#warm up doodles that I ended up getting invested in and spended way too much time on💀

[dimorphodon-x]

Revisited this concept but made it ✨worse✨

Unlike in the pirateformers au, Starhawk’s bird form is probably some sort of ‘virus’ or even a Brainstorm accident, and his rampage would be out of confusion, panic and pain.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Perfect

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: After much research and seeking out advice from Tony, Loki asks you on a date. Warnings: dialogue heavy and an adorably awkward Loki A/N: Thank you for requesting @akhansen2800! I hope you enjoy :) 

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

The common room was a mess, thanks to the trickster god. There was paper and books littered all over the floor. Not to mention bits and pieces from the computer he may or may not have smashed against the ground. It really was hardly his fault, though; it was the insipid machine that dared defy him.

“Woah, Reindeer Games,” Tony said, walking in, sidestepping the junk on the ground. “Did a tornado hit or something?”

“Oh, very funny, Stark. If you ask me, it is an improvement over this drab decor you have picked,” Loki quipped, eyes never leaving the page he was reading.

“No, how could you! My heart, it can’t take this,” Tony overdramatically gasped, flopping on top of the papers strewn on the couch. “Goodbye, cruel world.”

“Your theatrics never cease to amaze me,” Loki sighed, finally looking up at the man he’d come to call friend. “And that says a lot, coming from me.”

“You’re right, it’s high praise.” Tony picked up one of the papers he’d crinkled from laying on top of. “What is all this, anyway?”

Just because Loki considered Tony a friend, didn’t mean he necessarily wanted to say what he was doing. He was still a rather closed off person and, in all honesty, preferred to avoid any and all talks about his emotions. Which, of course, brings him right back to why he’s sitting in the middle of this mess, anyway. His emotions, which, despite his best efforts, he did still have.

Loki stood up and stretched his muscles, achy from being hunched over his reading material for so long.  He snatched away the page Tony was perusing, only for him to grab another one to skim. Realizing any effort to keep confiscating the papers one at a time would be fruitless, Loki moved it all to his room with a snap of his fingers. Then he sat next to his companion and began wringing his hands in that awful nervous tic of his. Truth be told, he could use some advice, but that only brought him back to square one of having to talk about his feelings. Tony leaned back on the couch while patiently awaiting Loki’s answer.

“I was doing some research,” Loki finally admitted. “On some Midgardian things.”

“That’s cute, Reindeer, but you could just ask me. Or maybe Peter if it's a pop culture thing.”

“It is not.” Loki wondered how much he could beat around the bush before he either had to give up on the conversation or genuinely say what was wrong. “It is just something I am not entirely sure how to go about.”

“I’m great at giving advice.”

“No, you are not,” Loki rolled his eyes.

“Sure I am!” Tony exclaimed, feigning hurt. “How would you know, anyway? You’ve never actually asked me for any.”

“Maybe not, but I have seen the way you live your own life, Stark.”

“That’s entirely different,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Come on, give me a chance. Fire away, I’m ready.”

Loki merely rolled his eyes again, though he was actually considering it. He hated to admit it—he really hated to admit it—but Tony had become somewhat of a father figure to him. That was absolutely ridiculous, of course, considering how Loki was a thousand years older than the man. But after his childhood, he’d be silly to reject that kind of relationship. Loki supposed that if he had to go to anyone with this problem, Tony wasn’t a terrible option. Besides, he should probably let himself be emotionally vulnerable very once in a while, right? That was supposed to be good or something, he thought. So, he steeled himself, and told Tony his issue.

“There is this Midgardian that I know. They are very sweet and kind and perfect... I mean, they are as bearable as a Midgardian can be,” Loki covered up, blushing slightly from how much he had just revealed. “I would like to ask them to spend some time with me, but I am not sure how.”

“Awww, you have a crush,” Tony cooed. “How sweet. You want to ask them out.”

“No,” Loki protested, stubborn as ever. Tony just raised his eyebrows at him. “Ok, fine! Yes, I would like to take them on a date, but I am dreadfully lacking in knowledge on Midgardian dating etiquette.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” Tony grinned. “Oh and take notes.”

And so, Loki spent the next two and a half hours listening to Tony ramble on. Most of it was just him going on rather useless tangents about his own endeavors in love. The God of Mischief rolled his eyes so many times, he began to fear they might roll out of his head. His notes, at least, were pretty amusing. Ok, to call them notes may be a little generous. They were mainly silly doodles of Tony monologuing, with the few helpful things he said jotted in the margins. He got so invested in one of his little caricatures that he didn’t even notice Tony stopped speaking.

“Hey, that’s not what I look like,” Tony pouted, peering at the drawing.

“Well nothing you were saying was helping, Stark.” Loki put the note pad in one of his dimensional pockets. “I am not like you. I am not a flashy person when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Oh, so you want to go the be yourself way. You know, the sappy speeches and flowers and chocolates direction.”

Loki perked up a bit. “Yes. Yes, that sounds splendid.”

Tony sighed and gave Loki a list of movies to watch. And told him to speak from the heart. That troubled Loki; no one ever really cared to listen to him speak before. But, he dutifully watched all the assigned movies, supplemented by some of the books he was still combing through.

After a week of preparation and many, many drafts of a speech to say to you, Loki was finally ready to ask you out. Donning his best Midgardian suit, he walked out of his room, greeted by a bright flash of light. Tony was standing there, camera in hand.

“Look, at my little boy,” he fake cried. “All grown up.”

“Stark, will your antics ever stop?” Loki looked at the camera out of the corner of his eye. “And delete that photo, I was not ready.”

“Nope. It’s payback for all those unflattering doodles. Now, go get ‘em, Reindeer. Remember: Just be yourself.”

Easier said than done, Loki thought as he called upon his seiðr, teleporting to your street. You were an employee at Stark Tower; that’s how the two of you met. Loki had been looking for his brother, his search taking him into the cafeteria, one of his least favorite places in the whole building. It was always too loud and populated for someone who liked his silence and solitude. The sheer number of people in the room was overwhelming to the god that day, but he needed to speak with Thor, and he’d searched just about every other place his brother could be. He could not spot him in the crowd, but his eyes landed on you, off near a corner at a table alone and reading a book. He cast one last nervous look around the room before heading towards where you were, his social anxiety kicking in.

“Hello,” he said after clearing his throat.

You looked up at him with a dreamy sort of gleam in your eye that revealed how enchanted you’d been with your book. It gave Loki a little boost of confidence to know that that happened to you, too. That you could get so lost in a story that the world around you disappeared. It calmed his racing heart a little.

“Oh uh, hi,” you greeted with a chipper smile. Then more nervously, added, “It’s Loki, right?”

“Yes, that is correct. Loki of Asgard, pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, sweeping into a small bow. “And you are?”

You told him his name, extending your hand for a shake. “How can I help you?”

“I am looking for my brother, but I cannot find him. You have not seen him around, have you?”

“I actually did see him earlier, though I’m not sure- Wait!” you suddenly exclaimed, and Loki followed your gaze. “He’s over there.”

Loki gulped. Of course his brother was at the table in the center of the room, surrounded by people. He really needed to talk to him about a mission, but the thought of going over there was making his stomach feel queasy. He tried to take a step forward, but his feet were apparently glued to the floor.

“Hey, if you’re nervous about going over there, I get it. Crowds can be scary,” you said, picking up on his subtle fidgeting. “The room usually clears out significantly in about ten minutes from now. I, um, was going to that little cafe over in the corner and get some tea or coffee, if you want to come.” Loki stared at you for a moment, unused to being invited places, especially by mortals he did not know. You seemed to mistake his silence, though, and rushed to assure him he didn’t have to. “Sorry, that was probably stupid. You’re under no obligation to say yes, of course. I understand.”

“No! I mean, yes.” He sighed and mentally smacked himself. Ever since moving to Midgard, his silver tongue was not what it used to be around strangers. “I mean, no that is not stupid, and yes, I would like to go to that cafe with you.”

And go to that cafe you did, launching into an animated conversation about reading. Loki even made you laugh, which felt like a huge accomplishment to him. The both of you sat back down at your table with your warm drinks, still chatting. There were very few people Loki ever felt so relaxed with, especially so soon after meeting them. You didn’t talk about anything groundbreaking, but he enjoyed talking to a kindred spirit. Somehow you even got a smile tugging at his lips, getting wider by the minute.

True to what you’d said, the room noticeably emptied nearly ten minutes later. With only a few people left and after such an amazing conversation, Loki was sure he could go grab his brother out of the room. But that was the problem; the conversation was too amazing, and he didn’t want it to end. And it seemed you didn’t either.

“Hey, um, maybe this is weird, but do you maybe want to talk again sometime? Like if you ever need a friend or are bored or anything?” you ventured.

“I would love that,” he genuinely replied.

You quickly wrote down your number and, after double and triple checking it, handed it to him. He tucked it safely away in one of his inner pockets before getting up and you bidding you goodbye. Then, in a better mood than he’d been in in a long time, Loki waltzed over to Thor’s table and successfully extracted him from the few people still clinging to his every word. He glanced back at you one last time before exiting, and you gave him a small, somewhat shy wave. He returned it along with a smile.

Loki kept that all in his heart as he walked up to your door, finger hovering by the bell for a minute. Maybe this was silly. No, this was definitely ridiculous. But, if he stood here any longer, your neighbors would probably think he was some crazy person.

Really, he shouldn’t be so nervous. You talked all the time since that day of your first meeting, and you’d never seemed bothered by him before. Not even when he started bringing surprise morning coffees to your desk. Or when he started leaving you books he thought you might like. Or when he started giving you little hugs when you seemed down. In fact, you seemed touched by all that. But this was all so new to him, so different from anything he’d known before. What if he was reading it all wrong? Before he could talk himself out if it, he rang the bell.

He heard you shout that you were coming in response. He quickly adjusted his tie and then stood with the flowers hidden behind his back. He made sure to get a bouquet of your favorites. You opened the door and your mouth made an adorable little “o” of surprise before your lips formed a sweet smile.

“Loki!” you greeted, smoothing down your sweatshirt. “I wasn’t expecting you. Don’t get me wrong, though. It’s great to see you. Um, do you want to come in? The place is kind of a mess right now, but-”

Loki whipped out the flowers from behind him, making you cut out in surprise. He stared at his feet and nervously mumbled, “These are for you.”

“Loki, these are so beautiful. This is so sweet. Thank you.” You gave him one of those shy smiles that he loved so much. “I feel bad, I don’t have anything for you.”

“That is quite alright. I have come here to ask you something.”

“Oh! Ok. I’m all ears.”

Loki smiled at the Midgardian expression, calming him a little. “We have been friends for some time now, and I have thoroughly enjoyed every minute—nay, every second—I have spent with you. You are the most kindhearted being I have ever met, beautiful both inside and out. And thus, I find myself wanting something more than friendship, if you will allow it. My dear, sweet, darling little mortal, will you do me the honor of going on a date with me?”

“Oh, Loki,” you breathed. “That was beautiful. I would absolutely love to go on a date with you.”

He cheered on the inside, and you hugged him close. After you pulled away, the two of you stood there for a minute, smiling like dorks. It seemed to Loki that no matter how badly he wanted to say something else, the only thought occupying his brain was that you said yes. He could hardly believe you said yes.

“So, uh, what are we going to do on our date?” you sheepishly asked.

Loki’s face dropped. He couldn’t believe how foolish he was. “I do not know yet. I knew there was something I was forgetting. I am sorry, darling.”

“That’s ok, Loki,” you kindheartedly laughed. “Tell you what, there’s a bookstore with the most adorable little cafe in it, just a couple blocks from here. Why don’t we go there?”

“That sounds perfect,” he replied, his smile returning already. “How does tomorrow sound? I can come pick you up around noon?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You stared at each for another minute, those same goofy grins that gave away how happy you were plastered on your faces. When Loki began to overthink how awkward he probably looked, he found it in himself to tear his eyes away from your beauty.

“So I shall see you tomorrow then,” he nervously said.

“Yup! See you then,” you replied, your nerves equaling his own.

After a quick hug and waving goodbye to each other, you parted ways. Soon, Loki was back home in the Tower, happily sprawled on the sofa, book in hand.

“Hey Reindeer Games,” Tony greeted. “So, how’d it go? Was I right, or was I right?”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, Stark, you were right.” Loki smiled to himself, already daydreaming about your date. “It was perfect.”

Loki found that after so much anxiety and uncertainness, there was finally one thing he knew; tomorrow was going to be perfect, too.

[ur-jinji]

141+levi

ps. have a lovely night (: and dont put preasure on yourself. u are great!

thank you very much anon!!! have a lovely night yourself <3 ur greater :)

someone to spend time with

levi ackerman x gn!reader college au

summary: in which two lonely people share an unlikely friendship and some confused feelings for one another

word count: 2.2k

song: someone to spend time with // los retros

“i got you boba,” you announced as you approached a small, square table in the library where your classmate, levi, resided.

“what the fuck is that.” he asked.

“tea.”

“say less.”

you handed him the drink and sat down across from him, watching him slurp away. his attention quickly moved back to the book in front of him.

“how’d you find me?” levi questioned, his steel eyes glancing up at you for a quick second.

“you’re always here,” you replied, shrugging. “plus, i need help with our reading assignment.”

“you always need help.” he sighed and closed his book.

you and levi shared a shakespearean literature course and somewhat became friends by default because your assigned seats were directly next to each other. he was very reserved in class, but your boredom got the best of you, so you’d talk his ear off. he wasn’t very amused initially, as he took his schoolwork and class time very seriously, but he eventually warmed up to you. after forcing levi to help you once, you just kept coming back. you enjoyed his quiet company, and he appeared to be just as alone as you were. except his was by choice, you assumed.

“i just can’t keep up with all of macbeth’s drama,” you joked. “i figured i’d pay you with tea and my presence to help me for the millionth time.”

“yeah, your presence was starting to not be enough,” levi said monotonously, yet a small smile forming on his lips.

“you must like my company a little if my presence was enough of a payment before now,” you replied as you leant your elbow on the tea, resting your chin in your palm.

“i guess you’re okay,” he said simply. “what do you need help with.”

“listen, i tried to read act 2, but i was at a loss,” you stated. “oh, and i forgot my book.”

“you’re an idiot,” levi mumbled, shaking his head. “c’mere.” your eyes widened, but you complied, getting up from your seat across from him. as you made your way around the table, he grabbed the back of the chair next to his and pulled it out for you. you thanked him and took a seat, in which he replied with a simple “mm-hm.”

“take some notes. i don’t want you calling me tonight saying you’re confused,” he told you. you nodded and grabbed your pencil and notebook from across the table. levi started summarizing the text for you, and explaining the shakespearean language that constantly left you feeling perplexed. you silently listened, jotting down notes for a while before getting bored and doodling on the sides of the paper. he quickly took notice in your drawings. he glanced down, seeing an outline of an angry face, along with an arrow pointing to levi. his eyebrows furrowed when he saw the word “stinky” accompanying the face and arrow. he swiftly picked up his own pen and drew an x through your doodles, then scribbling “brat” down on the paper. you giggled and nudged his knee with yours.

“tch. you should be paying attention. we’re being quizzed on this,” levi commented, causing you to groan. you folded your arms and let your face fall forward into them.

“i didn’t even hear the professor say anything about a quiz,” you grumbled, your voice muffling against your skin.

“you didn’t hear because you’re always talking my ear off. she said there’ll be an essay, too,” he added, only making you groan once again. you relaxed slightly when you felt his hand pat the back of your head. his head pats were his quiet way of trying to comfort you. they always felt nice.

you suddenly perked up, his hand falling off your hair, in which he moved to rest it on the back of chair.

“okay, okay. let’s get serious,” you said, nodding towards his textbook.

“i’ve been serious,” levi replied blankly. he continued his little lecture, and you wondered if he realized his fingers had started toying with the ends of your hair. his touch sent chills down your spine. you started to take note in your mind of how he sometimes did those little things. those little gestures and touches. you liked them a little more than you should have. maybe you were just touch starved, or maybe they just felt good coming from him. levi wasn’t an easy guy to read, so you normally brushed those kinds of moments off. but as he droned on about some witchs’ prophecies, all you could think about was how the tips of his fingers were getting closer to the skin on your nape.

“you’re not taking notes,” levi stated the obvious, sighing and turning his head to you. “like i said, i don’t want you calling m-“

“what if i called you anyway?” you asked gingerly. his eyebrows furrowed, and the hand behind you disappeared. “like, what if I called you, but not to talk about macbeth?”

“what else is there to talk about.”

ouch. okay. now this is fucking awkward. should’ve just kept my mouth shut and let the kid keep playing with my stupid hair.

“hah, nevermind. i was just kidding. keep going,” you managed to get out, despite the feeling of an invisible hand around your neck to keep you from continuing to make an ass of yourself. you shifted your attention forward, your gaze falling down to your notebook.

“um, yeah. you can call me,” levi spoke, his normally uninterested tone sounding off. there was the tiniest hint of....desperation? tenseness? it went unnoticed by you.

“no, it’s okay. i don’t wanna bother you more than I have,” you replied. i need to get out of here. “i actually gotta go. i told my, um, roommate i’d help them with something.” you swiftly stood up, reaching out to gather your things, when levi’s hand was suddenly grasping your wrist.

“i...want you to call me,” he said, his volume low and his gaze shifting around, appearing to be quite nervous. you froze, and his grip on your wrist began to loosen before letting it drop. you nod slowly, pushing your head downwards to hide the embarassing blush creeping on your cheeks.

later that night, you were left alone, as your roommate was out with their friends or participating in a study group almost every night. you were sat at your desk, drumming a pencil and fidgeting around nervously, wondering if you should call levi. the phone works two ways, and you always seemed to be the one making the effort to hang out or talk to him.

what if he thinks i’m desperate?

you sighed and swallowed your pride. you pulled out the headphones from your ears that were playing loud music and found yourself staring at his contact in your phone.

knock knock. knock.

your head snapped in the direction of the noise coming from outside your door.

“hey, brat. let me in.”

you froze, your mouth dropping. you sat there for a few moments, debating whether or not you should pretend you went to bed.

knock. knock.

you took a deep breath and stood, making your way to the door and cracking it open. you saw levi with his usual stoic expression. before you could even say a word, he raised his hand, pushing the door open and walking past you. he stopped in the middle of the room, his gray eyes scanning the area.

“i’m assuming this is your side,” levi said simply, pointing to your side of the room. you felt embarrassed when you realized your bed was unmade and a plushy was propped up against your pillow.

“hah. uh, yeah,” you replied. the nerves in your voice and laugh were evident. you crept to your desk, wanting to hide anymore embarrassing evidence. you quickly found a cringey picture frame of you and a friend from your hometown, your hand grasping it and gently placing it facedown.

“what brings you to my dorm?” you wondered, taking a seat in the desk chair to hide your shaking legs. unfortunately for you, your shifty actions only grabbed his attention, and your question went ignored. levi strolled to your desk and pressed his hand on the wooden top, leaning nonchalantly. he reached out for the picture frame you were desperate to hide, and picked it up. you looked up at him as he observed it with a small smirk.

“tch. cute,” he commented before propping the frame back on the desk. you hurriedly slammed it facedown again, mumbling a sheepish ‘thanks.’ you continued to stare up at him as his eyes looked over your desk. his attention turned to you, his eyes falling onto your pink-tinted features.

“want some tea?” you offered.

some time later, you and levi found yourselves lounging on opposite sides of your bed, both sitting with legs criss crossed. he held a large tea cup, sipping quietly at his second drink as you let him in on some gossip about your roommate’s friend’s cousin. you don’t even know how you got to this point, but after offering him a drink and busying yourself, your nerves simmered. it felt a lot more comfortable after that.

“and then they said that she said that he got caught sexting not one, not two... but twelve other girls. then his girlfriend tried to burn his house down. and now she’s in prison for attempted arson,” you finished. levi lowered his cup after taking a long sip, and continued to stare with a blank expression. but despite his bored appearance, he was rather invested in this story.

“that’s rough,” he commented.

“i know right?” you replied as you picked up your phone. you clicked to see the time. “jeez, it’s already midnight.”

“tch, is that your way of kicking me out?” levi asked, smiling ever so lightly.

“unfortunately, yeah. i have an 8am class tomorrow,” you said, putting a little pout on your lip. “we should do this again, though. feels nice to just hang out with someone.”

“isn’t that what we’ve been doing in the library?” he questioned.

“i don’t count me making you help me with shakespeare as hanging out,” you explained.

“that’s fair.” he shrugged.

“also, this is the first time you initiated being around me,” you boasted, feeling pretty satisfied with yourself. “that means you think i’m fun.”

“i never said that.”

“well, you being here says otherwise. sooo...”

“whatever, brat.”

levi stood from his spot on the end of your bed, handing you his empty cup. you stood as well, following him to the door.

“i guess you’re okay,” he offered. “this was okay.”

“that translates to, omg y/n is the best, they’re sooo much fun,” you teased, nudging your elbow against his. “anyways, i guess i’ll see you in class on wednesday.”

“i guess you will,” he replied plainly, raising his hand to touch a strand of your hair, putting you in a state of shock. your mouth gaped slightly as you studied him curiously. after a few moments of silence, levi abruptly started leaning forward, your eyes widening. before you could react, his lips were against yours.

is this actually happening? you wondered. oh, my god it’s actually happening. this is real.

it took you no time to respond to the kiss, your eyes quickly fluttering shut. you hadnt been kissed a long time, and you remembered first kisses always being a little awkward as you both had to adjust to the way the other’s lips moved. but there was no awkwardness. there was no needing to adjust; it was perfect.

his movements were surprisingly fast and needy, his hands moving to hold your jaw as both of your quiet, desperate noises were swallowed. your hands came up to grip his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. you could feel little tingles everywhere he touched you, and a knot starting to form low in your stomach. you felt his tongue slip into your mouth as he moved his hands down to hold your waist, arching your back slightly. levi started to redirect you, pushing your back against the door, causing a loud thud against the wood.

“y/n? what was that?” a voice from the other side of the door called. your eyes flew open, seeing his steel eyes already looking back at you.

“shit!” you hissed. “my roommate.” you pulled your face away and took a deep breath, your hands still holding levi’s neck, and his still gripping your waist. you gazed at him for a moment, admiring his features. you hurriedly leaned in again, giving him one final, quick kiss.

“sorry! hold on!” you finally responded to your roommate as they started turning the doorknob. the two of you let one another go, quietly stepping away from the door that started to open.

“you won’t believe the night i-“ your roommate started, but freezing once they saw levi. their mouth dropped open and they glanced at you, shocked.

“sorry, he was just leaving,” you said, rushing to push levi through the open door. you followed him out, closing the door behind you. you sighed loudly.

“i’m sorry about that,” you told him quietly. he shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. “i knew you liked me.”

“you’re okay,” levi replied, his eyes holding a warmth you had never seen from him before. “i’ll see you on wednesday.”

“yeah, yeah, see you wednesday,” you said, grinning as he turned around, making his way down the hallway.

[collecting-stories]

Postcard - Jojo de la Guerra

A/N: This is modern day Newsies. I just love Jojo, its impossible not to.

Jojo starts pen palling with the reader and then they meet in person for the first time. 

///

It had started with a postcard. One that wished him a magical day and had a little sticker on it of Jupiter with a smiley face. It was the first postcard he had gotten after he had decided to sign up for a website that promoted pen pals and snail mail. Wouldn’t it be nice, he had thought, to share a little bit of happiness with someone the old fashioned way. Race had teased him endlessly about it but Jojo was set on the idea, he didn’t care that he wasn’t as artistic as Jack or as clever with words as Davey, he sent little doodles to people or funny poems he thought up in English class. He sent letters all over but mostly he exchanged them with that first person. He sent them envelopes full of stickers or little packages with facemasks and washi tape and friendship bracelets he made. They sent him letters with sticky notes that looked like moons, paint chips with quotes on them, envelopes full of confetti.  

The address wasn’t far from his own, within the limits of the city in fact. Closer to the Lower East Side than he was, maybe fifteen minutes on the subway. Once he took the line to your street and walked to the corner, where a convenience store stayed open 24hrs a day. He bought a soda and a lottery ticket and left, not sure what he was even expecting to happen. When he told Race about it two days later his best friend teased him endlessly for the entire ordeal. It didn’t dampen his mood though, or alter the overwhelming feeling of pure joy that spread through him when he opened the mailbox to find a letter from you.  

You were the one who first suggested a faster mode of communication. You sent a card that had watercolour popsicles on the front of it and inside offered your number as an afterthought to a full page of writing about a book you were currently reading. A little bubble around the digits, separating them from the rest of the note with the suggestion that ‘we could text sometimes’.  

You texted all the time. He sent you pictures of your mail going into the mailbox but offered no more glimpse of himself than a hand. You sent him a picture of something funny in Target and he thought he could just make out the tiny, blurry, obscured reflection of you in a mirror at the end of the aisle but it told him nothing about your physical appearance. It wasn’t that it was some great mystery. Maybe he would never meet you in person, maybe you would just be some entity that existed in letters and on his phone. You continued to send letters weekly and so did he, glad that this new form of constant communication did not lessen your affection for sending him small gifts in the mail.  

Sometimes you had endless conversations, sometimes days of pool games or finding the strangest bitmoji and sending it along. Gif wars and links to news articles, terrible reviews of tv shows, music, and movies. Texts never seemed to cease and yet the length of your letters never wavered either. He couldn’t find your face in a crowd but he had memorised your handwriting.  

That changed when he proposed seeing the new Star Wars movie together. It had happened spontaneously but also not. He’d thought about it for ages, meeting you in person, he had just never thought about it happening for real. But then he offered and you accepted. He would be in a red hoodie and a pair of track pants, he’d even sent you a picture of the outfit laying on his bed. You added it to the list of things you knew better than his face.  

You were already at the theatre when he got there, waiting on a bench outside the ticketing booth, watching for any sign of the boy that you were supposed to be meeting. When he saw you, and recognized the hoodie as the one you sent him a picture of, a smile spread so wide on his face you thought he could light an entire city with the joy behind it. When you stood he greeted you with a hug. The kind of warm, all encompassing hug that made you want to stay there forever, safe and comfortable and feeling a little light headed from the overwhelming emotion that struck you.  

“This feels so surreal,” Jojo commented when he finally released you, a little too soon if you were honest. He took your hand and headed for the escalator, “not surreal in a bad way obviously, just-“

It was meeting for the first time when you already knew everything about each other. When you could already list his favorites and know his people by name without him having to provide clues as to how they fit with him. It was that tiny fleeting hope that he would kiss you even though you had no idea what he even looked like.  

“Surreal,” you echoed. He offered another smile, impossibly happy in its appraisal of you.  

As the end credits rolled on the film you stayed in your seat, shifting to face Jojo instead of the screen and lifting the armrest that separated you in an attempt to move closer to him. He was reading all the names that went along the screen with a rapt interest, as if he was truly invested in who catered the food for the cast and crew. You sat on your knee in hopes of being closer, letting your other leg dangle off the chair beside Jojo’s. Where the seats conjoined was harder than the soft cushioning you’d been accustomed to during the film but you made the sacrifice of discomfort to be closer.

“What did you think?” You asked, voice a mere whisper in his ear. As far as excuses went you could say that you were being mindful of the other patrons still in the theatre but you knew none of them cared about the credits. You were this close merely to be this close.  

These were not simple like or dislike movies, they had to be dissected just so, something you had told Jojo just the other day when you were discussing the new film, and you looked forward to hearing all his opinions. He had opinions on lots of things that he liked and his emotions seemed to range from good to exciting on every rating he gave. When he talked about something in a letter or a text you could almost feel the pure adrenaline of excitement rolling off the words. It felt like everything had the potential to make him happy and, in turn, brighten your day unknowingly.  

“I feel like I need to watch it over again,” Jojo commented, finally looking toward you. In the glow of the screen you could see him smiling. It seemed perpetual.  

“I’m gonna need a few days to recover before then,” you commented, without thinking that he might not mean with you.  

He didn’t miss a beat though, wrapping an arm around you and somehow pulling you closer to him, “Race wants to come see it on Saturday, you could come with us?”  

Saturday was two days away and while you had just admitted that you needed time to process the film you thought that Friday would seem like the longest 24 hours of your life now that you knew what it was like to be with Jojo. You felt a little lightheaded by your own internal confession but you also felt like you wanted to spend every waking moment with this boy. Somehow hearing him talk and having him next to you was even better than reading what he wrote.

“Race won’t mind?” You asked. Seeing him again was definitely high on your list of things to do but sharing that time with someone else, a new person you only knew from stories, wasn’t exactly something you found yourself looking forward to.  

“No, not at all.” Jojo assured, “Usually there’s a bunch of us...I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the other guys showed up too.” Everyone always tagged along to everything, not that he minded. And he felt excited about showing you off to his friends, he’d talked you up to them so much that they were all dying to meet you, maybe as much as he had been.  

“Okay,” you agreed. The lights came back on as the final credit went dark and suddenly it wasn’t so hard to make out Jojo’s face. You were close enough that your noses were almost brushing and his eyes were bright as he watched you, waiting for something. “What do you want to do for now?” You only moved away from him as a theater attendant came in to clean up. You slipped your feet back into your moccasins and stood up, watching Jojo as he gathered his trash and stood as well.  

“What’s open?” He asked. It was well passed 1am but neither of you wanted to say goodbye. You thought that you would much rather just stay together until it was time to go back to the theater with Race. Jojo had the same idea, he would sit on a bench outside the movies with you for the entire day if it meant you didn’t leave. Texting would not suffice the way it had before.  

“Insomnia cookies is open for two more hours...and the convenience store around the block from me is open too.” You replied.  

“How are they Insomnia Cookies if they close at 3am...what I want a chocolate chip cookie at 3:30 or 4?” Jojo asked, following you out back toward the front doors.

“Then hope you have leftovers,” you teased.  

“There will be no survivors.” He replied, serious tone though the uptick of his lip suggested he was struggling not to smile.  

Insomnia Cookies was not at all crowded at 2am and, despite never being there before, Jojo stepped right up to the counter with all the assurance of someone who knew how to order from the cookie place. He got two dozen cookies, mixed flavors and two brownies and two chocolate milks after confirming that you were vegan or lactose in tolerant. “We’ll get coffee at Queen Village.”  

“They have a cat there,” you mentioned, “Cosmo. He naps around the place all day and night.” You’d gone in at midnight once for bananas and spent thirty minutes petting Cosmo and telling him how beautiful he was.  

“I stopped in there once when I was in your neck of the woods.” Jojo replied, thinking that now was as good a time as any to tell you he’d been to your favorite convenience store. “I did not find Cosmo though.”

“We’ll find him.” You promised, taking the bag of cookies off the counter. Jojo beat you to paying and ignored any attempt you made at offering money.  

Once Queen Village was conquered the two of you found yourselves in your apartment, sitting on your bed with the cookies spread out between you. It was too cold for city benches and being outside in the dark though you would’ve risked your health for Jojo if he’d really wanted to stay out longer. He was gushing over the cookies, enamored by the taste and claiming each one he ate was definitely his favorite.  

“This has been the best day ever.” He exclaimed just before biting into a mint chocolate chip cookie that was somehow still warm.  

“Watching Star Wars and eating cookies? You’ve set the bar pretty low.” You teased, reaching for an oatmeal raisin. There were white chocolate chips inside.

“Being with you.” Jojo clarified, not at all embarrassed by his feelings. If he was happy he said so and that was arguably his greatest trait. “Getting to know you has been amazing but spending today with you has been incredible. I’m so looking forward to Saturday.”

“Me too.” You replied, suddenly at ease, eager for your own admission if only to make him feel as happy as he made you, “I sort of wish we could just keep hanging out until Saturday comes around.”

“Lets.”

-

If you wanna be tagged for Newsies stuff let me know. 

[chocoluckchipz]

Dance with Me, Chaton - 30

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

Written for @ladynoirjuly2019

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30. Inspiration

Marinette’s birthday marked exactly ten months, two weeks, and three days since Adrien had learned about the mysterious Ladybug and embarked on a journey to find her in exchange for a feeble promise of freedom from his father. What should’ve been an interesting, few-weeks-long experience at its most turned out to be a wild, life-changing ride by no means easy for everyone involved. Still, as Adrien escorted Marinette out to dinner on her birthday, he found himself unable to regret a single thing, no matter how much it cost him. His gains outweighed it all.

The restaurant Adrien had chosen was unusually private for Paris’ dining scene and one of the most serene spaces he’d ever visited. Soft music floating through the candlelit space weaved itself in between the quiet chatter of other couples in the room. The food was delicious and the staff, friendly. The whole atmosphere was enthralling, making this evening an unforgettable one as the pair chatted, laughed, and indulged in a wide variety of delicatessen, enjoying each other’s company more than anything else. For Adrien, however, the best part of the evening was the birthday girl. With her hair down, an elegant red dress, and stylish accessories, including the ruby earrings he gifted her with this morning, Marinette was the epitome of beauty, her smiles alone outshining everything else in his universe, her constant teases ensuring he remained acutely aware of his feelings for her the whole evening.

“Don’t tell Papa, but this chocolate mousse is the best thing I’ve ever tried in my life,” Marinette said, finishing her dessert. “We must come back. I need to try everything else they have on their menu. Maybe pick up a few things for us to savour at home.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” Adrien said, watching Marinette lick her spoon clean. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d be madly in love with a woman who could out-eat him any time of the day and still remain in perfect physical shape. Then again, that could be easily explained by all that training she’d been doing with Tikki. And as far as Adrien was concerned, Tikki could easily give Plagg a run for his money in the intensity of her workouts. He shivered even at the memory. Her training wasn’t exactly more physically demanding than Plagg’s. Not at all. However, it relied on exceptional speed and agility, something that Adrien had suspected his male body wasn’t built for. The few times he’d trained with Tikki, he’d thanked every deity alive he’d been assigned to Plagg because unaccustomed to such extremely quick movement transitions, he huffed and puffed and miserably fell behind all session long, leaving Marinette a giggling mess as she watched him suffer. His forgiveness, though, was easily earned by a few kisses right after the session.

“By the way, Alya demanded to make sure you knew this place was her suggestion,” Adrien added once the waiter left with their empty plates.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I should’ve guessed. She did write that article on Paris’ hidden gems a few weeks back. Though, I don’t remember this one on the list.”

“Somebody suggested it in the comments section under her article,” Adrien explained. “She checked it out last week and said it was better than any of the places that made it on her list. So much better, in fact, that she’ll be writing a new article in a few days… after we had a chance to enjoy the calmer version of what soon to be a highly sought-after place. Her words. Not mine.”

Marinette chuckled. “I love Alya. I’d have to thank her somehow because—” She reached for his hand to hold in hers, “—a quiet evening alone with you was just what I wanted for my birthday. Thank you, Chaton. This was the perfect present.”

“No need to thank me yet,” Adrien replied, his lips already bestowing a lingering kiss onto her hand. “The evening is just starting.”

“Seeing as you’ve asked me to bring my Kwami Kave outfit, I’m guessing we’re heading there next?”

“You’re right as always, my Lady. Kwami Kave is next.”

Marinette lightly nibbled at her lip. “Was it bad of me to hope that on my birthday we could spend some time alone? Just the two of us, without constant interruptions of everyone else.”

Adrien chuckled. “We can do that if you don’t mind me being mugged around the corner by a mob of our angry friends tomorrow because apparently,” he playfully bemoaned. “Even Ladybug’s boyfriend isn’t allowed to have her all to himself on her birthday.”

Marinette cocked her head to the side. “But what if Ladybug herself wants to snuggle in front of the TV with her boyfriend instead of going out? I’m sure if they knew how warm and cuddly, not to mention skilled, my Kitty is, they’d understand.”

Ignoring the rising heat at Marinette’s allusive tone of voice, Adrien replied. “I’m sure we can leave as soon as Tikki and Plagg give you your surprise present because, seriously, I think I was threatened and forced to swear I’ll bring you over just for that.”

“Oh! What kind of surprise?”

“Don’t know. They wouldn’t let even me on it.” Adrien paused and looked at Marinette. “Do ‘Rena Rouge’ and ‘Carapace’ ring any bells for you?”

“No. Never heard of those. What or who are they?”

“Beats me. I overheard those along with ‘Ladybug’s birthday’ when I walked in on Masters Wayzz, Trixx, Plagg and Tikki a few days ago, but when I asked them about it, Master Wayzz told me that water isn’t hot enough to put the noodles in yet. Plagg had the audacity to comment that curiosity could be deadly for eavesdropping kittens, and Tikki bluntly kicked me out after that.”

Marinette laughed. “You know you’re adorable when you pout?”

“I’ve been told,” Adrien grinned. “And also, when I sleep, and when I blush, and—”

“Oh!” Marinette perked up. “Speaking of that and Luka. Have you noticed?”

Adrien grinned wider. “You mean how that new girl Ryuko reduces him to a blushing mess with her every word?”

“Yes!” Marinette squeaked. “I’m so excited! I’ve never seen Luka so flustered. He was actually lost for words last time she sassed him.”

Adrien chuckled. “I’m sorry; he’s a friend, but that was a delight to watch. Ever so cool and composed Viperion melting under the Dragon Girl sharp tongue and narrowing eyes.”

“I know!” Marinette beamed. “There is definitely something there. Can’t wait to see how it’ll go down.”

“Then, we’d better grab some popcorn on our way there,” Adrien said and called for the waiter.

Once the bill was paid and the pair walked into the street, Marinette asked, “Do you mind if we can take a little detour? Tikki asked me to grab something for her for tomorrow, and I don’t think I’d want to go anywhere after the club.”

“Sure. Where to?”

“Do you remember I told you about that apartment she bought for investment?”

Adrien let a smile slip onto his lips. “The one you said you’d love to live in yourself?”

“Yup. That one. She forgot some documents there last night and she needs them for tomorrow.”

Adrien opened his car’s door for Marinette. “Why didn’t she get them herself? She had all day.”

“She said she’d be busy,” Marinette smiled. “I assume with that surprise you say they’ve been preparing for me, so the least I can do is to stop by that place and get her those documents. She gave me the key. Here’s the address.” Marinette opened her clutch and pulled a piece of paper out. “It isn’t far from here. Shouldn’t take us long.”

Adrien opened the paper and read the address. “Love how she drew a little cloverleaf and a ladybug at the end. Is that wishing me good luck on finding the place?”

“No.” Marinette giggled. “Tikki just likes to doodle. That’s all.”

Adrien put the paper inside his jacket, only now remembering the envelope that lay there. “Oh, snap. I forgot to show you this.”

“What is it?”

“The latest poll combined with our stats on Lady Noir and a proposal.”

Marinette pursued her lips. “Talking business on our time off?”

“I promise you’ll like it,” Adrien guiltily smiled.

Marinette took the envelope, letting him close the door and get to the driver’s seat. Once inside, he glanced her way. “So? What do you think?”

“I won’t lie,” Marinette responded. “I love the idea of a physical store, but we’ve opened our online one just a little over six months ago. Isn’t it a little too soon?”

“Not according to those numbers and your clienteles demand.” Adrien nodded to the paper in Marinette’s hands. “I told you you’ll be a smashing success. Here are your first results: your ever-growing crowd of customers demand a physical boutique.”

Adrien let Marinette a few moments to think as he drove off into the street before adding, “I also might have already found the perfect location for it too.”

Marinette closed her eyes and chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know how much I’m excited for you to take the fashion industry by storm. And when you do, I’ll be proud to stand by your side.” He gave her a quick smile, before averting his eyes back to the road. His hand, though, remained in hers, nestled in her lap, for a few more moments.

“Downtown location,” he added. “An exquisite, historic building in a busy, prestigious shopping alley. Lots of tourists, a couple of established fashion boutiques on either side and a few Metro stations a walking distance away. Perfect for your first boutique to go viral.”

Marinette watched him for a moment. “You serious?”

Adrien nodded, his eyes focused on the road as he drove. “I already spoke with the leasing company. They’re awaiting our decision by the end of the week before releasing the listing to the public.”

Marinette bit her lip, focusing her sight on the road in front of her. She was tempted; Adrien could see it. Her own boutique was her dream ever since she could remember herself, and now it was a hair string away from becoming a reality.

“Okay, even if I wanted to do this,” Marinette said. “There is no way I can afford it. Depending on the rent fee, whatever’s left of that payout your father gave me would cover around six months at most in that area. It won’t work long term.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Adrien said. “I own half of the company, meaning I’ll be pitching in as well. We’ll have at least a year covered. By that time, Lady Noir will be long profiting, so the rent won't be an issue anymore.”

Marinette fell quiet. Adrien focused on the road, giving her time to think, one of the things he’d learned about his Lady. Marinette didn’t like to rush with life-altering decisions.

A few streets down, Marinette started biting on her nails. “Lady Noir is way more successful than I’d ever thought it would be.”

“Yup,” Adrien agreed. “I told you it wasn’t just something for me to play with until I’d figure out what I want to do with my life.”

“Well, excuse me,” Marinette chuckled. “What was I supposed to think when I fleetingly mention to you I was debating between starting my own fashion brand on that Gabriel pay-out money or taking up one of the jobs offers I had, and you immediately jump at the chance, making calls, crunching numbers and giving me at least three different ways to go about it the next day? My best bet was you were extremely bored and had nothing better to do than to play around in Let’s Start a Fashion Empire in your spare time.”

“Well I was bored, I can’t deny that,” Adrien responded. “No one goes from being busy 24/7 to doing nothing 24/7 and doesn’t feel bored. But no, no games. I just saw an opportunity and latched to it. You’re incredibly talented, Marinette, and I dare to say I know how to manage a business pretty well. Years of experience, university and all that.”

“You are really good at it. We’d never be at the level we’re now without you, no matter how genius of a designer you think me to be.”

“You are exceptional as a designer, but thank you for the compliment.” He took an opportunity at a red light to reach for her hand again and smile. “Don’t you see it, my Lady? I’ve been born into the fashion industry and know it inside out. You were born to take it by storm, and I’ll be proud to be by your side when you do that.”

She took a few more moments. “Do you really think we should go for it?”

Adrien nodded. “I know we should. Numbers don’t lie.”

“Alright.” She smiled. “I trust you.”

“I’ll schedule an appointment as soon as possible for you to see the location, and we’ll go from there,” Adrien said, pulling over. “Is this it?”

Marinette looked outside. “Yes. Want to go with me or wait for me here?”

“Do I look like I’m insane?” Adrien dramatically gasped. “Who in their right mind would let a goddess like you walk in that building alone? Someone would surely steal you away from me, and I’m afraid I won’t survive that.”

Marinette laughed. “I see Plagg has been rubbing off on you.”

“Maybe just a tiny bit.” Adrien winked.

He quickly got out in hopes to open the door for Marinette. Yet, when Adrien circled the car, Marinette was already standing on a sidewalk, staring at the building in front of them, her head tilted to the side.

“Isn’t just gorgeous?” she murmured under her breath.

Adrien cocked his head to the side. “I bet you love it for the dance studio on the ground floor and that huge red front door with flower pots around it alone. Your two favourite things in one place.”

Marinette smirked. “I mean you’re not wrong but wait, till you get inside. It has the coziest little courtyard I’ve ever seen, not to mention architecture is just fantastic.”

“Shall we go in then?”

“Absolutely.”

Putting in the entry code from the paper Tikki gave them, Adrien noticed Marinette running her fingers against the intricate door frame. She looked in awe at the small but beautiful courtyard, commenting on a few plant choices she’d never thought would look good together, immediately snapping a few pictures for inspiration.

“So gorgeous,” she whispered to herself as they’ve entered the foyer. “You know,” Marinette said louder to him. “Tikki wants to renovate it before renting it out.”

“Does she? Another chance to flaunt her mighty interior design skills?”

“Hey! She’s good. Just look at her clients, all those rich and famous folks who stand in a line to have her create spaces for them.”

“Isn’t it what I said?” Adrien chuckled. “She is good at her job. I know that. I saw her work. Her taste is unprecedented, comparing to the other designers I’ve seen. What about it, though? It’s not really surprising she’d want to do work on her own place.”

“Yes, but because it’s her place, she has free rein,” Marinette excitedly continued. “She doesn’t have to appease anyone but herself, so she’s very excited. I don’t even think I can remember the last time she was so pumped. I mean, she was just bursting at the seams in there, kept throwing ideas at me, proposing innovative solutions, showing me pictures of furniture and fabrics. It was fantastic to watch her.”

Adrien suppressed a grin, chuckling in amusement instead. “Then, I suppose I should expect Plagg visiting me more often than usual. He always gets grumpy when Tikki pays more attention to her work than him.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Please. He knows she loves him more than anything. He just likes to sulk for her attention.”

“We do like when our women notice us.”

“Really?” Her eyes half-lidded, Marinette turned to Adrien with a teasing smile on her lips and sultriness in her voice. “Then, please, do tell me what kind of attention you like, Chaton? Because, you know—” She stepped closer and torturously slowly ran her fingers atop of his chest, “—I wouldn’t want you to doubt my love and bemoan your fate the same way Plagg does. I’d like to make sure you’re certain of my feelings for you.”

Adrien felt something stir inside. The look Marinette was giving him, the mischievous tone of her voice, the way her lips curled, her touch at his chest… they’d better get to what they were here for, because a few more moments, and he’d be cancelling all plans and taking Marinette home instead, angry Plagg and Tikki and all the others or not. She was already driving his crazy all evening long with her constant teasing, something she suspected she’d picked up from Tikki. Not that he was complaining, but he was a mere mortal man. He wasn’t invulnerable and he definitely had his limits.

Clearing his throat, Adrien averted his sight and pressed the elevator’s button. “What level was it at again? The top one, right?”

“Yup. Lucky her, she snatched a penthouse.” Marinette wrapped her hand around his arm, a smirk on her lips telling him she knew exactly how she was making him feel, and she regretted nothing.

The door ringer dinged and as soon as the elevator opened, Adrien motioned for her to enter. “After you.”

The rode up mostly in silence. Marinette’s hands wrapped around his arm, she leaned onto his shoulder, speaking a short while into their ride, not even hiding the mischief in her voice. “Maybe we should’ve been rude and took our club clothes up here to change. Would’ve been more convenient than at the Kwami Kave’s change room.”

“If we’d done that” Adrien replied. “You know we’d be stuck here for a lot longer then we’re supposed to.”

“Well, maybe that’s what I want?” She said just as the door opened. “It’s my birthday. I should be able to call at least some of the shots.”

Adrien couldn’t keep a smile off his face. Gosh, he loved this woman! There was never a dull moment with her around. Stubborn and fiery one minute, sweet and cuddly the other. She always kept him on his toes, and that was just perfect. Exactly what he needed after the monotonous life he’d been leading before. So as soon as they’d walked out, he wrapped her into his arms and stole a moment for a kiss.

“I promise we’ll make our club visit as short as you want,” he whispered, pulling back. “Wait for their surprise, and then one word, and I’ll whisk you away before anyone would notice.”

“It’s not because I don’t like going there,” Marinette murmured, laying her head on his chest. “I do. I love Kwami Kave. It’s like a second home. It’s just lately, I’ve become fonder of just cuddling the evening away with you than going out.”

“I feel exactly the same way.” Adrien smiled, tightening his hold on her. “A quiet evening with you sounds just about perfect.”

“Then…” Marinette pulled back and grabbed his hand in hers. She bit her lip for a moment before raising her big blue eyes at him. “I know you’ve already given me the earrings as my present today, and I love them. They’re gorgeous. Not to mention the dinner and you’re taking me to Kwami Kave, but… would it be too selfish if I’d ask you for something I’ve been really wanting for a while now?”

Reaching forward, Adrien brushed her bangs away just so a moment later he could lean his forehead against hers. “You know I’ll give you anything you want if I can. So, ask away. It isn’t selfish at all.”

“Well…” she started a bit hesitant. “You know how you’d been living at Plagg’s for a while now, and you’ve hinted you wanted to get a place of your own soon… and how we’d go to each other’s places every so often… well, practically all the time now because, really, I don’t think we’ve spent a day apart in the last few months…”

“We haven’t,” Adrien sighed, his eyes closed. “I know I’ve been too clingy, so if it bothers you—”

“No,” Marinette rushed to interrupt. “It doesn’t. Not at all. In fact, I think… I think we should move in that direction.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow, opening his eyes to look at Marinette. “What do you mean by that?”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly before that spark of confidence appeared in her eyes again. “Adrien Agreste,” Marinette said quickly as if trying to get it out before she’d change her mind. “Would you move in with me? I know my place isn’t as big as Plagg’s and it’s not as extravagant, but we’ll be living together. I’m kind of tired of figuring out which place we should go to or of scrambling in the morning because we’ve forgotten something crucial at the other place or the worst: thinking that you’ll go home and I’ll be feeling lonely all evening long. Plus—” her voice filled with teasing notes, “—if we live together, that means more private dances for you. Señorita style.”

Adrien’s lips tagged in a smug smirk. “Are you trying to seduce me into moving in with you?”

“I’m not above doing whatever it takes if I really want something, so yes, if it’ll work, then absolutely, I’m trying to seduce you into moving in with me.”

Adrien laughed, pulling her closer. Cradling her cheek, he lightly brushed his lips against hers. “You could’ve just yelled at me, ‘Hey, you! Mangy alley cat! Grab your toothbrush and forget where that Camembert-obsessed glutton lives.’ I’d jumped at the chance that very instant.”

Marinette grinned. “But I really wanted to mention Señorita-style dancing. I know how much you love it.”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “How could you miss a chance to remind me how weak of a man I am, and how you’ve got me all wrapped around your little finger?”

Marinette giggled. Adrien reached down and brought her closer for another kiss. Holding her against himself, he didn’t rush, savouring the lushness of her lips, the sweetness of her touch, the warmth of her breath. The hallway was empty; there was no need reason for haste. Marinette, however, was his. All his and his alone, and the greedy man he’d become when it came to her, he wanted to indulge.

“We should go,” Adrien said, pulling away. “If I have a moving in with you to look forward to, staying alive would be nice. And you know Tikki: she’d never let me live if I’d fail to keep a promise. Today that means bringing you to the Kwami Kave.”

Marinette giggled. “Come on. She loves you. You can’t deny that.”

“Maybe,” Adrien shrugged. “But hard love is a thing, and Tikki is its mistress.”

Marinette laughed. “Okay, you’ve got me there. We probably should go. It’s this way.” Grabbing his hand, Marinette tugged Adrien into the apartment’s direction. The key out of her purse, she opened the door, walked in and froze in the foyer.

The whole place was filled with balloons, some floating at the ceiling, some hovering in midair, with only a few laying on the floor that was covered with flower petals along the walls.

Marinette gasped, her purse falling to the floor.

Behind her, Adrien closed the door after himself. “Surprise.”

She swirled around to look at him. “What’s going on? Adrien, do you have something to do with it?”

“Decorating the place? Yes. That was my idea, but Nino and Plagg helped.”

“Plagg?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“He mostly bossed us around, but yeah, Plagg helped too.” Adrien motioned to the living room. “Would you like to follow the trail?”

Marinette hesitated for a split moment before a smile sneaked onto her face and she walked into the direction balloons and flower petals went. It didn’t take her long to reach a spacious room with a built-in fireplace, huge floor to ceiling windows, beautiful iron balcony-imitating railing on the other side. The room was free of furniture, balloons and flower petals on the floor filling the room in addition to a few rose bouquets that stood sparingly across space. An elegant banner stood on top of the fireplace. It read,

“Welcome Home.”

Marinette spun around. “Adrien?”

Adrien smiled at her. “If you want it to be.”

“But Tikki… She said… Oh my gosh! Adrien! What’s going on here?”

He walked closer, taking her hands in his. “I wanted to ask you to move in with me for a while now, but since I didn’t have a place of my own, I had to find one before I could do that. And I promise I did want to involve you in that search since, hopefully, I was searching for our potential home together, and I wanted you to love it as much as I would. But I also wanted to make it a surprise for your birthday, which made it a little difficult to involve you in the search.” He nervously chuckled. “I hope I make sense now because it sounds a bit confusing to me.”

“You make perfect sense,” Marinette said. “That’s why you asked Tikki to help you? To keep it a surprise for me?”

“Yes. She knows you the best, so she helped me to narrow down to the final five, and then she took you there under the pretence of buying herself an investment. She said you loved this one so much she would’ve had to have been blind to miss it. So, this was the one I’ve got for us. Hopefully. Uh… But you already asked me to move in so yes, I’ve got it for us.”

Marinette chuckled. “Too bad for you I beat you to the asking to move in together part.”

Throwing his hand against his forehead, Adrien dramatically lamented. “Yes! You did. Woe is me! All my hard practice in front of the mirror! All gone to waste. What shall I do? How will I survive this?”

“Awww.” She patted his cheek. “You can ask me if you want. I’ll even pretend to be surprised.”

Adrien perked. “May I?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Adrien breathed in and out. He cleared his throat. “So… I’ve been thinking lately. Of us… as in you and me, and how we work together, which I think is great because we do work great together, wouldn’t you say so? In everything. We’re a great team in dancing, and in business, and very much so in life. And I love you, Marinette. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. I want to share every minute with you, be it a sad or a happy one, and I want to share your moments. All of them. The best of them and the ugly ones. Because I love you and because you inspire me to be the better me. You give me strength and motivation to live my very best life, and I want to spend the rest of it by your side. So, I thought that, maybe… we should… No. Maybe you would… Would you consider moving in with me?”

Marinette’s lips stretched in a smile as she nodded.

Adrien reached into his jacket and pulled a small box out.

Marinette froze, her eyes widening, lips parting.

Kneeling down on his knee, Adrien opened the box and added, “As my wife.”

Glancing briefly at the princess-cut centre stone set in a delicate, white gold band, Adrien continued, “Now it’s me who’s wondering if I’m being too selfish, but I want more, Marinette. I want us to not only be together but to be a family. I promise I’ll cherish you until my last breath and I’ll treasure every minute you’ll allow me to stand by your side. We’ll buy all the hamsters you want, and I think three kids sounds amazing, especially if they are named Emma, Louis and Hugo. Those are great names.”

Marinette squeaked. “How do you know?”

“Tikki and Plagg might have slipped a few too many hints here and there, almost every time you weren’t in the room.”

Marinette groaned. “Those two. I should’ve known.”

Adrien raised the box in his hand a little higher. “Will you marry me, Marinette?”

Marinette gave him one of the lovelies smiled he’d ever seen as she kneeled down and took his hand in hers. “Partners in dance. Partners in work. Partners in life. Till death do us part.”

Adrien forgot how to breathe. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

Marinette nodded. “As if I could ever say anything but ‘yes’ to you, Chaton.”

He tackled her into a hug, both of them tumbling to the ground, with Marinette somehow ending up on top of Adrien.

Laughing, she pushed back to look at him. “I love you, my sweet, handsome dork.”

“Love you, too,” Adrien whispered, reaching for his fiancée’s face to bring her down into a kiss. “More than I can express.”

Once they pulled apart, Adrien tried his best not to disturb their position as he reached for the ring box. Noticing his intentions, Marinette pushed herself off him and sat down. Adrien followed, grabbing the box and pulling the ring out. Her hand in his, he slid the ring on her finger and grinned. “And now you’re stuck with me.”

“And I couldn’t be happier about that,” Marinette smiled, bopping his nose with her finger. ”That’s even a better present than I’ve wanted.”

He pulled her closer, resting their foreheads together. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed against him.

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. Then, the top of her knuckles. The inside of her palm. “And I’m sorry to say but we had to be at the Kwami Kave ten minutes ago.”

“They can wait,” Marinette whispered. Her hands reaching to cradle Adrien’s face, she pulled him closer. “It’s my birthday, and I want to kiss my fiancée senseless.”

“You know it doesn’t take much, don’t you?” he murmured against her lips. “You take my breath away just by being close.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself,” Marinette whispered, placing a kiss on his neck. “Because I’m taking my main present now, and no one can stop me.”

“As you wish,” Adrien barely breathed out and closed his eyes as Marinette nibbled at his earlobe. “Anything you want, my Lady. Just ask.”

“I already have everything I need right here in front of me,” Marinette whispered, silencing Adrien with a kiss.

_______________________________________________________________________

Next >

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations DEAN! You’ve been accepted as ARIEL.

Dean, you don’t know how overjoyed I am to have you and your take on Lenox back in my life! Lenox is one of my favorite skeletons and you just capture him so perfectly. For Lenox, the devil is literally in the details, since he has the ability to control how they’re perceived. I love everything about him, especially when I view him through the lens you crafted (or is it the lens he crafted, and I’m actually under the spell of his powers right now? my brain hurts)! I can’t wait to see the havoc you and Lenox unleash on this dash.

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

its britney bitch

NAME/ALIAS: Dean

PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT, i’m fairly active bean and am always here to plot

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Lenox Syed

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: This is where you show us who the character is to you! The format of this doesn’t matter, whether it’s in bullet points or in para form, and can be as long as you’d like it to be. Feel free to get creative!

Lenox as a boy’s name is of Scottish and Gaelic origin, and the meaning of Lenox is “with many elm trees”.

Syed or Sayyid or Sayed (Arabic and Urdu: سيدعلی) is a family of Syeds in South Asia, notably India and Pakistan. Syeds are the direct descendants of the Islamic Prophet Muhammad.

Lenox is lost in his own fantasy world. Creating so many illusions for people each day that he has become lost in one of his own. With a lack of attention through his childhood, he craves the limelight and approval of everyone around him and will do pretty much anything to get it, even if it’s false or trickery.

He’s so painstakingly constructed, he’s his own work of art. Each detail of his personality and appearance delicately manipulated into something strikingly beautiful. Someone you can look at with awe just by the way they talk or move. It’s almost hard to realise there’s another man beneath the mask, someone raw and damaged. Like a bird with a broken wing.

BIO:

Tw: Drug mention

His mother is just fifteen when she gives birth to him, swaddled in a blue blanket and passed immediately to the arms of a doctor; she never held him, never looked at his freshly reddened face as his cries wailed down the corridors. It’s not because of his mutation, not because his birth family couldn’t bare to raise a being burdened with powers. She was a child herself, naivety leaving adoption as the only logical decision.  

A foster home decides to take him in, raising him from infancy without any awareness of any abnormality. It’s where he stays for the first nine years of his life, a cosy house in Oregon that housed five other children. But the dormancy of his powers didn’t stay concealed forever. It started with his foster siblings sleepwalking, Lenox’s dreams imprinting on them accidentally as they’d trample through the house enthralled by the vivid illusions of his fantasy worlds. Then it began intertwining into everyday life, emotional outbursts of temper alluding unsafe situations like fire or monsters that hid under the bed. Games became near impossible to differentiate between make believe and reality from the second he joined in.  

“You’re unsafe,” it’s a comment he’d gladly wear as a badge of honour once he’d matured. But to the little boy being dragged away from his foster family, betrayed by his caregivers and turned in for research, the words grazed his skin like stinging nettles.

The four plain walls of the room only further ignite an overly active imagination, a tool that was dangerous to have with a power like his own. The eleven years he spends there does the opposite of what society would have hoped, boredom allows for focus and practice, it sharpens his talents and he’s able to put them to good use. By the end of his stay the doctors had favoured him among the rest, because he wills it so. They go easy on him, carefully placed illusions write false notes on his reports. Detailed and intricate enough so that he doesn’t get caught out, handwriting remarkably identical to each nurse or scientist that take their turn testing on him. He starts to admire the way it feels, too chaotic to be part of society and embedded with more potential than anyone could have known.

It’s when that potential reaches a point where imagination can no longer be imprisoned by those four walls that he decided enough was enough. The process of discharging himself was a meticulous operation. Theatrically staged and miraculously timed with an annual cell collecting test. Before he can be sedated he’s enticed the nurses into an imaginary induced coma, deep enough into his intoxication that he can use the poisoned needle on them. The theater only has the two women on the floor when the doctor enters, sly projections manipulating each person he’d bumped into on his way to the exit into that same sleep, a psychedelic world of kaleidoscope landscapes and stained glass colours, once awakening they would never see this boy again.

“You’re unsafe,” the same words, just a different context. An ally ushers him to leave Oregon and head to Chicago. A place where policies were loosened and his own kind somewhat tolerated.

The new city put Lenox’s own fresh start in full swing.

Fragile reality was a vehicle for his reinvention, so easily malleable that to change it was simpler and more natural to him than breathing. He’s masterful in the way it’s applied, diminishing a past life of shame and grit in place of high strung worth and superiority. He’d created himself with utter royalty, his own nobility evident by the way in which he moved, regally eloquent and unmistakably ethereal to anyone who crossed his path.

He builds his career on the sins he knows other’s desire. Selling crushed up aspirin as a party drug in the underbelly of the city’s night clubbing scene, using his power to make it seem as if it were the legitimate stuff and not something that cost him a couple bucks from the convenience store across the street. Lenox could make them see whatever he wanted, turn their evenings into a production of his own design and leave with none of the being any wiser. It’s how Benjamin Granger catches word of him, a supposed mutant that was living life as if he were a king. He’s the first person to ever acknowledge his capability, strikes him up an offer he couldn’t refuse. Drawn like a moth to a flame after the slightest suggestion of power and the infatuation that he was finally wanted by someone and to belong to something.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Chance Matthews: He’s the face he can’t erase from his mind, the curve of his lips engraved in deep fixations when he couldn’t fall asleep on a Sunday night. Perhaps it’s the fact that he shouldn’t do it that makes it more enticing, a lust to ignite underlying passion to unearth exactly what they had both been burying.

Jordan Rojas: Jordan is somewhat of a curiosity for Lenox to unpick. A closed book that is intriguing because of their close association together. Always keen to show his worth, to prove himself to those around him, perhaps it’s a dangerous combination should Jordan utalise the other’s naivety in combination of his powers in the way that Benjamin does.

Jack Mizuno: He likes that he can get so deep into their head, that he can have full control of a world that wasn’t Jack’s domain. It’s all to do with power and annoyance, a deep craving to see exactly how far he can push people before they hit their breaking point. Even then, it’s fun to flip that breaking point into a place of pure bliss and drop it again just when his subject is at ease. He’s like a lab rat, someone he tries his tricks on before taking them to the main show.

EXTRA: 

https://www.pinterest.co.uk/dean_ie/ariel/

Lenox spends a lot of his spare time writing and doodling. It’s all extremely sketchy, there’s never any sort of final draft. It helps his imagination, which is a much exercised tool in his life.

He is probably more invested in mental health than most. Meditation and yoga being a crucial part of his daily routine after a bowl full of sugar packed cereal.

He’s naive and eager to please anyone that might create a bond with him, he craves companionship after never really understanding it due to the absence of it in his life.

Lenox works as a part-time artist and painter, he’s guilty of using illusions to get clients to buy his art by playing into their preferences .

He also works as a drug dealer, never selling legitimate stuff but using over the counter medicines with the combination of his powers to masquerade as the real stuff.

He has an unruly sweet tooth. He keeps lollipops in his back pocket and will order dessert off a menu at a restaurant instead of a main meal. His favourite thing on the planet is warm cookie dough and ice cream.

He listens exclusively to Grunge music. Celebrity Skin by Hole is his absolute jam and he only ever sings Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet is his go to karaoke song.

Lenox is openly proud of his sexuality as a homosexual, though he’ll flirt with anyone and anything for the fun of it.

He prefers tea over coffee.

He’s a bit of a poetry dork, he collects first edition poetry books and his most prized possession is a first edition of Howl and Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg.

He’s very judgemental of how others present themselves and will tell you if your new shirt is ugly.

Lenox lives in a small apartment, anyone that enters he’s carefully to make them see it as 3 times bigger than it actually is with far more light.

He has a fear of heights.

[boueibu-valentines]

The risk-benefit analysis of butterflies

Creator: Creo @queenofthefaces Recipient: @kira-7 Title: The risk-benefit analysis of butterflies Characters/Pairing: IoRyuu Summary: Io Naruko is successful. Unbelievably successful…but success doesn’t necessarily equal happiness. He attends a play in a rinky old theater on a whim, and the talented pink-haired actor playing Hamlet takes his breath away. Who knew he could find everything he ever needed in an old ticket stub and a risk? Comment: This is my gift for kira-7 for the boueibu valentines event!! I hope you like it! It’s been so long since I’ve written for this fandom ;;w;;

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736794

____________

He was successful. Unbelievably successful. He earned master’s degrees in economics and business finance. He became CEO of his company when he was only 20. He was incredibly wealthy, known for his competent, frugal nature—but also for his frequent philanthropy. His reputation was sparkling. He stayed out of politics and away from scandals. He lived alone in a neat, functional condo and drove a neat, functional car to work.

He had everything he needed.

But Io Naruko wasn’t happy.

It wasn’t something he thought about often, or so he told himself. The sharp longing in his chest came and went more often than he was comfortable admitting—when he saw happy families as he drove to work, when his subordinates took time off for weddings and honeymoons, when he laid in bed at night—alone, staring at his ceiling in the dim light of the moon, filtering through his cheap, paper curtains.

He wasn’t happy, but he told himself he was fine. Content, even. Or at the very least, he wasn’t miserable—neutral, maybe.

At this moment, however, he wasn’t thinking about that at all. Instead, Io was irritably glancing down at his wristwatch, and wondering how his careful planning could’ve fallen apart so spectacularly.

Well. He was being hyperbolic. He was irritable, though.

Io was currently sat in an uncomfortable, cramped theater chair, trying not to glance at the state of the seats around him—the fabric was dingy, stained, torn in places. It sent a shiver of disgust skittering over his skin. But he paid for his ticket.

His ticket to…Io checked his stub…to Hamlet. Io was at a production of Hamlet. The reason? He had a client who adored theater, and Io, knowing nothing about the subject, decided it would be useful to attend a show. The ticket was cheap, the show wasn’t long, and the little theater was on his way home from work. He’d never seen the place before, and marveled at the thought, thinking it a nice surprise before he walked into the building. It was falling apart, that was for sure. And even still, as Io looked around him, the seats were almost bare, a few scattered pockets of people. Io thought, cynically, they were only there to support their struggling actor friends. He might have been the only one there without a connection to any of the cast.

The show was running fifteen minutes late, and counting. Io was punctual, scheduled, and he wasn’t going to spend his once-in-a-blue-moon day off sitting around in a dark, ratty theater with a spring digging into his lower back through his seat.

Except he was. Because he paid for his ticket.

Io crossed his arms. He was just about to take out his tablet again when a spotlight suddenly shined onto the stage. It blinked to life, and a young actor emerged from the curtains and welcomed the audience.

There was light, polite applause as the curtains opened.

Io sunk into his seat, prepared to continue to regret his decision.

He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t know his opinion could’ve changed so quickly.

Io wasn’t expecting to be interested in the show, but then—their Hamlet took the stage, and Io was enthralled by his performance. Io found it difficult to relate to people in his daily life, but this actor, in a run-down old theater, actually made Io feel for him, for his character. The actor’s passion seeped into his every movement as he dominated the stage with his presence. His expressions, his voice—it all felt genuine in a way Io didn’t think he could appreciate.

They ran the show without intermission, and Io sat at the edge of his seat, completely invested. The other actors were good, but Io kept searching for, waiting for Hamlet when he wasn’t on stage.

By the end of the play, Io just barely restrained himself from leaping to his feet as he applauded. The cast members were all grinning ear-to-ear, despite the low turnout, despite the condition of their theater. Hamlet stood at the center, bowing deeply alongside his castmates. His character melted from his shoulders, and all Io could see was exuberance in the eyes of a talented young man.

The actors filtered off backstage, and Io wondered if he could stay behind and…and talk. Tell Hamlet how moving his performance was, how something warm and bright had stirred in Io’s chest for the first time in a long time.

Then, however, Io’s phone rang.

He swore under his breath—completely unprofessional—when he realized he had to leave. There wasn’t a playbill, so Io couldn’t even get Hamlet’s name. He left the theater with a glance over his shoulder, hoping to see movement from behind the curtain, if, by chance, he could catch the actor as he left.

Io’s phone buzzed against his palm.

No luck. Io left to his car, disappointment curdling in his stomach.

—

The next day, he found himself distracted at work for the first time in his career.

His mind kept drifting as his pen skittered across his mountain of paperwork. He kept thinking about that actor—the vibrance in his expressions, the way his voice carried so confidently. The theater didn’t make a lot of money—Io checked—so the actor was…wasting his talents, wasn’t he? The risk-benefits were lopsided…but he looked so happy up on that stage. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Someone knocked on Io’s door, and he realized with a start he’d been daydreaming, doodling stars and swirls at the edge of his papers. Io sat up straight, taking his elbows from off his desk (unprofessional!) and called out.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Io pushed aside the doodles in his margins.

—

He took a lunch break for the first time, too.

Io usually ate in his office, with his cost-efficient packed lunch. He often worked while he ate, or simply forgot to eat. It saved time, it boosted his productivity.

It wasn’t for today.

Io felt the eyes on him as he strode out of his office.

“Sir, is there something wrong?” A manager was waiting for en elevator when she saw Io’s approach. Her voice was concerned. Io realized what he must’ve looked like: the elusive, work-minded boss leaving his office in a hurry.

“No, nothing is wrong. I am just…going out for lunch, today.” Io stepped into the elevator, fighting to keep the flush from his face. He was acting out of character, he knew, but that wasn’t stopping him. “Thank you for your concern, Kurokawa.”

The manager looked surprised—whether her shock was towards Io’s strange behavior, or the fact that he remembered her name (he remembered all of their names, of course), Io couldn’t tell.

His pulse skipped in his chest as he walked to his car, his gait uneven as he rushed across the parking lot in his almost-too-tight dress shoes.

Io drove back down to the theater. He didn’t even know if it would still be open. He….he forgot to check. But there he was, standing in front of its humble double-doors.

When he entered this second time, Io saw the little theater in a new light. No longer was he focused on peeling paint, or off-color support beams. This time, Io took note of how clean the lobby was—no dust, no trash.

There was no one at the front desk. Io thought he should leave, but even as he was thinking about going, his feet were walking him in the opposite direction, through the doors to the main auditorium.

Io saw movement—but it didn’t belong to who he was looking for. Instead, there was an older man, the actor who played Claudius, holding a broom as he maneuvered through the seats.

“Hello, son.” Claudius looked up when he heard the door open. “What do you need?” His voice was kind. And at his question, a million and one answers swam through his head.

He needed to find Hamlet. He needed to show his appreciation for the play. He needed to unwind the tense tangles of his muscles from sitting at his desk all day. He needed to call his mother. He needed to splurge on shoes that fit him, and on a coffee machine that worked more than half the time. He needed a friend.

“I…I don’t know.” Was his spoken response.  

“That’s alright, son; I don’t think any of us know what we need.”

“I—I mean…” Io tried to compose himself, all of a sudden feeling very, very young. “I came to a play, yesterday. I…it was very good.” Io cleared his throat, his face burning. He could talk the Queen of England into selling him Buckingham Palace, but at this moment, all his carefully selected words evaporated into smoke. “Very moving.” Io finished lamely.

Claudius just smiled. He was so different from the character he played, genuinely open and trusting.

“We’re doing Hamlet again, next week,” Claudius said, the invitation clear in his voice.

“I…” The memory of a broad smile, and earnest brown eyes flitted in Io’s mind. “Okay.” Io nodded quickly, almost breathless.

He scurried out of the theater.

As he sat in the driver’s side of his parked car, Io gripped the wheel, hands shaking.

He…he was excited. He had something to look forward to.

Next week. Okay.

He was going to see Hamlet next week.

Io walked into the office smiling.

—

Io saw Hamlet, and then waited an agonizing month before he was able to attend their next show. It was another Shakespeare production, likely so they could reuse the props and costumes. This time it was A Midsummer’s Night Dream. This time, Hamlet played Puck, and though Io didn’t know the actor at all—he somehow felt the mischievous spark in the actor’s eye fit much more than Hamlet’s tragedy.  

Io saw all three performances of A Midsummer’s Night Dream, one after the other, each week. With each performance, Io caught something he hadn’t before, saw how the actors changed up their reactions. They breathed life into the play, and each incarnation was a different being. It took Io’s breath away to see.

Between the last performance of A Midsummer’s Night Dream and the preparation for the next play, Io scoured the internet for any scrap of information he could find about the theater. He found a few mediocre Yelp reviews, a blog post talking about a production from three years prior, and the theater’s official website.

Io began following the theater’s website almost religiously. The site, unlike the building itself, was sleek, and modern. Io wondered if one of the young actors designed it.

The site was scant for information. It gave a brief overview of the theater’s history, the premiere date of the next show, and a gallery of pictures. The quality of the photos varied—some were professional, while others were obviously taken with a cellphone from an audience seat. Io saw the actor—Hamlet, Puck—in some of the photos, dressed in costume, still shining with that passion, with that shine in his eye Io had come to admire.

The next show was Little Women. Io had searched up the brief synopsis out of curiosity when he saw it announced on the website. It was a play with a small cast. Io wondered who would be on stage when he went to see it.

Occasionally, Io would look at the funds set aside for play tickets and hear a scolding voice in his head admonish him for wasting his money. After all, the theater-loving client Io had gone to the original play for wasn’t interested in chat when they’d had the opportunity to meet. Io wasn’t going to the theater for…for any good reason, anymore.

But then, he’d remember the thump of his chest, the anticipation thrumming in his veins, and he’d push his guilty conscience down.

—

Io sat in his seat, with the spring digging into his back, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

He gasped when he saw the actor—Hamlet, Puck—taking on this new role. He played the outspoken, willful Jo. He worked the stage as beautifully as he always had, pulling Io in and making Io understand what his character was going through. As Jo, he glided across the stage in his layers of heavy skirts, with grace and power and a barely restrained sense of urgency, of desperation, indicative of Jo’s bold character. Io was completely immersed in the story, in the way Jo had sold the character.

As the cast took their bows, Io realized, once again, how talented this actor was. After all, he’d had Io convinced he was a teenage girl, despite so obviously being a man. Looking at him now, even as he stood in costume, Io could see the strong line of his jaw, the long curl of his fingers, the bony wrists peeking out from his long sleeves. His hair fell in shiny, fuchsia-pink layers down against the nape of his neck. His bangs softened his face, but he was still unmistakably masculine, even as his lips curled into a playful grin as his costar spun him around on stage, his skirts flaring up in a wave of fabric. The image of him up there, his hair a mess from his abandoned bonnet, skirts flying around him, an exhilarated look in his eyes.

In eyes that had, suddenly, met Io’s.

Io’s heart skipped a beat.

The actor held his gaze, inquisitive, playful, for a heartstopping moment—before he was pulled away by a cast member. Io watched him go, and only barely noticed how he looked back at Io as he was hidden away by the curtain.

Io checked his phone, and his tablet…halfheartedly, because his eyes kept glancing up towards the stage. Cast members were slowly filtering out, but not the one Io was…well, the actor Io was looking for.

Io stood, ready to make his way to the door. He straightened out his jacket, made sure he didn’t leave anything behind, and all-in-all wasted just a few more seconds before he turned to the door.

“Wait!”

Io stopped in his tracks. His chest filled with something warm, tentative.

He turned around, and…well, he couldn’t describe what it was like. There was the actor—Hamlet, Puck, Jo, except also, none of them, just himself—bounding towards Io.

“Hey,” he said, grinning. He held out a hand. “I’m Ryuu.”

Io took the hand on instinct, his voice struggling from where it was stuck in his throat.

“Naruko—Io Naruko.”

Io looked at him, and repeated the name, Ryuu, Ryuu, Ryuu, over and over, seeing how it fit to the face he’d come to know over the past few months.

It fit well.

“I noticed you coming to our shows, so, like, thanks for that! Really! It’s nice seeing someone who likes us—even when we totally flub lines and whatever.” Ryuu laughed, open and just a little self conscious.

“Y-yes!” Io replied, too quickly, “I’m not…I’m not a theater person, but…these shows are…” Io glanced at Ryuu, hesitating, distracted. He cleared his throat. “…They’re great.”

“You’re not a theater person?” Ryuu asked, his eyebrow quirking up. “I wouldn’t have guessed! I’m glad you like the shows, dude!”

Io felt the need to say something—anything—rise in his chest, but he couldn’t find the words. He fumbled for something, fiddling with his wristwatch.

Ryuu filled the gap for him. After a moment’s hesitation, he said:

“Do you want to, like, hang out or something?”

“What?” Io knew his bewilderment was clear on his face.

“I just thought you seem like an interesting guy, Io.” Ryuu shrugged.

“I have work tomorrow—” Io almost rejected him, out of habit. “But I’m free this weekend, if you want to, do…something.”

“Sweet!” Ryuu took out his phone. The case was hot pink, and the little charms hanging off of it rang like bells. “Do you want to exchange numbers, then?”

Io fumbled with his briefcase, pulling out his phone. His contact list was full of clients, work associates—but then Ryuu put his name in, with a “( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/ “ emoticon next to it.

“Cool!” Ryuu exchanged phones with Io. “I’ll text you, dude! I have to get home, now, but it was really nice meeting you, Io!”

And then, in a flurry, Ryuu was gone. Io held his phone to his chest, Ryuu’s voice echoing Io’s name, again and again.

—

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

hey dude!! check out this cool butterfly thing!!

Io blinked. For a second, he was confused—before he realized. He’d given his number to Ryuu, and now Ryuu was texting him screenshots from the website of a butterfly pavilion. Io glanced around his office, even though he was clearly alone, before texting back.

Io

I know of it.

He more than knew of it; his contributions practically built it. His name was front and center amongst the plaques of donators. He didn’t say any of that, though.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

omg ur one of those people who texts all proper and stuff

LOL!!

ANYWAYS I was wonderinf if youd like to go

Despite his donations, Io never personally visited the pavilion. He quickly pulled up ticket prices on his computer, scanning the costs, weighing the risks—

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

its cool if u dont!!

I just always wanted to go and I thought

well!!

perfect time to try!!

Io looked down at his phone.

Io

When would you like to go?

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

Really?? dude!! I’m SO glad you want to go!!

I don’t really care when tho, just anytime after 10 is good :D

Io

I bought us tickets for 2PM

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

WOAH!! You didn’t have to do that for me!

but thanks :)

—

Io’s workday was suddenly…much more vibrant. Since giving his number to Ryuu, he found the other enjoyed sending inane, chatty texts about whatever crossed his mind. Io didn’t mind, of course—on the contrary, he couldn’t stop smiling at his phone, even if he was concerned Ryuu spent too much time glued to his. He didn’t hesitate telling Ryuu this, either, and he didn’t even mind when the response was a cheeky “:P”.

And somehow, texting Ryuu brightened not only Io’s mood, but the mood of his company, too. Io found himself venturing out of his office more often, smiling at his coworkers, stopping to chat a little more. He found himself seeking contact in a way he hadn’t realized he missed.

His work was still spectacular, of course. Io just…took some breaks from it every once in a while, stretched his legs, used the new coffeemaker in the break room.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

do u want to meet me there or should I pick u up or are u picking me up or…?

Io

I can pick you up, if that’s no bother.

I’ll be getting off work soon, anyways.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

chill

I’ll be getting out of rehearsal, so u can jus pick me up at the theater :p

Io walked out to his car. He caught his own reflection in the rear view mirror: his work suit, his tie, his uncomfortable shoes. He sighed.

Io

Do you mind if I stopped by my house to change? It won’t take me long.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

Tht’s totally fine!!

Io drove home, quickly, and threw open his closet. Good lord…he hadn’t dressed casually for an embarrassingly long time. Io always liked dressing nice, even in high school—where other students tried to break dress code, Io found comfort in the uniform.

He found an old pair of darkwash jeans in the back of his closet, thankfully, and paired them with a white button-up shirt and a light, casual brown cardigan, and some brown loafers. They were on sale, and much, much more comfortable than his work shoes.

Io went back to his car, somehow feeling both overdressed and underdressed.

He drove up to the theater, seeing Ryuu chatting with a pair of girls. Ryuu was dressed well, from what Io could tell, though Io didn’t need to know fashion to at least have an opinion (he liked it). Ryuu had a fitted, black v-neck shirt, dark maroon skinny jeans with rips in the knees, short black boots, and a black and white checkered shirt tied around his waist.

Ryuu saw his car driving up and waved, quickly saying goodbye to the girls he was talking to before jogging up to the passenger side of Io’s car.

Io didn’t remember the last time someone sat in that seat. Usually, it was occupied by Io’s briefcase, or his lunch.

“Hey, what’s up?” Ryuu slid into the car easily.

Io didn’t know how to respond.

“My stocks are up today,” Io blurted. He was expecting laughter, or boredom. What normal twenty-something talked about stocks?

“Stocks?” Ryuu asked, curious, “You know, I just realized I have no idea what your job is—though I figured it was something, like, official, with all your nice suits and stuff.”

“I, yes, you could say that.” Usually, Io would be ready to preen, show off his success. But for some reason, he felt…nervous, around Ryuu. Ryuu, who texted him about cute pens from dollar stores and gleefully performed plays at a run-down theater like it was his life calling.

“Me, though? I’m just a manager at Pizza Hut. It’s not the best job in the world, but it helps pay for classes and stuff.”

“You’re in school? What are you studying?”

“Not sure yet, honestly. I, uh, had to take a gap to save up, and I hadn’t even decided in that time, so, here I am, undeclared major.” Ryuu chuckled nervously. “I need to make a choice, though. Nana wouldn’t be happy if I spent all that time just to not graduate with something.” Ryuu laughed. He talked about his Nana, before, in their texts. “Just a few days ago she sat me down and told me she’d be happy if I had a degree in horse cosmetology—just as long as I had a degree!”

Io couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, and from the corner of his eye, Ryuu beamed at him as if he’d done something amazing.

—

When they arrived at the pavilion, Io realized, with stark clarity—he hardly knew anything about Ryuu, aside from little snippets, and yet, they still somehow eased together as if they’d been best friends for years. Io wondered if that was just Ryuu’s personality, if he meshed with everyone, like the social butterfly he was.

Io laughed quietly at his own pun. Ryuu, of course, noticed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Ah,” Io blushed, “It’s nothing. It’s silly…”

“Of course it’s silly! It made you laugh!” Ryuu stopped them next to a big bush of pink flowers. Butterflies fluttered around him, landing in his hair, only making Io giggle more. “Oh now you have to tell me—c’mon, Io!”

“Fine, fine…” Io braced himself. “I just thought, you’re like a social butterfly, and, you know, here we are, and here you are.” Io gestured to where the butterflies had settled in Ryuu’s hair.

Ryuu looked up, but of course, he couldn’t see on top of his own head. He smiled.

“You’re right; that is pretty silly.” Ryuu held a butterfly on his finger. He reached forward to place it on Io’s shoulder. “But I like silly! Say cheese!“

Before he knew it, Ryuu had taken out his phone and snapped a picture of him, unsuspecting.

“Now take one of me!” Ryuu pushed his phone into Io’s hands. The butterfly on Io’s shoulder flew away, but Io didn’t really notice.

It turned out, Ryuu loved taking pictures, lots and lots of pictures. It shouldn’t have been surprising, in hindsight. The pictures of Io Naruko tripled in that one day, not that he minded, not when Ryuu was so excited to show him the filter apps he had. Io wasn’t impressed by having dog ears, suddenly, but Ryuu found it hilarious, so Io let it slide.

Eventually they exited the pavilion, only after some workers coaxed the butterflies away from Ryuu with sugar water.

“I think they like my shampoo,” Ryuu said as they walked out. The pavilion was at the edge of a park, and Ryuu just…started walking. And Io walked with him. “That was really fun!”

“Yeah…it was.” Io couldn’t keep the smile from his voice.

He and Ryuu kept chatting, or, well, Ryuu mostly. Io added to the conversation much less, but still.

After a while, Ryuu saw something.

“Oh, dude! Ice-cream!” Ryuu started walking towards the ice-cream truck. “Let’s go get some!”

Io followed, a little more cautious. His eyes narrowed at the prices.

“These are…overpriced,” Io muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re just getting one, right? It’s not that big of a deal.” Ryuu stood in line, Io hanging behind, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I mean—there’s…it’s useless, isn’t it? It’s expensive for no reason.”

“Dude, it isn’t useless.” Ryuu stopped looking at the menu, and instead looked Io in the eye, innocent, honest. “It’s not useless if it makes you happy, right?”

Happy. The statement was so…so simple. And all of a sudden, Io realized he hadn’t been taking his own happiness into account in his calculations. That’s why his condo had lamps he had to hit to make turn on, and sheets with holes in the corners, and that’s why his shoes didn’t fit quite right, and why he always declined invitations to his coworkers’ parties. Io hadn’t taken his own feelings into account in a long time. Not since he went back to the theater, since he kept going back to the theater even when seeing plays had no benefit to his work. Since he texted Ryuu in between lulls at work, and left his office to chat with Kurokawa and Takamatsu and whoever else he found loitering in the breakroom.

Io just stared at Ryuu. Oblivious Ryuu, who had no idea he just shattered Io’s entire world.

Io ordered a cookies and cream ice-cream bar.

—

“You want to go hang out at my place?” Ryuu asked. They both just finished their ice-cream.

“I—you can’t just invite me over, Ryuu! I don’t have a gift to bring!”

“Dude, you’re so old fashioned! It’s fine! Let’s just go hang out—I got a new game I’ve been itching to play.”

“….fine.”

Ryuu cheered.

—

Ryuu opened the door to his house and yelled:

“NANA! I’m home and I brought a friend!”

Io panicked.

“I didn’t bring a gift! Ryuu—please,” Io hissed. He wasn’t expecting to meet Ryuu’s beloved grandmother empty handed.   

“A friend? A new one, again?” An older woman shuffled down the hallway, and Io’s heart thudded in his chest, even as he stiffened and tried to smooth the distress from his face.

“G-good afternoon, Ms. Zaou.” Io said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. Io had met with people as influential as gods, but they weren’t the grandmothers of his…his friends. “I apologize for showing up out of the blue like this. If I had time to prepare I would’ve brought a gift.”

“Oh! A polite one, he is! Ryuu—you could learn a thing or two from him!” Ryuu’s Nana laughed. “Just call me Nana, sweetheart, no need for formalities around here. Now what should I call you?”

“Nana, please…” Ryuu whined, “This is Io.”

“Oh! Is this the Io you’ve been talking about, Ryuu?” Nana Zaou smiled, just a little smugly, if Io wasn’t seeing things. “He’s much more handsome than you’ve made him out to be, Ryuu!”

“Nana!”    

“I’m just teasing, dear. Now you two go along and have some fun, alright?”

“Okay, Nana!” Ryuu started pulling Io down the hall, his ears pink. Io had just barely toed off his shoes before he was being tugged along.

“Keep the door open, Ryuu! You know the rules!”

“NANA.” Ryuu sounded absolutely scandalized. And if that didn’t pull a laugh from Io…

Ryuu’s room was…well, exactly what Io was expecting, but that didn’t mean it…wasn’t more real, to be in there. Ryuu’s room was a little messy. His closet door was open, clothes strewn on the floor next to it—just like how Io’s looked at home, as if Ryuu had as much trouble with his outfit as Io had.

Ryuu turned on his TV and handed Io a game controller, which Io held in his hands with vague discomfort.

“What’s wrong? Has Mr. Stuffy never played a video game before?” Ryuu’s voice was teasing, joking, so he wasn’t expecting Io’s reply to be a shy shake of his head.

“You really haven’t?” Ryuu’s eyes widened. “Well, I think…the game I wanted to play might be a little advanced for you, grandpa. So I’ll start you off with something easy. Have you at least heard of Super Mario?”

Io’s head popped up. For some reason, he was expecting Ryuu to…he didn’t know…be weirded out or something, to kick him out. When he was young, Io never really had an interest in what his classmates were playing, and that lack of a….connection…always put a distance between Io and the other children.

Of course, he should’ve known Ryuu wouldn’t have been like that.

It was a grueling process, all things considered, to try and teach Io what video games were. But Ryuu smiled and nudged him forward and congratulated him when he finished a level, and Io felt warm and happy all over.

Soon, there was a knock at the (open) door, and Nana Zaou was standing in the doorway.

“I was thinking of ordering you boys some pizza,” she said, “Any requests?”

“Pizza?” Io blinked. “Um…just cheese is fine for me.”

“Meat lovers!” Ryuu cheered.

Nana Zaou told them she’d call them when the food arrived.

It was only after she walked out that Io noticed just how dark it had gotten outside. Ryuu whistled, apparently noticing this, too.

“Do you want to just crash here?” Ryuu asked, so, so casually, as if he wasn’t offering Io the first sleepover in his entire life.

“I…are you sure that’s okay?”

“Of course, dude!” Ryuu said, knocking Io’s shoulder with his own. “You’re like, the same size as me, so you can just borrow some pajamas. And we have extra toothbrushes. You know the big packs of plastic wrapped ones you get?”

“Where would I sleep?”

“Uh, I mean…my bed is pretty big,” Ryuu’s voice turned a little sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I was thinking we’d play games until we passed out, but if you’re not comfortable with that, you can take the guest room.”

Io kind of stared, trying to process the information. He wondered how this could feel normal, if this was what he was missing out on, growing up. Eating junk food? Staying up playing games until he couldn’t keep his eyes open? It was…it sounded fun.

“Well, if the first option is more authentic to the sleepover experience…I might as well.”

It was surreal, in all honesty. Io was a grown man, and yet, here he was, planning a sleepover like a child…with a friend he’d only properly known for a week. He remembered hearing Kurokawa talk about her children, how they could run up to other kids at the park and decide they were best friends within the minute. Maybe that’s what Io was doing, now, making friends, and making up for lost time. He didn’t mind it.

They ate their pizza when it came, and Io checked his stocks every once in a while, offhandedly telling Ryuu about his company and how the stock market worked. He could tell Ryuu didn’t get all of it, but he was still interested. Io…liked teaching Ryuu. It felt like he was sharing a part of himself, the thing he was good at, and Ryuu approved.

Eventually, the medium half-and-half pizza was devoured, and washed down with bubbly soda that left Ryuu burping between his sentences. And Io saved the Princess. Ryuu vowed to introduce him to more games, and asked him to pick between Kirby and Zelda. Both of the characters on the covers reminded Io of Ryuu, so he had a hard time picking. He eventually went with Kirby, though.

They played and talked until Nana Zaou told them she was going to bed and turned off their lights, and for hours after that. They played until Ryuu started to slouch onto Io’s shoulder. Io hadn’t…well, he hadn’t noticed how touchy Ryuu was—it just seemed so natural for Ryuu. Throughout the day, he grabbed at Io’s arm, his sleeve, touched his wrist, slung his arm over Io’s shoulder. Io wasn’t…he didn’t like people touching him.

He was quickly learning that Ryuu was an exception for a lot of things.

Io was the one to turn the game off and suggest they watch a movie.

Ryuu stood and stretched. His spine popped, and Io grimaced at the sound, much to Ryuu’s amusement. Ryuu tossed the TV remote to Io and told him to pick something from Netflix while Ryuu got them some pajamas.

Io browsed lazily. He wasn’t a movie person, so he wasn’t sure what would be…good. He ended up picking a title he’d seen recommended several times on Ryuu’s account.

Ryuu tossed some fabric at him.

“The bathroom is down the hall, but, uh, don’t take too long.” Ryuu looked away, “I kind of have to use it.”

Io laughed.

The pajamas Ryuu gave him didn’t match. Some sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt for a band Io had never heard of. The fabric was soft and well-worn. The pants were just a little too baggy around his hips, and he had to tug the string tighter. He looked in the mirror, and looking back, Io didn’t see a CEO, a busy executive, someone with more money than he knew what to do with.

Io just saw…someone young.

Io left the bathroom and found Ryuu tugging on a tanktop. Io blinked, his brain short circuiting with the sight of Ryuu’s bare shoulders, even for the split second he saw them.

“You picked a good one!” Ryuu said. “You can chill here; I’ll be right back.”

Io sat on the bed gingerly. Ryuu wasn’t long, thankfully, and they watched the movie.

Io couldn’t stop making comments, usually pointing out fallacies in the plot, and thankfully, Ryuu seemed to be the same way—pointing out costumes he liked, acting things he saw, trivia he knew.

Another movie was recommended to them, and Ryuu just clicked onto it without thinking.

“How can you just watch a movie without knowing anything about it?” Io asked.

“It’s just a movie. I might not have picked it if I was thinking about it.” Ryuu shrugged. “If it’s good, then it’s good. If it’s not, then we can make fun of it.”

They eventually were recommended a K-drama Ryuu had binged two summers before. Ryuu tried to sleepily explain the plot while they watched, dipping in and out of consciousness.

Again, Io was the one to turn off the TV. He told Ryuu it would save electricity.

“That’s fine.” Ryuu yawned. “We can just talk until we fall asleep, then.”

Ryuu moved to get under the blankets, tucking them up under his shoulders. He looked up at Io expectantly. Io, hesitated, before throwing caution to the wind and getting under the blankets, too. He and Ryuu faced each other.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Ryuu said, his voice suddenly quiet, as if hushed by the blankets.

“Um, sure…” Io replied.

“I wanted to talk to you since I saw you in the audience the first night,” Ryuu whispered, “I was too nervous, though, the first few times, ‘cause you looked so cool and professional.”

“Oh…” Io swallowed. “I…uh…I only came back because of you. Your acting was…well.” Io closed his eyes. “I was always devoted to my job. I only bought that first ticket because it was cheap; I didn’t even think I would like the show—but then I saw you on stage and I…” Io looked at Ryuu, trying to get across what he felt, that first night. “I felt something. I hadn’t felt something like that in a long time.”

“A long time? You’re so young, though…”

“I am, but it was a long time nonetheless. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“I didn’t realize…I didn’t realize how much I was missing before I met you.” Io smiled, a little self-deprecating, a little sad. “I never did anything just because. I was always running risk-benefit calculations in my head, for everything I did. And then I met you, and I got ice-cream and played video games and saw plays and talked to my coworkers just because.”

“I…wow…Io,” Ryuu’s voice was breathless. “I don’t think my side is as impressive as yours, but…you make me want to be better. Like, I know that doesn’t make any sense, but you’re so put together and I want to be like that, instead of an aimless college kid. But you’re also really, like, sheltered, in a way, and I want to be better for that, too. I want to show you all those things you didn’t let yourself do, like video games and, you know…It seems crazy because we, like, just met, but…I don’t know…you just…feel right for me, I guess…”

“I know what you mean.”

Ryuu just smiled at him. And there was a sort of tension in the air, not bad, just there. Like there was something they hadn’t said, out of all the things they said.

But it felt like enough, for them, for now. And they didn’t know who fell asleep first…

…but they both woke up to Nana Zaou slamming two pans together to announce breakfast.

—

After the impromptu sleepover, Ryuu convinced Io to drive them back to his condo in his borrowed pajamas.

“You can just change at your place! That way you don’t have to wear the clothes you wore yesterday— and I can see your house!”

“Ah, there it is, your real motivation.”

Ryuu just stuck his tongue out at Io.

“Woah, dude, this place is nice, but it looks a little…lonely.” Ryuu looked around with a small frown. “You should get a plant. Oooh, and some new curtains. And couches to go with the curtains—”

“Maybe I should just get dressed first.”

Ryuu ended up talking Io into buying new curtains, and gleefully dragged him through the home goods store in the mall.

And then dragging him through the rest of the mall.

Ryuu, for all his flashy tastes, also understood Io’s frugality, and didn’t push him into buying the most expensive things. Though he did want Io to find something he liked, not just something that was the cheapest.

They also ended up getting Io new shoes, because even Ryuu noticed how uncomfortable Io’s work shoes were on him. Which was strange, because…

“I never saw you after the plays were over. How did you see me walking in my work shoes?”

“Uh…I may have…watched you a few times, from behind the curtains…”

“You’re saying you were shy?” Io tried to hold back his smile.

“I told you last night I was!”

“You always looked so confident on stage,” Io replied, “I didn’t think it was all that true.”

“Well, on stage is different,” Ryuu explained, “I’m playing a character, with all the parts planned out already. I know what’s gonna happen to that character, so I don’t have to stress. It’s different with people; much more improv.”

They ate chilli-fries from the food court, and Io refused to let Ryuu buy anything, even when Ryuu tried to be sneaky about paying.

Io dropped Ryuu off at home, and when he got back to his condo, he found a little toy cactus hidden in one of his bags. Io smiled.

—

Ryuu kept buying him things after that, too. Little knickknacks, wall art, throw pillows. They were always cheap enough that Io didn’t feel bad about accepting them, and just colorful enough to give Io’s neat, functional little condo a bit more life to it.

Their texting tripled, as did the pictures Ryuu sent, and the plans they made.

Io was going out more, and more often. And he saw Ryuu’s shows just as often.

He saw Ryuu in Xanadu and Les Miserables before his coworkers said anything about it.

“We’re glad you’re getting out more, sir,” Takamatsu said kindly. He was always worried about Io’s health, always suggesting for him to try the newest health food or vitamin pill. “Whoever she is, she makes you very happy.”

“She?” Io said, puzzled.

“Oh!” Takamatsu colored. “Apologies, sir—it’s just, ah, the rumor mill had been saying you had a new girlfriend is all. Now there’s nothing wrong if it’s really a new boyfriend —”

“It’s not like that! He’s just a friend,” Io cut off Takamatsu before someone else could overhear, but knowing the man, the word would be out before lunch.

“Well, whoever he is, we’d all love to meet him!”

—

The theater was given a generous, anonymous donation.

With the way Claudius—or, Mr. Nakai—smiled at him knowingly the next time Io came in for a show, sitting in his new, refurbished seat, Io was sure his donation wasn’t as anonymous as he expected.

Especially with the way Ryuu had come barreling into him after the second performance of Grease, his hair still slicked back in that incredibly charming style, at least in Io’s opinion.    

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a bigshot CEO!” Ryuu said, after sweeping Io up into a hug.

“I didn’t try to keep it a secret…”

“Yeah, but you let me, Pizza Hut manager, totally think you just had a normal desk job!” Ryuu’s voice was playfully frustrated, like he wasn’t really angry at all. “Your net worth is through the roof! And you were the third most eligible bachelor four years ago—how do I not remember that! I still have that same magazine!”

“To be fair, I forgot about the bachelor thing, too.”

—

Eventually, finally, Io brought Ryuu to a work party.

They were celebrating a successful merger of one of their sister companies, and the party was a casual, daytime, family friendly affair. They’d gotten into the habit after Io joined the company, fresh-faced, and quickly worked his way up. He’d been too young to drink, but he was well-liked for his good manners and work ethic, so they tried to keep him engaged. The habit stuck around because Io encouraged the “no hangover” part, and his coworkers appreciated being able to bring their children. Even if those children were, in some cases, old enough to be Io’s mother, and they were really looking out for the grandchildren.

Ryuu was a big hit, of course, the social butterfly he was, and hit it off with everyone.

“You two are good for each other,” Kurokawa mused, “I wish you two the best, we all do, really!”

“Yeah, I…I’m lucky to have met him.”

—

After that, Io was properly introduced to Ryuu’s acting buddies. Unlike the PG work party he brought Ryuu to, Io had tagged along to a casual after party to celebrate the end of a successful play.

With the renovations to the theater, they’d started pulling in more crowds. It also helped that Io had finally become comfortable enough to recommend the theater to his coworkers.

“You know, Ryuu used to be the biggest flirt,” Yukie said offhandedly. Ryuu was off getting them drinks, and Io felt Yukie had waited until Ryuu was gone to say this. “If he wasn’t at a cast party, he was out on a date. A different person every time—” Person? Something in Io thought the phrasing was important. “—but then you come along and, well…he seems more confident in himself. You’ve really helped him.” Yukie smiles at him.

“Not to mention, he never stops talking about you.” Yukie pitched her voice down to mimic Ryuu, “Io just took me out here. I told Io to get that new jacket; doesn’t it look nice on him ? Io really liked the show. Io Io Io.” Yukie dropped the voice. “You know, that night he finally got the guts to talk to you? He told us to stop you if you tried to leave before he was ready—he wanted to talk to you that badly.”

Io looked over at Ryuu, who held their drinks in his hands, even as he was distracted talking to his costar and her sister.

“But, yeah, he hasn’t been on any dates like he used to. Unless, you know…outings to butterfly pavilions, fro-yo, and amusement parks don’t count as dates…” Yukie’s voice went playfully sing-song, and it took only a second before her implications sunk in.

Io blushed, but quickly forgot his embarrassment the second Ryuu came back.

—

It had been the best year of Io’s life, truly. He wouldn’t change a single thing—but…

“Ryuu…” Io asked. Ryuu’s head was tucked against Io’s shoulder. They were lounging on the couch they picked out together a month prior. Ryuu hummed.

“Have we…been dating this whole time?” Io felt the way Ryuu stiffened up against his side. Io thought about…what he thought he was making up, all of those hesitations, the looks, the way Ryuu would grin shyly whenever Io would imply how he wanted to be with Ryuu for years—because in such a short time, Ryuu had become that important to him.

“That depends on if you want to be…” Ryuu mumbled, burying his face against Io’s side.

“What would it change if I said yes?”

Ryuu’s lips curled into a smile against Io’s arm.

“Well, we practically live together, at this point. Half of my clothes are over here. You take me on dates. My Nana loves you. Your mom loves me. And you’re thinking of naming the Pomeranian we want to get ‘Yen,’” Ryuu listed, “I think the only thing would change would be the amount of kisses I can get from you…and other things…if you’re okay with that.”

“Hey Ryuu?”

Ryuu untucked his head from against Io. “Yeah?”

“I’m more than okay with that.”

Ryuu’s smile was absolutely blinding.

“You want to start with the kissing thing, now? Because frankly I’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long, and if I have to wait another minute I’m gonna explode.”

Io cleared his throat, suddenly shy. Ryuu’s eyes were so bright, and Io couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away, but as Ryuu slowly began to lean closer, Io found his own eyes slipping shut.

The kiss was chaste, and sweet, and sent Io’s heart into a frenzy of butterflies. He felt Ryuu smile against his mouth, and he didn’t have to do a single calculation to know that every risk he took with Ryuu was absolutely perfect.

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations DEAN! You’ve been accepted as ARIEL.

The themes of illusion and manipulation and perception are certainly not lost in your app, Dean, and how central they are to Lenox is just so, so well written it feels like I could easily fall under the spell of one of his illusions. You’ve shown that this world and these powers don’t always harden those affected, and that spark of whimsy in Lenox really brings him to a new life. Even a simple headcanon as selling placebo drugs and using his powers to create the high gives me such a confidence in who Lenox is as a person, and I can’t wait to see his shenanigans.

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

NAME/ALIAS: Dean

PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT, i’m fairly active bean and am always here to plot

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Lenox Syed GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: This is where you show us who the character is to you! The format of this doesn’t matter, whether it’s in bullet points or in para form, and can be as long as you’d like it to be. Feel free to get creative!

Lenox as a boy’s name is of Scottish and Gaelic origin, and the meaning of Lenox is “with many elm trees”.

Syed or Sayyid or Sayed (Arabic and Urdu: سيدعلی) is a family of Syeds in South Asia, notably India and Pakistan. Syeds are the direct descendants of the Islamic Prophet Muhammad.

Lenox is lost in his own fantasy world. Creating so many illusions for people each day that he has became lost in one of his own. With a lack of attention through his childhood, he craves the limelight and approval of everyone around him and will do pretty much anything to get it, even if it’s false or trickery.

He’s so painstakingly constructed, he’s his own work of art. Each detail of his personality and appearance delicately manipulated into something strikingly beautiful. Someone you can look at with awe just by the way they talk or move. It’s almost hard to realise there’s another man beneath the mask, someone raw and damaged. Like a bird with a broken wing.

BIO:

Tw: Drug mention

His mother is just fifteen when she gives birth to him, swaddled in a blue blanket and passed immediately to the arms of a doctor; she never held him, never looked at his freshly reddened face as his cries wailed down the corridors. It’s not because of his mutation, not because his birth family couldn’t bare to raise a being burdened with powers. She was a child herself, naivety leaving adoption as the only logical decision.  

A foster home decides to take him in, raising him from infancy without any awareness of any abnormality. It’s where he stays for the first nine years of his life, a cosy house in Oregon that housed five other children. But the dormancy of his powers didn’t stay concealed forever. It started with his foster siblings sleepwalking, Lenox’s dreams imprinting on them accidentally as they’d trample through the house enthralled by the vivid illusions of his fantasy worlds. Then it began intertwining into everyday life, emotional outbursts of temper alluding unsafe situations like fire or monsters that hid under the bed. Games became near impossible to differentiate between make believe and reality from the second he joined in.  

“You’re unsafe,” it’s a comment he’d gladly wear as a badge of honour once he’d matured. But to the little boy being dragged away from his foster family, betrayed by his caregivers and turned in for research, the words grazed his skin like stinging nettles.

The four plain walls of the room only further ignite an overly active imagination, a tool that was dangerous to have with a power like his own. The eleven years he spends there does the opposite of what society would have hoped, boredom allows for focus and practice, it sharpens his talents and he’s able to put them to good use. By the end of his stay the doctors had favoured him among the rest, because he wills it so. They go easy on him, carefully placed illusions write false notes on his reports. Detailed and intricate enough so that he doesn’t get caught out, handwriting remarkably identical to each nurse or scientist that take their turn testing on him. He starts to admire the way it feels, too chaotic to be part of society and embedded with more potential than anyone could have known.

It’s when that potential reaches a point where imagination can no longer be imprisoned by those four walls that he decided enough was enough. The process of discharging himself was a meticulous operation. Theatrically staged and miraculously timed with an annual cell collecting test. Before he can be sedated he’s enticed the nurses into an imaginary induced coma, deep enough into his intoxication that he can use the poisoned needle on them. The theater only has the two women on the floor when the doctor enters, sly projections manipulating each person he’d bumped into on his way to the exit into that same sleep, a psychedelic world of kaleidoscope landscapes and stained glass colours, once awakening they would never see this boy again.

“You’re unsafe,” the same words, just a different context. An ally ushers him to leave Oregon and head to Chicago. A place where policies were loosened and his own kind somewhat tolerated.

The new city put Lenox’s own fresh start in full swing.

Fragile reality was a vehicle for his reinvention, so easily malleable that to change it was simpler and more natural to him than breathing. He’s masterful in the way it’s applied, diminishing a past life of shame and grit in place of high strung worth and superiority. He’d created himself with utter royalty, his own nobility evident by the way in which he moved, regally eloquent and unmistakably celestial to anyone who crossed his path.

He builds his career on the sins he knows other’s desire. Selling crushed up aspirin as a party drug in the underbelly of the city’s night clubbing scene, using his power to make it seem as if it were the legitimate stuff and not something that cost him a couple bucks from the convenience store across the street. Lenox could make them see whatever he wanted, turn their evenings into a production of his own design and leave with none of the being any wiser. It’s how Benjamin Granger catches word of him, a supposed mutant that was living life as if he were a king. He’s the first person to ever acknowledge his capability, strikes him up an offer he couldn’t refuse. Drawn like a moth to a flame after the minor suggestion of power and the infatuation that he was finally wanted by someone and to belong to something.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Chance Matthews: He’s the face he can’t erase from his mind, the curve of his lips engraved in deep fixations when he couldn’t fall asleep on a Sunday night. Perhaps it’s the fact that he shouldn’t do it that makes it more enticing, a lust to ignite underlying passion to unearth exactly what they had both been burying.

Jordan Rojas: Jordan is somewhat of a curiosity for Lenox to unpick. A closed book that is intriguing because of their close association together. Always keen to show his worth, to prove himself to those around him, perhaps it’s a dangerous combination should Jordan utilise the other’s naivety in combination of his powers in the way that Benjamin does.

Jack Mizuno: He likes that he can get so deep into their head, that he can have full control of a world that wasn’t Jack’s domain. It’s all to do with power and annoyance, a deep craving to see exactly how far he can push people before they hit their breaking point. Even then, it’s fun to flip that breaking point into a place of pure bliss and drop it again just when his subject is at ease. He’s like a lab rat, someone he tries his tricks on before taking them to the main show.

EXTRA:  

https://stereotypicalcancerwrites.tumblr.com/tagged/ch:%20lenox%20syed

(tba, watch this space I legit SPAM my character tags hard)

Lenox spends a lot of his spare time writing and doodling. It’s all extremely sketchy, there’s never any sort of final draft. It helps his imagination, which is a much exercised tool in his life.

He is probably more invested in mental health than most. Meditation and yoga being a crucial part of his daily routine after a bowl full of sugar packed cereal.

He’s naive and eager to please anyone that might create a bond with him, he craves companionship after never really understanding it due to the absence of it in his life.

Lenox works as a part-time playwright, using his illusions to improve the production of his stories and only ever receiving the best reviews from critics.

He also works as a drug dealer, never selling legitimate stuff but using over the counter medicines with the combination of his powers to masquerade as the real stuff.

He has an unruly sweet tooth. He keeps lollipops in his back pocket and will order dessert off a menu at a restaurant instead of a main meal. His favourite thing on the planet is warm cookie dough and ice cream.

He listens exclusively to Grunge music. Celebrity Skin by Hole is his absolute jam and he only ever sings Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet is his go to karaoke song.

Lenox is openly proud of his sexuality as a homosexual, though he’ll flirt with anyone and anything for the fun of it.

He prefers tea over coffee.

He’s a bit of a poetry dork, he collects first edition poetry books and his most prized possession is a first edition of Howl and Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg.

He’s very judgemental of how others present themselves and will tell you if your new shirt is ugly.

Lenox lives in a small apartment, anyone that enters he’s carefully to make them see it as 3 times bigger than it actually is with far more light.

He has a fear of heights.  

ANYTHING ELSE: Did you have any questions or any changes you wanted to discuss with us beforehand?

Nope all good!!!