew, of course

Not because he used his powers or anything, he would hardly use them for something so trivial, but he was aware from the start that you were an artist because it was he who prepared for your arrival in the Devildom, ensuring that you had all the same amenities and comforts you were used to in the human realm

And, as such, that included art supplies

So the very moment he set his eyes on you, he was aware that you were an artist

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually be good at it

He sees your sketchbook when he’s casually strolling through the RAD library, finding you completely knocked out on one of the tables, the spiral binding of the sketchpad still digging indents into your cheek where you lie on top of it

At first, the butler rearranges your position as a courtesy

He lifts your head and rests it on your hand - which makes a much softer pillow -  coincidentally placing your books back inside your bag and taking a moment to organize the papers strewn across the desk

But then he just happens to glance inside

And the second he does, he’s mesmerized

There’s not much in the world that can surprise Barbatos - not after he’s looked after Diavolo, of all people, for so many millennia - but the butler still finds himself holding his breath as he flips through your sketchpad, each piece telling a story so evocative that it leaves him wanting more even when he arrives at a blank page, abruptly realizing that he’s just gone through your entire sketchbook without your permission

Of course, you just have to wake up at that precise moment - sleepy eyes glancing up at the butler and wondering if you’re hallucinating, but the book in his hands is far too real and the shocked expression on his face is impossibly jarring and you flinch, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you realize what must have happened

Barbatos is a perfect gentleman about it, kindly telling you to get more rest so that you don’t pass out in a public library surrounded by demons who want to eat your soul, but he ends the sharp warning with a rather kind remark about your artwork

“I liked the second-last piece best,” He murmurs, casting you a cryptic smile before bidding you farewell

And obviously, the moment he’s out of sight, your nose is buried in your sketchbook, fingers flipping furiously to find the second-last piece you drew which you cannot seem to remember at all, and—

Oh

A flush immediately erupts on your cheeks as you see the colored sketch, something inspired by nothing more than a whim

It’s simply two people on a walk—both of them vague imitations of what your mind had wistfully conjured up—one of them bearing the telltale mismatched hair and olive green eyes, the other sharing a quiet resemblance to yourself - a conscious decision, of course

But just as you’re about to flip off the page, another detail you’d forgotten about draws your attention—and your cheeks suddenly burn in embarrassment as you realize why Barbatos singled this piece out

The figures are smiling, gazing at each other from the corners of their eyes. And there, in the very center of the piece, it is obvious: 

They are holding hands

Diavolo

RIP to Diavolo’s royal painter

They have been replaced

By you

As much as you fought it, as much as you argued that you were not fitting of this position, as much as you pleaded with the demon lord to not force this title upon your shoulders, Diavolo’s decision to appoint you as the honorary Devildom painter was final—and nothing can change his mind once it’s made up

The title is really just that: a title. Diavolo knows that you’re a busy student, and while he honored your artistic talents with this position, he’s not about to actually force you through the expected proceedings of a true royal painter, not while you’re trying to survive being an exchange student in hell with an entirely unfamiliar curriculum in front of you

But on occasion, he’ll send you a text, asking if you’re free

And you’ll head on over to his palace, ready to paint him

And unlike every other demon, angel, and human in the Devildom, when Diavolo models for you, he actually models nude

Asmo is jealous

Sexual tension is high when you paint him, let’s just leave things at that

And honestly, it really doesn’t matter what you paint - Diavolo seems to be more interested in the fact that it’s a human who did the art in the first place

He once saw your RAD binder, noticing the little doodles you’d drawn on the corner of all your papers, and he immediately took them—declaring that they were art to be preserved for all eternity for historical documentation purposes

So yeah

There’s a hall in Diavolo’s palace filled with your RAD math homework, an eternal reminder of the assignments you copied off of Solomon

(You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you’ve drawn some rather inappropriate doodles on those pages or the fact that, despite having copied all the answers, you still managed to get nearly one-third of the problems wrong, and now your mistakes are to be showcased in the Devildom for centuries to come)

It gets to the point where you and Solomon start making bets over how basic you can get with your art for Diavolo to still consider it “amazing” and “utterly awe-inspiring,” as he likes to put it

In honor of that bet, there is currently a banana peel with a few marker doodles on it hanging in a preserved case in an iced room in the lowest levels of the palace, as none of the “art” can be wasted

But in truth, the demon lord’s fixation with human culture is endearing, especially when Diavolo tries so hard to be accepting of it

So eventually you stop giving Diavolo wacky art and actually start putting your full effort into your creations—your reward being the fact that the final piece you complete gets hung in Diavolo’s private bedroom, where he promises to gaze at it every night for the rest of eternity, vowing to remember his time with you every time he sees it

[trashboatprince]

Since I’m still in a sci-fi mood (along with, like, monsters and romance stuff too, but that’s always there), and I haven’t been able to really... make any new written content recently, I decided to rework an old one-shot I wrote for the space pirate au with how my Henry, Hugo, met Bendy in it.

I honestly don’t remember if I ever posted it here, I know I posted it on discord for my friends to read, but I’m posting up a better version here. Plus, rewriting an old drabble might help me get back into the swing of things when it comes to writing! Especially since I’ve got a zine entry to work on. 

As always, Hugo is a half human/half alien (Asterian), and he’s fourteen in this. Bendy is a being from another universe or dimension, it’s unclear where Bendy’s from, but he’s a demon.

Asterians are a race of aliens that have the ability to travel through the vacuum of space with no need to breathe and have bioluminescent skin, but because Hugo is part human, he can’t last as long in space as he should.

On with the fic!

--

Hugo had lost count of how long he had been left on this stupid hunk of space rock, but he knew that he would probably be dead in due time. 

He considered that he’s probably got about an hour or two left, and knowing the Butcher Gang, they’ll either show up last minute to watch him suffer before putting him back on the ship, or they’ll just let him perish. They’re real jackasses like that.

At least he took his sketchbook with him after they threw him off the ship for their own enjoyment, but still, not much to draw when all around him was just inky darkness and a weak light source from a distant star. 

He sighed, soundless, his skin gently flashing a neon green, starting from his face down to his fingertips.

“Dat’s a real fancy trick ya can do, kid.”

Hugo’s eyes widened and he turned, shocked to have heard a voice, when he normally couldn’t hear anything in the vacuum of space. He was surprised to see something moving in the darkness of space around him. Something shifted, specks of lights moving around in front of him, before something formed. It looked like a wide, cartoon-ish smile, and from there a whiteness started to spread, forming an odd shape. Then two black, nearly full ovals, with little cuts in them, appeared in the white. It was a face!

“Hiya!” The face greeted in a childish voice, though clearly accented. The shape got closer and as it stepped onto the rock with Hugo, the half-human saw a shape form.

The darkness of space took on legs, oddly shaped, along with a long tail, them a small body that was sorta shaped like a bean. Arms with clawed hands followed, and the face seemed to have more of a head shape to it, though clearly shaped like a strange crescent form. The blackness of the body was covered in what looked like stars, twinkling and flashing, a variety of colors.

“What?” The strange creature asked. “Ya not gonna greet me?”

Hugo frowned, gesturing to his throat and then opened his mouth before shaking his head, his skin flashing involuntarily.

“Ah, right,” The creature nodded, frowning, “ya guys in dis universe can’t talk in da vacuum of space. Hold on.” 

He snapped his fingers, the snap actually made a sound, and a bubble surrounded the whole rock. Hugo let out a surprised laugh, before slapping a hand over his mouth, blinking. “W-what?”

“Just a li’l trick, super easy to do!” A grin formed on the other’s face. “It’s made outta natural gases dat drift around us, can’t just make it all, ya know, willy-nilly, but it’s super simple! So, what’s yours dat mine’s Bendy!”

Hugo had to take a moment to register what this guy, Bendy, has said. “It’s, uh, it’s Hugo.” He replied, coughing, trying to sound deeper than he naturally was. 

“Hugo, huh?” Bendy grinned brightly. “Nice to meet’cha! So, whatcha doin’ out here in an asteroid belt? Not really a social spot fer ya... what are you?”

“I dunno.” Hugo shrugged. “Human and somethin’ else, I reckon. What exactly are you?”

“Demon!”

“Demon? You mean, like, those human monsters?”

Bendy snorted loudly at this. “Pah-lease! Nonononononono- weeeellll... yes? No? Maybe so! Hard to tell, I mean, demons an’ angels aren’t technically natural to dis dimension, but we exist! We’ve been to Earth! I’ve been there, a number of times, really nice, an’ kinda bad, but it’s got lots of fun stuff there! Ya ever been?”

Hugo shook his head. “No, never really been in that area of the galaxy. Been, uh, stuck in situations were I don’t get to pick where I go.”

The grin slipped on Bendy’s face, as if he was reading the situation and figured out what Hugo was referring to. “Ah, I getcha. Still, maybe you’ll get to see it! It’s pretty neat!” The grin returned and cosmic eyes glanced to the sketchbook resting next to Hugo. “Oh! Ya draw?”

There was a nod, and Bendy asked to see. Hugo let him and Bendy started to look at the sketches and drawings Hugo’s done over the past few months. He seemed rather excited and giddy about them, chatting and pointing out what he loved, or pointed out what was good but could use some improvement.

It was... kinda nice, Hugo thought as he sat there, listening to Bendy ramble on and on. He hadn’t really had anyone to talk to in ages, not since his escape from his previous life and being cabin boy on the Butcher Gang’s ship didn’t give him much respect from anyone onboard, so having a strange being this excited to talk to him was like a breath of fresh air.

“So, why are ya sittin’ on this floatin’ rock, Hugo?” Bendy asked after a while, when their conversation had turned into small talk and such.

“I got left behind for no good reason by the Butcher Gang, they’re the pirates I ‘work’ for.” Hugo stuck out his tongue, making a face. “They’re a bunch of lowlife bastards, is what they are! I bet I could be a better pirate than them any day!” 

“You wanna be a pirate?”

“Yeah!” Hugo got to his feet, grinning. “I wanted to be a ranger when I was a kid, but I think a pirate would be cooler! Better! I can make a name for myself, I can rule the skies in my own ship! One day, I’ll have my name known across the galaxy! People will fear the name Hugo, no more lookin’ down on me and thinkin’ I’m just some freak or useless mutt!”

Bendy stared at him for a moment, quietly, and Hugo suddenly felt self conscious, before Bendy’s grin grew even bigger than it had before, nearly face splitting. His eyes sparkled with stars, brightly, it was so strange. “That... SOUNDS AMAZIN’! Can I join!? Can I be part of yer crew, Hugo!?”

Hugo was a bit caught off-guard by this. “You... you wanna be part of my crew? Why?”

“Cause dat sounds like so much fun! Look, I’m a drifter, I explore wherever I drift to, but dat gets so borin’ after so long! An’ bein’ a space pirate sounds like a blast! I’ll help you escape, an’ you an’ I can go on a bajillion adventures together!”

Bendy shoved his hand out at Hugo, smiling. “I’ll make yer dreams come true, Hugo. If ya want mah help.”

“...” Hugo looked at the offered hand. “What do you get outta this? No offense, but from what I know about demons, they like to make deals.”

“None taken.” Bendy shrugged, casually. “I getcha, not easy to trust a demon, we do have a rep fer deals an’ da like, kinda ruins it fer the honest demons like me. But listen, all I want outta this is a fun life! An’ I think yer just da guy to make dat happen.” He winked and Hugo chuckled.

“Alright, you’ve got a deal, Bendy!” Hugo took the offered hand with manic glee.

--

“Wait, you just... took the deal? Just like that?” Harrison asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you not consider that it could have been a trick?”

“Honestly?” Hugo shrugged. “I considered that, yeah, but Bendy sounded honest, and somethin’ about him screamed ‘he’ll be the most important friend you’ll ever have’. And I was right.”

Hugo chuckled, rubbing at his right palm, where black mark was in his skin, like a tattoo. It was Bendy’s mark, meant for protection and connection. Harrison had asked about it, had asked how Hugo had even met Bendy, and the pirate decided to tell him.

“Do you regret it?” Harrison asked as he looked at the mark.

“Nope, never have, never will. Bendy and I are friends till the end.”

“I see... wait, how the heck did you two become father and son then?”

“Oh, see, now that’s a really funny story! So, when I was fifteen...”

--

It had been a slip from Bendy, by the way, he has accidentally called Hugo ‘dad’ and then it sorta just stuck around. Hugo has embraced the role of dad with his whole being, especially since he can get away with dad jokes now.

But yeah, here’s how these two met in this au! 

Harrison is my friend inkspottie’s Henry, by the way. 

[fakeloveaskblog]

Okay Remy, I am going to resend that previous message I sent you, just so you have it so you can reread it if you perchance wanted to do that. Don't worry, you didn't accidentally delete it, someone else purposefully did. Also, no… you weren't left with the true things, that's just learned cognitive distortions speaking; I'm sure if you asked Jan or Rem if they thought those things about you, they would set you straight right away. I'll also put a silent alarm on your phone that'll go off the next time Remus is near you, though only if you let me. Would that help?

(Tw: Vague implications of past abuse)

Remy: "Set me straight? dfhjd who are you? my dad? Jk jk. I know what you mean. I don't know what cognition distractions or whatever mean 'cause I'm tots an idiot. Like girl the only reason I didn't fail all of highschool was 'cause Virge did just enough of my work for me. You don't gotta tell me what it means btw. I can like look it up. I may not have a brain but I do have google. and uh yeah that helps. thanks. I'm gonna go reread the message now"

A few days later, in the middle of the day, the Rems were sitting on the sidewalk behind a starbucks. There were so many people inside the cafe Remus had nearly gotten a sensory overload while ordering the 4 cupcakes and 2 sandwiches he was smashing down into his slippery gullet. Remy had just taken a black coffee.

The alarm had gone off a while ago but they didn't know how to ask him about it. He looked tense. He sat in an unnatural pose that made it easy to get up and run away. His shoulders were raised and brows just a bit furrowed. Maybe they could-

"Oh!!! Bean bitch do you wanna see what I've been drawing lately???" Remus suddenly exclaimed, crumbs of sandwich flew out of his mouth.

"Sure babe"

He had a big grin on his lips as he took out his sketchbook and flipped through it "Alright so you remember how I did some anatomy practice of you when we watched lesbian vampire movies yes? Well I kinda continued with those"

The first few drawings were realistic sketches of Remy's face from a few different angles but on the next page he'd used his cartoony style to make them into a supernatural being. One drawing showed them with 8 eyes. One with nothing but gorey eye sockets left. One with spiders crawling out of their eyes and mouth.

Remus rocked back and forth slightly "Sorry. Is it weird? I just thought it would be cool if there were some character who looked nromal but was hiding something under their sunglasses. I dunno. Maybe it's stu-"

"No. No. Babe I think it's like tots cool! You made me look like super chic. Blood is totally in right now!!"

He shone up into a bright smile "Thanks!" There was slight blushing on his cheeks.

"I think I would look cool with some teeth in my eyes just saying"

"OOOOh!! Maybe even fangs?!"

"You got it babe!"

He took out a pen and immediately started to sketch it out. Remy was just happy getting to watch him draw.

Until a notification sound came from Remus' phone. He flinched before quickly checking it and immediately setting it down again. He somehow tensed up more.

Remy took a deep breathe. They could do this. They could talk about emotional stuff.

"You good babe? I mean like at any time? 'Cause you look tense like a lot- I uh I'm not like asking why. You don't gotta tell me shit. just like wondering if you're like okay"

"You're one to talk. you walk around looking like you got a stick up your butt 24/7........Do you??....kinky"

"Not yet"

"Me neither"

They both went quiet. Remus fiddled with the ring he still had on his finger. Remy scratched at their neck.

"I...I just feel paranoid....all the time...My intrusive thoughts never shut up about how every interaction I have with other peple could end in the worst ways. Even right now" Remus muttered out after a while.

"I get that. I mean I" They forced a chuckle "Every single time my boyfriend raises his hand, just to like take a plate or something, my thoughts still scream at me that he's gonna hit me. He never does. I know he won't. But my body and thoughts still act like he will. It happens with every person. I've been sure Janus was going to slap me"

Remus looked up at them. His eyes suddenly looked so so desperate "I dosen't get better?" He asked, his voice sounded like it was close to breaking "The paranoia will Always be there?"

"What? No! No no no. of course not babe. I'm just completely fucked up y'know. Like all of my argument with my boyfriend ends with either me having like a panic attack or us fucking" They laughed "Like an overemotional crybaby y'know. But you're- You'll be fine- I'm sure- You're not- I'm just-"

Remus pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his chin against his knees. "I think you can be fine too" He mumbled out.

"I don't- I- I dunno- It's like it's so clear I was like supposed to die at specific moments...and then I just....didn't....and now I'm just like still here even though I'm not supposed to...I'm just like a rotting corpse dragging everyone else down. I-I don't know how to be fine if my thoughts are still sure I'm going to die every single day"

Remus shrugged "I think rotting corpses are pretty cool"

It was so out of left field Remy let up into a laugh. "Jesus fuck you stupid necrophile" They hid their face in their hands "Babe I'm sorry. I'm tots rambling. I was asking if you were okay, not if you wanted to like hear me be a stupid bitch"

"It's okay. I think being able to be a stupid bitch is kinda cool too. I can't even try to vent without shutting down...I feel kind of like I'm rotting as well"

(It felt like he'd left his skin in his old apartement. To be honest it felt like his entire being had been scrapped out of him just to be left behind)

"Wow babe. Is there something you don't think is cool?"

He thought for a moment "Soap. It's icky and gets everywhere"

"Sound argument"

Remus slowly moved his head to lean it against their shoulder. He could feel their chest rise to take a shuddering breathe and lower again.

"Have you ever thought I would?" Remus quietly asked.

"Yeah" They admitted "I know you wouldn't"

"I know. I've been paranoid about you too"

"It's okay"

"I've willingly been to your apartment. That's a lot" Remus pointed out "I haven't been to Jan's apartement"

"We should break into his place in the middle of the night" Remy replied in a fake serious tone.

"Oh yeah. It's a must. How else do you know you're friends? We should bring matching friendship knives as well!"

Remy chuckled "You can design them. And my teeth eye design! That's like tots important! My true destiny is to be a monster milf y'know. The lesbians would love me"

"Ayyay captain! I'll get right on that! Remus: milf maker"

They let out an audible keysmash "Babe that's my porn name now. Milf maker! Cougar collector! Homewrecker hoobyist!!"

"Yay grammar!!"

Remy got up and held out their hand to help him up. "Aight babe, I better head home. And you better get yourself a hot bath. You sure are smelling like a rotten corpse"

"Oh don't worry. I have a demon who sends me gifts, including bathing gifts"

Remy blinked at him "Huh" They moved their arm around his shoulders and started to walk towards the busstop "Tell me all about it. Is it a hot demon?"

[kitkat1003]

On the issue of Mortality

AO3 Link

MK chose to be mortal, to be vulnerable, for the time being, and Monkey King is fine with that.

On the surface, at least.  Now he has a successor, one that he likes, and he’s vulnerable????

Yeah, he’s never going to sleep easy again.

(Or, 11 chapters through season 1 about Monkey King, and anxiety his successor gives him.  Who knew being a dad teacher would be so hard?)

Chapter 1: Picking a successor

(Or “Look, I’m gonna come clean.  Um...I’ve been kinda watching you”)

When Sun Wukong—the Monkey King—decides he needs a successor, it isn’t an easy decision.  For one, he refuses to admit why.  Because that would mean confronting it all and he doesn’t want to.  

He needs a successor because he wants one.  Who doesn’t want to retire?  It’s not like he’s spent hundreds of thousands of years in technical retirement, waiting for the Demon Bull King to return.  No, he’s been...super busy.  Yeah.  Turning Flower Fruit Mountain into a paradise has totally taken him…forever, and, like, he’s got lots of stuff to do.  He watches TV, once humans get electricity figured out.  Gets a computer too, once those things start popping up.  He gets a lawyer or two, yknow, keeping up with the times.

He’s...super busy.  He definitely deserves a retirement.

So all that’s left is find a successor.  Easy, right?

Well....

He actually starts looking when he hears whispers that the Demon Bull family is starting to get close to figuring out how to lift his staff.  So about a hundred years before Demon Bull King actually escapes.

He finds a few kids he thinks might work, but nothing happens, anyway, so there’s no point in interrupting their boring normal lives for nothing.  Besides, he doesn’t really see any of them with the spark of...something that he wants in his successor in any of them

He watches them grow.  Child to teen to adult, he watches, and then he leaves before they get too old because he doesn’t want to see the headstones.

He doesn’t understand why they have to be human.  Why they have to be mortal.  Why they have to be able to die.

Why he has to watch them die.

Years and years pass.  He gets lax, when looking for a successor.  Lax when it comes to keeping an eye on the Demon Bull family.

He does, on occasion, watch the town where his staff is.  It’s a pretty populace place, always buzzing with some sort of activity, which is both fun and boring.

One night, he watches a kid—no older than 13, he thinks, since he’s gotten used to watching humans grow and can gauge it pretty well—sprint down the street in the rain, wearing nothing but a ratty old hoodie, a shirt, shorts, torn up shoes, and a headband so dirty that even he can’t discern the original color.

There are three other figures chasing him, and he ducks into an alley as they sprint past.  Monkey King watches as the kid settles down, sitting in the alley, and pulling something out from beneath his hoodie.

A puppy.

“Hey there, little guy,” the kid’s voice is soft, and he scritches the tiny pup behind the ears.  “Sorry I couldn’t get your siblings, but they’d already been thrown in the lake—” the look on the kid’s face is nothing short of heartbreaking. 

Monkey King has plans for the group of thugs he saw earlier, if that’s what they were doing. Humans. 

��But hey, managed to save you, huh?  I’ll bring you to a shelter in the morning.  Someone will take you home and you’ll get loved to death.” Monkey King rolls his eyes at the saccharine display, but he wonders.

There isn’t a lot of crime in this city, with its advancements.  What’s a kid doing outside this late at night?

“I’d take you home with me, but mine’s more of a hovel than a place to live.  You can still see it, though!  C’mon,” the kid gets up, stumbling a little, and Monkey King notices that he’s favoring one leg, that the elbow of one of the sleeve’s of his hoodie is wet.

He follows.

The kid’s house is literally a shack made of a metal sheet wedged between an alley wall.  There’s a ‘bench’ that’s a slab of rock placed on top of more rocks, where a well loved sketchbook sits.

The kid sits on the bench, setting the puppy down beside him as he flips open his sketchbook.

“I’m gonna draw you, so I don’t forget, kay?” He pats the pup on the head, and then, using the smallest, most worn down pencil Monkey King has ever seen, he slowly carves out the puppy’s features, getting the soft tones of fur.  He keeps squinting, but Monkey King thinks that’s because all he has is the light of the lamppost for his vision.

This kid...is pretty darn good.

Monkey King watches for way longer than he would like to admit, and then watches as the kid pulls out a very worn blanket-substitute, curling around the puppy beneath it.

He frowns, but isn’t sure what to do about it.

So he leaves, and makes sure those thugs learn a thing or two about treating animals with respect.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This kid just keeps popping up in Monkey King’s peripherals.

He likes to people watch, and the kid will just appear from nowhere.  He’ll be running down the street, hanging out with this girl who looks about 3 economic classes above him. They’ll go to the arcade and play for hours, and she’ll pay for practically everything.

He decides he likes her, if she’s nice enough to do that for the kid.  Plus, he feels a familiar energy coming off of her, something he trusts.

They typically end their day at a noodle shop.  Pigsy’s?  The kid always pays there, with coins of various sizes.  The girl, when the kid isn’t looking, will slip the cook some more money.  They get steaming hot bowls of ramen, harass the cook, and eventually get half chased out, laughing all the while.

“You know you can stay with me, right?” The girl says, one day, when Monkey King is people watching (read: eavesdropping on their conversation.  It’s like his new favorite TV show, at this point).  Kid rolls his eyes.

“Mei, c’mon, your relationship with your folks is as strained as mine!  I wouldn’t want you to end up like me.  Besides, I’m fine!” he insists with the grin Monkey King has grown accustomed to seeing on Kid’s face.  

The information Monkey King gains from those two sentences is certainly something, and he ponders on Mei, the girl who spends her days as far away from home as possible.

Mei frowns.

“You still won’t show me where you’re staying.  Or explain why your clothes are all torn up!” She pokes him in the chest, and the Kid shrugs.

“Cause you wouldn’t like either of those things!  I can take care of myself!  Promise.” He rocks back and forth on his feet, all smiles.

Mei fixes him with a glare, before she sighs, relenting. “Fine.  But, if you won’t take my hospitality, you get my undying loyalty and free stuff!” She whips out a brand new red winter coat.  

Kid takes it slowly.

“It’s getting colder out!” She explains.  “And red just isn’t my color, you know?”

Kid slowly pulls the jacket against his chest, like he doesn’t know what to do with it, and then he smiles.  This one is smaller.  Less performative.  Monkey King didn’t realize that he’d been watching the kid to be able to tell the difference, but it’s not too hard to see.  Kid uses big smiles like a cloak, to hide what’s underneath.  The smaller ones-those are like the slivers of sunlight shooting out from an eclipse.  Wukong finds he prefers the smaller ones.

Kid wraps his arm around Mei’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Mei.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The days get colder, and Kid is still in that shack.  Monkey King finds out that Kid doesn’t steal for money.  Instead, he does little odd jobs for short change, and then looks for coins people have dropped.  Apparently, the city’s wealth has made people more loose with their change.

Mei drags him to warm places as often as she can, but apparently this time of year she has a lot of responsibilities, or “social events,” as she calls them, so she can’t be around as much.

Kid doesn’t seem to mind, shivering through the nights, curling himself as tight as possible with that jacket and shitty blanket, and Monkey King doesn’t know why he even cares, but...

He’s not cruel.  It isn’t pleasant to watch a kid suffer.

And then, Kid gets sick.  Like, delirious, fever sick, and he’s not getting better.

And Monkey King has told himself, a million times, that he would let Kid figure his own life out, but he ends up picking Kid up anyway, depositing him at the ever familiar noodle shop.

The cook drags the boy inside, and Monkey King doesn’t see Kid on the streets after that.

Good.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kid starts working at the noodle shop, apparently, and he lives above the shop.  Slowly, he accrues random objects.  Sketchbooks, games, figurines, Monkey King comics?  He watches the show near religiously, and Monkey King is both flattered and weirded out.

A super fan, huh?  Okay then.

And when he isn’t working, or watching “Monkey King: The Animated Series,” or reading Monkey King comics, he’s begging the resident bookworm, Tang, for stories, which he then sketches out.

Monkey King actually goes through the sketchbook once, when Kid’s asleep.  Yup, Kid’s really, really good at this.  Monkey King actually thinks about stealing a drawing, but that would be both very obvious and also stupid.

So he lets it go.  He ought to look for his successor, anyway.  He hears the Demon Bull family is getting close.

He leaves Kid to his life and moves on to his own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He can’t find a successor.  Somehow.  It’s like every person in this city (and it would have to be in this city, because you need to be close to the staff in some regard if you want to have a connection with it.  Being born near it, living near it-makes it easy for the energy, the chi, to find you) doesn’t want anything to do with hero business.  The kids he considers are too small, the adults too...boring.

And he’s getting pretty frustrated here, because he thinks he might just have to fight the Demon Bull King all over again, which, ugh.

And then, it clicks.

He’s watching Kid drive around town, delivering orders, and somehow the kid steers towards the construction site.  Toward the staff.

Of course.

God, it was literally staring him in the face.  He feels kind of dumb, now that it hits him, but whatever.  Not like anyone’s around to tease him about it.

He watches Kid waltz towards danger, music in his headphones too loud to notice the literal demon family, until Kid opens his eyes and sees the whole demon army there, and hoo boy, is this comical.

Monkey King wonders if they’ll succeed this time, in lifting his staff.  They certainly seem confident.  He’s kind of curious, kind of bored.  The whole ‘take our rightful place as rulers of this world’ schtick is super annoying, and Red Son’s voice is grating.

The light show is pretty nice, though, and then.

Then.

Demon Bull King’s a lot smaller than he remembers, but his voice is the same, as is his attitude.  Monkey King can feel Kid shaking and takes a quick sweep of the area.  Seems his successor is right above Red Son.

He smirks to himself, not that anyone can see considering he’s a bird right now.  

This is going to be hilarious.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Kid touches the staff, Monkey King isn’t prepared for the feeling he gets.

It’s like he’s been the single Sun in an endless galaxy, surrounded by darkness, when suddenly another star appears from nowhere, throwing him into orbit with it.  The galaxy shifts, the light doubles, the darkness recedes.

Monkey King’s own center, his sun, feels red hot, warm, and tempered by years of life, with a spark of yellow and white in its center.  Kid’s is bright, brilliant golden yellow, more white than any color, bursting with energy.

That energy gets put to work pretty quickly, as the Kid fumbles his way out of the demon’s den, and Monkey King soars after him, watching the escape with a smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He doesn’t properly meet Kid until he gets shot all the way to Flower Fruit mountain.  After Kid escapes Red Son, he panickedly tells his friends what’s going on and tries to get there on his own.

Well, all the way is a bit much.  Maybe Monkey King had to catch Kid and fly him there, because Kid was looking half dead and Monkey King was a little worried, but that’s beside the point.  He leaves Kid on the shore, and follows him when Kid gets up.

He isn’t expecting the frustration, when he can’t be found, but he supposes that’s his cue.

Getting stepped on is unpleasant.  Guess Kid doesn’t like bugs.

God, the look on Kid’s face, when it hits him that Monkey King’s been watching him!  If he could frame a memory, that would be it.  Hoo, boy, is that going to be replaying in his head for a while.  Kid seems more bewildered than anything else, and the idea of being Monkey King’s successor doesn’t sit well with him.

Which, Monkey King doesn’t get that.  Who wouldn’t want to be taught by him?

But maybe he overestimates the kid’s spunk, his confidence, because waving off his worries doesn’t spur him on; rather, it seems to deflate him.

Ugh.  Why is being a teacher difficult?  It’s not like his teacher had a hard time with him, right?

Distantly, he thinks he can hear his master shouting at him.  He hops off his cloud, says just the right thing to get Kid pumped up, and watches him race off.

He considers just sitting back and not watching, but then, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He isn’t actually sure what having a successor means, really.  How much their powers, their lives, would mirror his own.  A part of him was terrified by the prospect—could he even be known as anything special, if he was no longer one of a kind?

But there’s also something quite exciting about this.  The idea that your life is being rewritten, the story unfinished and yet also repeating itself.  The Demon Bull King is on the loose, with his army and family, trying to take over the world.

And only one person can stop him.  The Monkey King.

Kid’s powers are volatile.  He can feel them flare up from time to time, wildly flickering out of control.  A lack of self confidence, that might be causing it.  A part of him is annoyed by that, a part of him is relieved.  Far better to have to teach someone to believe in themselves than teach them humility.  He’s pretty sure he hasn’t learned that latter lesson all the way yet.

Kid vanishes into the Demon Bull King’s chest, where the staff lies, and for a moment, the new sun vanishes.  Monkey King feels the cold rush of space in its absence, and feels panic, even though he’s only known this warmth for a few hours.

But then, it bursts back into existence, as a familiar stone drops from the Demon Bull King’s chest, cracking open, and, well, it’s history being written the same way over and over again, isn’t it?

Kid has a flair for silliness, childish maneuvers.  He likes to have fun, and that’s the best part of the powers they share.  To be invincible, to have fun while saving the day. 

It’s a repeat, until, well, it isn’t.

The blow Kid takes makes Monkey King wince.  The body becoming invulnerable takes time.  It doesn’t just immediately show up.  Every second, Kid’s body is absorbing and meshing with the powers thrust upon it, but that doesn’t mean getting hit a mile by a guy twenty times your size doesn’t still hurt, at this point.

But Monkey King knows this is what has to happen.  Because heroes aren’t heroes if they never feel pain, never get hit.

Heroes, he thinks, as Kid tears himself from the wall he’s embedded in, as Kid stands, eyes ablaze, are heroes when they get hit and they get back up.

And Kid sure as hell does.

“I’m the Monkey Kid!” He shouts, like a battle cry, like a challenge, and Monkey King smirks.  Monkey Kid, huh?  It suits him.  And then, Kid slams the staff on the ground, and the world shifts.

A part of him is kind of jealous.  How come he never got a mech?!  Has that been a thing this entire time?  Another part is in awe of this Kid’s creativity, ability, at such a young age.

And seeing DBK get trounced again certainly keeps the jealous part of him quiet.

Kid’s got a nice group of friends.  Reminds him of his journey days, him and a rag tag group of idiots going around wreaking havoc and learning moral lessons at the end of it.  He’s glad Kid isn’t alone or on the streets anymore.  A strong foundation leads to a stronger ability to grow.

Well, he’d better get some sort of training regimen ready.  Or, at least, start thinking of some things to do to train this kid.  He’s sure at some point Kid is going to bug him for a lesson or two.

Somehow, the thought doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should.

[kirieshhhka003]

I can order hcds from gucci gang, finding out that his crush is a great cartoonist. But had he hidden it because he was afraid they would tell him that his passion was a waste of time? drawing is already a physical necessity for my sksksks

Thank you for your request, my dear anon💚

Bucci gang x cartoonist S/o

Bruno Buccellati

After S/o had joined a team, they warned Bruno that they work in one company and they have a working schedule and most of the day they’re busy, so they won’t be able to meet with him and the rest of the team often, especially on weekdays

Of course Bruno had to ask them about the place they were working at and their job and S/o’s answer surprised him a lot. A mafioso who also creates cartoons for kids? Well, that sounds interesting

He asked them to show him some of their drawings and there were lots of cartoon characters that he’s saw in his daily life. Even a cute little gnome on a box of his favorite brand of cereals was S/o’s creature. He had to keep his face of a cool mafioso but Bruno just couldn’t control his excitement while scrolling through S/o’s sketchbook

Leone Abbacchio

One day S/o approached him and showed him a cute short cartoon. It was a 10 minutes video but the plot was very interesting, he’s never saw something like this before. After they finished watching it he said “Huh? Yeah, that’s cool, but I’m 21 year old man, why are you showing me this?”

And when they told him that they made it by their own he was shocked. Like, really? The whole video made by them? They literally draw it?

Leone doesn’t know much about the process of creating an animation, but he’s also very excited about S/o and their hard work. Abbacchio watches every cartoon that they were working on, but never tells S/o about it

Guido Mista

Mista is a big baby, so he loves to watch cartoons. He knows about new releases and regularly visits cinemas (imagine him watching a new Sponge Bob movie in a hall full of little kids😂)

After watching a new super cool cartoon he wanted to share his impression on it with his Narancia and Fugo, and especially that one scene that was so fucking amazing. After a long tirade of how cool this cartoon is he heard that S/o said “Oh, thank you! I’m glad that you like it!”

“Sorry?” He didn’t understand what S/o were talking about at first. “I was working on that one scene you liked. It was a cool project and I had fun working on it”. And that’s when realization hit him hard. He won’t let S/o go for a long time asking them all details about this cartoon and their job in general

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia was trying to draw a squirrel but, unfortunately, he didn’t succeed. He was so sad and disappointed in his drawing abilities that S/o decided to help him with this. They took his pencil and explained him how to draw squirrels properly. And that’s when Nara understood that he was sitting next to a real artist

He’s super excited about it and wants to get to know literally everything. What materials do S/o use, do their wrist hurts after their working day and how often do they sharpen their pencil. And of course he asks them to draw him(but with a big ass sword and a cool dragon behind him)

The next time they met Narancia watched every cartoon S/o were working on. He literally begs them to take him to their working place and show him how cartoons are made

Pannacotta Fugo

Bruno set up a team meeting and S/o arrived much earlier than they expected and decided to occupy themselves with work on a design of the new characters. A company that S/o were working on has started a new project and they were appointed as a chief animator

Fugo arrived twenty minutes later and saw that S/o already were at the restaurant waiting for the rest of the team. He approached them and saw them passionately drawing in their sketch book

“Wow, your drawings look good. Is it a part of your work or just a hobby?” The sound of Fugo’s voice scared S/o because they didn’t hear him approaching them. They told him about their job and that those are just drafts. He’s very curious and wants to get more information about the process of creating a cartoon

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno’s always noticed those strange small details about S/o. They always drag lots of weird notebooks in their bag, know a lot about different types of pencils and pints, their hands are always stained with paints or pencil lead

At one moment he just decides to ask them about it. What materials do they use, what are their favorite things to draw, how many hours do they spend on their hobby? And after S/o told him that it’s not only their hobby, but also their job, Giorno was surprised. And he wants to know every detail of their work

Loves to watch S/o when they work on their projects. They look so excited about the work they are doing, it always brings out a soft smile on Giogio’s lips. He doesn’t know why, but he’s so proud of S/o and their work

Masterlist | Smut Masterlist

[xhanisai]

SALTING AROUND AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

AO3 / FFN

Summary: Introducing!!!!

The! Ultimate! Salt! Fic! Ever! IN ZA WARUDO!

Featuring Dumb Noir getting taught a lesson about boundaries, Perfectnette getting friends and love interest(s), and LILA GETTING HER ASS HANDED BACK! HOW COULD YOU RESIST SUCH A WONDERFUL FIC?

(All in all, a crack fic on salt fics to bring our spirits up~)

Disclaimer - I've actually only read like one sentence of a salt fic and fucked off afterwards so everything I'm basing off in this fic is purely from exaggerated rumours and gossip about the salt corner THEREFORE if anything here looks familiar or if it seems like I'm taking the piss out of a specific story, it's all just one big coincidence. >:D ~(x)~ . . . Of all locations to settle on for the beginning of this amazing, wonderful, fucking fantastic story, it's established on the Eiffel Tower. Cliched but wonderfully ironic for the phenomenal heroes of Paris. On the beams, higher than the naked eye could see, Ladybug and Chat Noir were... Arguing. The feline hero had his partner's wrist clasped in an iron hold, digging those deadly claws ever so slightly into the soft flesh, piercing the supposed indestructible suit with a creepy grin- "Wait- hold up a second. I would never, NEVER hurt My Lady! Not even unintentionally! And what's with that face I'm making!?" Oh SHUT UP Shit Noir! Let me carry on writing my fucking story jeez! Stop breaking out of character and keep following the script! Anyways~ The skinny, pasty assed hero- "This script sucks..."- -TUGGED Ladybug closer to him, grin widening like he won the lottery as his demonic looking eyes perversely drank in the sight of the clearly uncomfortable looking heroine in his grasps. His face leaned into hers, only coming closer as she tried her best to lean back with a grimace. "Just one kiss Bugaboo~ one kiss won't hurt..." His grip tightened on the appendage, making the girl wince painfully. "Come on Chat Noir...let go! I have already told you, I'm in love with someone else. You seriously need to back off!" Ladybug whimpered, tossing away all her badassery and ability to suckerpunch a fuckboy in the face because hell yeah it ain't relevant to this sexy fic- "You're right Chaton, this script does suck lmao"- IGNORING WHAT THE CANON LB JUST SAID. Ehem. Like a defenseless little shoujou manga protagonist, Ladybug felt tears sparkle in her eyes and pure sadness washed over her frail body before Fuck Noir dipped her into a romantic pose and smashed his lips against hers with soooooo much passion and tongue and teeth and- . What. On. Earth. Oi you stupid cat! Watch where you're putting your hands on the girl! Yikes! What do they teach these Europeans!? Break it up already you hormone riddled boobs! "Oh Minou~ You're so daring~" "Just for you, My Lady~" STAY ON SCRIPT YOU BRATS! Hmph! Carrying on. Suddenly, herculean strength riddled through Ladybug's blood, falcon punching Bitch Noir off her and off the tower, thus HenchBug™ was born. Panting and wiping her lip with her thumb in a really really badass way (YOU KNOW THAT EPIC WAY THAT ANIME CHARACTERS DO TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF THEIR LIP, RIGHT? RIGHT? ex deeeee), MachoBug swept towards Pussy Noir's broken twiggy body at the bottom of the tower. "You disobeyed me for the umpteenth time, Noir." BadassBug uttered cooly, keeping a blind eye to the growing crowd around her and the mangled up flesh on sticks at her feet. The black and yellow mess didn't respond. "Lo-oooool cos I'm dead!" WE'LL PRETEND WE DIDN'T HEAR THAT EITHER. Anger coursed through Ladybug's veins as all those traumatising memories and moments she had with her horrific partner flashed through her brain like an old window's movie maker AMV with Evanescence's 'Bring Me Back To Life' song blasting at full volume. The conveniently arrived Alya at the front of the crowd live streamed everything on the WadyBwog, babbling about ice cream scoops. "Every time we met up, you'd always make unwanted advances to me. You'd always force a kiss on me. You even slapped my thicc™ ass a few times- once to the beat of fucking Nyan cat!" The hive minded crowd surrounding them 'oooed' and 'aaahed', some snapped a selfie with what's left of the black cat. "Therefore," The sun auspiciously shone behind MariBug, giving her an ethereal, angelic look as she carried on her lecture. "I now deem you unworthy of the miraculous." BugBug fluttered her eyelashes with so much pain as if reciting those words killed her whole generation and their dogs and their hamsters. "Hand it over to me or else I'll force it off you." All of a sudden BuffBug™ was back, bitch slapping CryBabyBug away and menacingly placed one foot on the carcass.   "Wow I think she forgot that you're dead Chat Noir," THE HIGH TENSIONED MOMENT REMAINED UNBROKEN AS FAKEBUG- oof- Ladybug rolled her eyes with annoyance at the disgusting boy's silence and immediately knelt down to yank the miraculous off his bony fingers- "Never!" The catboy sprung back to life before anyone could breathe, clutching his hand to guard his ring ferally, froth seeping out of his teeth and fangs gnashing against one another- "Looks like I'm a vampire with rabies now, Bug." "Since when did you have fangs?" "Since two seconds ago-" OH MY GOD YOU TWO! SHUT UP AND LET ME WRITE! Zombie Noir leapt back with a hiss, faux ears and tail twitching with indignation and summoned the ancient destruction power whilst BossBug spun her yoyo around in battle formation, ready to call for her lucky charm anytime soon. Cat and Bug kept up the intense eye contact as that cowboy music from the good, the bad and the fugly played in the background (cheers Lahiffe mah d00d!). "You don't want to become my enemy, do you, Chat N00b?" The heroine spat, bones clicking in place as she stretched her fingers when she and the lad in black circled each other slowly. The crowd and Alya were casually chilling in the background, the latter still narrating about an epic ice cream scoop. "Heh, I won't need to be the enemy if you don't touch MY ring... Milady~"- "MON DIEU! C'EST 'MY LADY'! C'EST N'AI PAS 'MILADY'!" THAT'S THE POINT YOU STUPID CAT! Break out of character one more time and I'll castrate you and feed your teeny tiny *censored* to the dogs! "...My Lady? Is my *censored* small? :(" "If your *censored* was small, you'd never have been able to make me scream at night, Minou~ ;3" ":D" 

Regardless! The pussycat feinted to the left before dodging the razor sharp wire of his Lady's (not) yoyo, whipping out his baton (not the tiny one either) and swiftly used it to vault himself away like the coward he CLEARLY is. "You'll never get me alive, THOT!" Was the last thing that small dick energy minded cuck yowled and fled with his tail between his legs. BigBug let out a yell of rage™ and slammed her fist on the ground, branding the sloppy concrete job with a crater as the shockwaves caused the audience to let out a little 'DAYUMMMMMMMM'. "Lol I thought the geezer was dead hahaah! Yo Ladybuggy, mah homie, you and kitty cat did the shame shame already or nah?" Alya, the lil hoe, leant into the heroine's personal space with a crazed grin. She only received a middle finger from the annoyed Asian. (MMmm Mmmm yEAH YEAh trANSiTION so SEXYYYY) Now, it is conveniently time for Marinette's afternoon classes. The exhausted girl dragged her feet up those weird ass spirally steps that could break ankles JUST by looking at them and made it to her classroom, only to pause at the shouting she was hearing behind the door. "Oh boy, time to unleash the kraken..." Silence Adrien! You're not supposed to have appeared yet! Dumb ass blondes these days smh... "HEY! >:0" With a deep breath, the raven haired girl pushed the door open only to be met with what could be best described as a clusterfuck. Tears welled up in her eyes as the remains of her sketchbook (which looked like it had a trip in a paper shredder) was dumped all over the floor. She snapped her head back up only for her heart to literally shatter when she was met with a furious Alya Motherfuckin' Césaire. "Marinetti DupainGhetti. This. Is. Your. Punishment." Alya's glasses flashed sinisterly as her lips curled up into  d i s g u s t . The rest of the class mirrored a similar look, acting as if poor little Cheng vored everything they loved and cherished. All except two people. That witch BITCH Lie-la smirked secretly as she cowered behind Alya and the wimp, spineless little shitty Dumbdrien whimpered on his desk, pretending that nothing was happening. "P-P-Punishment for wh-what?" Babynette sobbed, clutching her shoulders as if to hug herself and make her look smaller than she is. She darted her eyes towards the model, begging him internally to say something, anything! Alas, Bitchdrien only looked away guiltily, his thin chapped lips sealed shut. Marinette couldn't believe her bad luck. First there was an akuma attack, then she was assaulted by her shitty partner for the millionth time and now this? "Punishment for bullying our lord and saviour, Lila of course! How dare you make such a sweet girl like her suffer!?" Alya roared, using the power of the seven chaos emeralds and twenty dragonballs to go super satan and pinned Sweetienette against the wall with an elbow. Her hair fizzed with animosity and her eyes gleamed in a demonic red colour- "Dieu...you just had to drag my best friend into this too, huh?" "You'd think this writer is sane enough to know that I'd cataclysm anyone that dared to harm Ma Princesse, non?" "The writer? Sane? Good joke."- IGNORING STUPIDNETTE AND BLOODYDRIEN- Alya snarled, bruising our sweet little angel's poor skin with her brute strength whilst the rest of the class watched without a question. The sausage haired wench munched on some greasy ass popcorn as she watched the show whilst Shamedrien became one with the floor, a perfect doormat for us queens to stomp on. "You tripped her all the time when no one was watching, aggravating her shattered kneecaps. You plagerised her designs, ruining what's left of her sensitive self esteem and dammit don't even get me started on all those rumours you attempted to spread about her, smearing her celebrity status! I've never hated anyone more than you, BITCHINETTE!" Alya harrumphed and then shoved Brokenette against the wall again, possibly snapping her spine and stormed back to her new bestie. "Mon Dieu your best friend just murdered you..." "Mon Dieu my best friend just murdered me..." Tosses a knife at the duo to make them shut the fuck up. Everyone else applauded the psycho journalist for putting Poornette in her place, even Stinkdrien cos he can't handle peer pressure- BAM! . . . "HOW DARE YOU HURT MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG!" A tall, stern looking boy slammed the door open, scooping Deadinette in his arms and blew out steam through his nostrils like a bull. Everyone le gasped as the girl suddenly turned into Alivenette and embraced the stranger like he's her long lost lover (Aiyeeeeeeeeeeee mUH O-T-FUCKING-P! K Y A A  A! EVEN THOUGH WE KNOW JACKSHIT ABOUT HIM). "BELIX BRAGRESTE! You saved me~ Don't hurt my homiesexuals please- they're all brainwashed by the sausage haired girl..." The blackberry haired angel begged, tugging on Belix's sleeves. "I didn't do anything-" Uglydrien was quick to defend himself only to melt back down into a doormat by Belix's dark glare, ripping out what spinal tissue the model had left. "Damn straight you didn't do SHIT." Bragreste swiftly delivered a power-kick against Assgreste, yeeting him to the moon and then turned towards the rest of the f00king class, rolling his sleeves up. "As for you nerds...I'm gonna chop you all up into mincemeat and EAT you all with my spaghetti!-" "I'm here Marinette!!!" Another lad swooped in through the door, hips swaying to the beat as 'Luka Luka Night Fever' plays in the background and then posed! Why it's none other than the obviously best written, best character, best BOY in the world: RUKA COFFEE- sorry, I mean Luka Couffaine! He strummed his guitar a few times, nodding and humming as if he was conversing with the beautiful instrument whilst bokeh dots and pink sparkly glitter floated around him. "Ah~ my guitar said that everyone's being a bitch ass motherfucker to our beautiful designer! Come with my Mari~ Take my hand and I'll take you away from this school!" The lycee student didn't wait for her answer and grabbed the star struck girl oh SO romantically~ "No! She should move schools with me!" Belix Bananagreste snatched Nettie back possessively, just like a cat. It was then that the girl decided that when she managed to snatch the black cat miraculous back from the loser that currently wielded it, she was going to give it to Belix- "Ugh don't fuck with me..." "Shhh. You're supposed to have been yeeted to the moon, Chaton," "Marinette please just throttle the writer already-" AND THEN! SUDDENLY! Erm... Errr... AHA! Suddenly all these people from some furry superhero universe came flooding in through the door, yelling insults and real truths about LIE-LA and protecting my best girl Maribear like a boss! Heroes like Gamien and Dason Bob and that guy and err, the other guy and yeah AND THEN they all began to BEAT UP that BITCH LILA and then- "Oh no she's losing it, Adrien I don't think this will last any longer..." "No kidding!" THEN JAGGED STONE CAME FLYING THROUGH THE WINDOW, JAMMING OUT HIS LATEST SONG ABOUT HOW LILA IS SUCH A LIAR AND EXPOSED EVERY SINGLE THING SHE DID TO BEST GIRL MACHONETTE! THEN ALL THESE OTHER KIDS FROM THE SCRAPPED PV UNIVERSE CAME IN VIA A CONGO LINE AND MARINETTA DECIDED TO GIVE THEM THE OTHER MIRACULOUS COS WHY NOT!? AND THEN CHLOE BECAME MARINETTE'S NEW BFF COS HELL YEAH I LOVE VIBING WITH PEOPLE WHO BULLIED ME AND MY PEERS FOR FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT AHAHAAHAH QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS- "Adrien, I'm going to kill her. She needs to stop." "Go on then~" AND THEN! AND FUCKING THEN! SCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!!!!! . . . [Error 404: The following writer has unfortunately met her demise through unknown means. We apologise for any inconveniences. Please keep scrolling as we clear up the mess. Have a good day.] . . . "Huh...that was anticlimactic...now what?" "You go off snogging my rejected predecessor and the guitar boy? >:(" "As if I'd go for anyone other than my silly kitty!" ":D" . . . ~(x)~ A/N:  I am never EVER writing anything this cursed AGAIN! How can you bash anyone but the villains in this series!? Damn! I can't even say I'm sleep deprived! This is the most fucked up shit I've written and I'm super alert oof!

[omnybus]

Meta Dream Sketches!

It’s time for another round of dream sketches, and these are surprisingly... meta in nature? Keep reading and I’ll show you!

Now, before I actually had this dream, I went to sleep and woke up much earlier than normal due to needing to use the bathroom. After getting back to bed I went back to sleep and ended up having a short but extremely fast-past and vivid dream. I’ve read that waking up and going right back to sleep often results in such dreams, but it’s rare that I experience it myself (mostly because once I wake up I find it impossible to get back to sleep).

So the dream started out with me walking down the sidewalk towards my old high school, holding an old sketchbook in hand and flipping through it, finding a trio of dream sketches from my past. “Ah, I remember these!” I said out loud. Only the thing is, I never actually drew any of these characters before, nor have I seen anything like them until now. So I decided to actually sketch them out for real:

The first character was “The Living Throne”, whose name should be self explanatory. Not much to say about this one other than I felt a strange sense that it had some kind of ominous purpose.

The next couple sketches still had the Living Throne, though it was inert and lifeless as another character sat on it- the first was this guy, “The Pipe Fitting King”, some kind of Cuphead-looking guy with a bad sense of humor.

Lastly, there was “Barcode”, who gave me a vibe similar to Slender Man or Siren Head, I.E. some kind of sinister, enigmatic entity with unknowable motives.

The rest of the dream after that was a rapid-fire cavalcade of nonsense- a race of aliens had invaded earth and was attacking several cities by “possessing” old steam trains and turning them into flying, missile-launching airships. The Crystal Gems from Steven Universe were trying to fight them, though they all had the same super-stretching powers that Spinel had, and used it to either punch the trains and missiles away or to throw each other through the air. Meanwhile, on the mothership, the last few remaining politicians (all the others were killed in the invasion) were waking from their prison pods, dripping with green slime and with thick intestine-like tubes shoved down their throats for some unknown purpose. The aliens, who all looked like bald, bony, greasy-skinned men with black glasses and unitards, told them that they had one last chance to convince them to spare Earth before they destroyed it. The politicians tried to argue, but the tubes made it impossible to speak. I woke up before a conclusion could be made.

--

What a wacky dream, huh? The “dream sketches within a dream” is something I never thought I’d see, though I suppose after drawing stuff from my dreams for so long, it was bound to happen sooner or later. I’m somewhat disappointed in myself that the “meta” dream sketches aren’t as good as they seemed in my dream but then, aren’t all drawings like that?

[nyxicnymph]

Horizon and Edge

#3: Different people, different places

Hailey:

I wake up and stare at the ceiling. After apologizing to Edge last night, I definitely feel better.

I roll out of bed and get ready for school. Kaylee said that she and Beth have been planning something for me. And that I’ll get to see--Ooh, shorts over leggings, very nice--I’ll get to see it today.  

At school, Beth and Kay are super excited. I wish they would just tell me what’s going on. If I know that there is a surprise, I hate it. I’m also a naturally jumpy person, and hate surprises in general. And people. And social events. And convention, tradition, stereotypes, and all things normal. AGGG! I will never adjust to normal society!

Okay, ignore the diatribe.

I breeze through math, which is unusual. I usually struggle, and there is much throwing of pencils. Then I get lectured for throwing the thirty-cents-worth of pencil.

Science was science. English made me want to scream obscenities in French, and German. Not that I know any swear words in German, but still... AGH! MUFFIN-FUDGING ENGLISH THREE!!!!

Anyway, after school, I’m just sitting on the steps. Beth and Kay come out of the monstrous building that is our school, and tell me to follow them. I do so, wondering what they’re going to show me.

Thirty minutes later, we are standing in front of a... tiny house. It’s a tiny house. AHHAHHAHHAH-HAHHAHHAH!!

“Nice clubhouse,” I remark.

Behind me, I hear Beth ask, “Kaylee, are you all right?”

Kaylee bursts out: “IT’S NOT A CLUBHOUSE! It’s a place for us and our friends to get together and hang out! To play games and do homework and to get to know each other! It’s not a clubhouse!”

“Okay.” I turn to Beth. “So... it’s basically a clubhouse?”

Beth nods. “Yeah, pretty much. She just won’t admit it.”

“OMIGOSH IT’S NOT A FREAKING CLUBHOUSE!!!!” Kaylee explodes.

I laugh, and pat her on the shoulder, then I walk in. I almost run into Rick, who is one of the two guys that the girls introduced me to yesterday. The other guy is really grumpy. His name is Cole.

“Sorry!” I exclaim, trying to get around. He blocks me.

“Nice to see you again. Kaylee brought you here?” He asks.

Agh, why must people speak to me?! “Yes,” I say, then duck underneath his arm. Both thank the cheezits for and curse the muffin-fudging tall people!

I take in the room. Clearly, the tiny clubhouse only has one room. There’s an old couch, some old tables, an old fridge, etc. Clearly, most of this stuff is third- or even fourth-hand furniture. Probably from the Quintants’ parents.

I see Cole. He sees me. He waves at me, and says, “Hi, Persephone.”

PERSPHONE??!!

I clear my throat. “Excuse me, but that’s not my name.”

“All right, Persephone.”

“DON’T CALL ME PERSEPHONE!!!”

“Yes, Persephone.”

I yell in frustration, and walk to the other end of the room. Until I see Erik. Then I stop walking, and just stand there. I feel dumb, but...

1. I don’t like Erik very much.

2. I don’t like boys very much.

3. I don’t know these kids very well.

4. I don’t exactly know why I’m here.

5. I’m not a social person.

6. Bethany and Kaylee are talking to Rick, and I don’t want to talk to him again.

7. Better to feel dumb and not talk to people you don’t want to talk to, then to talk to them and dislike them even more.

8. It’s a small clubhouse, and I don’t have anywhere else to go.

Anyway, I’m not talking.

I glance at one of the tables, and sit down at it. Then I pull out my sketchbook, and some pencils. I might as well do something.

I’m getting along pretty well, drawing my favorite horse, Stella, being tended to by James, our ranch-hand, until I sense someone behind me, watching me. I turn around, and see Rick. He is really close.

“Um...” I can’t say anything else. I can’t talk to boys, except to yell at them for being dumb. Never have. Well, I can do it to Liam, but he’s my brother. Different circumstances.

Rick starts, then turns bright red. His hair is a subdued brown red, so he looks kind of like an upside-down fence post.

“Sorry,” he says, “I was just looking. You draw really well.”

Suddenly, my tongue is loosened. “It’s not star quality.”

He brightens, like he wasn’t expecting me to speak, but now that I have, maybe we can get along.

We’ll see.

“It’s better than mine. I prefer to draw stick figures, and horses never show up. How did you get so good?” He asks. He’s genuinely curious. I suppose I better tell him. Lying’s not my shtick, anyway.

“Well, I’ve lived on a ranch for most of my life. So, besides doing all my chores, and amassing useful skills, I began to draw in my small amounts of free time. Growing up on a ranch gives a good idea of how any kind of body works, so I began to start drawing people and animals. I’m also fairly decent at landscapes, though not at the same level as my people.” I stop for a breath, and to see if he wants to add something to the conversation.

Because that’s how conversation works.

Rick looks at me. “You grew up on a ranch?”

“I did MOST of my growing up on a ranch. I’m finishing my growing up here in the City,” I correct him.

“Right, right, of course. But I guess that explains your ‘different-type-of-girl’ aura.”

“Um, aura?” I question. “You mean how I carry myself, right? Because I don’t believe in magic and stuff like that.” And I don’t glow.

Rick nods. “Yeah, it’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you look at problems and find solutions, the way you interact with people.”

“Cautiously?”

“Um, yeah. Though that’s really an understatement. You are clearly used to non-human companionship.” He laughs. “You actually seem afraid of people.”

I cringe. “That obvious, huh?” I sigh. “It’s more of a fear of... not understanding them. I was raised differently, even from other kids on ranches, and I know it. I’m more afraid of not understanding society, but at the same time, I kind of... embrace it.”

Rick shrugs. “Hey, I understand embracing the unconventional. I’m different, too. Even from my family. But you are like... thirteen times as different.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Thirteen? Really embracing the unconventional, aren’t we?”

He laughs.

**********************************************

Later, I’m out wandering. I told my parents, I have a GPS, and I told them I’d probably be home by ten o’clock. I’m set.

As I turn down a dark street, I see a patch of light that stands out. Naturally. But I mean, it’s different from the other patches, like those from streetlamps.

I step closer, and look at it from a closer distance. It seems more like it’s moving light, or moving light and sound. Or just a really bright flashlight.

I creep a little closer. It doesn’t seem to change. It’s really bright...

I accidentally touch it, and get sucked down into a mess of sound and light distortion. As I land on a hard surface, I hear someone shouting:

“Welcome to the Never-Ending Show!”

Oh, no.

[thewritewolf]

In Due Time Chapter 8: Don’t Tell Me What To Do

Chat Noir and Turtle!Marinette argue before fighting the akuma.

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Read on Ao3

“Shell on!”

“How do you feel...?” Chat prompted

“I feel- Oh! Right, a name. Um… how about Tortuga?”

“Works for me,” Chat said. It felt weird talking with another hero after so long with just one other person. How well would she take to this miraculous?

“To be honest?” She hefted the tool her miraculous had given her, getting used to the weight. “Kind of wishing I had something more than just a shield.”

“Sorry. I wanted someone who could cover me when I rushed the akuma, and I felt the power of protection would be best suited for that.”

Marin- Tortuga shook her head. “Wouldn’t work.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, it wouldn’t work?”

“There are too many mind controlled people. Just because I can make an invincible shield doesn’t mean I can’t be pinned down by the weight of bodies. It’d be obvious that we would be coming and the akuma could just throw people at us until we got stuck.” She raised an eyebrow right back at him. “I’m just not sure how well thought out this plan was.”

Chat crossed his arms, his tail flicking back and forth behind him. Now that she had pointed it out, he felt like an idiot for thinking of it, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“Fine, I’d like to see you come up with a plan, rookie.”

“Gladly. Give me a second.” Tortuga looked out the window Chat was using before she so rudely interrupted him. He tapped his foot impatiently as the seconds wore on, but before long she had returned to be in front of him. Her eyes were bright with a contagious enthusiasm. “Okay, here’s the plan…”

--------

Letting someone else take the lead took some getting used to - most of all a new recruit giving him orders - but Chat Noir was willing to swallow his pride and follow along. Of course, the fact that the plan actually seemed like a pretty good one made it a little easier for him.

His cataclysm was charged and ready to go as he stood next to the balloon cart. Tortuga had her shield held in front of her as she stood in front of the makeshift ramp they’d built on top of the building. Getting the cart up here had been a story all by itself, but that didn’t matter now. They just needed to wait until-

The akuma appeared in the middle of the street. Tortuga jumped, her feet clearing the rooftop by a meter.

Still in midair, she called out, “Shelter!”

A sphere of glowing green energy encased her completely like a hamster ball. Once the ball had landed on the ground, he slashed the balloon cart’s helium tank, which sent out a tidal wave of pressurized air against her. Just as planned, she was shot like a rocket out towards the akuma. Unfortunately, he was also blasted against the wall fairly hard. Even through the pain he sighed. He was so sure he’d manage to get through this fight without any injuries and here he was getting beat up by an inanimate object of all things.

Standing up, he saw that Tortuga had connected with the akuma. Darting back into the store, he found a closet that would be safe to transform in.

“Claws in!”

“Great choice, kid. You sure you don’t want to bring her on full time?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Not now, Plagg.”

“Still, something to think about, right?” Tikki said. The kwami exchanged a smile. “...You do seem to like her already.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Adrien grumbled, “Tikki, spots on.”

Mister Bug left the closet and leapt toward the spot that Tortuga had pinned the akuma, pleased to see that she was doing just fine.

With the Shelter sphere sitting right on his chest, the villain couldn’t reach his wrist to command their now directionless horde. He was left to writhe fruitlessly against the impenetrable barrier, snarling noiselessly in rage at them.

Slipping the device off his wrist, Mister Bug crushed it in his bare hands and released the akuma.

“So you’re Mister Bug, huh? Nice to finally meet you.”

He caught the akuma with the yoyo and looked back into the bright blue eyes of Tortuga. There was curiosity there, but also distrust. Which was surprising until he remembered what they had talked about during their time on the Eiffel Tower yesterday. No one had managed to figure out Mister Bug and Chat Noir were one in the same. Master Fu wasn’t kidding - the identity concealing magic of the miraculous was incredibly strong.

Tortuga turned off her Shelter and helped the confused man to his feet.

“That’s me alright.” He quickly summoned a lucky charm, getting a sketchbook which he quickly tossed it back up. “Miraculous ladybug!”

A swarm of ladybugs cascaded through the streets, fixing everything that had been broken. It swirled around Tortuga, but her eyes were only for him.

“So, uh, I’ll take back your miraculous now,” he said.

“I don’t think so. I’ll be handing it back to Chat Noir. He knows where to find me.”

And just like that, she was leaping away. He had half a mind to call her back, but swallowed the words and went to find a safe place to switch back. Maybe keeping these identities separate was going to be more of a pain than he thought. Still, at least making it seem like there were more heroes around would help keep Hawkmoth from smelling blood and getting bold.

Ten minutes later, he landed on Marinette’s balcony, back in the shiny magic leather that he was used to. She had left the window open for him and was sitting on a chair with her arms crossed. The box was sitting on a nearby table, the bracelet of the turtle sitting snugly inside it.

“Thanks for your help, Marinette,” he said with a smile. “I’m sorry I put you on the spot like that, but I’m glad I ran into you. I’m not sure if anyone else could have ended that fight as fast as you did.”

“Thanks. Did you know that Mister Bug tried to ask for my miraculous? And where did you go?” Her eyes narrowed. “I get catapulted through the air and instead of a man in black I get a guy in red. Weren’t we supposed to be partners?”

“I… I’m sorry,” he slumped his shoulders. “I got blasted by that balloon cart too and by the time I got back up, Mister Bug was already on the scene. At that point, I figured it was best to let him take over to purify the akuma and everything.”

Technically speaking, he had barely even lied there. He’d certainly told his father bigger lies over the years. But why did he feel so awful anyway?

“Oh,” she said, her stern expression melting into concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, the ladybug cure patched me up like usual. And, for the record, Mister Bug and I are on good terms. You can give him the miraculous in the future.”

“Is this going to become a thing then? Me and you, fighting akumas?”

“...Maybe. We’ll see.”

He stuffed the box in his pocket and had one foot outside the window when he felt a tug on his arm. When he looked back, Marinette threw her arms around him.

“If you ever need help… super help or just regular old help… I’ll be here, okay?”

Unable to find any words at that moment, Chat Noir just swallowed and nodded. He went home, the weight on his shoulders feeling lighter than it had in years and years.

[nightmaretyrantvantas]

Ok so guys i finally got part of it done(like three or four days later buuuut

I drew two sets of the families for my anxceit au!

Please meet virgil's family the Ravenwoods!

And as curtesy some info about them

Daneil Ravenwood

Hes been raising Virgil and Andy on his own since virge was about 8 and a half and andy was 6 months old

Hes a english and literature professor at the local college(that logan's parents also work at)

Hes in his late 50s early 60s current time( where virgil is 21 and andy is 13)

Hes also a published and well established fiction writer, but he writes under an alias

Hes a super supportive dad and teacher, even if he doesnt understand it he'll 100% support the decisions his kids make (ex: "oh your wiccan now? Cool virgy! Im glad you found a religion that makes you happy, though...can you explain it to me again?" "Oh andy you want to be switched to the art program? No problem! I'll call your counsellors tomorrow ok?" "Oh boyfriend huh? Thats great buddy, when do i get to meet him??")

Hes got a deep hearty laugh that makes you smile

Dad jokes to virgils mortification

Hes a skeptic but loves listening to and talking to virgil about his beliefs

had the philosophy of "the punishment should fit the crime, but you should be allowed to stumble and learn with it" raising the boys and wasnt too strict with them. Also never threatened punishments, only threatened playful embarrassment

The boys got their sass from somewhere, but he does remind them to mind their manners and watch their timing

Gentle giant as he is 6'3

Black hair peppered with grey and white and usually forgets tonshave his stubble

Passionate about his jobs, can get lost in his work

Andy Ravenwood

Virgil's baby brother, and he fucking adores his brother( even sometimes babbles about him to his friends at school and proudly talks about his "youtuber big brother"

This does not stop him from poking fun at virgil of course

Art boi!! Hes the top of his art classes!!

He is the one art kid that always has like three sketchbooks on him at all times

Loves the color purple

Look ok he knows he KNOWS his hair looks like his brothers it wasnt supposed to ok the original plan baCKFIRED AND HE COULDNT TURN BACK

Unlike virgil he doesnt cover his freckles

He has the same color eyes as their dad(grey-blue)

Andy loves animals! Especially raccoons!! Those are his favorite.( he happily took on the responsiblility of taking care of virgils cat when he moved out)

Hes a pretty cheerful kid if hes comfortable around you, but shy if he doesnt know you

Hes got an anxiety disorder but hes still living his best life

Virgil Ravenwood

Our main Cryptid goth( he dialed it down for the family photo)

Hes twenty one and lives on his own in an apartment complex close to downtown, which is a good 15 to 20 minutes from his childhood home so he visits regularly( like three times every other week)

Boi loves his family to bits, and has so SOOOO many good stories he’ll happily talk about 

Has both his own paranormal youtube channel and a joint youtube channel with his boyfriend Ethen where they explore and investigate haunted places(both well known and stumbled across)

He has the same eye color as their mother, blue violet, which stands out a little more than his dad’s or brother’s

He covers his freckles with foundation because hes insecure about them

Did a year of junior college before deciding school wasnt exactly for him anymore, but still goes to events for his best friend Logan

Works at a cafe downtown that stays open pretty late( they do dinner its almost a diner but not) part time, and the other half does youtube for a living

Has a cat that had to stay in his childhood home named Sally that Andy takes care of for him

Has been considering getting another cat for his apartment

Big firm believer in the unknown and the paranormal/supernatural

Hes wiccan and has an alter in his bedroom thats apart of his facecam background

He has a tarot deck but doesnt really do readings other than little ones for himself, as divination isnt his strong suit

Has a big crystal collection hes been adding to since high school

He can sing but doesnt have alot of confidence in his voice so he just doesnt

And also introducing~

The picani-sanders family! Aka ethen's big ol family

From left to right

Patton Picani

Ethen's older brother(by two years)

Him and ethen are emile's foster kids, but he adopted him when they were like nine and seven.

Patton is 23 and happily works at the library downtown as a librarian and a reader to the kids

He loves music and musicals and all things disney (partially thanks to his boyfriend roman)

He and Ethen come off as complete opposites and they have a very playful relationship, always teasing each other 

He loves his family alot and loves babysitting his little brother Thomas whenever his schedule allows it, especially during times of year Emile and Remy get swamped with work

He loves to knit and sew and make things!!! He makes sweaters and jackets and dresses and customizes clothes!! He could make a living on it if he really wanted!! (but he just does it for friends and loved ones instead- Andy has a hoodie that Patton sew wool on the inside to keep him warm and Andy adores it)

Hes really outgoing and friendly and seems to make friends wherever he goes! 

He’s known Roman since they were kids and was crushing on him all through school until they got together senior year 

He loves to bake and cook and help his dad make dinner whenever hes at home

Hes a sappy romantic and loves cliches

He has a huge collection of stuffed animals that hes been slowly transferring to his and roman’s apartment since he moved out(theres ALOT)

Emile Picani

The dad!! Hes in his mid 50s 

He works as a singular and couples therapist  and can have a bit of a wacky schedule

Hes been raising Patton and Ethen since they were little and loves his kids so damn much

So goddamn supportive of what they do, sometimes to the point its embarrassing(for Ethen)

Hes engaged to Remy Sanders and once their married their just going to combine their last names

He loves cartoons and gardening! And has his own collection of stuffed animals and toys(which hes been sharing with Thomas) 

He loves making dad jokes and him and Patton make them all the time at Ethen

Hes a damn great cook and has been teaching his boys to cook for years now, and loves making big meals 

Not really a strict parent, more of a sit down and talk it out kinda parent

Is part of the PTA of Thomas’s school

Actually used to be a punk in school

Thomas Sanders-Picani

The youngest! Hes 8 years old!

Our boy loves to read and write! He writes tons and tons of stories!

Hes got a huge imagination and likes to daydream

Hes bubbly even though he isnt the most social he still has a good group of friends!

Our lil boi is an actor of course! He loves getting parts in the school plays and in class assignments.

Hes in his schools choir  and gets vocal lessons from Roman’s mama

 His room is filled with toys and books and notebooks and pencils, and even though he tries his best to keep it clean it gets messy every week.(cleaning it is his weekly chore)

He has two best friends named Joan and Talyn that hes been friends with now since kindergarden and theyve been nearly inseperable ever since, its not uncommon for one of both of them to be at each others house on any given weekend

Hes Remy’s kid but has started calling himself by Emile’s last name too since they moved in with the Picani’s

Doesnt have too many memories of his mother but the ones he does have are all happy and pleasant(thankfully)

Calls Emile baba and Remy dada to distinguish them better

Loves his older brothers especially when they play with him, He also loves watching the old videos of Ethen’s theater performances and sometimes pesters him to reenact scenes from them( his favorite is the middle school production of ‘Alice in Wonderland’)

Ethen Picani

Our other main boy, hes also twenty one

He lives with his best and childhood friend Remus Prince in two bedroom apartment across town near the college

Does youtube full time for a living

the “black sheep” of the family as he and Remus call him 

He majored in theater in his two years of college

Loves reptiles but doesnt have any because their apartment complex doesnt allow pets and he doesnt want to get him and remus kicked out since their apartment is close to Remus’s work

Has a car he loving refers to as his “hand me down junk heap” Because he got Patton’s first car when patton got a new one

He loves the old thing though 

Has a good relationship with his parents. He loves his dad Emile and he likes Remy well enough

Him and remy have a very casual, relaxed relationship.( Ex: “ Dad you need to stop letting sleepless bums into the house” “ He’ll stop doing that when he stops letting punk wannabes into his kitchen, now get over here kid.” ) 

Loves his boyfriend Virgil to death and likes to spoil him when he can(even though virgil tells him to save his money for rent)

Hes more of a open skeptic but he’ll happily debate things with Virgil, and enjoys making videos for their joint youtube channel and being proven otherwise

He also has his own solo youtube channel where he does abandon urban exploration( sometimes with Remus tagging along for the thrill)

Remus has been calling him by the nickname “Dee” since middle school when they played Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Remus called him Dee so often he made it stick as a nickname years and years later. He refuses to let it die and Ethen has just accepted his fate

Remy Sanders

Hes around Emile’s age( mid 50′s) and looks the tallest in the family at 6′3

He came into the family later, when the boys were about 20 and 18( when thomas was about 5 or so)

Hes pretty laid back but surprising good at being strict, so he balances out Emile’s parenting style

Hes a divorcee and got guardianship of Thomas, though hes on a friendly and civil relationship with thomas’s mother and takes him to visit her three times a month( theyre currently working out more visitations and possibly thomas staying with his mother a couple weeks every months but thats still in the works)

Hes an insomiac and (usually) works night shifts as a security guard for a security renting business so his working hours can be a little unpredicitble, but he almost always works at least two night shifts and graveyard shifts a week. Hes paid both a salary plus an additional commissions by employers so its well worth it

He spends as much time with his kid and the boys as he can regardless of his wonky sleep schedule

Hes a bit of a tough love kinda person, and hes snarky and mouthy and doesnt hesitate to speak his mind

Loves Emile soooo goddamn much he talks about him alot at work to his fellow security guards. Theyre the ones who helped him pick a ring when he proposed actually

Oh yeah the two are engaged did I mention that?

He fuels Emile’s plushie collecting, even if he knows he probably shouldnt( But oh well, it makes him smile and thats all he wants to see)

Looks punk now but he was the biggest straight laced prep in highschool that comparing him now to him in highschool gives you whiplash

Would fucking die for his family. No one messes with his fiance or his kids, he doesnt care if two of them are fully capable adults 

And its done!! Two of the four main families is finished!

And watch out because im also coloring these digitally(its just taking awhile :/) but those will be getting posted soon...I hope...Im trying

But here you go Virgil’s and Ethen’s families in two cute family photos!

Let me just add im so fucking proud of The Picani-Sanders photo because it was a struggle to fit them all in the picture and get the heights right and the entire side of my arm was grey with pencil lead by the time I was done but it turned out great!

Up next is Roman and Remus’s family the Princes and Logan’s family the Daniels!! 

Art references are credited to @the-pastel-peach​ @aimasup​ and @underdog-arts​ , especially @aimasup​ and @underdog-arts​ for getting 8 year old thomas to look like a kid because im not normally good at drawing little kids but after practicing with some of their art as my reference and inspiration he turned out really well!! 

I hope you guys enjoy!!

Taglist

@phantommoonpeople

@sweetsweetemo

@leesacrakon

@amazable01

@starbucks-remy

@jemthebookworm

@max-is-tired

@seriously-a-dragon

@sar-kasstic

@soupspam

@aimasup

@sugarglider9603

@underdog-arts

@strawberryjellystuff

[kittinoir]

Echoes of You Ch. 9

Read on Ao3

“I’m going to design something based on Ladybug’s new suit.”

Marinette grinned, glancing over at Alya as they swayed with the metro as it took a graceful turn beneath the banks of the Seine. They were headed for Trocadero Gardens to work on Mme. Bustier’s latest fashion assignment: formal wear inspired by the heroes of Paris. Alya had suggested the Gardens, and though it was Marinette’s secret place for inspiration, she found she wanted to share the space. She’d missed her best friend. 

“Long black gloves?” Marinette suggested with a knowing look. “Ombre skirt?”

Alya shook her head but stifled a giggle. “It’s like you read my mind, girl. Kinda obvious I guess, but…”

“I think it’s sweet!” Marinette said. “You’ve been a staunch supporter of Ladybug since the first day. You’ve been running the Ladyblog for a year and a half. A Ladybug gown only makes sense.”

“What about you?” Alya asked, tugging on her bag strap. “A stunning gown inspired by Rena Rouge? Or maybe Ryoku? You always love a challenge.”

Marinette shrugged. “I was actually thinking something inspired by Chat Noir.”

“Seriously?” Alya said, eyes wide behind her glasses. “You think he’s the lamest thing since, like, creation.”

“I do not!” Marinette said. “I think he’s…well, I think he’s really cool. And funny. And sweet. And the way he fights is just…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Alya held up her hand in front of Marinette’s face. “Since when do you have a crush on Chat Noir? What happened to Adrien?”

“A crush?” Marinette repeated. “I do not have a crush on Chat Noir!” But she felt a familiar blush creeping across her cheeks as her heart kicked into double-time. 

“Uh-huh.” Alya raised a single brow, eyeing the red stain. “I can see that.”

“Seriously!” Marinette said, but Alya just winked and went back to scrolling through her blog for inspiration.

She did not have a crush on that…that tom cat. There was no way. Her heart was dedicated to Adrien, one hundred thousand per cent. He was the first thing she thought of when she woke up and the last thing she thought of before going to sleep. She still swooned every time he smiled.

So what was up with her heart doing the tippy-tappy thing over Chat Noir!? She could tell Alya whatever she wanted to; Marinette knew what it meant. She didn’t not have a crush on Chat Noir.

Marinette stifled a sigh as they arrived at Trocadero and she followed Alya off the train. Maybe designing a gown inspired by Chat Noir would be a mistake. Maybe she should focus on one of the other heroes intstead. Rena Rouge did have a beautiful colour palette.

“Let me know if you have any, uhm, questions,” Alya said as they walked to the gardens. “About…well, you know.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The Miraculous.”

A crease appeared between Marinette’s brows. “…Questions?”

“Yeah,” Alya said with a nod. “I know you had that whole…thing a few weeks ago.”

“Thing?” Now she was really confused. “What thing?”

It was Alya’s turn to frown. “The thing. The thing where you forgot all about the super heroes? Hawkmoth? The Miraculous? You called me totally freaking out.”

Marinette tried to comb through the last few weeks in her memory, but nothing jumped out at her as out of the ordinary or suspicious. She’d missed one or two akuma attacks, but she’d seen them later on the news or on Alya’s blog. She used to get a thousand notifications on her phone whenever one happened, but she’d disabled them; they were way more annoying than they were helpful. She didn’t even remember downloading half the apps.

Finally Marinette shrugged. “Must have just been stress,” she said as the picked a spot to start working. “You know how I get sometimes.”

“Not really,” Alya said slowly. “Not like this.”

“Oh.” Marinette bit her lip, but she was still coming up empty. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Worried me?” Alya squinted at her friend as they sank onto a bench near some rose bushes. “How many heroes are there?”

Marinette frowned. “Trick question, Alya. Obviously Ladybug and Chat Noir are the main duo, but there a team of six other heroes that help them out from time to time.”

“Trick question you answered wrong,” Alya said triumphantly. “There are seven others.”

Marinette made a face. “I wasn’t really counting Chloe, but sure, I guess, technically seven.”

Alya seemed surprised but let it go. “Ok, who are they fighting?”

“Hawkmoth,” Marinette answered immediately, “But he sometimes has help from Mayura. Ooh, she has a great costume. Do you think Mme. Bustier would let me do a design based on her instead of one of the heroes?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Never mind,” she said, flipping open her notebook. “It was clearly fever-induced hysteria.”

“Sorry,” Marinette said. She nudged her friend with her shoulder. “Seriously though, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Alya gave Marinette a half-hearted smile. “You just scared me, girl. I’m glad you’re…well, feeling better, I guess.”

“Right as rain,” Marinette promised. Alya just shook her head, either in fake exasperation or real exasperation, Marinette wasn’t totally sure which, then dove into her sketch. 

Marinette opened her own sketch book, flipping past old designs of derby hats and reception dresses until she came to a blank page. She pulled a pencil out, but she hesitated before putting lead to paper. She had to decide before she started. She only hesitated for a moment more before committing to the design that had been flickering around her mind since the homework had been assigned. Besides, if she didn’t like it, she could always change it later.

She began with the bodice, sketching out the silhouette of a cheongsam. Marinette had discovered some time ago that she enjoyed infusing her designs with aspects of her culture from her mothers’ side.

She followed the simple and elegant lines down to the floor in a fit and flare skirt, forsaking the yards of fabric and billowing skirts she normally favoured. While his suit had more embellishments than Ladybug’s, they were few, far between, and utilitarian. Well, she thought, smiling to herself as she added a bell to the collar, almost. 

Marinette scrawled notes in to the side of the design indicating colour and texture, then tilted her head as she considered what she had. She liked the silhouette, but many cheongsams had some floral design embroidered across the fabric. There was also the matter of the belt. She added a modest slit to the skirt on the left that came up to the knees while she thought on it.

Before she reached a decision, alarmed shouts erupted around them. Marinette twisted, her sketchbook falling to the paving stones, as she searched for the source. Sure enough, Alya’s phone erupted with at least six notifications, alerting them to an akuma attack in the area.

“Score!” Alya cheered, shoving her book back in her bag. “Talk about inspiration!”

“I don’t think it’s normal to be that happy about someone else’s misfortune,” Marinette chided, but Alya had already set her phone to record.

“Are you coming with me this time, girl?” Alya asked, but as she spoke the paving stones beneath them began to rumble.

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” Marinette said, her voice vibrating with the impact. “I think whatever it is is coming to us!”

Sure enough, something exploded from the ground mere feet away from them, showering stone and dirt in a 5 metre radius, a black rose clutched in its hand. Marinette and Alya ducked, wincing as small pebbles pelted them. Alya shrieked as a larger stone ricocheted off her phone with a loud crack and the screen went black.

“My phone!” Alya smacked the side of the device, trying to get it to light up again while Marinette watched in horror as the monster turned towards the noise. “My phone!”

“Alya!” Marinette leapt at her friend, tackling her out of the way as the monster crashed towards them. It missed them by a wide margin, and a second later, Marinette could see why: its eyes were clouded over. Either this thing was blind, or could see very little.

“Time to go,” Marinette said. She grabbed Alya by the wrist and tugged her after her as she sprinted back towards the train station.

“But Marinette, my blog - ”

“These things are dangerous, Alya!” Marinette snapped as her friend tugged her to a stop. “Why don’t you get that!”

“Dangerous?!” Alya sniped back. “Ladybug’s miracle cure always fixes everything !”

Marinette wanted to rip her hair out. “But what if it doesn’t? What if she loses? She’s just a girl, Alya, and Hawkmoth is getting closer and closer to cornering her! Do you even realize how much pressure you put on her by putting yourself in danger like this?”

For once Alya seemed to be at a loss for words. “I.. I just…”

Marinette knew. She wanted to be a reporter. She admired Ladybug so much. She loved superheroes. She wanted to be a part of the team. She wanted to help do what was right.

“Come on,” Marinette said, “Let’s head for the roof of the Musée de la Marine. It’ll be safer and you can probably still see what’s going on.”

Alya said nothing, but let Marinette pull her along again. They hadn’t gotten very far, however, when the monster exploded from the ground again, closer this time.

“I WANT THE MIRACULOUS,” it shrieked. It writhed , and before they could react, it pounced on Alya, burrowing back into the ground with her trapped between its hideous arms.

“Alya!” Marinette clawed at the ground where they’d disappeared, but the dirt sifted through her fingers, empty. She whipped around as the monster burst from the ground again, thirty metres away. Alya was no where in sight.

“Give her back,” Marinette shrieked. She seized a large rock by her foot and flung it with all her strength. A small part of her was surprised when the rock actually nailed the thing in the forehead, but it was swept away in the flood of her rage. She grabbed another rock, and another, pelting the monster’s wide body as it searched wildly for her. It dove suddenly, and Marinette flung herself to the side, scraping her arms and cheeks on the rough stones as the akuma resurfaced where she’d been crouched.

“Lucky Charm!”

Marinette threw her arms over her head protectively as the battle cry rang throughout the gardens. She could see the shadow of the monster arcing towards her, and then she was flying, the Trocadero Gardens far below.

“Nice aim,” a voice said in her ear. “I think the akuma’s still shaking.”

Marinette looked up into the face of Chat Noir, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck as she put the pieces together.

“It took Alya,” she blurted, and she was embarrassed to discover she was tearing up. “It took her, please, you have to - ”

“We’ll get her back, Marinette,” Chat Noir promised as they landed somewhere new in the gardens. He gave her a crooked smile. “I swear on one of my nine lives.”

“It’s holding a rose,” Marinette rambled as he set her legs back under her. “I think that’s where the akuma’s hiding. It’s in its right fist.”

Chat Noir’s grin actually faltered. “What - How do you know that?”

“The rose was black.” Marinette turned back towards the monster, as though she could see it from where she was. She couldn’t, but faint dirt clouds marked where it was hiding. “There aren’t any black roses grown here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the monster  is actually a gardener here.”

Chat Noir nodded, squeezing her shoulder. “Thank you, Marinette. We’ll get your friend back.”

He extended his baton and used it to vault back towards the action. Marinette crouched by a near by bush, making sure to note whether or not the ground was shaking, but it seemed Ladybug and Chat Noir were keeping the villain well occupied. Minutes later a red cloud burst from where the fight had taken place. She could hear the cheers of people nearby. 

Marinette began to straighten but froze as a small cloud of ladybugs sought her out and swirled around her face and arms. It was only then she truly noticed the scrapes, but as she watched, they faded. Seconds later they disappeared altogether. Still, the ladybugs danced over her skin, tickling, caressing, comforting, almost as though greeting an old friend, but slowly their light began to fade. They only lasted moments more, and then they, too, vanished with a small, red sparkle.

[welllpthisishappening]

To Be Totally Locked Up By You

It’s not a big deal.

So, Clarke and Bellamy are sharing a Spotify account. They share plenty of things already. An apartment. A school. Buying rounds at the bar four blocks away. This is basically the same thing.

Until. Octavia tells them about the playlist. Joint music and both of their listening habits on full display, some ridiculous algorithm that leaves Clarke, quite suddenly, feeling more exposed than ever, sharing emotions and feelings, all set to a soundtrack.

—-

Rating: Teen Word Count: Nearly 8K AN: It’s happening! Admittedly sooner than I expected (I’m still only in season five, but the feelings. I’ve got them) and this is almost too autobiographical to be entirely fair, but I wrote this in like…four hours. So, here it is. Long-time Bellarke fic-reader, first-time Bellarke fic-writer. With lots of thoughts on Bellamy Blake’s curls. Joining a new fandom is exciting and terrifying.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—-

“Why are you and my brother sharing a Spotify account?”

Clarke nearly breaks the pencil in her hand. She lifts her head slowly, not entirely surprised to find Octavia staring expectantly at her, arms crossed tightly enough that it’s very likely doing permanent damage to her ribs. 

Possibly her lungs. 

It’s been a very long time since Clarke took those anatomy classes. 

“Well,” Octavia prompts, one eyebrow arching perfectly. “Yes or no question.” “How did you get in here?” “Did you not hear me come in?”

Clarke makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she can rest her chin on her knees. She’s genuinely impressed with the state of Octavia’s right eyebrow. It appears to be defying gravity. 

She doesn’t really know enough about gravity either. 

Maybe she should make a list of the things she doesn’t know. 

That seems inevitably depressing. 

And Octavia is very clearly not going to move until she gets a response she wants, that stupid eyebrow and a pile of papers resting against her hip. Her phone is just barely hanging on in her back pocket, the soft vibration barely audible over the music coming from Clarke’s laptop speakers and the creaky pipes in their bathroom. 

Bellamy is in the shower. 

Clarke is at least sixty-seven percent positive Octavia planned her ambush that way.

“How do you even know about Bellamy’s Spotify account?” Clarke asks, burrowing further into the corner of the couch. “And seriously, did you pick our lock?” That eyebrow should be studied. 

“I have a key,” Octavia drawls. “Obviously. So, your lock is fine and you can stop trying to deflect the important part of—” “—Why are you here?” Octavia gnashes her teeth, but there’s not really any threat there and Clarke only huffs slightly when she tosses her sketchbook on the coffee table. Because she knows that expression. The phone stops ringing. Only to start again. 

“How many places are you going today?” Clarke asks knowingly, pointing at the open spot next to her. 

There’s another round of huffing and flailing legs, Octavia’s left foot nearly colliding with both of Clarke’s knees, but that’s also impossibly familiar and nearly comfortable and—

“He thinks I should have a wedding cake,” Octavia mumbles. “Like an actual cake. Apparently it’s very historic—” “—Oh my God what an idiot.” “—There’s ancient nonsense involved and something about how that proved you were rich or something—” “—In Rome?” Octavia hums, eyes falling closed like she’s resigning herself to the horrendous ordeal of her older brother buying her a wedding cake. And, really, it’s almost nice. That’s a lie. It’s better than nice and just as expected as Octavia’s flailing limbs. 

Because for as long as Clarke Griffin has known Bellamy Blake, since she met Octavia in an intro to stats class they both hated, she’s known several things about him. 

One, he loves his little sister. More than anything. Two, he likes taking care of people. Octavia, especially, but at some point that also started to include Clarke, which is another nice thing and another vaguely overwhelming thing and—she doesn’t think about that. It is fine. Three, that same protective streak makes him certain he has to do things and provide things and that means driving Octavia crazy with possible wedding ideas. 

And that leads to thing four: he’s an idiot and a nerd in an endearing sort of way that makes Clarke sure he didn’t have to look up that fact about Roman wedding cakes. 

It also makes Clarke smile. 

She ignores whatever happens to Octavia’s face. 

“In Rome,” Octavia echoes. “Anyway that’s what we’re doing. Traipsing around the city and taste-testing cakes and—” “—That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.” “Stop interrupting me, it will not distract me from my ultimate goal.” “Which is?” Octavia props herself up on her elbows, ignoring Clarke’s groan when she moves. “Do you know how expensive real wedding cakes are?” “That feels like a trick question. In Rome or—” Octavia sticks her whole tongue out when she responds, a noise that Clarke is sure will get stuck in her head for the rest of the day, The shower shuts off. 

And Clarke’s mouth doesn’t go dry, per se, but she’s only momentarily worried that everyone in the apartment can hear the way her heart speeds up, falling into rhythm with her perfectly curated Spotify playlist and it hadn’t been much more than a suggestion, a monetary decision that made sense because—

“Jesus fuck Bell, put clothes on!”

Bellamy grins, another shift of eyebrows that Clarke is genuinely starting to resent, rivulets of water falling down either side of his face and dripping towards the towel wrapped around his waist. “Did you break in here, O?” “Used her key apparently,” Clarke mumbles, hoping the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks isn’t obvious. 

Because thing number five Clarke has always know about Bellamy Blake is that she’s kind of..into Bellamy Blake. In a passing sort of way. That’s just happened to linger for years.

It’s his hair. 

It’s far too curly. 

It’s not—it’s more than that, it’s things one through four and a whole slew of other numbers she hasn’t come up with yet and how easy it’s been to live in the same space, both of them looking for roommates at the same time, mixing lives and remembering to buy creamer and always keeping an extra box of strawberry Special K in the back of the cupboard for breakfast-type emergencies, but Clarke likes to lie to herself and—

“Right, right, right,” Bellamy chuckles. “Well, she’s also ridiculously early.” Octavia scowls. “And standing here. Having a conversation you’re not actually a part of. Or invited to.” “Wow. Scathing.” “Do you wander around your apartment naked all the time?” “That’s not what’s happening. Obviously. Also, I live here. Why are you here so early?” “Just super psyched about cake.” “You’ll want to practice that some more before we leave. You might insult the baker in Brooklyn.” “You’re going to Brooklyn?” Clarke balks before she can stop herself, another noise out of Octavia that cannot possibly be good for her throat. 

“The bakery got really good reviews.” “Oh my God you looked up bakery reviews.” Bellamy tilts his head, more drops of water that are equal parts horrible and far too distracting to be fair. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“No, no, I am not even remotely surprised that’s exactly what you did.” Endeared, maybe. Perpetually. But not surprised. 

Clarke doesn’t say that. 

Octavia is far too busy swinging her feet back on the floor, a slightly different look than earlier and Clarke glances down to make sure her stomach hasn’t actually dropped. She’s still retained enough anatomical knowledge to know that it is supposed to stay in her body. 

No drop. 

And yet. 

She can’t stop the butterflies or the nerves that rise up the back of her throat, another expression she’s far too familiar with. 

“Fine,” Octavia snaps. “We will go to Brooklyn. We will taste test all the cakes—there better be hummingbird cake—” “—Who do you think I am, O?” Bellamy mumbles. It gets him a well-deserved eye roll. 

Clarke’s going to bite her lip in half. 

“You and Clarke are sharing a Spotify account!” Bellamy blinks. Once, twice, runs his fingers through his hair and maybe it’s just a Blake thing, this seeming ability to twist their bodies in wholly unnatural ways. “Do you know what that looks like?” “Like I wanted to save a couple bucks a month? So it would be easier to do cake-type things?” “Phrase that differently,” Clarke suggests, but Bellamy just smirks and the towel thing is really starting to become a problem. The whole liking him is becoming a problem. But she’s just as unsurprised that this is what Octavia wanted to talk about as she was that he looked up bakery reviews, so. 

“Also,” Bellamy adds, “Clarke already had Spotify premium. It made sense.” Octavia shakes her head. “You’ve got to live together to be on the same account.”

“I thought we already covered that you have a key to this apartment. The one where Clarke and I live. Together.” “It looks romantic. It looks—” Octavia waves a pair of clearly frustrated hands through the air. “—Domestic. Partnered and, like joint playlists and—” “—You know he gets unlimited skips now, right?” Clarke interrupts, a desperate attempt to end this conversation and, maybe, get Bellamy to put a shirt on. 

“Don’t forget the no ads,” Bellamy grins. “That’s been a godsend.” “What an old sentence. Also, you’re a podcast dweeb.”

“Informed, princess. There’s a difference.” “Yuh huh. Whatever.” “As always, your arguments are well-structured and articulate.” She flips him off. He grins. Octavia makes a noise previously unheard by human ears. 

“You two do know,” she hisses, “that everyone is talking now and—” “—You all need to find a hobby,” Bellamy groans. “And I did not tell you this to make you lose your mind.” Clarke perks up, something in the back of her brain startling at that particular string of words. “You told her?”

“Yeah. I mean—well, I know it’s not a ton of money saved, but it’s something and…” He trails off, dots of color on his face and eyes that are suddenly very preoccupied with the floor. “It was nice of you to offer. So, I looked up Brooklyn.”

The music gets louder. 

Clarke is sure. She’s not sure how, but it seems to swell, the beat settling under her skin and in between her ribs, wrapping around a stomach that refuses to stay where it’s supposed to, flipping and flopping and feeling and, for a moment, she forgets Octavia is there. 

For a moment she smiles at Bellamy and he smiles at her and there’s no smirk, nothing except the way his eyes crinkle slightly, half a head tilt and damp curls falling and it’s good and great and then—

Octavia coughs. Pointedly. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “Well, I think it’s dumb and you guys should opt out of the joint playlist. It’s the absolute worst and definitely embarrassing.” “What?” Clarke asks. 

“Do you not know?” “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Does Bell know about your secret Jonas love?” “What?!” Octavia throws her whole head back when she laughs, a sudden shift of emotion and the water falling off Bellamy’s elbow is starting to leave a small puddle on their floor. “Lincoln and I had it at first,” Octavia explains, “when we got it.” “You don’t think it’s a little hypocritical to be judging our Spotify purchases when you’ve got your own family plan?” Bellamy mutters. Octavia ignores him. “It’s some algorithm or something. I don’t know how it works, only that it takes all the songs you listen to all the time and turns it into a playlist that the entire family can listen to. In this case, that’s you guys. It’s very telling. About you know—you personally.” “I know Clarke personally,” Bellamy reasons. 

“Do you, though?” “I really don’t know how many times we can talk about this apartment.”

“You don’t have to. Because you didn’t know about the Jonas Brothers, did you?” “I really don’t—” “—Exactly,” Octavia says. “Music is...emotional. Certain songs for certain feelings, things that were playing in specific memories. It’s—it’s a whole new avenue to getting a person. Listen to this. Clarke, tell me the truth, how long did you spend making this playlist?” Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. Not long, but it’s all kind of the same theme...Fleetwood Mac, Clapton, Jefferson Airplane. Good music to draw to.” “What’s the name of it?” “Of the playlist?” Octavia nods. Clarke scrunches her nose. “Music to sketch and avoid stress to,” she grumbles. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bellamy’s staring at her. Gaping. Like he’s never seen her and it would be overwhelming even with a shirt on. As it is, Clarke swallows back the emotion taking up residence in the back of her throat, ignoring just how exposed she feels and— “You’re stressed?” he asks softly. 

“Not really. Just end of the quarter and you know parents at the school—always think their kid deserves a better grade and I’ve got meetings all next week. So. It’s—” God, she’s going to kill Octavia. And write a strongly worded letter to Spotify. “I knew you guys were going out today. The music is a lot of my dad’s favorite stuff. Calms me down.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything else, a blessing and the single worst thing in the world, but the ends of his mouth curl up slightly and Clarke should stop looking at his mouth. Octavia grins like she won something. 

“You should put clothes on Bell,” she says. “Don’t want to miss the baker in Brooklyn.” He salutes, all sarcasm and snark, eyes flitting back towards Clarke’s before he and Octavia leave and she lets the playlist repeat three times. He brings her back a slice of cake. 

Octavia texts them both the next day. 

Bellamy grumbles, cursing under his breath about the sanctity of Sundays and Clarke resists the urge to make jokes about the New York Times crossword puzzle or his obsession with finishing it every weekend. 

She reads the text instead. 

Octavia Blake, 11:42 a.m.: I think you guys should stage a bet. A music bet. About the joint playlist. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:43 a.m.: Stop calling it that.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Bellamy murmurs, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. There’s a pen stuck behind each one of his ears. 

Octavia Blake, 11:45 a.m.: No. I won’t. It’s weird and you guys are weird and if you're going to commit to Spotify, then I think you should bet to see who can control the playlist. 

“Don’t answer,” Bellamy suggests. 

Clarke grunts. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:46 a.m.: What kind of bet?

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: You guys can set terms. But basically see who can annoy who first with their musical tastes and seize control of the playlist. 

“Why is your sister so violent at all times?” Clarke asks, but Bellamy just fills in another clue and it’s an admittedly interesting idea. She’s nothing if not perpetually competitive. 

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: One musical genius to rule them all.

She kind of forgets about the bet. 

Or, whatever. 

Clarke’s too preoccupied with those meetings and the Wallace family continues to be the worst family at Mt. Weather, old money and far too many expectations, even for art elective classes that she promises won’t affect your child’s changes at the Ivy League, I swear, and her spine does not appreciate the way she’s sitting in her desk chair. 

She’s got a free period, is seriously considering slumping forward and taking a nap when she hears footsteps moving through her doorway. And Clarke’s got every intention of telling whoever it is to fuck off, but she also knows those footsteps and she can hear a soft beat playing in the background, so her curiosity is piqued. 

“Have you listened to it?” Bellamy asks, brandishing his phone and his tie is a little crooked. 

“What are you doing here?” “Isn’t this the same conversation you had with Octavia?” Clarke rolls her eyes at the same time he drops onto the corner of her desk. She lets out a noise — a warning about paint and half-finished projects she’s got to move to the back of the room, but Bellamy just gives her a steady look and the beat is coming from his phone. “Plus,” he continues, “we just got back from the Museum—” “—Did you geek? “I was a responsible adult figure, princess.” She hums, doing her best to infused as much disbelief into the sound as she can. It’s an old nickname—older than the joint lease and breakfast emergencies, a past Clarke doesn’t always like to think about because they hadn’t always gotten along, but at some point the word had lost its sneer and gained its own look she’s started to covet just a bit. 

She really needs to move those eleventh-grade acrylics. 

“So, like on a scale of one to three-thousand, how much did you geek, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “I’d never been to the Morgan. 3,000 B.C.! They had stuff from 3,000 B.C.! Scrolls and artifacts, actual jewelry. That is—” “—Old?” “Ancient,” he corrects. “Proper ancient.” “I’d give this geek out a two-thousand, six-hundred and forty-seven. Out of the previously discussed three thousand.” “Yeah, that seems about right.”

“And you had a soundtrack to go with it?” Clarke asks, nodding towards the still-musical phone. 

“Kind of. Spotify caught up.” “To?” “Us.” It takes a moment for Clarke to figure out what he means, but then she’s taking a deep breath and trying to remember what she listened to in the last five days. A ridiculous amount of My Chemical Romance. 

It’s been a week. 

“I didn’t peg you for pop punk,” Bellamy laughs. “Or is MCR a different genre? I was never really sure how that worked.” Clarke groans, sliding further down her chair until his smile threatens to stretch the muscles in his face. She can’t flip him off in school. 

“I think, technically, they’re more power punk,” Clarke says. “Or maybe emo—depending on what album the algorithm picked up on.” “What have you been listening to more of?” “Mostly Welcome to the Black Parade on loop.” “Is it Wallace? All your stress and—am I missing out on jam sessions?” “God, not if you call them that,” Clarke exclaims. He blushes again. She may make a list of all the times she can get Bellamy to blush. “But kind of. You’ve had those Model UN meetings after school, so I’ve been blasting music when I get home. I think Pike’s going to rat me out to the super eventually.” “Yeah, well, he’s a dick neighbor. So.” “And my options are limited. No scream-singing in the car when I take the Subway every day.” “You could start singing on the Subway.” Clarke chuckles, sitting up a little straighter. Her spine appreciates it. “Showtime on the downtown six.” “You might be able to make some money. Learn how to flip on the polls.” “I’d donate it to your cake fund. Also, did you call them MCR?” “Is that not right? O went through a very serious Hot Topic phase when she was in high school and I remember some of the lingo, so—” “—You are seriously the oldest man alive.” “Who’s your favorite Jonas Brother?” Clarke scoffs, the song changing and she doesn’t think it’s one of hers. “Frank Ocean?” “A genius.” “You know we don’t have to do this. The sharing playlist thing. It’s—well, O was being crazy, especially with that bet idea, and there’s got to be a way to opt out of it.” “Do you want to opt out of it?” The question seems to hang in the air around them. 

And Clarke isn’t sure why it sounds impossibly important, like some line they’re crossing and can’t come back from, but she can’t shake the feeling or the admittedly lyrical genius of Frank Ocean. She turns the music up. 

“It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” Bellamy asks. “Seeing what changes it picks up on and how the playlist evolves with what we’re into.” “Please stop talking about the playlist like it’s a sentient being.” “Fair, fair. But, uh—what do you say?” “To?” His fingers find the back of his hair, pushing curls away from his eyes and he’d left earlier than her that morning. That explains the glasses. He only wears his glasses when he’s tired. 

Clarke knows that. 

She knows...a lot about Bellamy. And not. Nothing about Frank Ocean, at least. 

She’d like to. 

She likes Frank Ocean. 

She loves—

“If we only listen to the playlist, we’re not going to change it,” Clarke points out. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.” “At the risk of giving O any credit, it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? That we keep listening to our own music during the day or night or whatever, but when we’re coming home from school we listen to the joint playlist. See what happens with it.”

“And are we trying to influence the playlist?” “That’s up to you, I guess.”

“Yeah, ok. Try to influence the playlist, see what we can force the other person to listen to and—” He tilts his head, a forced casualness that makes Clarke widen her eyes. “—Whoever eventually seizes control of the playlist with the majority of their songs by...O and Lincoln’s wedding wins.” “Wins? Wins what?” “I don’t know. Something at home. Or one of us can just pay for the other’s Spotify account.”

Clarke twists her lips, considering it. Bellamy’s eyebrows fly up expectantly. “Yeah, ok. We judge the playlist based on what we hear when we’re leaving school.” “Makes sense. And what happens if we leave school together? You going to share headphones with me?”

“Only if you’ll join my showtime brigade.” “Good name.” “Is that a yes?” He grins — another one of hers, which is vaguely possessive and a little insane, but Clarke’s heart is doing its best to beat its way out of her chest as well, so she figures the whole thing is kind of a wash at this point. “I will definitely join your showtime brigade,” Bellamy promises. “If only because I’m pretty confident in my ability to flip from the top bars.” “No you’re not.” “I’ve got upper-body strength you couldn’t even imagine.”

“Sure, sure. When do we start with our musical experiment?” “Today.” “Today?” “Today,” Bellamy repeats, as students start to file into the hallway and Clarke’s not all that upset with how her free period turned out. “I will pick you at exactly 3:15, Ms. Griffin. Be prepared for an introduction in modern classics. And 90s hip hop.” “I’m going to listen exclusively to pop punk for the rest of the week.” “May the algorithms ever be in your favor.”

“Idiot,” she calls, but he’s already walking away and none of her students look remotely surprised.

Raven slides the glass across the bar without a word. She doesn’t have to use words. Her face is judgmental enough. 

Clarke sighs. “What?” “Did I say anything?” “Did you have to?”

Raven waggles a finger, more opinions and very obvious thoughts and Clarke knew it was only a matter of time. She blames intro to stats. It’s how she met Octavia, after all. Which is how she met Bellamy, which is how their friends group grew and evolved and there’s been good and bad and this bar and she’s fairly certain Raven has a very detailed bet with both Monty and Murphy about her and Bellamy. 

They all know about the Spotify playlist. 

“I guess not,” Raven admits. “Has anyone ever told you that your psychic tendencies are both terrifying and impressive?” “Not in so many words, no.” “What about your weird flirting rituals?” Clarke downs the drink — not sure if it’s actually meant for her and not worried either way. It burns the back of her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thump, right next to her ever-expanding knowledge of Bellamy’s musical taste and his determination to shift the playlist. He’s been listening to nothing except It’s Tricky radio for the past three days. 

She’s got to figure out how to fix this. 

On several levels. 

“It’s not flirting,” Clarke argues. “Or a ritual. That’s weird.” “You’re telling me.” “Buy me another drink.” “No,” Raven says. “Tell me about the ritual.” “Stop calling it that!” Clarke’s voice rises of its own accord, drawing more than a few curious glances and Bellamy looks up from where he’s talking to Lincoln and Octavia. She smiles. She doesn’t mean to. 

Raven cackles. 

“Oh God,” she mumbles, the words barely that, “so, how screwed are you? Like ballpark.” “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Have you figured out that he secretly loves the Goo Goo Dolls?” “How do you know that?” “You don’t?” “Oh my God,” Clarke groans. 

Raven reaches a hand out, a move that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but feels far too heavy when it lands on Clarke’s forearm. “Slow down on the liquor, Griffin. You’re a lightweight. And I know that because the one night I was there—don’t make that face.” Clarke definitely makes a face. She’s a little buzzed. Cage Wallace is setting up a meeting with the school board. About her art classes. “Anyway,” Raven adds, “I was kind of...looking to get out of there quick, but he had music playing and—” “—He played music while you guys were hooking up?” “Nah, he let me shower. He was reading.” “Oh my God.” “Anyway. I don’t think he knew that I could hear the music and it was definitely an entire Goo Goo Dolls album. Straight through. Not even a mix.” “Huh.” “You act like you’re not fascinated by that.” “Should I be?” Clarke questions, but it’s another badly formed lie and the energy under her skin is starting to make her restless. 

Raven nods. “Yes. Eventually that’s going to show up on the playlist too. I know. Or you could ambush him with the Goo Goo Dolls.” “What a sentence.” “Matchbox Twenty?” “Those are two different bands.” “Similar genres,” Raven reasons, Clarke waving down Miller for another round of something, anything. “And I’m trying to help you, here. Rule the playlist, rule the world, right?” “Or at least part of our roommate budget.” “Say roommates again like you don’t want to make out with his face.” “Jeez.” “Not an objection,” Raven points out at the same time Miller decides to show up. Clarke does her best to melt. It does not work. 

“It is not,” Miller adds. “And—just in case you were looking for some more information. He’s been asking about your musical tastes too.” Maybe Clarke is drunk. 

She wishes.

“Why?” “Search me,” Miller admits. “But a lot of it seemed to revolve around your favorite Jonas.” Clarke refuses to look at Raven for the rest of the night. 

It goes. Days, weeks, the rest of April. 

The music keeps on playing. Or, whatever. 

She listens to more My Chemical Romance. Bellamy goes through a pretty serious ten-day spiral over Weezer that leads them both down some 90s-alt rabbit hole, both of them bobbing in rhythm while they do the dishes on a Thursday night. 

At one point Octavia threatens to ruin it all, grabbing Clarke’s phone while they’re at the bar and announcing, “I am getting married, so I pick the music.” It ends with Carly Rae Jepsen on loop and a playlist that refuses to recover for the next two days. 

Clarke comes home to Bellamy humming Run Away With Me while he folds laundry in the living. She spends no less than five seconds processing that before she starts matching socks. 

They play the song fourteen times in a row. 

He counts. 

And she learns things. Raven had been right about the Goo Goo Dolls and Clarke girts her teeth when Bellamy asks “why are there so many Frozen songs on here now,” but that leads them to debating the merits of twisting traditional mythologies in Disney movies until Monty tells them to “shut up and drink.”

So, they do. 

And then, May happens. 

It’s not that Clarke often finds herself stressed enough to burst into tears as soon as she closes the apartment door behind her, but her stomach is churning and between self-important parents at school and her own parents—parent, singular—she’s an emotional, exhausted mess and—

“Oh, shit,” she sighs, sliding onto the floor. She hasn’t listened to the playlist all week. And she knows Bellamy won’t really care, but Clarke has started to depend on the structure and the ever-increasing knowledge and while she might not admit it, Arcade Fire probably would have done a pretty good job of psyching herself up for an afternoon with her mom. 

As it is, Clarke spent the better part of the last six hours listening to backwards compliments and questions about that school of yours and not-so-humble brags about the cardiac center at Lenox Hill and the “opportunities you passed up, sweetheart.”

That sentence played on loop in Clarke’s head the entire train ride home. 

She sniffles, a quick lip of suddenly dry lips because she’s started breathing out of her mouth too and—

“Clarke?” Her head bumps the door when she snaps it up, Bellamy standing there with curls that desperately need to be cut and glasses and he’s wearing socks. It makes Clarke’s pulse speed up and slow down at the same time. 

She’s very glad she’s not a doctor. 

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, rushing into her space and there are already tears on her cheeks. She hates that. Bellamy drops in front of her, knees cracking and a hand on her shoulder, staring at her like she’s going to fall apart or break in half and neither is true. Clarke is just mad. 

Pissed off, really. 

She’s angry at her mom and the cardiac center with its looming benefit, Clarke’s lack of a date some black mark on the whole thing, apparently, far too many veiled suggestions that her own choices are less structured and real, because Clarke has made her own choices since she was eighteen and hated stats and she’s got a schedule and she can’t believe she forgot about the playlist. She’s harping on that. “And how was the esteemed Dr. Griffin today?” Bellamy asks knowingly. Clarke isn’t sure what sound she makes at that, but it might just be the audible version of gratitude, and he grins. 

Exactly like she wants him to. 

“Chock-full of opinions as always.” “Mmhm, I figured. You want to talk about it?” “Not really. She just—” Clarke grits her teeth, fighting against another wave of disappointment and could have been and every one of her muscles tightens when Bellamy’s lips ghost over her forehead. 

That’s absurd. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. Or her. Quick displays of affection when things went well or things went bad and she can remember every single one. Which, honestly, is pretty telling, but she spent most of the day lying to her mom. 

This shouldn’t be any different. 

This is the complete opposite. 

“Go ahead,’ Bellamy mutters. 

“She’s just—God, Bell, she’s the worst and she’s so positive she’s right and I’m wrong, but she doesn’t even have the decency to really tell me I’m wrong and—” Clarke runs out of air. Bellamy brushes away the tears on her cheeks. “They’ve got this gala coming up and she wants me to come. She’s getting an award.” “Prestigious.” “Self-absorbed,” Clarke corrects. “The hospital she works at is awarding her for her work at the same hospital. I know it shouldn’t get to me. I do, but she kept talking, like she was going down a list of make Clarke feel like garbage and—” “—You don’t deserve to feel like garbage, princess.”

“Tell me mom that.”

“Here, give me your phone.” Clarke’s skull can’t cope with much more of this, but there’s an earnest edge to his voice that she’s never heard before and her phone suddenly feels impossibly heavy in her pocket. She pulls it out, willing her fingers not to tremble. 

It takes him exactly twelve seconds to start playing music.

There’s no Arcade Fire. No Goo Goo Dolls or 90s hip hop. 

“Fleetwood Mac?” Clarke whispers, Bellamy’s soft hum of agreement in her ear and she’s sure, eventually, they’ll get up. She’s not in a rush. “If you play Landslide,” Clark warns, “I will cry even more.”

“I can cope with that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds like another thing in a way that things shouldn’t be things. Not with roommates and weird bets and—“You know I do have some rhythm. I could...if you don’t want to show up to this thing by yourself.” Clarke doesn’t pull her head off his shoulder. She’s not sure when her head landed on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” “It wouldn’t suck so bad.” “That's not true at all.” “I’m serious. We could make fun of people. Come up with ridiculous backstories. Wow them with our Fred and Ginger ways.” “You sound very confident in your dancing talent.” He kisses the top of her hair. 

“That’d be nice,” Clarke says, voice a little scratchy and she’s not sure if that’s because of the day or the week or how goddamn comfortable his shoulder his. “And you’re going to ruin the playlist algorithm with this.” “I’ll live.” “Good.”

Dr. Abby Griffin’s eyes get very wide when Clarke and Bellamy show up at Gotham Hall. 

They dance. They drink undoubtedly expensive champagne. They dance some more. 

She smiles. 

A lot. 

And Bellamy doesn’t ask before handing Clarke one side of his headphones as soon as they slide into the Uber back home, her eyes fluttering shut while the music drowns out the sounds of the city on their way home. 

She gets really annoyed with him one week and plays the original Broadway cast recording of Cats every night while she’s asleep. 

He hates that she can’t ever remember to turn the AC off when she leaves the apartment. So, he plays Bizet from Carmen every time she walks in for a four-day stretch. 

It takes another two days for the playlist to realize neither one of them is mad anymore.

At some point around Memorial Day they both realize they love Ben Folds. 

Bellamy plays a ridiculous fake piano. 

Clarke sings the Regina Spektor parts on all their duets. 

They blast Killer Queen on a Saturday afternoon in June after Cage Wallace’s kid graduates. 

Clarke stands on the couch, hands thrown in the air and something akin to joy leaping up her spine, Bellamy shouting lyrics from the kitchen while he blends...something. 

It presumably has alcohol in it. 

Or, more alcohol. 

It’s a celebration. 

And it doesn’t take long for Pike to start banging on their shared well, but neither of them move to to turn own the music, just sing louder. Bellamy grins when Clarke throws a pillow at the wall, shouting “take that dick,” like Pike can hear them over Freddie Mercury. 

She almost falls over. 

It is...patently stupid and inherently romantic and Bellamy is impossibly solid behind her, cotton t-shirt not doing much to distract from the planes of his chest and—

“What was that about upper body strength?” she breathes.

Bellamy laughs into her shoulder blade, nosing at the top of her shirt, and there must be hair in his face, but he doesn’t seem all that upset by it, which is only messing with her head a little bit. His fingers splay across her hip, tugging Clarke back to the floor. 

His glasses are falling down the bridge of her nose. 

Clarke presses up on her toes, suddenly aware of how much bigger he is than her and how clear his eyes are when he looks at her — more earnest energy and a flick of his tongue between his lips, like he’s waiting for whatever she does next and only a little impatient. 

“A solid save.” Bellamy barks out a laugh, head falling close to Clarke’s, and it takes everything in her not to card her fingers through his hair. That lasts about four seconds. 

If even. 

Her calves are still aching, but she doesn’t back down and she doesn’t think and for one of those four seconds she’s absolutely positive Bellamy is going to kiss her. He doesn’t blink, just stays impossibly still, except for the flutter of his fingers and the way they push under the hem of her shirt and—

“Turn your fucking music down!”

They both jump back, like they’ve been shocked, Clarke wincing when her legs slam into the front of the couch. 

“Are you ok?” Bellamy asks, but she’s already nodding and any sense of joy has rather quickly morphed into something much worse. Regret. That’s the word for it. 

She’s neither a doctor nor an English teacher. 

“Fine, fine,” Clarke stammers. “I, uh—I’m going to turn the music down, ok?”

“Nah, Clarke—fuck that guy, c’mon, it’s…” “It’s really loud, Bell.” He’s setting a record for not blinking, she’s sure. He stares at her—a little appraising and just a hint wary, the moment drifting away as the song fades out. Clarke swallows. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy agrees. It still doesn’t sound like the words he’s saying. “What do you think about celebratory David Bowie?” “Good call. You going to keep mixing?” “10-4, princess.”

“Idiot.” He grins, a quick twist of eyebrows and squeeze of his hand, but Clarke can’t help to think that the end of the school year may also be the end of something else. 

Octavia’s getting married in two weeks. 

Her dress is blue. 

And it makes her boobs look great, which Clarke isn’t focused on, but Raven’s mentioned it enough that eventually she agrees and she’s happy. 

Octavia is getting married. 

It’s sunny. It’s warm. There’s already music playing, soft and melodic outside the door where they’re waiting, Raven’s far-too-knowing stare boring into the back of Clarke’s head. 

“Don’t do that,” she warns, and she doesn’t have to turn to know Raven rolls her eyes. 

“I’m still not saying anything.” “Again, you didn’t have to.” “The experiment ends today, right?” “You say that like you don’t know. “And what did we learn?” Clarke turns around. It’s a mistake, she knows, but part of her has also been dreading today, which is pretty fucked up. All things considered. Octavia looks gorgeous. 

She’s got a five-dollar bet with Murphy that Bellamy will cry. 

Bellamy’s definitely going to cry. 

“You’re supposed to learn something in an experiment,” Raven says. “Even one as weird as this one. With all its flirting. You seriously haven’t made out with him yet?” “No.” Raven crows, Clarke grimacing at the admission that isn’t really that because everyone knows and she’s always known and—she bets he looks very good in his tuxedo. “Oh, god you’re an idiot,” Raven exhales. “But seriously, did you learn things? That he—”

“Yes to the Goo Goo Dolls. Slide is a very predictable favorite, but it’s been on the playlist since the get. He knows way more lyrics than he should. O had a pop punk phase too and he’s way too confident in his own rhythm, but sometimes he’s good at dancing. His mom used to listen to a lot of ballads and Karen Carpenter makes him feel emotions, but mostly at Christmas, so that hasn’t really affected the playlist and—what? You’re doing that thing with your face.” “Am I just?” “Nothing’s going to change, Rae,” Clarke cuts in. “We’re going to keep our musical preferences and our separate playlists and one of us will pay for no ads.” “Seriously, tell him how much you want to kiss him.”

“Shut up.”

And the photographer sounds like he’s on his way back. With Octavia. Who certainly does not want to hear about Clarke’s unrequited feelings for her brother. On her wedding day. 

Priorities, Clarke’s got them. 

“We had some fun and—well, O was kind of right. It was like getting a chance to…” “See into his music-loving soul?” “I really like Arcade Fire now.” Raven hums noncommittally and Clarke can practically hear the gears in her mind turning, but she’d been right about the photographer and maybe they’ll all just cry over Octavia. 

She’s beaming. 

And there will be hummingbird cake at this reception. 

“You guys ready?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke nods, ignoring Raven’s expression. “Definitely.”

He cries. 

Clarke gets five dollars. 

She doesn’t have any pockets in her dress. 

That feels like a sign. 

Strictly speaking, Clarke hasn’t been to too many weddings. A family friend when she was a kid. Her mom’s. This one. 

And yet. 

She’s positive that this is the most beautiful wedding she’s ever been to or could ever go to and part of that is because of the music and part is because of how often she’s noticed Bellamy smiling and most of it is because he keeps glancing her way. 

It’s a very blue dress. 

She’s still holding a five-dollar bill. 

And there is a whole schedule — toasts and more tears, posing for photos and ignoring the way her stomach flutters when she spends an inordinate amount of time glancing Bellamy’s direction. Octavia laughs. She and Lincoln flit from table to table, a hint of tradition in a wedding that is still them and this family and—

“You want to dance?” She’s sitting at the head table, a glass of half-finished champagne in front of her and they haven’t cut the cake yet, but Clarke figures that's soon. Bellamy doesn’t blink. Again. One side of his mouth tugs up, fluttering his fingers in her space until she feels her own smile stretch and maybe her stomach should just be studied. 

There’s color on Bellamy’s cheeks. 

Clarke never got around to making that list. 

“Don’t leave hanging, princess,” Bellamy says. “They’re playing good music.”

He’s not wrong. 

It is good music. It’s...oddly familiar music. And Clarke had been too happy to really notice it before, but now that she’s listening, she hasn’t heard anything that’s not hers and—

“Oh my God, you idiot.” He laughs. Loud. And honest. And one-hundred percent hers. The sound sinking into the very center of her, where everything else she’s ever loved has taken root, a foundation for the rest of it, for all of it, for a family. 

A Spotify premium family plan. 

“You keep complimenting me like that and—” “—Did you do this?” “Did I do what?”

Her hand finds his, warm fingers and slightly callused skin. Clarke can’t stop shaking her head. It’s absurd. It’s vaguely romantic. 

“Is this…” she starts, but Bellamy smirks and she’s a lost cause. 

In a far more romantic sort of way. 

She jumps up, closing the already minimal amount of space between them and, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. He might still be smirking. Clarke can feel the curve of his lips as soon as hers land on them, a little cautious at first, but that lasts about one verse of whatever Jonas Brothers song is playing and then it’s all mingled breaths and an arm slung around his shoulders, fingers in his hair and the sudden swipe of his tongue. 

Clarke arches her back, desperate to feel as much of him as she can, like that will ground her or remind her that it’s really happening. 

He tilts his head, changes angles and cups her face. It’s soft and bruising and a perfect contradiction that leaves her pushing up further in her heels, pulling on Bellamy’s curls until he groans against her and she’s going to think about that on loop for the rest of the night. 

The room spins. 

Clarke’s only seventy-two percent certain she’s not the one spinning. 

It doesn’t seem to end. They don’t seem to end. She can’t tell where his hands stop, moving across the expanse of her back and tracing across skin, as if he’s memorizing every shift, every way she rocks against him, trying to fill the space with him and them and— “Oh my God, finally,” Octavia cries. 

Clarke snickers, Bellamy’s head dropping to the curve of her jaw, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Still smirking. “Huh,” he muses. “Look at that.” “Don’t be smug,” Clarke chides. “I’m wooing you, was that not obvious?” She leans back, expecting a wholly confident expression, only to be met with something slightly hopeful and a little young and yearning and, really, the only thing to do is kiss him. Again. So, she does. Again. 

And it’s good and great and exactly what she thought it would be when she thought about this, far more often than she ever would admit to. 

But it’s also...something else. It’s the perfect chord and a well-constructed bridge and the song she wants to play on repeat forever, a favorite she knows she won’t get sick of, until the melody finds its way into her memory and her. 

Full stop. 

“Yeah, it was,” she whispers. “Is this—” “You know when you first offered to go half on this premium thing, I really was in it for the money.” “It’s like an extra ten bucks a month,” Miller yells. Both Octavia and Raven swat at his side.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy admits, “But I wanted to help O and I was sure this would help and then the playlist thing came up and I just—” He shrugs, another brush of his fingers over Clarke’s arm. “—Well, it was...you know you hum under your breath? Constantly. Every song. Even the ones you said you didn’t like. And you’ve got drawing playlists and I can’t believe how strongly you feel about All Time Low.” “They’re good,” Clarke shouts. More than a few members of the peanut gallery let out exasperated sighs. 

Bellamy kisses her hair. “I know. I know. And that’s been—the first time O talked about you, I figured you were some uptight—” “—Am I still being wooed? I am a fun person!” “Let me finish. You were old money and plans and structure and I thought I had to hate you on principle. But then. Clarke, you’re—ok, yeah, you like some structure and plans, but there’s so much more and it’s...every single time you start dancing to David Bowie I think I love you a little more.”

She’s not sure what sound she makes. 

An exhale and a sigh and a give — into the feelings and the want and he’s not done. 

“So, uh, it hasn’t been easy. It took a lot of repeat plays. But yeah, to answer your question. This is the playlist and it’s our playlist, with...mostly your music because—” He scrunches his nose. It makes the freckles more obvious. “You’ve gotten under my skin, princess. So has your music. And the Frozen soundtrack isn’t that bad.” “Get that in writing,” Octavia demands. 

“Shut up, O,” Bellamy grumbles. She flips him off. The photographer takes a picture. “Anything to add?” he asks, an undercurrent of misplaced nerves that she doesn’t understand at first. She hasn’t said anything back. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s—” she starts, shaking her head and she kisses him before she answers. Third time’s the charm, or something. "I love you too.”

There are cheers. And louder music. A ridiculous bass line and shutter snaps and—

“We going to dance?” “Did I not ask first?” Clarke hums, already tugging him towards the floor and she’s got high hopes of his hand never leaving hers. For the rest of the night. If not longer. “Semantics,” she says. “C’mon, this is definitely a good song.”

Her favorite Jonas Brother is Joe. 

She tells him while they’re tugging clothes off, stumbling down the hallway of their apartment. 

“Don’t mention that again.” “10-4,” Clarke laughs, but the words get caught between them and she very quickly forgets about anything other than the noise Bellamy makes when she moves her hands into his hair. 

They never opt out of the family playlist. 

And it takes a few weeks for the algorithm to catch up, but eventually it’s a pretty even split, his and hers and theirs, all perfectly curated in replayable format. 

[sentient-stove]

The Mishaps of Ladybug and Kuro Neko- Chapter 2

Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug, Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Roman, Roman & Virgil, Roman/Virgil (way down the line), Remus & Roman, Logan & Virgil, Janus & Marinette Dupain-Cheng  (More later)

Characters: Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Virgil Ito, Logan Ito, Patton Hart, Janus Dupain-Cheng, Roman Prince, Remus Prince, Tikki, other kwami

Summary:  It’s been almost fifty years since Marinette’s used a miraculous.  And unfortunately, someone’s stolen the butterfly and the peacock.So when the missing miraculous turn up in the US, she’s forced to hand out a new team of heroes, finally hanging up the mantle of ladybug forever.

Virgil did not sign up for a kwami(?) that’s obsessed with cheese curds.

Roman is ecstatic that he has the ladybug miraculous, after all, superheroes are cool!

Logan wants to live his life and avoid racial slurs, too bad the annoying ass heroes keep destroying his fucking bedroom.

Patton spends his time hero chasing, maybe he’ll get a super power one day too!

Janus is done™

Chapter Summary: Virgil and Plagg meet, Roman and Tikki meet, Kuro Neko and Ladybug meet.

Notes: I want to write for Whumptober and then my brain focuses on this :/  what is wrong with me XD

AO3  | Previous | Next

Virgil upended the contents of his bag onto the small pull out bed that nested under Logan’s. Half of the sketchbooks were soaked beyond ruin and the others were wet, but he could probably hang them to dry and they’d be okay.

He wrapped a blanket around himself as he sat down, slowly beginning to sort through the mess that was on his bed.

There was an origami box among the books and Virgil lifted up, confused. The paper was dry and it wasn’t even slightly smushed from being in a teenager's backpack.

So obviously he opened it.  Virgil had often been compared to a cat with his stupid amounts of curiosity and gosh damn it, he was going to live up to the stereotype.

The box almost fell apart, a glowing ball of light flying around him a few times before condensing in front of him.

“What the--”  Virgil fell backward as the cat-like creature opened its eyes and yawned.

“Got any Camembert?”

“What?” Virgil shook his head.  “I’m lactose intolerant and it’s not like Chinatown’s gonna have fancy ass cheese.”

“Chinatown? Where are we?”  The cat thing floated to look out the dirty window before turning back to the emo.

“San Francisco, 2065.  United Commonwealth of States.”

“Huh.  Where’s Chat Noir? Do you even have cheese here? Oh, does cheese still exist? You’re probably my new holder, I’m Plagg.”  The cat, no, Plagg did an odd flip in air while Virgil tried to process everything.

“Are you talking about Paris Chat Noit? Or Noir I guess...”

“Noir, yes.  Adrien Agreste? My old holder.  Oh! I can say his name now!”  Plagg looked excited for a moment, before his face fell.  “oh…” 

“What does that have to do with you?”  Virgil held out his hands to catch the small cat thing, who had a look of melancholy on his face.

“It means that he’s dead if I can say his name.”

“I’m sorry Plagg.”  Virgil gently scratched the top of the creature’s head.  “So you were Chat Noir’s familiar?”

“Kwami.  I, with the ring, gave him his power.  Ladybug, with her kwami did the same.  You wanna be free?”

Virgil looked back to the origami box.  He could see the ring there, black and green tempting him.  “I don’t know.”

“You’re nothing like Chat.  I like that.”  Plagg flew out of Virgil’s hands and down to the ring, picking it up and placing it in the teen’s palm.  “To transform, say ‘Cat Daddy.’”

Virgil looked horrified.

“I’m just kidding, you say ‘Claws out!’  I had to prank you.”

Virgil slipped the ring on, watching as the green faded out and it shrank a bit to better accommodate his small hand.  “Do I need to feed you first?”

“No, I haven’t been used in a while.  Go ham Virgil.”

“Claws out?” …

Logan opened the door to the shared room, expecting to see his brother curled up in a mound of blankets, not an empty room with an open window.

“Fuck.”

…

“Fuck.”

Virgil listened to Logan move around the room, completely unaware that there was a slightly new hero outside the window.

At least the outfit wasn’t ridiculous.  Virgil felt slightly… off, as if his usual style had been pushed to the left and then a few extra embellishments had been added.  There was also an added strength and when he jumped, he felt like he was launching himself way higher than needed.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, just get used to moving…. 

Virgil faceplanted on a roof, almost crashing through someone’s laundry.  It was painful and by the time he peeled his face off the ground, someone was on the roof, staring slack jawed.

“Hēi māo, Hēi māo!”  

That probably wasn’t good.  Virgil couldn’t understand them, and so he shrugged and jumped forward, clearing them easily and landing on the next roof with less difficulty.

He could get used to this.

…

Roman found a small octagonal box on the dressing room makeup counter, a note to him on top.

The box was small, looked old and it easily fit into the palm of his hand.  Roman held it and shakily opened the note, hoping that it wasn’t a termination of work.

Roman,

It seems that the services of a ladybug hero are needed once again.  I trust you to wield the power of creation.  Good luck, kwami knows you’ll need it.

(I recommend heading in the direction of Chinatown to meet your partner.)

The rest of the day is yours,

-Ladybug

Roman slipped the note into his pocket, excitement bubbling up inside him as he opened the box.  The effect was instantaneous, a glowing ball of pink solidifying into a strange creature.

“Hi!  I’m Roman, and you are?”  

The creature blinked, almost surprised.  “I’m Tikki and I am your kwami.”

“Cool… This is so cool!”  Roman bounced on his heels and looked back to the box, noting the familiar earrings that rested there.

“How much do you know about your new powers?”

“Nothing, except that these earrings give me magic powers and I have a partner near Chinatown.”  Roman set the box on the counter in front of him, pulling out the earrings.  They flashed, and once he’d blinked the stars from his vision, two gold studs sat in his hand.

“I’m gonna have to pierce my ears, aren’t I?”

“Yep, but the earrings will prevent you from getting an infection.”

Roman sighed and bit his lip as the first earring went in, wincing as he put the backing on and did the other ear.  “Ow, shit, that really hurts.”

“The pain will fade.  Would you like me to explain how to transform?”

“Sure.”

“To detransform, you say Spots off.  And to transform, it’s the reverse, ‘Spots on.’  While transformed, you will have a power that you can use one time before you have ten minutes to detransform and feed me.”  Tikki smiled and Roman nodded solemnly.

“Tikki, Spots on!” 

…

Virgil was barely getting the hang of it when the blur of red and black slammed into him, sending them both crashing to the ground in a dirty alley.

“What the fuck??”

“Language! Unless you’re a villain, then I guess the foulness is implied!”

Virgil hissed and squirmed out from under the person, blinking rapidly as he recognized the black and red pattern.

“You’re the new Ladybug?”

“Why so disappointed Alley Cat?”

“Not my name.”  Virgil spat and when Ladybug didn’t respond, he sighed.  “Kuro Neko works I guess.”

“Is that Chinese?” “No dumbass.”

“Dumbass doesn’t work as a superhero name.  And besides Kuro, we are in Chinatown and you do look like some anime emo hero.”

Virgil grit his teeth together, glad that Ladybug couldn’t see it due to his mask, which covered the bottom half of his face rather than the top.  “Japantown and Chinatown combined after 2036.”

Ladybug’s brown eyes blinked a few times before he seemed to snap himself out of the thought.  “I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

“It’s nothing.”  Virgil stood and held out a hand.  “Truce LB?”

“Sure thing Kitten.”

“Hell no on that nickname.”  Virgil pulled his new partner up and laughed as Ladybug pouted.

“Then you can’t use nicknames on me.”

“Ah, but there’s the kicker Scarlet.  I have a bunch to use since you didn’t rename yourself.”

“But Ladybug is English!  It works!  I don’t see why we don’t call you Black Panther… oh wait…”  Ladybug trailed off, his expression slowly growing more confused as they stood there.

Virgil smirked, gave a two fingered salute and grabbed his staff from the ground, using it like a pole vault to catapult himself back to the roof.

“See you around Bug Boy!”

And with that, he was gone.

…

Roman watched Kuro Neko leave, feeling excited.   His partner may have looked dark and vaguely emo, but holy hell, did he have a sharp tongue.

He was 100% Roman’s type and he knew that he was screwed.

[jakegyllenshaals]

(love)

[i’m writing a stevetony fic after a long time. so, please excuse my silly concept. also, this in no way turned out as pretty in my mind. well, still, i hope you enjoy!!]

[you can also read it on my ao3: here]

The scrapping of a pencil against paper. The details. The details. You have to be careful about them. Rattle your brain, Rogers. More scraping, a bit more furious and frustrated. The eyes. The beautiful, oh so mesmerizing, eyes. Again, the details. The beard. The rough, calloused look. More furious scrapping.

“Hey, whatcha drawing?” Natasha’s voice breaks his concentration.

The sound of a sketchbook snapping shut.

Steve looks up, to see Natasha standing over his shoulder. How long has she been here?

“Nothing”, he replies curtly, turning his head to look down at the mess he’s made, pencil stubs and pencil shavings everywhere.

She smiles, and it looks to him as if she knows, everything.

-

A shade here. A shade there. A feverish and tired scan through his memory, for anything he’s missed. It’s all messed up. It’s all jumbled up. Something’s just not right, he knows it. He just doesn’t know what.

Steve looks at the “finished” sketch. Not enough. Not enough. No, not good enough. This is nowhere near the perfection he is.

The ripping of a page. A frustrated sigh. Steve, Steve, Steve. When will all of this be over? There’s just silence at the other end.

-

“Hey Cap. Catch!” His stance breaks once again. Only this time, it isn’t Natasha. He looks over to see an apple hurtling his way. He catches it.

Tony is biting on an apple when he looks up. He smiles.

The smile. The smile. It’s like circuits firing up in Steve’s brain.

He smiles back, but he knows it probably looks like he’s just pressing his lips into a thin line. Smiling. Tony knows how to smile. He’s got such a beautiful smile, could light up Steve’s mood instantly, anywhere. If he could just...

“Hey, hey”, Tony’s snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Where you lost, Cap?” He hadn’t realized he’d come to sit beside him on the couch.

“What?” Steve asks. But, you heard him.

“I asked, ‘How’s life?’, but you were busy being lost somewhere.” Tony says, biting his apple.

“Life... Life.. Well, life is fine, Tony. No aliens or crazy robots for a start.” How is he still capable of forming words?

Tony laughs. “You do make a point there.”

Steve looks down, the apple fiddling in his hands.

“So.. Romanoff tells me the reason we haven’t been seeing much of you is because you’ve been spending much of your time with your... your sketchbook.” Steve stiffens. “Hmmm... A secret project, maybe?” Tony asks, a twinkle in his eyes.

Natasha. Natasha. Damn you, Romanoff. He knows. He knows. Does he?

“Oh, it’s nothing.” he says, looking at Tony. He’s surprised to hear a laugh from himself. “I’ve almost given up on it.”

“Given up?” Tony arches his eyebrow. “The Great Captain America. The Super Soldier. Giving up?” he laughs. “Okay, so what has gotten the Great American Hero down?”

“Oh, as I said, it’s nothing.” he says, hesitantly. How should I phrase it? “I just can’t seem to get the details right.”

"The details? Well, I don't know crap about art, so does that mean, like, the photo you're drawing from is blurry or something? Or, maybe", he paused. "You just need glasses, old man."

Steve smiled. Or tried to. Tell him. Get it over with.

"Tony, stop."

"Come on, Steve. What is it? Tell me." Tony makes a face. Even while making faces, he looks adorable. 

“It’s.. It’s just..” Steve hesitates. “It’s.. a portrait.” 

“Oh, oh.. Who are you drawing?” Tony takes a huge bite of his apple. “ Come on, you gotta show it to me!”

Tell him. He's asking for it! 

But, how do you put such a thing into words? How do you say it aloud to someone when you haven't been able to say it to yourself? How do you just let the emotions just go? How do you bare yourself out in front of the person you love?

You don’t. What? You kiss him.

Shut up.

“Well, it’s a portrait of..” Steve looks towards Tony, who’s raising an eyebrow, and then he just cannot look away. The eyes. The eyes. A sigh. 

“It’s a portrait of this one person that.. who.. who’s just too perfect to fit into paper.” Steve’s words come out as a whisper.

Tony’s expression changes. Did he just imagine it, or does Tony really look like he’s.. like he’s..

Before Steve can stop himself, he’s leaning towards Tony. And before any of them can comprehend what’s happening, his lips are on Tony’s. He shuts his eyes, afraid of what he’s done. He can feel Tony’s mouth opening, and he’s afraid it’s to tell him no. The next thing he knows, they’re kissing.

They’re kissing. Steve realizes Tony’s kissing him back. He feels his hands coming up to his cheek, and they’re warm, Steve feels like his heart is going to burst with happiness. They’re kissing, and it feels like home.

It’s Tony who pulls away first. Steve opens his eyes, scared of what Tony’s expression would be like. I really hope I didn’t mess this up.

But then, he realizes that Tony’s hands are still on his cheeks, and there’s a warm feeling in his stomach. He smiles. Tony smiles back. The smile. The prettiness of it.

“So..” Tony laughs. “It’s me you can’t draw?”

“I never said, ‘can’t draw’. It’s just that..” Steve takes Tony’s hand from his cheek and holds it. He looks down and their hands look so beautiful together. “It’s.. just that.. who you.. are.. is just.. so pretty. I didn’t know, I didnt..” Before he can finish, his words are cut of by Tony’s lips. 

Fingers intertwining. Warm lips. Soft touches.

When the kiss ends, Tony takes Steve’s hands into his, “If I knew how to draw, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to draw you either. You’re way too pretty, Cap.”

Say it. Come on, say it.

“Tony.. I.. I love you.” Why the fuck would you say that? Do you even know if he loves you or not? What if he doesn’t? What if-

“I love you too, Steve.” Wait, what?

The warm, fuzzy feeling’s back again. Steve feels so so happy, so so perfect.

It’s Natasha’s cough that brings him back. “So, you guys finally came around and confessed, huh?” She’s smiling.

“Wait, you knew all this time?” Tony’s voice is full of shock.

“Please,” Natasha waves her hand, “Everyone except you two dumb boys knew.”

Tony laughs. Steve and Natasha join in.

-

There’s no frustrated scraping anymore. There’s no hidden diary entries anymore. Instead, there’s neck kisses, and hushed I love you’s. It’s everything Steve ever desired and more. It’s happiness. It’s family. It’s love.