#I’m better of making a different thread comparing it to mm

[no1ryomafan]

I think one issue with me watching stuff lately is I’ve been tooo worried about how much time it takes to watch shit realizing it takes 20 minutes for most anime and recently I don’t wanna watch more then one episode even though that’ll make shows I watch take longer then they should but man I didn't think this would also apply to me rewatching something 💀 My brain does NOT have the attention to rewatch something only scenes unless I’m watching it with someone else fml

[lilycoving]

I also believe that we shouldn’t be thinking about these counterparts as different versions of ourselves. I’m only using the term ‘counterparts’ because I haven’t figured out any better way to say it. They’re just commonalities. Imagine finding someone who looks like you, and while talking to them, learn that they’ve worked in the same field as you, or maybe went to the same school, or have similar hobbies, or the same favorite movie. Would you start thinking that person is a version of you?

The building blocks of the multiverse fall into place in a way that makes similarities inevitable. There are infinite possibilities. Of course there will be people similar to you in an alarming amount of ways. This doesn’t mean that the other person is you, or someone you could have been. They have their own identity, of course. They’re a separate person living a separate life. There are just common threads linking you together, things to bond over, similar experiences to share and compare. The mold you fit into will not match any dimension other than yours. The pieces fit together in such a way that they can’t be swapped out for one another and still make sense. The structural integrity may not be compromised, but it would be weaker.

You are uniquely yourself, even if it seems like you aren’t, or even if it seems like you are. You are you. Special in your own right. Nobody could take your position. Nobody could fill your role.

Not that I think there are roles to begin with. Using myself and Team Magma as an example here, because that’s what I’m familiar with. Most might say I fit the role of ‘a Tabitha’ because that happens to be my name, I was an engineer for Devon, and I worked as part of Team Magma’s administrative force, but I also take on many qualities of some of the Maxies I’ve seen around. Likewise, not all of the Magma Leaders have the same goals or have suffered the same consequences. One in particular wants nothing to do with creating more landmass. Magma Leader (or any organization in general) doesn’t seem to mean much as a multiversal label to mark someone as ‘bad’ when you look at the diversity of it all. I’d say a good handful aren’t and never were terrorists. It’s hard to judge a group that use a specific label based only on the members that you personally know, mm?

At least, those are my basic thoughts on it all. I don’t believe there are ‘versions’ of me. I am myself, uniquely Tabitha.

[missannemakes]

The Ombré Project - 2025

What is the best ombré yarn out there?

That’s what I want to know. Red heart super saver ombré is my current favorite yarn of all time, but it’s not the best yarn. Red heart just isn’t. Is there a better one out there? That’s what I intend to discover.

So, let’s set some ground rules.

“Ombré” and “gradient” are interchangeable in this case. Technically, I’m sure they mean different things, but in this case we’re going to define both of them as long color changes from a light to dark in one shade. There’s one yarn that I do intend to test that I know has multiple colors in it, but it puts the word ombré on the ball band so it’s fair contest. (There’s also one from Michael’s that call itself a multi ombré that I will not be testing because that’s just variegated, not ombré. It’s a clear misnomer.)

I am only using pink yarn from each line that I test. I picked pink (even though purple is my favorite color) because pink seems really popular and I think I can get a pink yarn from each of the yarn lines that I’m testing.

The yarn has to claim that it is a worsted weight. I know there’s ombre gradient yarns out there that are a three-way or a two weight or a sock weight, but most of the time I use worsted weight yarn, and that’s what I like to crochet with.

I will make a granny square of some sort with each yarn. It doesn’t have to be the same pattern, but it should be with a size 8/H 5 mm hook, and it should end up as a square.

I will get one ball of the yarn, and I will crochet until that ball is all gone or until the square is big enough to be a baby blanket. I will at least try to get through one pass of the ombré from light to dark. (When I take notes on that yarn, I will make sure to include the yardage and how much of it I think I used.

I will judge the yarn based on several (pretty subjective and personal) factors:

How pretty is it?

How soft is it?

How good is the gradient/ombré?

How easy is it to work with?

How much yarn do you get?

How much does it cost?

How easy is it to get?

I’ve picked 12 yarns at this point that I’m going to test. If anybody has suggestions, please let me know. I will try to report in regularly.

Here is my current list (with links and some reasoning):

Red Heart Super Saver Ombre - Jazzy -> this one is kind of the baseline. It’s the one I’ve used the most. I know it’s got a good ombré on it.

Lily Sugar and Cream Ombres - Strawberry -> I know this one is cotton. I know this one is dishcloth cotton. It says ombré. It’s going in the competition. I don’t expect it to win.

Caron Jumbo Print Ombre Yarn - Blossom -> never tried this one. I don’t think it comes in too many colors. I’m also pretty sure I had to buy a two pack from Amazon, so it had better be good.

Red Heart Super Saver Super Craft Kit Gradients -> technically this one has four skeins of yarn in it and isn’t just one, but it says gradient and that means I should be able to get a smooth gradient from the light to the darkest if I use the four pinks. Also, it’s really cute and I like little tiny yarn balls.

Soft Classic Ombre Yarn by Loops and Threads Pink Ombre (michael’s) -> still working to get this one. It may be a little tricky to procure… it looks super pretty…

Premier Anti-pilling everyday worsted gradient - Pink tones -> this is the yarn that inspired me to try this in the first place. I do not yet have my hot little hands on any of it, but the moment I heard of it, I went on the premier website and bought one of each of most of the colors. I will be getting enough to make a full Rainbow something; I am only judging the pink for this particular project.

Premier Just Yarn Worsted Value Ombré -> this one looks like it’s trying to be red heart super saver, so we will be definitely comparing the two side-by-side. I haven’t ordered this one yet…

Big Twist Yarn Pink Ombre (Joann’s) -> got some of this over the summer. This one is the reason for the granny squares not all having to be the same, because I had already gotten quite far into my skin of this with a shell blanket, and I don't feel like pulling it all back to do a regular granny square.

Lion Brand Mandala Gradient - Hot Pink -> from what I’ve seen this one and the premier anti-pilling one came out fairly close together, so I’m not sure who’s competing with whom. I will say I have heard not great things about this one from online reviewers.

Lion Brand Yarn (1 Skein) Lion Brand Yarn ice Cream Baby Yarn, Strawberry -> doesn't say ombré, but it sure looks pretty and I want it. This might also be a three-weight instead of a four weight, but again it's pretty and I want it.

Lion Brand Yarn Mandala Ombré Yarn with Vibrant Colors, Soft Yarn for Crocheting and Knitting, Pure, 1-Pack -> this is the one with more than one color. It is pink and blue and possibly white. Like I said, it says ombré in the name so it’s fair game for the competition. It will be losing points if it is not ombré.

Caron Cloud Cakes Perfect Phasing - Rhubarb -> somehow I get the feeling that this one is going to be thicker than a worsted weight. I was reluctant to put it on here, but it is really super pretty. We will see.

Are there any that I have forgotten? Are there any that people would like to see me test? Otherwise, I will report back with my first couple posts about this in a few days.

[fan-written]

Maribat Tropes ch 5

First, Previous, Next

So somehow some TimKon flirting happened to show up, just to warn you. Otherwise I don’t think there’s anything to warn you about. This is a pretty tame chapter compared to the next one!

---

"Please, like you understood that much more than me," Allen said while he elbowed her in the side. They walked out of the theater, arm in arm, behind the rest of the class. The play had just finished and Marinette couldn't be happier for the day to finally be over.

The remainder of the tour had passed quickly, but she felt on edge during it. In fact her Bug sense was still tingling, as if someone was watching her even now.

"I'll have you know, I did." She sniffed haughtily at him and poked his side in retaliation. Then she grinned slyly, "I read the spark notes in French before we came."

Allen gasped in mock offense. "For shame," he exclaimed. "I can't believe you didn't tell me so we could read them together!

"And give up my advantage? Please!" Marinette grinned at Allen's scowl. He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by a shout.

"Nightwing!" Alya pointed at the glimpse of blue swinging overhead.

Marinette watched in awe when the vigilante flipped four times before landing on the opposite roof. "I wish he could teach me that," she whispered to Allen. He could only nod in agreement.

Madame Bustier urged the class to keep moving and Marinette realized that they had all stopped to watch the foreign hero. She followed, but internally scolded herself. That wasn't safe. It was dark out, not too late, but she knew that the Gotham villains would be more active now. They had to get back to the hotel quickly if they wanted to continue being safe.

"You know I met him once?" And there was Lila, unable to think of the ramifications of her words. What if a Rogue overheard? "It was at one of the charity gatherings, and only for a second. We were both there for the children after all."

Marinette sighed, but did feel some relief that she wasn't spouting off claims of helping the vigilante. Those kinds of lies would get them killed in Gotham.

Lila still lied with every breath, but they had become smaller. Smarter. No more saving cats or far away visits with princes after her mother settled into life in Paris. No more personally knowing celebrities. Instead she chose things that could be backed with skim of the fist page of search results. A charity visit here, small name drops there. Nothing that could fully be proven by deeper research, but could almost be backed with actual events at first glance. And she was still modeling which meant she actually was meeting some famous individuals now.

"That's amazing, Lila. What was he like? I'm sure he's better than our heroes." Alya frowned at the thought of the Parisian team but quickly turned back to her friend. Marinette knew she probably shouldn't listen in on their conversation, but she couldn't help it. There was a morbid curiosity that came with the hurt of her ex-friends' words about her alter-ego.

"He was kind. A little bit of a flirt, and definitely handsome," Lila rattled off a few attributes that Marinette knew she had found online. She'd read that exact phrase on a comment in a Nightwing fan page she had found when doing research on Gotham's protectors.

"Lucky!" Rose squeaked out on the other side of her. "I am so glad to hear he was at a charity too. Heroes always bring more attention to those in need when they go to the events."

Marinette's hand twitched on Allen's arm, all she would show of her flinch. A warm hand covered hers and she jerked her head up from where she was staring at the ground. Allen smiled softly at her and patted her hand twice before pulling her the last few yards to the bus.

She knew Rose hadn't meant any harm, but Ladybug hadn't had the chance to go to any events in the last year and she knew all of the news outlets had taken notice of it. For Alya it had become just another thing to criticize her for. She could almost hear what Alya would say next.

"Right? If only our heroes would follow their example." Marinette thought it was only a good thing Alya was predictable by now. "I mean, I was researching the vigilantes here and did you know Robin is very active in the fight against animal cruelty? He vocally and financially supports like, ten different animal rights groups, and he's been photographed in the hottest vegetarian restaurant multiple times. He's done so much and he has so many villains to fight. It's impressive how well he can manage his time, unlike some heroes."

"There there," Lila patted her arm in sympathy. "We all know that the Miraculous team has, oh what the word, become subpar since the team changed, but we can't blame Ladybug. She must have a lot going on in her personal life to think all her changes were good." Lila gave Alya the most fake smile of comfort before she climbed onto the bus. Alya continued speaking as she followed her up.

"True, but she could at least spend more time talking to the public. She's left most of that up to that Chat Noir wannabe and he's been terrible at public relations."

Allen snorted next to her while they waited for their turn. Felix had taken over their public relations, but it was only bad journalists and trashy tabloids that had a poor opinion on him. Marinette was just waiting for the day when Alya realized what that meant about her blog. The professional publications all had positive things to say about the teams professionalism and synergy.

Marinette grinned and looked up at him through her bangs. When it was her turn she led them to their seats and waited for Mm. Bustier to join them. Shockingly her teacher actually took count of the students before leaving, but Marinette figured it was because it was nighttime. She would be surprised if it happened in the morning for their trip to the museum.

"Alright kids! Let's head back to the hotel. It's too late to stop anywhere tonight, so if you are hungry please order delivery when we get back. I would like you to stay off the streets as often as possible when it's dark please." Bustier smiled sweetly at the class before nodding at the driver. Marinette slouched in her seat, relieved that she could crash once she got to her room.

---

Conner Kent, currently known as Superboy, was definitely not listening in on their conversation. Nor was he following them from the rooftops with Red Robin at his side.

No, that was Robin and Nightwing.

Instead, Superboy was doing something that was probably illegal if anyone found out. While the majority of the class was at the play he was tasked with using his x-ray vision to scan each of their belongings. Particularly those of Ms. Dupain-Cheng.

Red Robin was next to him, keeping a list of suspicious items while he rattled off what he found. Surprisingly they'd found a few. One girl, Alix, had a rather large amount of spray paint accumulated. RR decided to keep an eye out for any new tags that showed up in the next two days until the class left for Metropolis. He said she was SB's problem after that.

Lila Rossi had two extra phones that hadn't shown up on any reports which automatically placed her higher on their person of interest list. Especially after her meeting with Dick. She had painted an interesting picture about Dupain-Cheng, one that seemed to be false. Well, mostly false.

He did feel bad for the Agreste kid. His room held nothing but expensive clothes with uncomfortable collars.

Red Robin had felt certain they'd find something incriminating on Dupain-Cheng, but the only interesting thing was a sewing kit that held more jewelry than sewing supplies. She did have a second one stuffed to the gills with needles and threads that they both assumed the first must be costume jewelry. They had overheard her talking about her themed outfits so it wasn't that much of a stretch.

"Nightwing just said they are on their way back," RR said while he finished the last of the list. "They're going to split from the bus about a block away. Oracle wants them to check out a warehouse in Crime Ally. I think we can stay until they go to bed, then we'll join them. I doubt we will overhear much tonight."

Superboy nodded and turned to watch the bus as it made its way back. Traffic wasn't too bad tonight, but he did know Two-Face had just escaped out of Arkham. 

"So," he began, elbowing his boyfriend in the side, "Are you excited to see her outfit? She did say it was modeled after you?" He grinned, enjoying the blush that overcame his cheeks.

"Shut up." Red Robin shoved his arm away, knowing the super could keep it there if he really wanted to. "The coms are still on. And besides, she made one for you too."

Superboy chuckled and waved the comment away. He'd seen the shape of the outfit in his scan of her room but really did want it to be a surprise. It wasn't often he got his own themed outfit over his dad's. "She did, but she's not wearing it tonight. She's wearing yours."

"It's just like any other form of hero worship. The fact that it was set in my theme means nothing. Red and black compliment each other in many designs and this one is no different." He scowled, but refused to look at him.

Superboy knew he was flattered though. It wasn't often someone picked him over his brothers, even if she had worn something for Red Hood earlier. Robin was the usual fan favorite, right next to Nightwing, if only because the mantle had been around for so long.

"I bet she's cute though." He smirked at the betrayed look RR gave him. "She's wearing my boyfriend's colors. That would make anyone more attractive." He winked and RR glowered. Superboy knew it was fake though because his lips were twitching while he held in a smile.

"You just like her eyes." Red Robin said with a huff. "You're a sucker for blue eyes and you know it."

He shot an arm out faster than light and wrapped it around Tim. They probably shouldn't be flirting so blatantly on a stakeout, but their targets wouldn't be here for at least five minutes. Besides, he knew Tim had turned off his mic after he first brought up the dress.

"I might be, but I only have eyes for these ones." He tapped the edge of Red Robin's mask and leaned in for a kiss. His boyfriend grunted and tried to pout but Superboy knew it was all pretend. The smile against his lips gave him away.

They continued kissing until Superboy heard Robin's voice through the earpiece in Red's ear. By the time they caught their breath the bus had pulled up and all of the students had unloaded.

Red Robin had blushed at the skater dress Dupain-Cheng had worn. The colors may have been inverted, but the inspiration was easy to find. Superboy had even noted the small RR charm hanging off of her necklace that they both knew wasn't official merch. Neither could deny she was a talented designer. They also couldn't argue that she was cute, dressed in red and black. Confident even.

They both listened to the quick report given by Nightwing about the conversation on the city's heroes, but they hadn't learned anything that they didn't already know. The comment the Ladyblogger had said about the bad publicist made Red Robin chuckle. It wasn't the hero's jobs to give her interviews. She only showed her age and inexperience when she complained about them.

Finally the class split ways and Superboy and Red Robin settled in to eavesdrop.

"Did you see the way Marinette was laughing at me? I can't believe I once thought she was helping me with my blog." It was the Ladyblogger, though neither of them were sure why she kept the name. All of her posts in the last year always included something critical about Ladybug and her team. "That was before I knew what a terrible person Ladybug was. I'm still so sorry you ever thought she was your friend, Lila. She's a manipulative liar who didn't even have the decency to respond to your emails. For her to just ghost you like that is just plain rude. I wish we could trade heroes. Or just get new ones. Maybe then Hawkmoth would be caught by now."

Red Robin couldn't see, but Superboy watched as the other girl in the room nodded absently. She was checking one of the hidden phones and frowned at whatever news she had received.

"Hey," SB whispered, "see if you can figure out the phone numbers in use within the hotel. We might be able to track down where those phones came from." Red nodded and sent a message off to Oracle. If they couldn't do it now, they'd have to try again tomorrow. Maybe they could tell through international calls made within this cell tower radius and work from there.

Cesaire continued complaining about Ladybug and both Red Robin and Superboy took notice of the stalker-like behavior she was exhibiting. The sheer number of emails she had sent raised the first red flag, and the talk of Ladybug owing her raised another. What happened between them that made the girl think she deserved interviews and personal details?

She continued talking, but they tried to ignore it for their main mark. Dupain-Cheng had said goodnight to her friend and had gone straight to her room. Superboy noted how she had set her purse carefully on her side table, open, but nothing else was odd about her night time ritual. He thought for a second there was the shape of two bug like things inside, but it was only a handful of treats she kept inside. Dupain-Cheng fell asleep quickly after that so the two sat until Rossi also went to bed.

"She doesn't seem like she would be helping a supervillain, but we know looks can be deceiving, " Superboy said on their way to that warehouse. He could make out Oracles commands to Red Robin over the sound of the grappling hook. Robin and Nightwing had found a group of Two-Face's men and needed backup in a fight.

"True. But I would have expected some kind of rant or phone call tonight if she was working with Hawkmoth. Gigantitan has been beaten 8 times in the last year. Any unfortunate subordinate would be fed up with their boss by now. The fact that none of that happened means she's either smarter than we thought, or she's not a villain. I would lean towards the latter if she hadn't disappeared earlier. We don't know how she did that and that sort of threat can't go unchecked."

Superboy nodded, not willing to say anything more right now. He landed silently next to Robin who grunted out a "Finally". Conner knew the younger boy preferred his little brother, but it was his turn to use the name. Honestly Conner knew should just pick his own name and move on like Tim had, but he and Jon had grown closer while purposely causing media controversy, much to Lois' ire. Maybe once Jon was ready to join Teen Titans with Damian.

Red Robin jumped down next to him and nodded at Nightwing. "Ready when you are. Oracle already uploaded the blueprints."

"Good." Nightwing shot his grappling gun but paused to grin wickedly at Red Robin. "Then you can report on why this girl has a dress based on you."

---

Next

---

Tag list:

 @ladybug-182 @theymakeupfairies @violetfandomaddict @ultimatetornshipper @prudencerika @heckofhell @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @charming-mage @just-an-observer-ignore-me @i-need-blog-ideas @mewwitch @user00000003 @nathleigh @goblinwhoships @indecisive-mess-named-me @fantasyloversblog @hetalia-lover-is-here @stackofrandomstuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @miraculouspenta @megaafangirl @maskedpainter @moonlitceleste @dast218 @we-want-mini-mini @mcheang @keepingupwiththemalfoys  @lil-1254s-blog @crazylittlemunchkin @coolspidermanmusicflower @verraa  @killer-frost-ladybug @justafanwarrior @fidget-eep @ranger-gothamite @thatonecroc @buginetye @abrx2002 @fusser90 @woe-is-me0 @dreamykitty25 @flowergirll @roguishredaxion @flufflepuffle296 @whitetiger1249 @remy-289 @acegirlsjustwannahavefun @meme991001 @ichigorose @rosesandsailboats @t1dwarrior-of-earth @bigpicklebananatree @vroomtaka @jaggedheart11 @vixen-uchiha @lady-bee-fechin @prudencerika @jjmjjktth @reversing-the-clock @s-and-n @nnon-it-up @softlysobbingpostendgame @silvergold-swirl @mica-aa @deathwishy  @better-toast @sassy-space-cadet @ladiiwhisper @255940g @trippingovermyfeet @stainedglassm @bluesimani @walkingthroughonautopilot @charme-de-malchan @roseisred @jamcat-22 @demonicbusiness @suddenly-i-kin-oikawa @adrestar @im-da-bronx @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere @miraculouslydumb  @a4-machete

Again, I’m sorry if your tag didn’t work! Unfortunately I’m closing the tag list now. It’s starting to take my attention away from the actual story writing and I really don’t want to start avoiding this fic because of it. Thank you all for the support though! I really appreciate it!!

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 12~

Chapter 11

*

*

*

------Part 1------

Kurama: "You're the silversmith, right? Come on, work for me."

Old man: "Wh-Who....Who are you?!!?!!?!"

A small old man, who had been sitting alone at the hearth, looked up at Kurama with his soulless eyes.

Kurama: "Don't answer my question with a question, you fool."

(Oh god! He is going to kill the old man!)

Old man: "Uwaa...."

I quickly intervene between Kurama and the old man, who is frightened by the look in his eyes that he is about to shoot him.

Yoshino: "Sorry for that! We were introduced to you by Sueharu-san. Are you Heikichiro-san?"

Heikichiro: "I'm Heikichiro, but....I don't know anyone who goes by the name Sueharu."

Kurama: "Do you know Kichiji Kaneuri?"

Heikichiro: "....! You mean that big merchant....! So you're the one who wanted to pay for my works..."

Sighing, the old man turns to Kurama.

Heikichiro: "Then you must have already known about me. I won't be taking on any more orders. Sorry for the trouble, but my reply is the same. I would like to ask you to leave."

Kurama: "Do you wanna die?"

Heikichiro(scared): "......Nn.."

Yoshino: "Kurama!!"

Heikichiro-san shivered, but barely withstood the glare of Kurama's eyes.

(But Kurama won't be happy until he gets what he wants.)

(I have to talk to Heikichiro-san somehow.)

Yoshino: "We were wondering if you could tell us why? We heard that Heikichiro-san is a very skilled craftsman. It's strange that someone like that doesn't get any work at all...."

After a moment of silence, Heikichiro-san opens his mouth.

Heikichiro: "It's a stubborn old man's decision. It's just that I'm tired. No matter how much care you put into your designs, the customer only sees the value of the silver. ‘We'll give you more money and next time you'll make something that looks more expensive’ is what they say...it is a pity that the work is kept in hand only for the sake of self-aggrandizement."

(I didn't know that was possible...I guess that's the trouble with making expensive goods.)

Kurama: "I don't know what you mean, but there's no pity or happiness in what's been made."

Heikichiro: "....I don't think you and I are on the same page."

(Oh no, it's getting worse!)

Heikichiro: "If you don't care and just want to get paid, you might as well quit your job."

Yoshino: "Um...I'm a pharmacist, so my job is completely different, but I do understand a little bit of what you're saying..."

Heikichiro: "......."

Kurama looks down at me with his arms folded in silence as if he has decided to remain quiet for a while.

Yoshino: "I have been advised to give priority to the well-off over the poor. We can charge the rich more for our medicines. That's what we should do if we want to be efficient as a business."

Heikichiro: "....Then what happened?"

Yoshino: "I couldn't do it. I think it's one way to divide up the work....I became a pharmacist not just to make money, but to help others who are hurting. I felt that if I forgot that, I would lose sight of my purpose and I would change."

(I knew there was an easier way. But still...)

Yoshino: "----I wanted to be a pharmacist who was proud of who he was."

There was a small silence in the hut as a quiet voice told them.

Kurama: "......................."

Heikichiro: "-----I see."

After a moment, I sigh and look straight into Heikichiro-san's eyes.

Yoshino: "If you feel that Heikichiro-san is not able to produce his work with the same attention to detail....Surely now is not the right time to make one."

Kurama: "Hey you, didn't you come here to persuade him?"

-------Part 2------

Kurama: "Hey you, didn't you come here to persuade him?"

(That's true, but....)

I was troubled when I compared the faces of Kurama and Heikichiro-san.

(I think it takes a lot of determination to not shake your head even with the weight of Kurama on your shoulders.)

(After all, I don't think he can make something good if he's forced to make it.)

Yoshino: "We won't force you to do it. But it's shame we won't be able to see the work that's been done with such care. Can you show us any of your past work if you have it?"

Heikichiro: "........ Yeah, of course."

Heikichiro-san heads for a shelf in the corner of the room, showing some hesitation.

Then, from the back of the room, he took out a few items that were carefully inserted in a paulownia box..."

Kurama: ".....!!"

Kurama's eyes widened slightly as the items were carefully wiped down with a cloth.

Yoshino: "Wow, it's really beautiful.... I've never seen anything so finely woven."

(....Kurama is also watching them very intently.)

After a few moments, his mouth quietly opened.

Kurama: "----It's brilliant glow. Does it change its appearance according to the type, intensity, and angle of light?"

Heikichiro: "! That's right. It's made with an unusual process."

Kurama: "I don't care about the process."

Heikichiro: "Mm.."

Yoshino: "Ku-Kurama!"

Kurama's attention was caught by an involuntary interruption.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. I asked him for more details...

2. The process is important...

3. Not in that way...(+4/+4)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: "That's no way to talk about work that someone's taken seriously."

Kurama: "What a strange woman you are to lecture me."

Kurama's fingers glided softly over the silversmith's work as he answered in a cumbersome tone.

Kurama: "You don't need to know the process, you just need to see the finished product. It's unique."

Heikichiro: "....!"

I heard Heikichiro-san gasp at the quiet tone of voice and the heat in his eyes.

(Ah! Kurama is acknowledging a human!)

Kurama: "But, it's not enough."

His red eyes, which absorb the glitter of the silversmith's work and take on a strange light, look at Heikichiro-san.

Kurama: "What I want from you is a light I've never seen before. A light that delights my eyes. If you have hands, you can work. Forget about all the nonsense you've been hearing and do what you’re good at."

Heikichiro: "I...I've never had anyone order me around like that before..."

(That was my first impression too....)

Heikichiro-san murmurs in confusion.

Heikichiro: "But strangely enough, I can't smell any falsehood from you. He seems to have the most arrogant attitude in the world, ....yet his fingertips are so gentle on the silverwork."

Kurama: "I value what I find valuable."

As Kurama stepped closer, Heikichiro-san stepped back as if under pressure.

Kurama: "I've heard that you can't make something good if you force it. Then answer me, silversmith."

---------Part 3----------

Kurama: "I've heard that you can't make something good if you force it. Then answer me, silversmith. What do I need to do to make these hands work? A golden workbench, a silk robe, or even....I will arrange the heads of those who have defiled your work in a circle around this house.”

(....He’s not threatening. But he’s serious.)

Heikichiro-san’s face turns pale as if he sensed the presence of an inhuman being.

(That look on his face, he’s not just scared.)

(....Because of how much Kurama really approves his work.)

Heikichiro-san, who had been gazing at Kurama in fascination, muttered to himself.

Heikichiro: “Who...are you?”

Kurama: “Kurama. That’s all you need to know.”

After a moment of silence, Heikichiro-san let out a long breath as if he had made up his mind.

Heikichiro: “....If I could have some time. I’m sure you’ll get what you want. I’d like you to pay for it at that time.”

( Heikichiro-san!!)

Kurama: “All right. But if you can’t make me something I like, I’ll cut your head off. Be prepared.”

Yoshino; “I told you to not threaten people. Sorry for that, Heikichiro-san. I’ll be cheering you on from the shadows....”

Heikichiro: “Thank you very much. I’m a bit confused myself, but I’ll do my best.”

Kurama: “I was telling the truth, not threatening.”

Heikichiro: “Hahahaha. I hope so...”

(It’s okay, Heikichiro-san...)

But despite the cold sweat on his face, Heikichiro-san had a smile on his lips.

.......................

Yoshino: “At any rate, I’m glad he took our order.”

Kurama: “I had intended to make him accepted by any means necessary, but you have done better than I expected.”

(Kurama, looks like he’s in a good mood.)

As night falls, we walk down the corridor back to the Rebel house.

(I’m also looking forward to the completion of  Heikichiro-san ‘s work.)

Above all, Heikichiro-san, who had stopped being a silversmith through sad resignation.

I’m excited by the fact that he can rekindle his passion.

(But that’s not all. Why am I so happy now?)

I glanced at the profile of Kurama as we walked side by side, and our eyes met as if he had sensed it.

Kurama: “What’s with that loose face?”

Yoshino(blushing): “Hm?”

(Oh dear. Did I make too many expressions?)

Yoshino(blushing): “Nothing!!”

I was still wondering where the thread of my broken thought was going, but I couldn’t put it into words so I faked it.

Kurama: “-----Well, I’m feeling so good today that I’m willing to overlook your little feelings. Your room is here.”

Yoshino(blushing): “Mm, yes.”

(Really, we were there before you knew it.)

Stopping in front of the room that was assigned to me, Kurama casually opens the sliding door.

Then, with his other hand, he easily pulled me to him and pushed me easily into the room.

(Eh?.... Hey!!)

Kurama came in after me and closed the doors behind him.

Yoshino(blushing): “Why are you coming in.....?”

Kurama: “Did you forget? I told you, I’d reward you. After you helped me, we’ll continue what we did yesterday.”

---------Part 4-------

Kurama: “After you helped me, we’ll continue what we did yesterday.”

Yoshino(blushing): “Ah.......”

(I totally forgot about that!)

The memory of being touched so badly comes back to me and my skin feels hot.

In a darkened room, Kurama stared at me.

Yoshino(blushing): “No, no,. Just getting out there is reward enough!”

Kurama(evil smile): “Don’t be shy. I’ll give you as much as you want.”

Kurama laughed like a ferocious beast when he saw me backing away.

Kurama: “There’s something more intriguing when I see you running away. Don’t move!”

(.....Ehhh)

Suddenly, Kurama’s eyes clashed with a mysterious light.

The words sink into my body as if they had mass.

(I can’t move!?)

Yoshino: “What are you doing....!!?”

Kurama: “It’s just a 'Kotodama’. Just the rudiments of spell application. Yoshitsune would be able to disarm this level on his own, but I doubt that you can.”

(You mean you’re using your curse power. If that’s the case, I’ll use the power of the nine-tail fox to....!)

The moment I focus my attention.

Yoshino: “Ah....”

Kurama suddenly touches the nape of my neck.

Kurama: “What’s the matter, Yoshino?”

Slowly, but with a clear intention, his fingertips traced the lines of my body.

Kurama: “You can’t handle the power of the spell in a human capacity. Didn’t Tamamo teach you that much?”

Yoshino: “If you know, then stop that hand!!!”

Kurama: “WHy should I follow your orders?”

Yoshino(blushing): “Haaa....Mmm....”

----The earlobe has been bitten so that the core of the head is debauched.

(Mm....I can’t move, so I can’t escape the stimulus.)

Yoshino(blushing): “Ahh...this is...cowardly...”

Kurama:” I don’t think it’s cowardly to use the powers available to you, but you’re right...it’s not fun. ‘You’re allowed to move.”

(........!)

As soon as I felt my body lighten up, I recoiled and fell off my feet.

Kurama: “I’ve given you permission but you still can’t move a muscle.”

Kurama laughs deep in his throat as he supports my body with one hand without difficulty.

A sweet sensation crawls up my spine as my hips are traced.

Yoshino(blushing): “Mmm....Let...go....”

Kurama: “Fine.”

(Yikes!!)

My body loses support and falls down.

Before I could stand up again, Kurama covered me.

Kurama: “I lifted the spell because it’s more amusing to hunt you down and see you struggle.”

Yoshino(blushing): “W-Wait...”

(This is absolutely outrageous!)

I resisted and pushed back his chest.

Yoshino(blushing): “It’s a reward, isn’t it? For me? If that’s the case, I don’t think it’s right to push me to do anything.”

Kurama: “...Really? I had forgotten such trifles as I watched you writhe in your misery.”

(How arrogant!)

Yoshino: “If it’s a reward, why don’t you do me a favor once in a while?”

Kurama: “...Try me.”

(Let me see....)

Yoshino: “Let’s talk! Yes, let’s talk!”

Kurama: “Talk? Right now?”

Yoshino: “Yes, but not like this....properly, like two individuals.”

I was pushed down, and somehow my words spun out of control.

(I don’t know what I’m saying about talking in this situation.)

Kurama: “What is it? Is there something on your mind?”

-------Part 5-------

Kurama: “What is it? Is there something on your mind?”

Yoshino: “Mm?”

(Ah, you’re ready to listen to me?)

I was about to ask Kurama to move out of the way when he dutifully stopped.

Kurama: “If not, I’ll do what I want.”

Yoshino: “Yes! Yes!!”

(Something. Think of something...)

As I struggled to get my head around it, I suddenly understood a question that had been nagging at me.

Yoshino: “Today was the first time I thought I saw Kurama speaking to a human normally.”

Kurama: “So? What about it?”

Yoshino: “For Kurama, strength is the only thing that counts. Isn’t that right?”

Kurama: “Of course.”

Yoshino: “But today Kurama acknowledged Heikichiro-san and treated him as a silversmith. That’s what I was wondering.”

Kurama: “He’s a man who works for me. That’s what makes him different from the rest of the mediocre ants.”

Yoshino: “....that's it?”

(I wondered if Kurama had any other criteria for recognizing human beings other than strength and weakness.)

(What is it that makes me wish that?)

(Heikichiro-san was so happy to be recognized by Kurama....)

Kurama: “What are you trying to say?”

Yoshino: “Humans are really just weak creatures to Kurama, right?”

Kurama: “They’re weak and inexplicable.”

Kurama, his eyebrows raised slightly, answered my question without pause.

Kurama: “He has a gift of having hands that make things shine, but he throws them away and laments in vain. And then for reasons unknown to me, he suddenly becomes motivated.”

Yoshino: “You mean Heikichiro-san, right?”

Kurama: “When I think of it, not only the silversmith, but all the soldiers are creatures of contradiction. One minute they’re getting along with each other and the next moment they’re killing each other. After killing, they cry over the fact that they just killed their friend. Even Yoshitsune. He risked his life for the mere sentimentality of the master-servant bond, and was driven by the unseen love and hate to his brother.”

(A lot of contradictions? That’s for sure.)

Yoshino: “But I’m sure that’s the strength of a person.”

Kurama: “What?”

Yoshino: “I think we’re all contradictory, we’re all lost, we’re all suffering, but we’re moving on.”

Kurama: “It is the work of a fool to take a long way round to reach his destination.”

Yoshino: “Instead of having wings that can fly you to your destination like Kurama, or the power to kill an enemy with a single blow. Humans value their beliefs and the bonds they have with those around them.”

(Even Kurama is really....)

Yoshino: “Isn’t that why you didn’t take Yoshitsune’s life right away, because you knew that? Because if he really wanted his soul, Kurama could have taken it without question.”

Kurama: “I don’t get it. I don’t understand you.”

Yoshino: “I want to understand Kurama.”

My heart trembles at the danger of the answer that slipped out of my mouth.

(Not as enemies, nor as a demon...)

(It would be nice if Kurama and I could talk to each other as just beings. I think so, but....)

It clearly crossed the line of being a prisoner.

Kurama: “................” 

There is a distinct irritation in Kurama’s eyes as he looks down at me.

(Ah)

Kurama: “Shut up now.”

A hand was placed on my neck, followed by a cold glare.

Kurama: “I must have been mistaken in thinking you were in any way interesting.”

(Even though he didn’t use Kotodama.)

(I can’t move.)

No matter how close I feel to him, I’m sure I’ll never get used to the intimidation that Kurama gives off.

I knew it in my bones.

Kurama: “Understanding is an emotion that does not contribute strength. Will you still be able to think like that when you’re overtaken?”

Chapter 13

[exhaustedfander]

Okay uhhh I‘m not good at giving requests. How about prinxiety and them seeing each other again after a long time! Or sth like that.😅

I had three sperate ideas for this one, but this is the one I settled on. Here’s a fluffy little human au. I’d love to hear what you think! 

a03 link

materpost link

word count: 1,638

The Best Gift

Virgil rocks on his heels, glancing at his phone. According to Roman’s text, his plane landed about fifteen minutes ago. He’d be outside to greet him any moment now, and that in itself fills Virgil with more joy than he’d felt in a while.

Roman does what he could to avoid performing in shows too far away from home. He’s always scouring for gigs in the area, or at least not too terribly far away, not exactly eager to spend long periods away from his emo nightmare. However, sometimes there are roles that Roman can’t shy away from, as much as he hates the idea of leaving Virgil, and this had been one of those times.

It isn’t as though Virgil doesn’t understand; dating a traveling actor, his boyfriend actually traveling, sometimes, isn’t something that can really come from a surprise. More than that, Virgil’s incredibly supportive of his partner. Roman’s a hell of an actor and he knows it. He deserves to grace every stage that will have him, larger ones, especially. But that doesn’t make the time apart any less difficult.

Sure, they call each other a ton, Roman insists on Facetiming nightly, and they keep in touch as best they can. But it’s never any easier, facing that empty bed at the end of the day. It can be a lot to handle, realizing audiences of strangers are being graced with Roman’s presence while Virgil is home alone eating Ramen Noodles and sulking.

It’s not as though Roman is Virgil’s entire world – he’s damn close, though. Virgil has friends he loves spending time with. He works as a freelance artist, so holing himself up at home is usually more fun than depressing, painting all day long. But god, he misses Roman when he’s away. Maybe more than he’s willing to admit, sometimes.

Three months has got to be the longest they’ve spent apart since they’ve been dating, at least as far as Virgil can remember. The gig was a role of a lifetime, Roman would’ve had to be sufficiently stupid not to take it, but it wasn’t easy on the couple. Virgil flew up to see one of Roman’s shows, and that was great, but it made going back home all the more challenging. Roman’s been gone so long, Virgil’s aching to see him, and any minute now, he’s gonna get to.

Virgil can certainly think of worse ways to spend a birthday.

“Virgil?” Virgil swivels around, grinning ear-to-ear when he sees Roman walking his way, suitcase in tow. Virgil practically sprints toward him, immediately pulled into a firm embrace the moment they make contact.

“My love, my angel, mi amour,” Roman drawls, dramatic as ever but Virgil can’t find it in himself to be irritated with him, “I missed you!” Roman gets on his tiptoes (Virgil would be lying if he said he hadn’t always found their height difference adorable) pressing their lips together soundly. If they weren’t in public, Virgil would want nothing more than to keep kissing Roman for eternity, but alas.

“I missed you too, dork,” Virgil says with an unshakable grin as they pull apart, though his hand quickly finds Roman’s free-one as they walk towards the taxis, the sound of Roman’s luggage wheeling behind them. “How’s the jet lag?”

“Absolutely abysmal,” Roman declares, and Virgil’s fairly sure he’s being a little dramatic, if such a thing is even possible, “Can we have a quiet day at home? I want nothing more than to lay on the couch with you and watch Disney movies, and continue to declare my undying love for you.” Virgil snorts.

“Aw, you poor baby,” he says, only half-sarcastically, “Sure, babe. Whatever you want. Sound good to me.”

The two talk of their missed time together in the cab, Virgil telling him of some of the new pieces he’s been working on and Roman filling him in on how the play went.

“That’s the last far-away show I do for a while,” Roman says once they’ve arrived home, flopping down on the couch, “God, it’s good to be home with you.”

“That’d be nice,” Virgil admits, sitting beside Roman, which quickly turns to settling into his lap, Roman’s fingers threaded in his hair, “Not – not that you can’t do shows wherever. I get it.”

“Hey, I mean it,” Roman says, voice edging on seriousness, “I’ve missed you terribly. I’ve missed us. I loved doing the show, and I met some very wonderful people, but very little compares to you, my love.” Virgil laughs lightly as Roman presses a kiss to his lips, firm and overwhelmingly loving.

“Jesus, you’ve managed to get even sappier than usual.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, darling,” Roman says, “And, also, shut up! You love it.” Virgil glares playfully at his boyfriend.

“And what if I do?”

“And you looove me,” Roman says, drawling out the ‘o’ as far as it’ll stretch. Virgil rolls his eyes, but his expression betrays nothing but fondness. “Yeah, I do. I really fucking love you, Ro.”

“More than angsty emo bands?”

“Well… let’s not go that far.” Roman squawks in offense.

“You wound me!” Virgil laughs again, the sound far more content than he’s felt in the last few months, his arms winding around his boyfriend so that he’s lying against his chest.

“I’m teasing and you know it,” Virgil says, kissing Roman once more as if to further his point, or maybe just because he’s really missed kissing him, “I missed you like crazy.”

“One of my co-stars flirted with me; would you believe that?” Virgil hums in place of a response, lost in the feeling of embracing Roman against for the first time in what feels like forever. “I have you as my lock screen, and I talk of you constantly. Also, where in the world did she get the impression I had the slightest interest in women?!” Virgil snorts at that.

“Must’ve been an off-day for her if she was delusional enough to think you were straight, or bi, or anything that isn’t insanely gay.”

“I know, right!”

Virgil’s missed this so much. Their playful back-and-forth, innocuous teasing, cuddling on the couch and basking in each other's company. As far as he’s concerned, he’d like to keep holding onto Roman like this and never, ever let him go. Virgil can’t recall when he’d become such a fucking sap, but there’s no changing it now. He’s just gonna have to live with it, and he really doesn’t mind the thought of that.

They watch Disney movies as discussed, Virgil critiquing and pointing out plot-holes all the while (Virgil, everyone knows Beauty and the Beast is a little problematic, and frankly, I don’t want to hear it!) He can tell the long flight really wore Roman out, so he decides not to comment about the fact that it’s his birthday, instead putting all of his focus on being together again.

That is until Virgil comes out of the bathroom some hours later, having just gotten ready for bed, and finding Roman sitting on their bed with a sullen expression.

“Whoa, hey, Roman, what’s the matter?” He asks, quickly sitting beside his partner.

“I’m a terrible boyfriend.” Virgil blinks. What the fuck?

“What? No, you’re not. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your birthday,” Roman supplies, sounding gut-wrenchingly guilty, “I forgot your birthday!”

Oh. Virgil had kinda forgotten himself, too caught up in having Roman by his side once more. He glances at the clock.

“It’s not midnight yet,” he says, “You didn’t forget. Just remembered a little late.” Roman buries his face in his hands.

“I didn’t get you anything! I didn’t wish you happy birthday! I-I’m terrible, you must hate me!” Virgil sighs, settling a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman…”

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles weakly, embarrassedly.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t hate you.” Roman peaks up from his hands, daring to make eye-contact.

“You… you don’t?”

“Jesus Christ, of course not! I love you, you idiot. It’s just a birthday, I’m gonna have more of those, you know. It’s kind of this annual thing.”

“But- but I didn’t –.”

“It’s fine, babe. Seriously, I kinda forgot, too. Having you home again is gift enough, as it is. I can’t think of a better present than that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Virgil shakes his head, planting a kiss to Roman’s cheek.

“No need. There’s nothing to make up for. You look ready to pass out right now, as it is. I’m not mad at you for forgetting; you’ve been so fucking busy for the last couple of months, and you had a long-ass plane ride today. You’re permitted a little forgetfulness, okay?” Roman sighs as he slides into bed with Virgil and shuts out the light, his head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow.” Virgil lets out a sigh.

“You don’t have to –.”

“I want to,” Roman insists, “It’s the least I can do since you’re being so gracious.”

“What, were you expecting me to force you to the couch, or something?” Roman pauses. “Roman?”

“…Maybe.” Virgil can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Are you kidding me? After all those nights without you, I’m not letting you go anywhere.” To make sure things are crystal-clear, he tightens his hold on Roman, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“That’s good because I really wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“You’re such a dramatic doofus. Lucky that you’re so cute,” Virgil says, feeling Roman begin to go lax with exhaustion.

“Mm, love you, Virgey,” Roman mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too, Ro.”

“Happy birthday…,” Roman says before sleep greets him and he drifts off. Virgil shuts his eyes, contentment washing over him as, too, welcomes slumber.

Despite Roman’s insistent apology, Virgil still can’t think of a better birthday present.

=+=

Taglist:

@nadiestar

@unoriginalgayboyalex 

Please let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist! I’d be happy to add you! 

[morningfears]

505

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! 

Summary: Inspired by 505 by Arctic Monkeys and “I know you can be louder than that,” both requested by anons.

Word Count: 1.1k (I kinda stayed within drabble length?)

Seven hours separated the two of you.

After already having been apart for two months, three days, six hours, and thirty-four minutes (not that either of you had counted), one more flight should have seemed like a piece of cake. However, as the boys sat in yet another airport, waiting to board yet another plane, one more flight - seven short hours - seemed like an eternity. Zion stared at the open text thread, the one that you’d spammed with photographs of your face and your house (you’d gotten bored while he was gone and had bought a new duvet, swapped around the furniture in the living room, and had reorganized the kitchen), and bit back another sigh.

He wore his heart on his sleeve and everyone could see the exhaustion clearly written on his face. It was physical, yes, but missing you wore him down in a way that he never could’ve understood without experiencing it for himself. He’d experienced a sort of homesickness for people before. Missing his parents and his siblings and his friends while he was on the road had always been brutal. However, missing you was different. He missed your voice and longed to hear it without the tinny quality of iPhone audio. He missed your face, especially when it was too close to his as you laid in bed and talked before you shared a kiss and went to sleep. He missed you touch, the calm it brought him anytime he got in his head.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss everything about you and seven hours felt like an eternity when it stood between him and the opportunity to get reacquainted with his girl.

He knew that with the time difference, you’d already be in bed. You made him promise that he’d wake you up the moment he got home and you didn’t have to ask him twice. Though you both valued your sleep above all, getting a kiss from you after two months of nothing seemed a little more important. He knew that the snap he sent you wouldn’t receive a reply, not a coherent one, anyway, but he still sent you a quick selfie with caption, ‘We’re leaving London. See you in seven hours.’ 

As he boarded his flight, you tossed and turned in the bed that the pair of you usually shared. You’d set an alarm (though it hurt your soul just a bit to set one for so early on a Saturday) and had gone to bed early just to ensure you wouldn’t be tired when Zion entered the house just shy of seven in the morning. However, despite doing everything you could to make yourself go to sleep early - drinking Sleepytime tea, taking melatonin, going for a run - and nothing seemed to be helping. You left your phone facedown on the nightstand, hopeful that the light from notifications wouldn’t wake you, and resisted the urge to reach out and check it any time the slightest sliver of light caught your attention.

For all of your desperate attempts, you only managed to get an hour or two of sleep. When six rolled around, you abandoned all hope of getting anymore sleep and laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. You thought about the last two months, the time you spent away from Zion, and realized that his return was far closer than you imagined it was. He’d be home in less than an hour and your entire body felt as if electricity was running through it. However,  no matter how excited you were to see him once more (and to get your hands on him again), you knew that he’d be exhausted. As much as you knew you’d both want to get reacquainted the moment he entered the house, you also knew that it would probably be best to convince him to nap first.

At the very least, you’d be able to cuddle as you slept together and you’d both be able to get rid of a little of your exhaustion.

However, rationality did nothing to calm the erratic beating of your heart that had started the moment you thought about having Zion’s hands on you once more. You hesitated for a moment, hands gripping the edge of the duvet, before you decided that the best course of action would be to take care of yourself. You’d managed two months without him, using your hands to sate your desire, so a few more hours wouldn’t matter much in the long run. 

Zion imagined that he’d return home to find you asleep in your shared bed, wrapped in the new duvet you were so excited about. He imagined that he’d have to pry you from your sleep with kisses pressed to your shoulders and neck and face. He imagined that you’d laugh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck until the laughter turned to moans as he nipped at your skin.

However, nothing he imagined compared to the sight of finding you lying in your shared bed with your hands between your thighs. 

He stood in the doorframe for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he listened to the quiet moans spilling past your lips. He watched quietly for a moment, content to look for just a second, before the surprise and sleep deprivation wore off and he stepped into the bedroom.

“I know you can be louder than that.”

You released a quiet squeal at the sound of Zion’s voice and blinked in surprise as he crossed the bedroom and took a seat at the foot of the bed. “Fuck, you’re back early.”

“Mm,” he nodded as he reached out to move the duvet away from your legs and brush his fingers over your skin, “didn’t take as long at the airport as I thought. You couldn’t wait for me?”

“Figured you’d be tired,” you offered as an explanation as you attempted to close your legs. “Wanted you to get some sleep first.” Zion kept his grip on your ankle firm and kept you from closing your legs as his eyes raked over your bare skin. 

“It’s been two months and you think I’ll be able to sleep before I get to feel you again? I don’t think so,” he laughed as he shook his head and moved to reposition himself on the bed. “We can sleep later. How about I help you out now, baby?”

His hands brushed your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he brushed your hand out of the way to slip his own between your thighs. The sun had barely risen and the little sleep you managed to get surely wasn’t enough to get you through the day, however, you couldn’t think of anything other than his hands on your body and his mouth on yours as you leaned up and reached out to pull him into a kiss.

It had been two long months and you couldn’t wait to make up for lost time.

_______________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: The first time writing for someone new is always a challenge. So. This is rough and I’m sorry. BUT. You can still request a drabble and I’ll do my best to make it better. Because I’m in my feelings. He’s too pretty. Okay. Sorry this isn’t super smutty. I haven’t written smut in ages and I’m working back up to it.

[radiojamming]

SEA MONSTER JOHN IRVING LMAO in case you're still looking for prompts, maybe Irving telling Ned why exactly he called himself that?

i’m never ever ever getting over that, ever. and also good idea.

- - -

‘—and as I entertained long ago, in such a fit of passion as it were, that I fancy myself very much a sea-monster in the abyssal shadows of your education. Do not think for a moment that I have any ill will toward you, dear Malcolm, but rather I am pleased for you and you shall find no friend more enthusiastic as to your climbing in the world. I am—’

“A sea monster?”

Edward’s voice nearly causes John to upend his ink pot in surprise. He gasps, instinctively reaching up to hold his writing set still on its precarious perch. “Good Lord, Edward! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to call your name twice and admire your penmanship.” Edward smiles tiredly and seats himself on the edge of John’s bed, legs slightly lifted by the wooden edge. They’ve long traveled past the point of official propriety—that of knocking and announcing oneself; two long years in the ice can claim that lapse. He makes a brief gesture to the letter. “Have you miraculously received post? Or are you trying to fill the hours?”

“The latter,” John says. “Though I’ve often prayed for the former.”

“I haven’t,” Edward replies. His smile is almost smug, but John knows Edward well enough now to sense his underlying anxieties. This voyage has worn him down to the grains of his soul, and left behind something quite brittle. “Charlotte writes to me the most often, and her letters are miles long.”

“I would be grateful for that.”

“Not with what intelligence she relays,” Edward laughs. It’s a good sound, reserved for these small spaces in location and time. He never laughs in the wardroom anymore, John’s noticed. “Very candid, that one. I’m a near-expert in the anatomy of a good bodice.”

John doesn’t need to say that he’s jealous of such a relationship. On the contrary, he’s well aware that Edward’s family is large and made of a mixed weave of close fibers and distant threads. And Edward is aware of the scattering of Irvings throughout the world—stories of Australia, Lewis’ journeys through the Highlands after the schism, cousins in India and Turkey. But he also knows that the same scattering exists between John and his siblings in a lens of a different grade. Neither of them bring that up.

Instead, John shuts the lid of the ink pot before running his frigid fingers along the bottom edge of the letter. “Well, my apologies that you had to see these lines prior to editing.”

“Not at all. Your word choice was intriguing.” Edward’s eyebrows go up as he repeats, “Sea monster?”

John would blush, but his cheeks are already tinged with the ever-present cold that leaches through the ship. “Just a joke,” he replies. “I once wrote a very unfortunate letter where I compared myself to Malcolm after he began attending Cambridge.”

The tired lines around Edward’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “Ah, I see. You’re the sea monster in this arrangement.”

“Mm. If I recall correctly, I resided solely in a world of ‘pitch and paint, tallow and tar’.”

“And ice now. No lack of that.”

“Ought I change my species, then?”

There’s a momentary flicker of distaste, and John reads Edward well enough to know his thoughts are of the creature in that frozen waste beyond the hull. “No,” he says. “I enjoy you far better as you are.”

It’s meant lightly, John knows. Edward is normally reserved, somewhat awkward when it comes to making an airy joke or elegant comparison. Neither of them are inclined to pleasantries, regardless of their upbringings. At that, John ducks his head down, feeling something warm and radiant come up like a hesitant sapling in his chest, optimistically looking to bloom in welcoming soil. He ought to tamp it down, but it’s been so long since he felt such a novel sensation. Out here, it’s far easier to entertain it than let it smother under a choking weed of guilt.

Before he can say a word otherwise, Edward is leaning forward, his left hand resting on John’s forearm. “I mean it,” he says. 

When he takes his leave, John sits in silence for a long moment. He studies the guttering flame in his lantern, feeling it like a cousin to his own heart. Then, he reaches forward and raises the knitted wick, watching the flame grow and blossom. He smiles.

‘—I am content in my sphere, if it comforts you to know. It is the same, as it was those years ago when it was said as a complaint rather than a statement of fact. Alas, I am scarcely lonely, as I have found others of my particular arrangement of scale and feather. Do not worry for me, Malcolm. I promise you with all the verbosity contained in my pen that I am happy.’

[sworn-unbeliever]

16 - Lucubration

((For some context, Teremy + Reonora’s gang had their adventures in Norvrant and have all arrived back at the source here. Reonora had asked Teremy to work at Fortunes & Fancies for the next 45 days three months. So this entry is part of Teremy working there.))

wc: 1,859

Joey stood on top of the counter and cleared his throat. “Due to an influx of customers suddenly showing up at once and coincidentally wanting their commissions done within--” Joey flipped open his notebook, “--the next three days, I’m calling this morning meeting to organize and delegate tasks. So...” He paused again as his red eyes scanned his notes. “Reo, due to your knowledge of where everything is, and the nature of this job requiring many gathered and crafted objects from this and that occupation, you’ll be in charge of helping the free company do sweatshop--er, workshop stuff.”

Reonora tilted her head and patted herself, smiling. “You can count on me!”

“Teremy, since you’re a carpenter and blacksmith specialist, you’re the only one who can make these Tsukuyomi weapons. Specifically, the client wants a Tsukuyomi’s Moonlit Cane and Tsukiyomi’s Moonlit Great Axe. They already handed over the celestial kimono remnant. All that’s left is to gather the rest of the materials yourself and make the thing. Oh, and a manor cello.”

Teremy arched an eyebrow. “What does a manor cello have to do with anything?”

“The client wants it as part of their collection, I guess,” said Joey.

“And drying the wood?”

“I’ll take care of that. Just leave the spruce lumber with Rosemary and I’ll dry it out at some point within the next three days.”

“Sounds good.”

“As for me,” Joey scrunched up his face in a way only a lalafell could, “I’ll take care of the dance troupe costumes. Sequins. Why sequins.” He shook his head. “And Rosie, that leaves you to take care of the store. You okay with that?”

Rosemary nodded. “Mm! I’ll do my best.”

Joey clamped his book shut. “All right. You all know what you have to do. Feel free to ask me anything if you have any questions. Dismissed.”

Reonora picked up Rosemary, gave the plainsfolk a smushing hug and kisses to the cheek, then scoured Rosemary’s inventory for any items she had onhand. As Joey reopened his notebook to even begin counting the number of materials he needed, including sequins, he glanced over to see Teremy looking down at his own books. One hand on his hip, the other holding a book of carpenter recipes, the miqo’te frowned pensively. Joey was about to ask what was the matter, but Teremy spoke first.

“Tsukuyomi… you said?” Teremy asked.

“That’s right.”

“I can’t find any recipe that bears her name.”

Joey froze. “What? Lemme see that.”

Teremy moved closer to the counter and held out the book for Joey to see. Standing beside the miqo’te, Joey turned the pages of Teremy’s crafting manual.

“I see what’s the matter. You have the master recipes book? It’s the sixth one,” said Joey.

Teremy glanced at Joey blankly. “... master recipes?”

“You don’t have any of the master recipe books?”

“Unless these recipes fell out of my brain from years of experience, then no. First time I’ve heard of such a thing.”

“And let me guess. No folklore books either?”

“Such knowledge failed to fall out of my head the day I slept under a faerie apple tree. I deeply regret my error.”

Reonora passed by the two in the background, materials already collected. “He’s your protege, Joey. You agreed to show him the ropes.” She waved and left the store.

A chime rang as the door closed. All Joey could do was inhale reality, exhale frustration.

“I’ll start from the top and then tell you where to get them.”

* * *

Zhloe clapped her hands together and raised a foot, her face lighting up with such pure happiness that her smile may as well be the sun. “Oh, Teremy, these items are so beautiful! But no, I must think of the children. Thank you, thank you so much! This is not much, but it’s all I can give you.”

Teremy scooped up the armsful of yellow scrips. “Your happiness is enough. Yours and the… orphans…”

“Yes, and clothes--no, food! Ah! By the way, speaking of food, did you want to stay for dinner? I promise I’ll give you the bigger half of my portion!”

Teremy took a step back. “You keep your food for yourself. You need it more than me. T-take care!”

Down in the depths of Sui-no-Sato, Kurenai smiled politely and bowed. “Such splendor, such beauty. Your--” Her gaze quickly moved away from his chest to the objects in his hands, “--works never fail to impress me. Please take this gift of scrips in return.”

Teremy bowed and responded in Hingan, “The least I can do to help the cause.” Although Kurenai spoke Doman, he understood her somewhat as one who spoke a different dialect of the same language. And same for Kurenai in return. He hadn’t spoken his native language in awhile and doing so made him feel a little happy on the inside.

“I shall be looking forward to your subsequent return, if you will grace us with your presence again.” Kurenai bowed again.

“Wherever the wind will carry me.”

As Teremy turned around to leave, thankfully he had no clue as to Kurenai peering over at his two shapely ‘cloud pearls.’ All the miqo’te heard was a smack from Sanana’s hand. “Keep your eyes off the guys and on the prize!”

Thanks to the yellow scrips, Teremy now left Rhalgr’s reach with both the aforementioned master recipe book, as well as books of folklore native to Othard and Gyr Abania. One third of the battle done.

* * *

“Chromite Ore. A decent-sized piece of rock containing the metal chromium.” Teremy read out loud while dodging several demons. “Self-explanatory.”

Book in one hand, gunblade in the other, and with his face completely engrossed in the book of Othardian folklore, Teremy’s instincts took over in the heat of battle. He spun and weaved around any threat that dared come close to him in Haukke Manor. A couple of cuts from his gunblade was all he needed to disperse the voidsent from whence they came.

“Chromium. Difficult to discern from a single glance. Dark grey to black in colour. Slightly magnetic.”

The manor sentry screeched at him as his fire-endowed gunblade sank into its person. With an indignant flap of his wings, said sentry flew off to open the ritual spell blocking the door. But Teremy’s destination was elsewhere, namely the room of which said manor sentry hung out in itself. Teremy opened the chest and was greeted by two pots of manor varnish. Exactly what he needed.

* * *

“Rhea. A variety of ramie better suited to the climes of Far Eastern Othard.” Teremy glanced at the picture beside the descriptive text. “Compared to the usual ramie, rhea has smaller leaves green on the underside. Huh. Good to know.”

Teremy placed planks of spruce lumber by Rosemary as instructed. He petted her on the head and sauntered off to his next destination, his nose still stuck in the folklore book.

* * *

“Torreya Log. A rough cut of torreya timber. Then what the hell is a torreya tree--”

“Ignoring us would be your greatest folly!” cried Ascian Prime.

Teremy was sure he felt a tickle of… something. He merely summoned a small barrier around him in the form of a technique called Rampart and allowed the damage to brush off of him. Gunblade in one hand, book in the other like his previous run through Haukke Manor, his body moved on its own while he buried his face in the folklore book.

“Torreya, a genus of conifers. Spiky leaves. Destined to prick you before you prick them. Ah. All right. What a prick.” Teremy muttered as he stepped into a black portal for safety.

One he stepped out of the area, he found himself rewarded with enough poetic tomestones to appease Rowena’s employees. Bone charcoal and demicrystals acquired.

* * *

Torreya Log. The Lochs. Six o’clock. Teremy found said tree at the peak of its gathering time at some point in the evening. Thanks to the description, he recognised the tree’s needle-like leaves immediately. Hacking away with his patented axe--he trusted his faithful warrior’s axe more than he would a botanist’s tool, he acquired as many logs as this tree allowed him to have.

“Tsukuyomi’s Moonlit Cane. Three torreya lumber, two rhea cloth, 2 molybdenum ingot, one celestial kimono remnant, five demicrystal.”

Chromite Ore. The Peaks. Ten o’clock. Teremy brought a small magnet with him. When not latching onto his pickaxe, the magnet did do the job of detecting the relevant ore. Once again, Pick Clean, Blessed Harvest II, and as many ores as this node allowed him to have. He gave up with the magnet after awhile and left it hooked on one of the ores.

“Tsukuyomi’s Moonlit Greataxe. Three chromite ore. Two palladium ingot. Two palladium nugget… which makes how many nuggets? Hrm. One celestial kimono remnant, five demicrystal.”

Rhea. The Azim Steppe. Twelve o’clock. As someone accustomed to working with ramie, Teremy found the plant easily. Sure enough, smaller leaves green on the underside. Just like the other two folklore materials, he gathered as many leaves as he could.

“Manor Cello. Two manor varnish, one glazenut, four spruce lumber, four cobalt ingot, one dew thread. Interesting. Dew thread for strings.”

Teremy closed the master recipe books.

“Now for all the rest of that good shit.”

* * *

He returned to Fortunes & Fancies late at night. Reonora had locked the door, but Teremy had a key. He excused himself to no one on particular and turned on the lights as he entered. The planks of spruce lumber now laid by the side of the counter with a note in Joey’s handwriting. Drying done.

Teremy had all the materials he needed to start work. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled out his own list of items to make. Starting by propping the relevant master books up on the counter.

* * *

The fated third day had arrived. Reonora, Joey and Rosemary stood in front of the store bright and early. Reonora had no items onhand as all of her necessary materials went towards the free company workshop, but her clothes looked a little ragged and a few strands of white hair strung out of place. Joey dragged behind him a cart containing nothing but folded shimmering clothes and many sequins. Rosemary, who had to take care of customer service, had dark circles under her eyes.

“Have either of you heard from Teremy?” Reonora asked.

“I tried contacting him earlier but no answer.” said Joey.

“I hope he’s okay…” Rosemary looked down.

Reonora turned the door handle to her store.

The handle was open.

“Strange. I thought I had locked the door last night.” Reonora furrowed her brow.

Rosemary waved her hands. “Hopefully robbers didn’t come in!”

“Only one way to find out.”

The three entered the store. Thankfully everything seemed intact as usual. However, from the moment they entered, Reonora and Rosemary sensed a presence from downstairs from powerful, yet familiar energies. To Joey, who could only sense magic and therefore not this specific presence, heard soft, rhythmic breathing, also from downstairs. The trio headed downstairs and saw Teremy passed out on the couch. Beside him were all the items he had been requested to make, finished and gleaming from the highest quality possible.

[quickspinner]

Hey Gorgeous - Under Your Skin 18

Links at the bottom to the other parts

A little NSFWish. Not smut, no onscreen sexytimes...but a lot of implying and pillow talk so, if it’s not your thing, you can skip this one. Imma go hide under a pile of pillows and scream for a while. If you just found this fic, know that it's aged up, they are college students, 18 and 20.

She’d woken up in Luka’s bed several times before, but never with him in it, until now. It was warm. Luka was like a human heat lamp. Marinette sat up, shivering a bit at the change as she moved away from his heat. Holding the sheet to her chest, she scooted away from him a little and stretched. 

He stirred a little at her movement, opened his eyes and blinked sleepily, and then smiled. "Hey Gorgeous."

Somehow hearing that nickname in his rough, sleepy voice felt as intimate as anything they'd done the night before, and sent tingles down her spine. "W-what?" she asked shyly, when he continued to stare at her with that besotted smile.

"Just rearranging my mental list of sexiest things I've ever seen," he rumbled with a lazy smirk. "Pretty sure after last night the red dress is down down to number five at least. Didn’t think that was possible but you keep surprising me. Turns out morning after looks really good on you too.”  

She flushed pink, and his grin widened. "Even better," he mumbled. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist, slithering back close to her until his face was pressed against her. “Where are you going, babe?”

“N-nowhere,” Marinette sighed with a smile, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Music to my ears,” he said, rolling onto his back to give her room to lie back down with him. She nuzzled into his neck, enjoying his pleased hum and his rough hand skimming up and down her back as he turned and cuddled up to her. He kissed her with a reverence that belied his teasing. "You're amazing," he murmured into her shoulder. "I know I said it last night...like, a lot,” she felt his grin, and giggled, “But even so. I meant it every time.” He sighed. “Thanks for making my dreams come true. They couldn't remotely compare to the real thing.”

“Thanks for…”

“Hmm?”

“F-for mmmaking th-this my choice. N-not rushing mme. Y-you—sssorry, this is embarrassing.” She hid her face in his shoulder.

“You don’t have to say anything, baby,” he told her, wrapping her up close in his arms in that way that always made her feel so safe. 

“I w-want to,” she sighed, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “It’s j-just...you never p-pushed me, not even a little, and w-when I started t-to feel anxious y-you told me it was n-no big deal and we’d g-get there when I w-was ready, and y-you n-never made it feel like you didn’t w-want me. And n-not all mmy friends could ssay that about their b-boyfriends, ssso...thank you. F-for being y-you. F-for being p-patient and gentle and s-sweet and...just all of it.” 

Luka snorted. “And a little overeager,” he muttered, and she could feel the heat of his blush. “Ugh, so embarrassing.” 

“You w-were excited,” she smiled. “It was ffflattering.”

“You barely had to touch me,” he grumbled. “You were supposed to be first.”

“Y-you made up for it. I was f-fine with s-second.” She giggled. “And third.”

“Mmm, third was pretty good, wasn’t it.” She could hear his smirk. “Think we tied for that one.” Luka pulled back to where he could see her face and smiled at her. “No regrets?”

“None.” She leaned up and kissed him, burying her fingers in his hair. 

“Then it was worth every second of waiting.” He pulled her close again. “Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asked. 

“Okay.”

Marinette reached her arms around his broad back, stroking her nails gently over him in a soothing motion that made him moan and relax into her. 

“I just,” he mumbled into her shoulder, even as he arched into her touch. “Mm, that feels nice. I just, I know I talk a lot about how beautiful you are, but...I just want to make sure you know. As much as I love your body, and I really love your body, and your lips, and God your eyes…what was I saying?” 

“I have n-no idea,” Marinette giggled as he paused to run his tongue over the love bite he’d left on her shoulder. 

“I love you,” he breathed into her skin, and then kissed her. “I love you so much, baby, I love you, I love you.” He kissed her face, her bare shoulder, the crook of her elbow, lingered on the inside of her wrist. “I love you, my gorgeous Marinette.” He buried his face in her neck and groaned. “Stop me, before I say something really stupid.” 

“I l-like it when you g-get stupid about how mmmuch you love me,” she said shyly, and he raised his face to beam at her. 

“I’m absolutely a fool for you,” he said with so much tenderness that she blushed. “A complete, total idiot. I literally walked into a wall the other day because I was staring at a picture of you thinking about how lucky I am.” His face lit up. “Can I take one now?” 

Marinette’s mouth dropped open and her face turned red as she dragged the sheet up to her chin. “N-n-no! Absolutely n-not!”

“Not like that,” he said quickly. “Covered up, just us, together right now. Just for us, I swear. Let me take one and you can delete it if it makes you uncomfortable. Here, come here.”

Marinette was nervous but she let him arrange her on her side and tuck the sheet around her torso just under her arms, leaving her shoulder bare but covering her entire chest. Luka snuggled up behind her, nuzzling her temple before reaching for his phone to take the picture. 

“See?” he said softly, showing it to her. It was intimate, even a little sexy, but not at all explicit, soft with the morning light, her hair mussed and spread across the pillow, his cheek leaning on her temple, both wearing still sleepy expressions of contentment. The dark mark on Luka’s collarbone, visible just over the curve of her shoulder, and his eyes looking right at the camera, intense where hers were soft, made her body warm. “Can I keep it?” he begged. Marinette pursed her lips, considered the worst case scenario, and decided she wouldn’t die of embarrassment if, say, her parents saw it. It looked kind of like a sexy perfume ad, actually. 

“Y-you c-can keep it,” she sighed. “B-but j-just for us.”

“Promise,” he said, saving the photo. Then he kissed her neck in a spot he knew was ticklish, making her scrunch her shoulder up. 

“L-luka,” she laughed, and he leaned further and kissed her cheek. 

“Can I keep these too?” he grinned, handing her the phone. 

“You s-s-s-sneak!” she cried. How he had managed to snap those without looking, she had no idea, but they were good and still modest enough, though they made her blush. “Sssend me that last one,” she said grudgingly. Luka chuckled. “Done. I’ll put it away now, promise.” He reached over her and dropped the phone on his cluttered nightstand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stroking her hair back from her face.

“G-good.”

“Sore?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “It was w-worth it.”

His deep chuckle made her blush. “Babe, That was only our first try. It’ll just get better from here, I promise. And I think you’ll find,” he added, voice dropping seductively as he curled around her, “I’m a quick study.”

“I th-thought,” she teased, looking back at him over her shoulder, “That y-you c-could only stay interested if it had to do with mmmusic.” Her breath caught at the soft look he gave her. 

“Baby,” he said tenderly, reaching up to caress her face, and that tone combined with that look made her shiver, her eyes going a little wider at every word. “Gorgeous, my Marinette, haven’t you figured out by now that you are music to me?” His rough hand slid down her side to her hip and over to flatten across her stomach, and he kissed the sensitive place on the back of her neck, and the combined sensation made her gasp. “I’m gonna learn how to play every inch of you.”

He shifted so she could roll on her back, eyes shining as he kissed her with all the love and passion she felt in his words. 

His lips slid down to the hinge of her jaw and she felt his smile against her before he nipped her earlobe lightly and his hand slid up her ribs. She bit her lip and squirmed, a flush spreading down her body. “L-l-luka, I d-don’t think I can—“ 

“I’ve got you, baby, I won’t hurt you,” he purred, nuzzling her. “I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to do a thing, except—“

“Luka!” she gasped. 

“That.” He paused suddenly and chuckled. Marinette whined involuntarily when his hand stopped moving. 

“W-what?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He resumed his attentions, but Marinette grabbed his wandering hands. 

“N-no, really, w-w-what?”

Luka sighed, though he was smiling. “I swear I’m not making fun of you. I would never.”

“Okay...I t-trust you.”

“It’s just,” he said between soft kisses to her neck and shoulder. “You usually have a little trouble saying my name.” He pressed his fingers to her lips before she could apologize. “And that’s fine, it’s never bothered me. It’s just—“ he started to chuckle, the deep sound vibrating through her. “It’s just,” he kissed the spot next to her ear, and then murmured next to it. “You didn’t have any trouble screaming it.” 

Marinette was already flushed from his touch but she gasped and Luka’s chuckle turned to laughter at her outrage. 

Some time later, Luka sent Marinette to shower and made sure she had everything she needed. Then he went to the kitchen to get them both some coffee and nearly collided with Juleka. For a moment the siblings blinked at each other, each taking in the other’s smattering of hickeys and obvious sex hair.

They both lifted a fist in unison and bumped them together. “Should I make enough coffee for you and Rose?” Luka asked as they turned into the small kitchen. 

“Just me,” Juleka said, going to a different cabinet. “Rose drinks tea, I’ll make it.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22

A continuation of Hey Gorgeous Part 1| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Bonus Scene | Now on AO3

@thethirdwheelfriend @mystery-5-5

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 8

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin (OC), Fourth Uncle

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow

Summary: The afterglow.

Notes: This could have been longer, but it would have broken the mood of the chapter. Kind of a soft interlude.

AO3 link

Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

---------------

Mature content so chapter is under cut.

Sex is awkward and messy and quite enjoyable. Lan WangJi can’t find it in himself to mind the inelegance of their joining, as their missteps leave Wei Ying breathlessly laughing, their bodies tangled in ways that are sometimes accidentally erotic.

He’s quite certain, with practice, they will become more proficient in time. He rather looks forward to the process.

Wei Ying falls into a sort of half-asleep daze, worn out, but he stirs the moment Lan WangJi touches him with the wet rag to wipe at the mess they made, murmuring about the chill and squirming a bit. With a bit of qi, he warms the water in the basin and resumes his ministrations, adhering to Wen Qing’s suggestions on sexual hygiene.

His zhiji is vocally displeased with the need to vacate the sleep mat, which also has a bit of a mess on it, but he cooperates enough. Both of them, he knows, will need to bathe properly in the morning.

When Lan WangJi finishes, he folds the old, ratty blanket and spreads it over the freshly-cleaned and slightly damp mat, then pulls two soft white inner robes from his qiankun pouch. He knows better than to try to wrestle Wei Ying into zhong yi—their activities have worn him out—but he bundles him into the garment, tying the ribbons before donning his own. He leaves his forehead ribbon wrapped around Wei Ying’s wrist, where he had tied it when he released his hair from the braid.

He makes Wei Ying drink water and has some himself before he pulls him back to the nest they have made of his travel mat and blankets.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs as he lays him on the pallet again and pulls him close. “So good. How is it we didn’t do that years ago.”

Lan WangJi can feel the tips of his ears heat, though not as they might have those years ago. And not now with mortification, but with arousal. Fortunately, his body is not quite ready for more activity, though he isn’t sure Wei Ying will be awake for it much longer anyway. He tucks the blanket around them snugly. 

“Clearly a mistake,” he murmurs instead, and gets a breathy giggle against his collarbone in response.

“Mm, clearly. We could have been doing that every day.”

“Every day,” he agrees, combing his fingers through Wei Ying’s loose hair. “Mark your words, Wei Ying.”

“Every day. But try not to wear your poor husband out too much,” is the softly slurred response.

He expects Wei Ying to fall asleep almost immediately, but suddenly he’s giggling again.

“Wei Ying?”

“Ah, just thinking of a-Yuan’s question.”

Lan WangJi can’t help his huff of amusement. The child, far too young to understand the matter, had innocently asked them during the little banquet the remnants held for them if they would be giving him brothers and sisters. 

As it turned out, a-Yuan was of the belief that all married couples had babies, and since Lan WangJi and Wei Ying were now married, it logically followed that they would as well.

They left Wen Qing to field that particular question. From the look on her face, she did not appreciate it.

“Ah, we can make a good faith effort,” Wei Ying chortles. “Every day.”

Lan WangJi is again reminded of Wei Ying’s claim of birthing a-Yuan. He had not, then, expected to find himself here, now. But seeing Wei Ying walk toward him in the market had been like watching the sun emerge from behind a cloud.

Wei Ying’s breath evens as he falls asleep, but despite hai shi having passed, Lan WangJi allows himself time to enjoy the feel of his body against his own, separated now by thin fabric.

He had mapped each of Wei Ying’s scars when they had disrobed, touching each and remembering the words he had spoken in the cave, of scars being proof one once protected someone. 

The surgical incision down his abdomen, the Wen brand… those Lan WangJi knew about. Faint lash marks on his back, not completely healed when he had gifted his golden core, he learned were an attempt to protect Lotus Pier, freely taken from zidian to try to appease the Wens. The scar on his waist, a stab wound from his staged fight with Jiang Cheng when he seceded from the clan, another attempt to protect YunMengJiang.

Not all of them are from protecting others. A scar on his arm from falling from a tree before he formed his golden core. The scars from the dogs on his legs. Even one that he just doesn’t remember, one he’s had so long he must have gotten it before the death of his parents.

The touching of his scars had morphed to mapping the contours of his body at some point, just to hear the involuntary sounds that spilled from his lips, sounds Lan WangJi enjoyed wringing from him. He had reveled in watching Wei Ying fall apart beneath him, his body spasming, his eyes blown out, his face contorted in bliss.

He wanted to hear those noises, see his face, feel his body like that every day.

Now, Wei Ying asleep in his arms, flush against him, Lan WangJi never wants to let him go. This possessiveness is dangerous, is the sin of his father. But where his father had taken his mother to Cloud Recesses and hidden her away, he would follow Wei Ying wherever he wished to go, would never cage him.

He leans his head against Wei Ying’s and breathes his scent in, musky sweat and spice and sex, then lets his breathing match his zhiji’s until he, too, fades into sleep.

Lan WangJi wakes, shockingly, after mao shi. Perhaps it should not shock him, given the strenuous activity of the previous night and his time thinking after hai shi, but it is the first time he can recall waking late in quite some time.

He is not in Cloud Recesses, he tells himself, but Burial Mounds, and the sun has not yet started to spill into the cave.

Wei Ying is sprawled half-atop him, his thigh brushing Lan WangJi’s groin in a way that is arousing, and he works to gently extricate himself. His move to rise is aborted when Wei Ying groans softly at the movement, the sound carrying a note of pain.

“Wei Ying?”

“Mmm, I’m okay. Little sore.”

Wen Qing warned them of that—not simply that the novelty of penetration might hurt, but that they would use muscles in different ways. Although Lan WangJi had concerns about causing Wei Ying pain, he had insisted, so he had been particularly careful with the preparation.

Wei Ying had not complained at the time, but he often kept his own pain silent, and they had been in the midst of rather pleasurable activities that could have inspired him to ignore it.

“Where?” Lan WangJi asks, his voice insistent, as he leans over him.

“Lower back. Muscles.” Then Wei Ying flashes a grin. “I’m definitely feeling last night, but that’s pleasant.”

Lan WangJi tries and fails not to remember Wei Ying’s comment about his size the previous night; he had never had occasion to do something as crass as compare to others in that manner, and he hadn’t particularly thought his zhiji was deficient in that area himself.

Instead he uses his qi to warm his hands, shifting around to urge Wei Ying to lie on his stomach, and places them at the dip above his buttocks. The pleased moan the warmth draws from Wei Ying sounds filthy and beautiful, and Lan WangJi silently recites the Lan principles in an effort not to respond with action.

Wei Ying murmurs sleepily and ultimately falls back to sleep. He covers him with the blanket, settling in the lotus position beside his sleeping husband.

His husband. He will never tire of that fact. 

Lan WangJi should meditate, but instead he watches Wei Ying sleep, maps the contours of his face with his gaze. Wei Ying is objectively beautiful. In sleep his expression is slack, lacking the smile that had enamored him at the gate of Cloud Recesses, even before their duel. 

He may not have spared him a glance back then, if not for the accurate diagnosis he had whispered to his brother, that the afflicted Lan disciple was not dead, but under a spell, a diagnosis he gave with barely a glance. 

Genius barely begins to describe Wei Ying, for so often those who have genius fail to possess the creativity to do anything with it. Wei Ying possesses that, and has experienced the sorts of tragedies that required use of both.

What he does not have, Lan WangJi has come to understand, is a sense of self-preservation, something he must have enough of for both of them if he is to keep his husband safe. 

He manages to meditate for about a quarter shichen before Wen Qing loudly announces that breakfast is ready from the mouth of the cave, clearly deciding discretion is the better part of valor in case they are naked or otherwise occupied. 

Lan WangJi wakes Wei Ying gently, with soft kisses, and they prepare for the day, dressing and braiding each other’s hair. He braids his forehead ribbon into Wei Ying’s, and thinks perhaps that is where it now belongs.

[goth-apoca-lips]

Writing Advice: Description part 2

Hello! It's good to have you back, please sit. Last time I talked about writing scenery descriptions in both low stakes and high stakes scenes. This time, I'll be talking about character description.

Character description can be quite difficult, just like scenery. You don't want your book to read like a "stereotypical fanfiction" (although there's nothing wrong with writing fanfiction and often those "stereotypical fanfictions" are apart of the learning process that we all had to go through) but if you want to grow from that stage then I've got some tips for you!

So here it is!

Character Description

Like last time I'm going to provide examples of bad description and good description and explain why it works. I will also do 1st person and 3rd person, as they both provide different challenges.

1st Person POV challenges:

A lot of people have trouble with first person description, because, well, you're in the head of the character. People don't just describe themselves in an internal monologue. However, I believe character description is important, unless you purposely want it to be vague. A lot of people use the mirror description to just dump it out and move on.

I SAY NAY. As great as it is to dump it all out and move on, it's my advice that you describe things little by little. Build on descriptions, especially for pov characters. Give the audience little samples of their appearance. I'm going to describe our boy up there with bad 1st person and with good 1st person.

I stood before over the brass trough and splashed water over my face. This was all beginning to weigh on me. My tired hazel eyes stared back at me through the water, and my soft brown hair fluttered over my face. Freckles dotted my cheeks and nose.

The problem with this one is that everything is dumped onto the reader. 1st person narratives don't normally describe themselves in detail. They live with themselves daily.

Here's a new example. But in this one I'm going to split up the descriptions into different parts of the story, because in my opinion (which you can take with a grain of salt) when a character describes themselves it should be sprinkled in, with and pieces.

"As I tried to reach for my sword, he had already grabbed a fistful of brown hair and pulled me to the ground."..."My twin sister sat beside me as we rode. She had the same freckles dotting her nose and cheeks, and the same hazel eyes,"..."The half-orc towered two feet over me, which grounded me as usually I was the one looking down at people."

This works because you get little anecdotal descriptions that feel a bit more natural. Most descriptions come in comparing and contrasting or added in the heat of the moment. You can take anyone of these examples. My favorite is comparing oneself to another person.

Alright next we shall do 3rd person point of view! 3rd person, depending on the type of 3rd person can get tricky, if it's Limited, I would do the same with the 1st person just change the pronouns. With omniscient and objective are very different. I would still sprinkle in these details just like first person. You can get a little more loose sense it's a narrator not the character themselves.

Just like last time 1 icky descriptor, and 1 okay descriptor.

Micah, with his dark skin, narrowed silver eyes and course black hair, crouched along the roof side in his leathers. He watched and waited for the Baron to leave his home so he could make a move.

Mm, it's not that bad, but the problem here is that the description isn't woven into the story the way it could be? You might like this and that's ok. Here's another piece that I prefer to write that plays with the scene and paints a better picture in my opinion. (Again, grain of salt)

Micah pressed himself against the roof side, trying not to be seen by the passerbys and soldiers that littered the ground. They wouldn't see him. His black leathers matched the roof and his own dark skin, making him out to be nothing but a mere shadow. His hood was pulled up over his thick hair that rubbed a bit uncomfortably against the cloak. The only glint of light came from his silver eyes that watched with narrowed scrutiny. What was the best way he could do this? Soon the Baron would leave his town home, and he'd be able to strike.

Ok, I personally think this is better than the other one. This is because the description is woven into the scene, it added more weight to it, without being to over the top or too simple. It sets the tone and mood, and doesn't dump it all in one sentence.

Sooo yeah, this is all just my opinion and advice, but if you found it helpful, that's great, and you should definitely share it! If you didn't, why not add some of your own advice to the thread so you can utterly school me? Have a great day Mob!

[littlewhitetie]

Make Believe: Part Four

(Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | AO3)

Unbearably loud knocking dragged Keith halfway out of sleep. His head was swimming, pounding; everything ached. There were voices nearby, but they were hard to make out, and listening seemed more effort than it was worth, so he kept his eyes shut and tried to find sleep again.

The voices stopped, a door closed, and then, “Keith.”

“…”

“Keith.”

“…Mm?”

“C’mon, Keith. We need to go for breakfast soon.”

A gentle pat to Keith’s cheek coaxed his eyelids open. He groaned. The lights were far too bright, and when he managed to push himself up to his elbows, the room spun.

Shiro’s face slowly came into focus. “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You not feeling well either?”

Keith blinked a couple times, then frowned. “…Either?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said. “I’m guessing it’s whatever we were drugged with last night. Must be part of the trial.”

“Worst trial ever.”

Shiro breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He stood up and walked around to Keith’s side of the bed. “Okay. Time to get ready.” He offered Keith a hand and helped him to his feet.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, they washed up. Keith kept his eyes closed as he brushed his teeth and got dressed. He struggled to put his shirt on, giving up halfway through.

“Need some help there?”

Keith let out a muffled sound.

His eyes flew open as Shiro grabbed the bunched up fabric and pulled the shirt down the rest of the way for him, his breath catching as Shiro’s knuckles trailed down his obliques. He was officially awake.

Shiro was already fully dressed, and wearing a little smirk to boot. Keith was both glad and not glad that he had already put his pants on.

Visran was back too soon, his knocking painfully loud again. He stepped inside. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Shiro said, standing tall and seemingly alert. He was worryingly good at hiding his symptoms.

“Did you drug us last night?” Keith demanded.

Visran gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“More will be explained when we begin the next stage of the trial,” Visran said, impassive as always.

Shiro put his arm around Keith as they made their way to the dining hall. He was mainly supporting Keith, but Keith took some of Shiro’s weight, too.

They got there eventually, but breakfast was the last thing Keith wanted right now. The food was even less appetizing than usual, all lumpy and slimy and slippery. "Really don't feel like eating," he muttered, staring at the plates in front of them.

“I know,” Shiro said. “But we should try to anyway. Keep our energy up. If it's a continuation of yesterday's trial, we might need it."

Keith sighed. He grabbed a handful of the closest thing on his plate, something pale and mushy. Leaning forward, he brought it to Shiro's lips—or at least, he tried to. His vision was blurry and he missed, smushing half of it into Shiro's cheek instead.

"Sorry!" Keith grimaced. "Sorry."

Shiro just laughed.

Keith scooped the mush from Shiro's cheek with his fingertips, then carefully stuck it back in Shiro's mouth. Shiro's tongue was uncoordinated, and it took several long moments of licking Keith's fingers before finding the food. By the time Keith pulled his hand away, he was blushing bright.

They didn’t get much better at it, and by the end of breakfast, they’d only managed a few mouthfuls each. More of Shiro's food ended up on his face than in his stomach. It was a good thing neither of them were hungry.

The carriage ride to the trial did not help Keith’s stomach. He kept his eyes closed and burrowed into Shiro's shoulder, trying to ignore the nauseating up and down of the ungulates’ gait. The long ride was made tolerable only by Shiro's sturdy weight against him, his temple resting against the crown of Keith’s head.

They were brought to the same building they’d been in the day before. When the carriage door opened, Keith tripped and nearly fell out. Shiro caught him and linked their arms to help him walk.

Keith had enjoyed the ambience of the facility yesterday, but it was far less pleasant today. The glaring bright lights and thundering echoes amplified Keith’s headache, and the strong odour of disinfectant mixed with sweat turned his stomach further. Shiro wasn’t a fan either, judging by the grimace he was trying and failing to hide.

They staggered past the gymnasium they’d been in yesterday and followed Visran into a dimly lit, windowless foyer. Two other Graxari waited for them there, dressed head to toe in sterile white. Visran gave them a cursory introduction, though Keith wasn’t focused enough to retain their names. Re-something and La-something. Keith really didn’t care.

He cut to the chase. “Why did you drug us last night?”

“Because it is slow acting,” Re-something answered. “The poison must be administered the night before in order for you to feel the effects.”

Keith balked. “Poison?”

“Yes. Feradotoxin. Did it work?” La-something asked.

“Yes!” Keith snapped, glaring.

Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith and pressed his lips to his temple. “Keith,” he warned under his breath.

“Why would you poison the two of us?” Keith asked, trying to keep his tone restrained.

“While we would usually only poison the one in your role,” La said to Keith, “as we saw yesterday, your partner is exceptionally skilled in combat. We had to poison both of you to ensure the trial would be sufficiently challenging.”

“Not to worry. He will be be given the antidote regardless of the outcome of the trial,” Re said. “Provided he survives, of course.”

“What about Keith?” Shiro asked, at the same time as Keith spluttered, “survives?!”  Shiro’s patient facade was cracking; there was an edge to his voice now. “What, exactly, does this trial entail?”

“There are two roles in today’s component of the trial, as determined by your performance yesterday. You,” La said, nodding at Shiro, “will be given a series of opponents to defeat in combat. If you pass the trial, your partner will receive the antidote.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “But if I don’t, Keith doesn’t get it.”

“Correct,” La said.

Shiro clenched his fists. “Keith shouldn’t have to—”  

“Shiro, it’s alright,” Keith interrupted. He fumbled for Shiro’s hand and smoothed his thumb over tight knuckles. “It’ll be fine. You’re gonna get through it, no question.”

Shiro let out a slow, deliberate exhale and unclenched his hand, allowing Keith to thread their fingers together. “I will,” he vowed.

“So what’s my role?” Keith asked.

“You will watch over your partner from the monitor room, where you may provide moral support,” La said.

“…That’s it?” Keith asked, when she didn’t continue.

“Supporting your partner is not unimportant,” Re said.

Keith scowled, but relented. He absolutely did not want to play damsel, but if these were the roles, of the two of them, Shiro was better suited to fight. He was brutally well versed in facing opponents in this exact manner.

He also seemed less incapacitated than Keith by the poison—hopefully due to higher body mass, rather than built up tolerance or practice hiding it. Still, his breathing was heavier than usual, and his footsteps were clumsy. Keith heard him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth when the heavy, metal door at the end of the hallway emitted a grating screech.

Beyond the door, a long, dark corridor stretched out before them, illuminated only by the flickering yellow lights in the stairwell to the left. “You will be going this way,” La said to Shiro, gesturing into the darkness.

“And you will come with me upstairs,” Re told Keith.

Before they parted ways, Keith grabbed Shiro’s wrist and pulled him back. “You can do this,” he assured him. After a moment’s deliberation, he pressed a kiss to Shiro’s cheek. “Go get ‘em.”

Keith’s heart flipped at the soft smile Shiro gave him in return. His heart flipped again in a worse way at the stumble in Shiro’s step as he walked into the dark. Keith bit his lip. Shiro… Shiro would be fine.

Keith followed Re up the stairs, Visran close behind. His steps were sluggish, and he had to cling to the crimson railing to hold himself up. He was short of breath after just one flight; three more flights took a small eternity.

The room he was finally brought to was nearly empty. The only objects in the room were four large screens that spanned the wall, white plastic-like chairs facing said screens, and a control panel in the corner.

Re headed to the control panel, while Visrin took up residence at the back of the room. Keith collapsed into one of the seats, head spinning. His stomach cramped something awful.

When Re flipped a switch, the screens lit up, displaying Shiro in high definition at different angles. The tight black suit he was outfitted in provided very little protection, but he looked good. Really good. The material was strained where it stretched over his chest and—

Keith, no. He forced himself to tear his gaze away. There wasn’t much else to look at, though; Shiro was alone in a large, barren room with heavy, concrete-like walls. There wasn’t anything to listen to, either.

“Can he hear me?” Keith asked Re.

“He can,” Shiro answered, looking upward at one of the cameras. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said. “Worry about yourself.”

La entered the room and joined Re at the control panel. “Are you ready?” she asked Shiro.

“Yeah.” He took a fighting stance. “I’m ready.”

The heavy wall in front of Shiro rose. A clunky, six-legged robot clomped forth before the wall dropped down again. It was scrap metal compared to the gladiator and sentries and robeasts they were used to—no wonder the Graxari had felt it necessary to impair Shiro’s ability to fight.

The robot was crude, but it wasn’t as slow as it looked. It rushed forward and swung a limb at Shiro. Shiro was successful in dodging, but his movements were sluggish; his usual grace and finesse had been stolen with the poison. The robot swung again and made contact, knocking him off balance.

But Shiro was Shiro, and he always came out on top. He avoided the next hit, and the next, before he sliced through the robot’s core with an arc of purple light. One more cross-wise hit, and it stopped functioning.

“Nice work,” Keith said. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

The wall rose again, and a bigger, sturdier robot stomped forward with thin, whip-like appendages. Its footsteps were slow. The rest of it was not.

Its whips lashed out with a loud crack. Shiro tried to dodge, but one of them struck his shoulder. He flinched, shook it off, and then went on the offensive. He tripped as he ran forward, but he didn’t fall, and was able to get in close. Lighting up his hand, he plunged his arm deep into the body of the robot. It stopped moving.

Shiro stumbled again as he stepped back, panting hard.

“You okay?” Keith asked.

“I’m fine,” Shiro said.

“Good,” Keith said. There was nothing else to say. “You got this.”

The trial got harder and harder to watch as Shiro got slower and the opponents got stronger.

He’d managed to avoid any devastating blows, but the hits that had landed were adding up. Not to mention the effects of the poison were getting worse. Keith’s stomach clenched, and his vision blurred in and out of focus, and his head throbbed, and every part of him ached. He could only imagine how much worse it was for Shiro.  

“I’m okay,” Shiro told Keith each time he defeated an opponent. And he was, but for how long?

“How many more of these does he have to face?” Keith asked the Graxari, after the wall rose for an eighth time.

“The trial will be over soon enough,” was all Re said. One way or another, that would be true.

Trying to ignore the stabbing pain behind his eyes, Keith tried to focus on the screens. “Upper… upper back,” he said to Shiro. “That part doesn’t look like metal. Could be a weak point.”

“Thanks,” Shiro panted. He dived between the robot’s legs to get in behind it, then spun around and leapt upward. He thrust his hand forward, but his aim was off and he only grazed it.

He tried again, but he missed and hit metal instead. This time, the robot began crackling with electricity just before he made contact, and sparks flew when he hit it with his metal arm. He cried out, collapsing.

“Shiro!” Keith leapt out of his chair, nearly keeling over with the sudden rush of dizziness.

Shiro managed to push himself up to his feet. He tried again. This time, he hit his mark, and the robot shut down.

“Shiro—”

“I’m… fine,” Shiro said, between ragged breaths. He got into a fighting stance for his next opponent.

Keith clenched his jaw. Shiro wouldn’t give up. They had to pass this trial if they wanted the alliance, not to mention the antidote. Still, Keith asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

The wall lifted again, and a monstrous, plated thing with blades and long limbs stepped forward. Without pause, it came at Shiro and sliced his arm open with a deep cut, eliciting a pained gasp.

Keith dug his fingernails into his palms. “Come on, Shiro,” he uttered.

Shiro took a swing and hit one of the metal plates. He didn’t have enough momentum to even leave a mark. The thing hit him back, sending him flying into the adjacent wall. There was an awful crack as his ribs fractured.

Keith’s stomach tried to crawl its way out of his throat. “Shiro!”

The robot found Shiro and slashed at him with another blade. He rolled, avoiding a lethal hit, but it still carved a deep gash in his side. Dragging himself to his feet, he tried to get away, but it caught him first. It grabbed him with one of its appendages and squeezed, further crushing his broken ribs.

An awful, strangled sound tore its way from Shiro’s throat, but he didn’t falter. When he was close enough, he seized the opportunity to plunge his lit hand into a crevice between plates. It slowed it down and loosened its grip, allowing him to wriggle free. He fell to the ground with a painful thud.

Staggering closer, Shiro found another crack between its plates. He buried his arm in its innards, pulling out broken wires as he withdrew. Finally, it stopped moving.

“I—I’m okay,” Shiro gasped, clutching his side. “I’m okay, Keith.” His face was pallid, blood spilling from multiple wounds. He swayed dangerously as he turned to face the moveable wall.

The wall started to rise again, but Keith couldn’t let it go on any further. “No. Stop the trial. We’re done.”

Re pressed a button, freezing the wall in place. She looked at him. “You would forfeit the alliance?”

Keith clenched his fists. The alliance was important, but not nearly as important as Shiro. “Yes.”

“You do not have the antidote yet,” La reminded him.

“I don’t care,” Keith growled. “Call it off.”

“Keith, no,” Shiro said. “I… I can still…”

“Maybe you can,” Keith said. “But I can’t. I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt anymore.”

Shiro shook his head. “Keith—”

“Shiro, please. You’re way more important than any alliance or cure. I’d give anything to keep you safe. I need you. …I love you.”

Shiro’s eyes widened a fraction. “But the… the antidote…”

“It’s out there,” Keith said. “We’ll get it some other way.”

“But what if—”

“We’ll figure something out. We always do. Trust me, I’ll be fine,” Keith said. “So please, Shiro. Let me stop this.”

Shiro closed his eyes. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“I’m sure. We’re done.”

The Graxari looked at each other and nodded. As Re lowered the wall, La withdrew a metal box from the underside of the control panel. She opened the box, revealing two large needle-like apparatuses filled with a bright purple liquid.

“Well done,” she said. She stepped forward. “Your arm.”

Keith blinked. “What?”

“You passed the trial,” Re said. “This is the antidote.”

They’d passed. Keith’s head spun. His lips curved up, and he let out a relieved laugh. “Hear that, Shiro?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said with a slight smile. And then he fell forward to his knees.

As soon as La had administered the antidote, Keith ran for the door. He raced down the stairs faster than was safe, having to catch himself on the railing a couple times. He bolted down the dark corridor Shiro had taken, pushing off of the walls when he ran into them.

Finally, he reached the large, empty room he’d seen on the screens. Shiro was waiting in front of all the broken robots. He was back up on his feet, but as soon as Keith reached him, he pitched forward and collapsed into Keith’s arms.

Keith wasn’t sure he could stay on his feet himself, so he guided Shiro down to the ground, where he could cradle him in his lap.

Shiro looked up. “Hey,” he said, weakly.

“Hi,” Keith whispered back.

Shiro raised his head a few inches and looked behind Keith to check that they were alone. “That was smart,” he said, keeping his voice low. “When’d you figure it out?”

“Figure what out?”

“That the trial wasn’t just about how far I’d go to save you, but what you’d give up to save me.” Shiro gave him a faint smile. “Convincing speech, by the way.”

Keith swallowed. He had the opportunity; he should go along with it and pretend everything he’d said was part of a plan. His feelings had been made obvious; now he had a chance to fix that. He could save their friendship. But at the same time…

Before he could say anything, the Graxari entered the room. “Congratulations,” La said. She opened the box and withdrew the needle. “As promised, the antidote.”

Instead of bringing relief, the sight of it made Shiro stiffen. Every muscle in his body went rigid.

“Your arm, please,” La said.

Shiro hesitated before holding out his left arm. Keith took his other hand and laced their fingers together.

Shiro squeezed Keith’s hand as the needle jabbed his arm and liquid pushed from the needle’s chamber into his bloodstream. His metal grip was painful, crushing Keith’s hand, but it wasn’t quite hard enough to break any bones, so Keith stayed silent. He let Shiro release his hand on his own time.

Keith hadn't noticed Re leave the room, but she entered the room again, now followed by a small crew of other Graxari. They carried a thin cot on a frame suspended by poles over their shoulders. “The healing facility is next door,” Re said.

Keith hoisted Shiro to his feet, keeping him steady despite his own lightheadedness. He helped him onto the flat surface, then fumbled his way over to the space beside him. Careful to avoid his cracked ribs, he wrapped his arm around Shiro and let him lean into his side.

The ride over was a blur, and Keith paid no mind to their surroundings. Nothing mattered but the expansion and contraction of Shiro’s ribcage, and the accompanying sound of his breaths. He only realized they’d reached their destination when Shiro’s breathing stopped with a sharp inhale and he began to tremble.

Keith followed Shiro’s gaze across the room, past the metal tables, past the beds, to the glass tanks lining the wall. A Graxari occupied one of the tanks, suspended in a pinkish liquid. A monitor beside the tank displayed readings that suggested he was alive, but otherwise it was hard to tell. From the outside, he just looked like a lab specimen. An experiment.

Keith held Shiro closer, paying no mind to the blood seeping through his clothes. The heartbeat against his chest was far too quick. When Shiro’s breaths started again, they were shallow, ragged, stuttering.

“So this is where Shiro’s gonna be healed?” Keith asked a new Graxari standing in front of them—some sort of med tech. He looked around. “Do you have cryopods or something somewhere?”

The med tech gave him a strange look. “Cryopods? That technology has been outdated for millennia. The immersive tanks you see here are far more efficient. Your partner will be healed in one of those.”

“Oh,” Keith whispered. He squeezed Shiro’s hand and leaned in. “Shiro?”

Shiro didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the tank, or maybe somewhere beyond.

“Is there another option?” Keith asked the med tech. “Something less…” he gestured to the tank, “…isolated? I’d just... rather have him within reach. If I could.”

“There is a gel that can speed up the healing of surface wounds, and an elixir to repair bones,” the med tech said, “But in his state, and given interaction with the feradotoxin antidote, it would be over a quintant until full recovery.”

Keith looked at Visran, pleading. “Can we do that? Or do we have to go through another trial tomorrow?”

Visran considered. His gaze wandered from Keith’s face to Shiro’s, to Keith’s arms wrapped around Shiro’s body, to their linked hands. “I think we can make an exception.”

Keith nodded his thanks. He tugged at Shiro. “Shiro?”

When he tugged a little harder and said his name a little louder, Shiro’s eyes finally snapped to Keith.

“Hey,” Keith said, softly. “Let’s get you fixed up, alright?”

“R-right,” Shiro gasped.

Keith helped him up and over to the bed, where they sank into the mattress. With the lingering effects of the poison, it was horribly tempting to curl up and fall asleep, but first, Keith had to make sure Shiro was taken care of.

Another med tech brought over a tray of supplies. They were familiar, similar to those used in the med bay aboard the Castle. The med tech looked at Keith, who was still clinging to Shiro, and cleared his throat. “You’ll need to release your partner while we tend to his wounds.”

Keith didn’t budge, holding on tight. Shiro hated medical facilities as it was; the last thing he needed was strangers poring over him. “I’ll do it. You guys can leave.”

The med tech’s brows raised. “Are you certain?”

Keith’s vision was okay for now, and his hands were steady enough. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it. I do this all the time. Visran can let you know if we need anything.”

“…Very well, then.”

The other Graxari left. Visran moved to the back of the room, keeping an eye on them from there.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured. His eyelids were heavy, threatening to close. “Thanks.”

“Hold on,” Keith said, grabbing the bottle of elixir from the side of the bed. “Drink this before you pass out on me.”

Keith lifted the bottle to Shiro’s lips, helping him drink. Shiro shuddered and gagged after the first sip. “Ugh…”

“Just toss it back,” Keith said. He added with a quirk of his lips, “Like you did with all those drinks on your birthday a few years back.”

Shiro let out a slight laugh. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, and you probably don’t. But you get the idea.”

Shiro’s lips lifted. “Yeah.” He put his hand over Keith’s, and together, they poured the liquid down his throat. He cringed as he swallowed.

“There we go.” Keith wiped away the liquid dribbling down his chin. “Okay. You can rest now,” he said, and helped Shiro to lie down.

Shiro was out within moments.

Patching Shiro up was second nature at this point. Keith’s hands were careful as he peeled Shiro’s clothes off and disinfected his wounds. Shiro didn’t react at all, already deep in slumber.

Keith scooped a generous portion of the smooth, cool gel from the jar into his palms and slathered it over every break in Shiro’s skin. The open wounds stopped bleeding at once; there was no need for stitches. Wrapping them was effortless, the motions easy and familiar.

When he was done, he laid a hand on Shiro’s chest. His heart rate was normal, his breathing slow and even in his sleep.

Abandoning all self-control, Keith gently traced Shiro’s jaw with his knuckles. He trailed his hand down Shiro’s neck, collarbone, shoulder, and arm, until he could fit their hands together. “Sleep well,” he murmured, before he curled up next to him and fell asleep.

[next chapter]

[dailytechnologynews]

HP Spectre x360 (Kaby Lake G) Review

So, about 2 weeks ago I got my HP Spectre x360 with the i7-8705G processor, and I've decided to a little review on it, just for fun. My model has a 4K touchscreen display, 12 GB of DDR4 2400 (so dual channel memory doesn't work quite correctly), the i7-8705G (4 CPU cores, 4 GB of HBM2, and 20 CUs), and a 256 GB NVME SSD from Samsung, the one that comes with the laptop. I'm mostly going to be testing performance but I will touch on all aspects of the laptop.

Overview

The HP Spectre x360 is a 15 inch laptop that launched a couple of months ago at $1300-$1500; HP has sales pretty frequently so if you're lucky you can get this for about $1300 like I did. It comes with only one option for Kaby Lake G, the i7-8705G. You can configure the RAM from 8 to 16 GB and configure the SSD from 256 to 2 TB. The screen only comes in at 4K. The Spectre also includes a fingerprint scanner and a Windows Hello compatible webcam for quick sign in. IO is pretty good as well; HP includes one T3 port, one USB type C port, one USB 3.1 port, one HDMI port, a headphone jack, and an SD card reader. It can be charged either through its AC port or through the USB type C compatible ports, but only if you own one of HP's branded chargers. HP's software will reject anything that isn't from HP. Also, you can open up the Spectre (with some difficulty) and upgrade the RAM and SSD and even fiddle with the heatsink if you want. Finally, the Spectre is just under 20 mm in thickness and weighs about 4.6 pounds. Okay, with all that being said, let's get into it.

Chassis

The first thing you notice with a laptop is how it looks, and the Spectre looks and feels really good. It's very sturdy and feels very premium. I previously owned an HP Envy x360 15 inch, and I have to say it's actually not that much better. It definitely looks better with its gold accents though. There is very minimal keyboard flex and the screen hardly bends at all. Another nice upgrade over the Envy is the fact that its fans are configured in a much smarter way: intake on the bottom (like the Envy but with more holes) and output on both sides of the laptop (instead of out of the back). Using dual fans pushing air out of the sides makes it much easier to keep the Spectre and you cool, especially if you're putting the Spectre on top of something like a blanket. Overall, it's very thin and it's a little heavy but not too heavy.

Keyboard and Touchpad

This keyboard is about the same as on the HP Envy x360. It's pretty decent, and the backlight is pretty good. It's also full size, so you get your numpad as well. There's nothing particularly special about the keyboard. It's good. Some people might dislike the half sized up and down arrow keys, but personally I'm fine with it. The touchpad is okay, it's not quite as tall as I would like but it works good enough. No deal breakers here, though the Spectre isn't really amazing me with the keyboard and touchpad.

Display

While a 4K display does consume more power than a 1080p display, I have to say it's an incredible monitor. 4K may be overkill at such a small display, but damn does it look good. Just sublime. And compared to the Envy x360, the brightness is much better too. It's not the brightest monitor out there, but it'll do the job even in the sun. Colors look good as well, I haven't noticed any obvious gradients where colors gradually changed. On my Envy I could clearly see bands of colors on something like the sky. The Spectre has no problem displaying all the colors you need to see a smooth transition from one type of blue to another similar, but distinct blue. Bezels on the left and right are very thing, and while they're kind of thick on the bottom and top, it does allow for more space for the speakers and touchpad, as well as the webcam which is directly above the display.

Speakers

Kind of a mixed bag. I actually liked the speakers on the Envy, because they got pretty loud without distorting. When I couldn't get my cheap soundbar connected to my TV working one time, I used the speakers on the Envy instead, and the experience was pretty good. However, the experience with the Spectre is different. The speakers are now spread out over above the keyboard, and on the bottom of the chassis on the closest lower left and right corners. It just sounds a little off. It's totally fine, but it's not special.

Battery life

Battery life is okay, definitely not great though. Using the better battery life plan, setting the brightness to half, and running a Slow Mo Guys video at 4K resolution and 50 FPS, the laptop lasted a total of 3 hours and 46 minutes. For such a large battery, it's a disappointing result, but it's not surprising. The Vega M GPU, even though it was not used for this task, does require power even when it's idling, perhaps 5 or so watts. That's not nothing, and especially over time it's going to drain the battery.

Noise

Under full load, and even when watching 1080p60 videos or other high resolution content, the fans get pretty loud. Thankfully this keeps the system cool, but again, it does get loud. If you wanted a really quiet machine, the Spectre is not for you. Of course, there's a very good reason why it gets so loud and requires two fans.

Performance

Yep, that's right, it's because this laptop has alot of horsepower. The Spectre is based on the i7-8705G, which has not just an Intel CPU, but also a Radeon GPU. The Intel CPU has 4 cores, 8 threads, running at a maximum 4.1 GHz turbo and features Intel HD 630 graphics for use in low load applications. The Radeon Vega M GPU (which is really a Polaris GPU) has 20 CUs running at a maximum turbo of 1011 MHz and 4 GB of HBM2. On paper, this combination looks really good for everything from video editing to professional applications like CAD to gaming, and it should perform similarly to 7700HQ laptops with GTX 1050s to 1050Tis. Well, we'll see about that.

Our test suite includes these applications: Cinebench R15, 3D Mark Firestrike and Timespy, Ashes of the Singularity, Civilization VI, Total War: Rome II (with the new graphics patch), and the Witcher 3.

On Cinebench R15, the i7 scored 623 points on its best run, but in other runs the scores were as low as 480 and usually hovered around 550. This is likely due to thermal throttling. The i7 should boost very well under short loads but will fall behind if it can't finish a task before throttling sets in.

In 3DMark's Timespy, the Kaby Lake G processor scored 2167, and in Firestrike it scored 5161. Laptops with 7700HQs and 1050Tis typically make about 3000 points in Timespy and 7000 points in Firestrike. This is nearly a 50% difference, and it may surprise some of you. How could a 20 CU and 4 core CPU combo lose so heavily? Perhaps this processor lies closer to the 1050, but 1050Tis are not 50% faster than 1050s. Before I explain why the discrepancy exists, let's move on.

Using the standard preset at 1080p with the DX12 API on Ashes, the GPU focused benchmark scored an average framerate of 27.1 FPS (with all batches being GPU bound entirely) and the CPU focused benchmark scored an average of 16.8 FPS. I don't have any other hardware to compare this with, but I'm using mostly standardized benchmarks so that you can compare your own hardware or other benchmarks yourself.

Using the medium preset at 4K with the DX12 API on Civilization, the graphics benchmark ended up having an average frametime of 37.226 ms, which is mostly playable, and a 99th percentile of 44.947 ms. I'd recommend turning the settings down to low or the resolution down to 4K, but on a game like Civ it seems like a waste to not use 4K since the FPS doesn't matter that much. The AI benchmark resulted in an average turn time of 22.01.

And for our final benchmark, we have Rome II, which recently got some updates and new DLC. Using the in game benchmark with ultra settings at 1080p, the Kaby Lake G processor was able to achieve a framerate of 30.7. I'd recommend turning the settings down a tad since framerate is somewhat important for Total War and you won't be caring too much about looks when you're doing battle.

Now, I did say I was going to test Witcher 3, but not actually benchmark it since there's no point. I wanted to bring attention to the fact that the 8705G can play Witcher 3 with a blend of low and ultra settings (because going from low to ultra on some settings does not impact performance) at about 45-60 FPS. Overall, the Kaby Lake G processor is very impressive given the cooling limitations of the laptop's design.

Now, why is the processor underperforming? On paper, it should be a good deal faster than a 1050 and at least only a little slower than a 1050Ti. Well, earlier I mentioned thermal throttling playing a part in Cinebench's performance, but in this case I believe something else is more to blame: power throttling. You see, the CPU and GPU only have 65 watts between them. A 7700HQ alone can use 35-45 watts. The HBM and GPU also need to get power. What will happen is that the harder the GPU is hit, the less power the CPU is allowed to use, and in some games you may see the i7 go as low as 2 GHz on all cores. However, I personally am very happy with performance.

Conclusion

Overall, the HP Spectre is a very well balanced machine. It's pretty thin, it's got good performance, it has a 4K display with enough brightness and color accuracy, it has good battery life, and it's not super expensive. If I had to give this a score out of ten, I'd give it a 9. Points off for disappointing battery life and performance, but you will have a hard time finding a laptop this thin, with this battery performance and computational power, at this price point. It's not a gaming laptop, but it works fine as one. Stuff like CSGO should work really well since it's a game highly dependent on the CPU and not the GPU. With many laptops, you make compromises like having a really big battery and then having almost no performance to speak of, or having a great GPU and CPU but it weights like 15 pounds, is more than an inch thick, and costs a fortune. The Spectre on the other hand has no major compromises and is an excellent choice for people who don't need a laptop that's the best at only one thing.

[notapaladin]

that i will never leave your side

In which Acatl gets a puppy, because if anyone deserves unconditional love it’s this guy.

Also on AO3

-

Theoretically, the rainy season was almost over. Theoretically it should be getting cooler, or at least drier. The Storm Lord apparently didn’t care for theoreticals, because the sun on Acatl’s bare back was merciless and every deep breath felt like he was inhaling lake water.

At least there was a good breeze and better company. Teomitl had come to meet him for lunch, and it was difficult to be too surly about the weather—or indeed, about anything—when his lover was settling down next to him with that radiant smile and offering him tamales stuffed with greens and hot peppers. The breeze wasn’t enough to make holding each other comfortable, at least until the sun went down, but it was just enough for Teomitl’s fingers to tangle lightly with his as they ate. He found himself smiling.

I’m going to miss this, came the thought. He would. When the dry season began, the army would make their preparations for war in earnest, and he’d be lucky to see Teomitl at all before they left. And then...then there would be four long, cold months without his lover’s smile. He cast his gaze down to his meal. He’s strong and intelligent. He’ll come back safely, whether it ends in a victory or not. He has to.

Teomitl flicked a glance over to him. His own tamale was almost gone. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” He would have added more peppers, but it was still delicious. He gave Teomitl’s fingers a quick squeeze. “It’s not too spicy for you?”

He could feel his lover stiffening and glanced over to catch his glare. Apparently the question had affronted him; whether it was because he hated being the object of concern or thought it would make him seem weak, Acatl didn’t know. Probably both. “Never.”

Acatl raised an eyebrow at him and waited.

Sure enough, Teomitl’s shoulders relaxed, and he shook his head with a snort. “Just because your favorite meals come from Chantico’s own hearth fires doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t handle hot food.”

He thought about that. “...It’s not that spicy.”

“Remember when Neutemoc ate some of your food by mistake?”

He winced. Admittedly, watching his brother’s whole face turn red had been mildly entertaining, but the coughing and swearing and hopefully-not-serious death threats hadn’t.

“Exactly,” Teomitl said.

Seeking to cover his embarrassment, he took another bite of his tamale—it was almost gone—and commented, “I do know you like sweet things, though.” He’d discovered it purely by accident back when Teomitl had still been his student and a late-running lesson had resulted in them eating lunch together; he hadn’t known anyone could follow up a full meal with that much honey-drizzled fruit without the world’s worst stomachache to show for it. The thought of it still made him feel a bit ill, but even then the open and honest delight on Teomitl’s face had struck him to the core.

And now he had the pleasure of watching Teomitl turn very slightly red around the ears, which was better. “And?” he huffed. “Mihmatini is much worse.”

He smiled at the memory his lover’s words sparked. “Oh, I know. Has anyone ever told you about the time she tried to climb a cactus to get at the fruit? She was...oh, about eight at the time.”

Clearly, nobody had. Teomitl blinked at him, and Acatl watched as comprehension slowly dawned across his face. “She didn’t.”

Now he was grinning, and didn’t bother to hide it. It had been distressing at the time, but in hindsight he could admit that Mihmatini’s stubborn pout had been hilarious. “She did.”

Teomitl, to his credit, managed to hold in his laughter for one heartbeat, two—and then he cracked, shoulders shaking as he broke down in squeaky giggles. It was the cutest thing Acatl had ever heard in his life. “Oh, gods,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “I know I shouldn’t laugh—but I can just imagine her face—”

“Don’t tease her about it,” he warned. Not that he necessarily thought Teomitl would, but...well. I want him in my arms because he wants to be there. Not because his wife threw him out of the house.

“I enjoy having all my extremities attached to me.” Teomitl paused, studying the remnants of his tamale. “Besides, she has enough to worry about.”

A nasty chill oozed down his spine. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” And then he paused, glancing up at Acatl through lowered lashes. It was a sight that could have melted a stronger man’s heart; Acatl felt his own thump hard in his chest. He was always weak to that look—but then his lover continued, and the words jarred him back to reality. “She was wondering if you wanted a dog.”

A dog...? The words jumbled together in his head, and he had to take a moment to comprehend them. “As what, lunch?”

“As a pet,” Teomitl huffed.

Acatl blinked at him. “...A pet.”

Teomitl fidgeted, fingers toying restlessly with Acatl’s own. “The royal kennels are full of puppies this time of year. And she—I—that is...we’re planning on getting one for ourselves, too.”

“I’m not sure I...” He bit his lip, thinking. As a child, only a few families in his calpulli had been able to afford to keep dogs, and he couldn’t recall any of them being particularly sentimental over the beasts that kept vermin away from their turkeys. When he dealt with them now, it was invariably on the sacrificial altar or the dinner table. He’d never given any thought to having one as a companion. Wagging tails. Bright eyes. A warm and enthusiastic welcome home.

Teomitl seemed to take his silence as refusal, and pulled his hand away with a curt, “Forget it, then.”

Acatl twitched in surprise, lifting his head to watch the faint flush that stained Teomitl’s cheekbones. “No,” he blurted out—he might not be sure about the notion of a pet dog, but he was absolutely sure he hated the way Teomitl withdrew into himself when he felt hurt. Before Teomitl could pull away any further, he took his hand again. “I’ll come with you.”

Teomitl stared at him. “You will?”

He laced his fingers through Teomitl’s own, letting a smile tug at his lips. “I can see it means a lot to you.”

Now Teomitl was definitely blushing, and dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “...I don’t want you to be lonely while I’m away.”

He couldn’t stifle his smile anymore. “And you think a dog will keep me company as well as you do?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Teomitl muttered. “And if we both get dogs, they can play with each other, so they won’t be alone either.”

Oh, my heart. Acatl had to kiss him for that. It was a law immutable as the gods’ wrath. When Teomitl sighed and melted into it, not even the heat could stop him pulling the man into his arms.

It was some time before they managed to leave the courtyard.

The royal kennels were tucked away near the House of Animals. Compared to the extravagant enclosures for the rarer beasts, they were almost nondescript—a series of low, plain buildings with a strong smell of raw meat and wet dog. Acatl had never been there. He’d been half expecting chaos and noise, but the place was quiet. The slaves and servants moved with brisk purpose, one or two with medium-sized dogs on rope leads, and Acatl wound up gazing after them as they passed. They looked friendly, at least.

They made it two steps into a well-swept and almost aggressively clean courtyard before the kennelmaster appeared. His cloak was plain, but there were feathers tied into his hair and carved bone earrings in his ears. “Ah, my lords! How can I help you today?”

Teomitl stepped up, saving Acatl from having to put a sentence together. “We’re here to look at the most recently weaned litters.”

The man’s polite smile held a thread of real warmth. “Of course, my lords, right this way.”

As they followed the kennelmaster into the depths of the complex, Acatl drew closer to Teomitl’s side and asked in a quiet undertone, “Are you sure about getting one so young?”

He nodded. “They’ll be easier to train.”

Acatl thought about the small children he knew. At least when they needed something, they could tell you in human words. Puppies would just howl. So, not that much different from little Ollin, I suppose. “And needier.”

“Hm.” But Teomitl’s eyes were sparkling in a way that said he didn’t see this as much of a downside.

Acatl sighed, shaking his head. Teomitl had grown and changed so much since they’d met, but if his new hound needed to be housebroken or taken for a run around the main island, he would think nothing of delegating to a fleet of servants. Acatl would have no such safety net; he didn’t know what Ichtaca would think about him acquiring a pet, but he suspected it wouldn’t be complimentary. No, like as not he’d be doing all the work himself. He didn’t need the extra burden.

And yet...he thought about the dry season, and the cold, and four silent walls. He thought about affection that demanded nothing save trust. It was tempting.

They were coming to a long line of wooden cages, each filled with dogs. The Revered Speaker’s hunting dogs were long-legged creatures, most with short hair but one or two hairless. Acatl avoided looking at those; their wrinkled skin reminded him unpleasantly of ahuitzotls, and no amount of love for Teomitl would make that association palatable. The kennelmaster led them to the very end, where one cage—larger than the others—held several dozen puppies of all colors.

“Well, my lords, you may go in and say hello.”

He opened the cage. Teomitl went in, crouching down for a better look at a sleeping black-and-white one. For the space of a heartbeat, nothing happened.

And then one of the puppies yipped, and the rest swarmed, and Teomitl went down in a sea of wriggly, roly-poly bodies.

“Oof!”

Acatl all but scrambled in, reaching to help him up, but realized as soon as he did so that he’d miscalculated. Entering the cage put him and his sandal straps within range of sharp little teeth, and when they pulled him off-balance he had to sit down before he fell. “Teo—ack!” He’d seen puppies before, from a distance. A nice, safe distance. He hadn’t seen them like this, all wiggling excitement and fur as they clambered over his lap.

Teomitl was no help. He was flat on his back and clearly in his element, ruffling one puppy’s ears while seeming blissfully unaware of the one gnawing on his cloak. Even more were vying for his attention, and he chattered to them in a tone Acatl hadn’t even heard him use with Ollin. If he was feeling suicidal or felt like sleeping alone until the end of next summer, he might have described it as cooing. “Oh, look at you! Yes, hello—oh, no, I can’t pet all of you at once!” It wasn’t stopping him from trying.

Acatl was regretting having put his cloak back on. The extra fabric only meant more things for puppies to chew, sniff at, and get tangled in, and it was a struggle to remain upright with half a dozen tiny things all snuffling around him. “Excuse—no, do not chew on my hair!” Annoyed, he jerked his head out of the range of curious teeth, but even that didn’t help; the offending dog, a red-and-white female, seemed to view it as a new and exciting game. Another one took the distraction as a chance to bound into his lap and rear up on its hind legs, planting its slobbery tongue on his chin.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said the kennelmaster, who did not sound sorry at all. Acatl threw him a glare, but it was hard to summon up much irritation with a puppy licking his face; its tail was wagging so fast it was practically a blur.

Besides, Teomitl was delighted, and his joy was infectious. Acatl was more acutely aware of it than he’d ever been of his own heartbeat or of his patron’s magic. When a tiny yellow puppy shoved its nose into his ear, the reward was another one of those undignified squeaks of laughter that always flipped Acatl’s heart upside down.

Before he knew it, he realized he was smiling. “...You love dogs.”

Teomitl’s grin split his face. “Mm-hmm.” A mostly-white one started trying to gnaw his hair, and he gently shoved it away. “I always wanted a pet of my own.”

“I can see that,” he murmured. Teomitl had grown up like a wildflower under the eye of an assortment of nurses and tutors and older, distant relations. He doubted any one of them had looked at the lonely boy his lover had once been and thought to give him any sort of gifts, never mind a companion that would repay his care with unconditional devotion. The thought pinched Acatl’s heart.

But before he could get emotional over it, the dog in his lap was pushed off by its bigger sibling, who proceeded to stomp in an irregular circle—remarkably uncomfortable, that—and settle down to sleep without a single care in the world. Blinking, he looked down at it. It was mostly black with dark orange feet, eyebrows, and muzzle, and its fur was very, very soft. Its floppy ears looked even softer.

“...Oh,” he managed.

Teomitl pushed himself upright, dislodging a few of his own furry passengers. “I think you’ve been chosen.”

Carefully, he risked lifting one hand and stroking the puppy’s ears. It snored on, undisturbed, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “...Good boy,” he murmured. “Good boy.” Its ears really were very soft. It took a moment before he could respond to Teomitl’s words. “...Perhaps I have.”

Long ago, Teomitl had done much the same thing—had barged into his life and made a home for himself in his heart, standing on the steps of his temple in the setting sun. “I still need you” flashed into his head, followed a moment later by the just as devastating memory of another sunset on the temple steps, when a smile had reached into his chest and pulled joy from the depths of his own uncertainty. He gazed down at the dog in his lap. It wouldn’t be the first time someone else has chosen me, and look where it’s gotten me now. A joy I never would have known otherwise.

“Well?” Teomitl asked. “What do you think?”

He bit his lip, thinking. One of the dog’s hind legs twitched, as though it was running in its dreams. “...This one seems to like me.”

“He has good taste,” Now Teomitl was smiling; Acatl suddenly, fervently wished they didn’t have an audience. It was too easy to imagine himself leaning over and kissing that smile.

Before he could do anything reckless, he shifted his weight in preparation for getting to his feet, and immediately realized he had a problem. “...Ah. How do I...” He looked down at the dog again, which hadn’t even stirred...but which surely would, if he got up too quickly and startled it. He chewed his bottom lip again. Surely, carrying a puppy couldn’t be too much different from carrying one of his baby nieces or nephews, but it was so small.

“Like this.” Teomitl reached over and adjusted his hold, helping him settle the puppy—his puppy now—into his arms. As he’d thought, it was much the same as carrying a human infant, but the puppy had a wiggly body and dull little nails, and as Teomitl helped him nestle it against his shoulder it blinked sleepy brown eyes at him. He barely dared breathe.

A dog. Something to take care of. Something that will live by my side so that I won’t be alone. “I’ll take him,” he blurted out.

“Really?” Teomitl looked surprised, as though he wasn’t expecting Acatl to make a decision so soon.

Truthfully, Acatl hadn’t been expecting it either, but it felt good. It felt right. He thought of the long months ahead, of going home to an empty house at the end of the day, of eating his meals in silence. He thought about a cold nose tucked into the crook of his arm and little paws twitching in dreams. He even thought, briefly, of playing tug-of-war with the hound it was sure to grow up to be. Maybe he could sacrifice his formal cape to the cause. “Really.”

“An excellent choice, my lord.” Acatl twitched; he’d almost forgotten the kennelmaster was there. “Will you be needing a cage for him?”

Ah. Right. Dogs needed things like beds and chewable objects that were not his sandals, sleeping mat, or cookware. “...That would be appreciated, yes. And a leash, as well.”

As the kennelmaster left, presumably to find what Acatl had asked for, Teomitl beamed like the sun. “What will you name him?”

He hadn’t thought of a name, but one came to him anyway. “...Miton, I think.” Little Arrow.

Now Teomitl was blushing and swatting his shoulder, but it was worth it.

[perseuesjackson]

seeing me

ao3 | ffn

summary It's not easy, not when you're in love with your best friend, not when your best friend is a superhero. But what's even harder than is trying to tell your best friend you knew she was a superhero, especially when she didn't want you to know. 

word count 16120

a/n this is the second part to this fic. i wrote this a long time ago and never posted on tumblr, and meant to post right after i posted the first part, but five months later here we are. 

 hope u guys enjoy it :) have some fluff

He’s pictured finding Ladybug’s secret alter ego a million times.

Probably even more, if he was willing to admit that.

Adrien never expected Ladybug to be sitting behind him class—for years. They’ve been classmates for years and he’s never noticed.

He might have to give that to Marinette; he hadn’t noticed her without the mask. At least, initially.

But now—now, he knew.

   He didn't know what to think about this friendship with Marinette.

That's a lie. He knew exactly what to think.

What he didn’t really know what to think about was this whole Marinette-is-Ladybug-but-she-doesn’t-know-that-quite-yet situation he had with her. On one hand...it wasn’t entirely his fault that he knew, when he knew that Marinette didn’t want him to know.

Oh, who was he kidding? Adrien was guilty—he felt so incredibly guilty.

The thing was, how could he not figure it out? Since Adrien became closer friends with Marinette (a feat that he is very proud of; getting closer to her is harder than one would think), he knew her better than he knew himself. The only person that could even compare with Marinette and the connection he had with her was Ladybug and—well, there’s why.

He knew exactly when his friendship with Marinette really started. A group lunch date almost one and a half years ago when Alya (later he found out, ditched) and Nino, who caught a cold, couldn’t make it. It left Marinette so incredibly awkward that Adrien took pity on her and offered to the cancel the meeting. He was a little bummed out about that; Adrien figured it was because he had really wanted to try the Chinese restaurant Marinette suggested they go to.

Marinette said no, and that encouraged him in so many more ways than one.

He had wanted to be her friend. Really, he did. It was hard for him, however, considering Marinette never seemed to be comfortable around him. He didn’t want to force himself on to her, no matter how interesting Marinette was. So when Marinette decided to stay with him, Adrien took the chance by its reins. It wasn’t easy maintaining and building the flickering friendship he had with Marinette, but Adrien worked hard, and before he knew it, she became his best friend.

(Though, that wasn’t exactly true. She was his best friend before he even knew who she was.)

He was glad Marinette was his best friend.

Adrien wasn’t even afraid to tell Nino that. Nino, forever his best—guy—friend, smiled happily whenever he reffered to Marinette as such, though Adrien thought he saw some kind of annoyance flickering in his eyes. Arien guessed it was exasperation now that Adrien had more friends than just Nino. (Though with the way Nino’s going with Alya, Adrien thought the boy had no right to complain. Really, the four of them were like a huge family. He liked to think so anyways.)

She was his best friend—he loved that. How could Adrien not? Marinette Dupain-Cheng was absolutely amazing.

He loved visiting her. In all sorts of ways, unbeknownst to Marinette. She always surprised him, and more times than not, those surprises always made him like him more.

One of his favorites is always when Marinette showed him her designs. But a particular memory that Adrien was extremely fond of involved a scarf.

His fingers drifted over the fabrics Marinette laid out for him. She was talking animatedly, a sight that always made smile. She picked up each piece, describing where she got it, why she bought it, and what she planned on doing with it.

“This one’s for Alya’s birthday. It was hard getting this color, not to mention expensive, but anything for my best friend. It’s even reversible. See?” Marinette flipped it over. “I can’t decide what to get her though.”

“I'm sure she'll like anything you make.” He knew he did.

Marinette smiled kindly at him. “Oh, I know that. But I still want to make her something that she'll like, something practical.”

He nodded with understanding. “Still,” Adrien said, fingers brushing over the fabrics she handed to him, “I wouldn't worry about it too much. Anything you make is perfect.”

He turned to see her. There—there it was. A beautiful blush adorned her cheeks. Cute, Adrien thought with rapid heartbeats in his chest. He liked seeing her like this, spending time with her like this.

(Though he didn't realize why until later.)

“Do you always stitch your signature?” he asked, fingers feeling the bumpy etch. It looked complicated, weaving the needle up and down to get every curve of Marinette’s lengthy name.

“Mm...no. Not always. It takes up a lot of effort. Also, sometimes I’m not brave enough to stitch my signature. I’m not even gradated, you know? It’s not like I’m a world famous designer anything.” She rolled her eyes, laughing. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“No,” Adrien disagreed, surprised. “No way. There’s nothing wrong with being confident. Everyone should know that you made this amazing product.”

Marinette flushed, sending him a small glance. There—one of those looks. Not quite, but a little. “Thanks, Adrien,” she said, almost whispering. “That means a lot to me.”

“Are these all your practiced signatures?” He pawed the different fabrics, all different sizes. His eyes widened with awe at a particularly intricate one, woven with multicolored thread, almost as if it were shining. Others were smaller. Some had her entire name, only a couple with the full “Marinette Dupain-Cheng”; most were simple “M” and less, though still plenty, “MDC”.

“Yeah. I keep most of them, because I like saving everything I do. Kind of like seeing how much progress I’m making, you know?”

Adrien’s glance fell on the bright blue one. He would catch that color anywhere. How many times has he hugged the fabric of the same color to his chest, cradling it as if it would provide him comfort in ways his father hadn’t been able to?

His fingers brushed over the etched signature. This fabric was longer, and Marinette practiced her signature several times. There was an unfinished “Marinet” at the top and several “M”’s of different shapes and sizes, curled and straight, near the bottom.

A cord struck. He glanced at Marinette, who was talking about some other fabric for her gift to Alya. For the first time in a while, his focus drifted away from her, and instead, towards the fabric under his hand.

Marinette wasn’t looking at him; he couldn’t read her. But Adrien was certain. He had long ago noticed the stitched “M” near the bottom of his scarf, always curious of where his father bought it if it wasn’t one of Agreste Fashion’s products.

It had to be her. Marinette had to have made the scarf for him.

The question was, why did Nathalie play it off like a gift from his father? Was it really? Was Marinette the mere designer in this circumstance, or did she actually intend it to be a personal gift for him?

He tried replaying his birthday. It was two years ago, so he didn’t remember everything clearly. The only memories that resurfaced with lucid clarity was his feeling of immense happiness when he opened the gift, and the horrible feeling when Adrien found out he was at fault for causing Nino to become akumatized.

He tried to remember. Did Marinette talk to him that day? If the gift was from her, she had to have talked to him. But he really couldn’t recall it. It was two years ago, after all. Moreover, Adrien hadn’t been close to her back then, hadn’t noticed her.

Once again, he cursed to himself. Not noticing Marinette...It was like a crime to him. Adrien’s eyes went back to the blue fabric, to all the others Marinette had laid out. They went to her room, to her. How could he not have noticed how amazing she was earlier?

Another thought struck him.

He was falling in love with her.

    Adrien does like it but that could simply be bias.

Marinette’s claim that he hated fashion wasn’t wrong—he wasn’t fond of it. Modeling for hours on end, needing to skip classes in order to fit in photoshoot sessions, turning down friend’s requests to hangout—Adrien thought it was awfully fair that he didn’t love fashion. It’s been skewed since the start, and his job as a model is probably what ruined it for him.

He briefly wondered if he would like it if he wasn’t a model, if his father wasn’t Gabriel Agreste. But that’s only wishful thinking.

Either way, Adrien felt he needed to convince Marinette—who haughtily thought she won this round, that Adrien does, in fact, detest fashion—that he likes it. Adrien threw his words around, hoping it would persuade her. The only indication that he’s being compelling is the slight fall in her triumphant expression and faint flush dusting her face. He grinned mentally at that; flirting wasn’t easy as Adrien Agreste, but somehow, with Marinette, she made everything easy. Words flowed out of his mouth simply, something that he couldn’t really do with other people. Frankly, if his father didn’t restrict him so much with his words and actions when Adrien was growing up, he could be more of an extrovert than he was now, but Gabriel Agreste did, and so here Adrien was—hiding small parts of himself from large parts of the world.

Even so, with Marinette, he was able to let himself free. Sure, he was able to do so with Nino as well, but the way he acted with the designer was just completely different from the way with his best friend. Sometimes, when he was with Marinette, he was so at ease with her it’s like he’s known her his entire life. Like he knew her better than he thought he did. Like there was a part of them they both didn’t know of, secrets he thought he didn’t know—but did.

He would see this sometimes. It wasn’t often that Adrien caught it, but at moments, he would feel a catch. Deja vu, people called it, though that word didn’t entirely fit. Adrien tried to place it, but it was practically futile.

But not quite.

He was able to catch wind of when it came. Not all the time, but small occasion. Adrien would catch it when he and Marinette fist bumped after a particular victory (when he finally beat her at Ultimate Mecha Strike III or finished the killer semester project they had been put together a year ago the forced them to pull an allnighter). Adrien would catch it when they went a little crazy (when Marinette had almost lost her head laughing and jumping to her heart’s content in hat humongous jump-park in the carnival that Nino and Alya had dragged them to a couple months ago). And above all, he would catch it when she shot a flippant remark after he threw a pun (when she would smirk, her blue eyes glimmering like the heavens—and that was almost all the time).

The point was, Adrien was almost sure he knew Marinette better in aspects that he didn’t understand yet. He swore, it was just on the tip of his tongue, like the revelation was just one push from revealing itself.

Anyways, it’s not that Adrien hated fashion. He likes it, really.

Like he said, Marinette wasn’t wrong. Adrien had little heart for the fashion industry, but the girl who showered him with the ideas of her designs and piled tons of fabrics in his arms made it better. Made him want to try harder so that maybe one day, when they grew up, they could work together. (A foolish dream, but he was a child—he could dream.)

Marinette’s accusation towards his hatred of fashion wasn’t directed incorrectly, but Adrien still felt a need to rectify her. He spouted random reasons why, most of which were true, but not quite exactly the reason why he enjoyed watching Marinette work her designs through.

He wished she would understand his hidden meaning.

A roll of the eyes, a scoff. All towards his “reasons” why.

“I like fashion,” he finished. I like you, he meant.

    “My best friend loves me.”

Chat Noir raised an eyebrow. Isn’t that what best friends were supposed to do? Love their best friends?

They were talking about home life—a conversation that put him on edge whenever Ladybug breathed the word “papa” with love and affection and a talk that unnerved Ladybug whenever Chat came to anything that was remotely revealing.

But for the most part, it had ran smoothly. Nothing too bad, and Ladybug hadn’t yelled at him or pulled away yet.

“Yeah, mine too,” he replied slowly, giving Ladybug a look. She snorted.

“I mean, she loves me. She’s a huge fan of Ladybug.”

“Ah.” Chat nodded. “And does she know?”

Her partner shot him a look. “What do you think, kitty?”

Raising his hands in surrender, he bent his head down, indicating his understanding. “Got it.” He set his arms down, looking back at his partner. “Do you think you’ll ever tell her?”

Ladybug was silent. It’s always like this, whenever Chat ask a huge question like that. But he knows Ladybug trusted him, that he didn’t have any ulterior motives for asking that. Chat Noir was genuinely curious.

He lapped in that silence, already well accustomed. Ladybug took her time to answer his questions, making sure everything was filtered and anything that needed to be hidden was.

“Maybe,” she finally answered. She didn’t continue and he didn’t break the silence. “Maybe,” she repeated, “maybe after years. Maybe after when this is all over.”

“Over?”

Ladybug gave him a look. “It has to end, at some point. Whether that’s in a couple years or months or decades is a different matter. But it won’t last.” She laughed. “Can you imagine a seventy year old Ladybug trying to topple over buildings?”

He chuckled with her. “I’m sure you’ll make a radiant Ladybug, even with an elder citizenship.”

She laughed harder, bordering on guffaws. “Thanks, Chat. I’m glad you think so.” They fall quiet again, the wind and faint noises below the Eiffel Tower being the only sound in their ears. “My best friend gets a lot of interviews from Ladybug.”

“Favoritism?”

“In a way. I don’t neglect her, because I know she would be devastated without getting a Lady interview for too long. But I try not to dote on her too much.” She gave him a smile, a small one, filled with secrets. “But that’s a little hard.”

“Why don’t you tell her? I’m sure your best friend would be ecstatic to know if her best friend was her idol, Ladybug.”

Her grin fell. Chat snapped his mouth shut. He crossed a boundary, he crossed a boundary, he crossed a boundary—

Ladybug didn’t explode. She didn’t leave. Nor did she stay silent. Instead, she fell down next to him, taking a spot next to his cozy, cold-metal seat. Her head leaned against his shoulder, a gesture he’s learned over the years she only did when she’s at almost complete vulnerability. His breathing slowed, his heart thumping.

“My best friend…” Ladybug started and Chat almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when he heard of the tenderness and safety in her voice. “My best talks about me—like actually. On the internet.”

Chat Noir raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say that your best friend runs a blog on her best friend?”

“I never said blog,” Ladybug said, aghast. Chat Noir chuckled. She probably meant to elude subtly to that point, but Chat—because he was so perceptive—figured it out. Judging by the mock annoyance she wears on her face, Chat didn’t need to worry about if he intruded too much.

“And?”

“And...she runs a blog. About Ladybug. She gushes about it all the time, talking about how Ladybug is courageous, brave—”

“You’re not going to tell me that’s a lie, now is it?”

Ladybug shot him a look. “Well, fine, I’ll admit I am brave. I have to be. But that’s only as Ladybug...I’m sure you’re different as yourself too, right, Chat?”

He didn’t say anything. Of course he was.

Ladybug mirrored his thoughts. “Of course you are. Having a mask...being able to start over with a new identity where no one knew you, where they hardly see your faults because you’re literally a savior... I’m different. It’s a little stressful when my best friend talks about both of us almost at the same time. ‘You’re so clumsy!’” Ladybug mimicked. “‘Oh, by the way, did you see my new video of Ladybug? She’s so graceful!’” She scoffed.

“...Is...Is that why you don’t want to tell me who you are?” he asked after what seemed like forever. Immediately, Chat Noir wanted to take it back. He felt like he was taking Ladybug’s worries and fears and turning them against her, using it to further his own desires. Of course Chat Noir wanted to know who Ladybug was, but that wasn’t the point here. “I-I-I m-mean—”

“I know.” Ladybug turned her eyes away, but still kept herself near him. “It is,” she whispered, just barely. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were having such a deep heart-to-heart or that Chat always listened to what Ladybug had to say, he might’ve missed it.

“Ladybug, I don’t know your secret identity so I may be totally baseless in saying this...but just because you aren’t graceful or a super when you’re yourself doesn’t mean you aren’t super or a grace.”

Her head snapped up, eyes locking with his. A thin coat of tears gleaned in her eyes and Chat Noir resisted the urge to lurch forward and hug her.

“Thanks, Chat,” she murmured, resting her forehead on his shoulder, “ Thank you.”

    It’s a little hard to sleep. Not impossible, but difficult. Though Adrien did manage to fall asleep, and his dreams are surrounded by ladybugs and masks.

Drearily, Adrien walked into class the next morning, setting his bag down on his desk and wanting nothing more than just to slam his face on to the table to take a nap. But he had an image to uphold, and even if his father wasn’t here, Gabriel Agreste had eyes everywhere.

“Can you believe it?” Adrien heard Alya screech to her best friend behind him. He smiled faintly. The two girls always talked amiably, loudly, not caring if anyone else in the room heard, never letting anything disturb their friendship. He turned a little to glance at them. “The hit count increased like, tenfold overnight! That’s a new record. And all because Ladybug mentioned it!”

Marinette laughed. “Well she had to. Didn’t the reporter ask her…something about publicity?”

“Yeah, the quick interview after the latest attack.” Adrien noticed Alya’s eyebrows furrowing, eyes squinting. “Did you watch it? That’s surprising. I didn’t think you liked Ladybug.”

“How can I not?” Marinette said and Adrien agreed. How can anybody not like her? Maybe even Hawkmoth had a hidden admiration for her, or at least her astounding abilities; why else would he send akumas that have bitter resentment towards the fact that Ladybug and he keeps winning, never loses?

His logic is flawed, seriously flawed. But then again, he never thought clearly when it came to Ladybug.

“Just because I’m not a huge fan— ” There was a pause, and Adrien turned again to catch Marinette’s eyes roll. He’s hit with its familiarity. “—doesn’t mean I don’t watch the news. I don’t live under a rock.”

“Fair enough,” Alya grinned. “So? So?”

“So what?” Marinette asked, laughing. Alya shoved her.

“So, what do you think? My blog’s been getting so much more attention since then.”  Alya gasped. “More people are going to see it. What if they’re not impressed? Do you think I should change the appearance? You have aesthetic sense; what do you think?”

Marinette chuckled again. “Oh please, Alya. Your blog is amazing! It’s perfect; everyone loves it. You write fantastic articles. Especially since you’re not professional!” Marinette poked her best friend, then crossed her arms with confidence. “You’re not bounded by large corporations so you can say anything about Ladybug! And although you want to unmask her”—the small furrowing of her eyebrows did not go unnoticed by Adrien—“you’re unbiased! Seriously, don’t even worry about it!”

“Thanks, Marinette,” Alya said, obviously relieved. “I needed that.”

“I’m your best friend,” Marinette said, jolting Adrien. “What do you even expect from me?”

“Reading my blog more,” Alya jabbed, coercing a sheepish grin from Marinette. “You say it’s great but you barely even read it!”

“I read some of it and what I read was great! I can’t help it, Alya; I don’t care much for unmasking her! I think you respect her privacy a little more. Shouldn’t that be her choice?”

The girls continue debating, with no real animosity between them, but Adrien was already lost. There was so many things that Marinette said that overlapped with his conversation with Ladybug last night. With his heart beating rapidly, Adrien twiddled his thumbs, trying to recall and match everything up with what he knew. Ladybug’s best friend, a blog, a fear of not living up to expectations—

His eyes flicked back. Marinette laughing hard with Alya now, her rich hair catching the sunlight streaming into the room from the windows perfectly.

Heavenly, Adrien remembered.

    He wasn’t stalking her.

Sometimes he had a legitimate reason to be where he was. Akuma attacks and all—they were draining. Power-wise (and physically). He couldn’t be Chat forever. Adrien had to come out at some point and he need to find places to hide.

Okay, maybe Adrien was a little curious to see where Marinette was going. But he wasn’t stalking her. Adrien often just happened to be around the area where Marinette was, generally after an akuma attack, and he took the liberty of following her a couple blocks to say hi.

That didn’t constitute as stalking if they met up coincidentally right?

It’s not his fault that Marinette kept showing up at the same places he did.

Constantly. Adrien began to think it was weird, because more times than not, he would catch a glimpse of dark hair and think it was Ladybug, running away after a victorious battle, when it was really Marinette. He would catch Marinette coming out from dark alleyways, in between building walls on market streets, even behind a trash can. He would catch her eye sometimes before he even started to approach her— not stalking!—and see her eyes widen, blush building.

And what he really began to think was strange was that Marinette would stutter out something that was obviously an excuse. The way she would flush at the sight of him then respond to his question by letting her eyes dart to the side of wherever they were and picking the first thing she saw as her reason was a blatant sign. She might as well just be shouting “HEY, I’m lying about my actual situation, but I don’t want to tell you about it!”

And he got that, really. After all, wasn’t he stuck in the same situation?

But Adrien can’t help but to be curious.

He knew he should be suppressing his Marinette-Ladybug hunch. He respected his lady’s identity and now even understood why she was so adamant in keeping it so. But it’s been months since that conversation, and even longer since Adrien’s beginning to notice that Marinette showed up in all the places he’s at after an akuma fight. No matter how much Adrien tried to push away the connection between Marinette and Ladybug, somehow, it just kept coming back.

As a season passed and almost a month into the next one, Adrien realized that his Marinette-Ladybug was no longer a mere hunch, but a practical, reasonable theory.

    It’s six months after his initial speculation that Marinette was Ladybug when Adrien fully realizes he wouldn’t mind that. At all.

Strangely enough, he hadn’t even really considered that. Adrien was so concerned with not figuring out who Ladybug was and pushing that conjecture to the far corners of his brain that he didn’t think about what he felt about Marinette being Ladybug.

And he felt happy. Extremely ecstatic.

Marinette was so incredibly amazing. He couldn’t even begin to list what he liked about her. They only started to get to know to each other a year ago, and only recently were they becoming closer and closer. Adrien enjoyed spending time at Marinette’s home; it was warm and cozy and so full with love that he had desperately craved. Sabine and Tom were the best . There was practically nothing bad about visiting the bakery everyday.

There was also the fact that Adrien often visited Marinette as Chat.

The first was an impulsive decision. Was it a year ago, maybe more? Either way, Adrien can still recall the memory sharply: Marinette had offered him a comforting pep talk on one of the rare days where Adrien had let his sadness show. It was one of those days where his father wasn’t able to attend any of the events he had promised to attend, one of those days where he rubbed Ladybug the wrong way, one of those days where his best friend didn’t show up to school to cheer him up.

Instead, Marinette did. And her words were different from Nino’s. Nino would tell him all the things that were bad with his father and how unfair Adrien’s life was as a neglected child. Adrien appreciated that, really he did, but sometimes he felt as though Nino didn’t really understand.

Marinette—who wasn’t his close friend—did.

She told him how it was okay to be sad, how it was okay to hate his father, how it was okay to still want to impress him despite despising his every demand. She told him that Adrien wasn’t making wrong decisions, even though he felt like it. She told him how she would always listen, if he ever needed an ear.

Her words shocked him to his core. Adrien hadn’t expected her to say such things, hadn’t expected such truthful and a little negative words to actually make him feel better. He was intrigued and just because no one was home that night, took his own expanded to a homey bakery.

He was knocking on her trapdoor before Adrien could even second guess himself.

That opened the gate to all the visits he would make as Chat Noir. Talking to her as both of his alter egos sometimes confused him, needing him to make sure Adrien didn’t let anything slip, but he loved it. He loved every bit of it.

Slowly, but surely, Adrien knew he was getting closer to Marinette. Everytime he thought of this, he needed to resist the urge to throw both fists into the air and scream “ YES!”.

Adrien also loved helping her with her projects. Adrien wasn’t a fashion designer, but he still had taste. Growing up in the world of fashion had forced him to look at things with an aesthetic eye.

And, Adrien still remembered the scarf. He confirmed it was from Marinette when he wore it during a rare dinner with his father and the man hadn’t made a single comment regarding it. Plus, when Adrien wore it to school, Marinette would always try to avoid his eyes, flushing, all more so than usual. It had to be from her. And although the thought that his father hadn’t gotten him anything for his 15th birthday or that Nathalie had lied to him, the realization that Marinette—who barely even knew him back then— made him a gift with her bare hands warmed his heart to no end.

He knew he liked her. He knew he loved Ladybug What he hadn’t realized until he was lying on his bed with his arm covering his eyes, a whole sixth month period after a deep heart-to-heart with Ladybug, was that he was in love with Marinette and Ladybug. As one entity. In his head, there was no “Marinette” or “Ladybug” anymore.

He had started to use the two names interchangeably.

  Adrien was starting to understand why Ladybug was so adamant in keeping their identity a secret, their lives separate. Even though Marinette had explained it to him that one time, on the Eiffel Tower, she also implied there were more reasons than one.

Admittedly, Chat Noir had been too eager and persistent in wanting to know who Ladybug was, to reveal more about the girl he admired, to stop and really consider why she wanted to stay elusive.

Now that he knew Marinette was Ladybug, not to mention breaking her trust on so many levels, Adrien was terrified.

The first one being losing his friendship with her because he has sought out Ladybug’s identity.

There's more. He's scared that she won't like the idea of Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste being the same person. He knew the images were different. Knowing the Marinette admired Adrien Agreste enough to have clippings and magazines of his shoots put enough pressure on him. His father always wanted him to be a perfect, obedient role model child, and Chat Noir was anything but. Ladybug seems exasperated enough with Chat Noir and his (he’ll admit it) silly puns, but if she knew he was actually Adrien Agreste, supposedly cool, collected model? Adrien didn't know if he liked to find out.

The positive, sometimes more rational, side of him protested that Marinette was one of his closest friends, if not his best. She wouldn't cut him out of his life or hate him for that matter. She was nice, caring—understanding. Marinette just wasn't like that.

Still, fear crawled in his heart everytime he thought about it. The longer he delayed it, the bigger that terror grew. Before Adrien realized it, days turned into weeks and then into months and it had been almost a year since he discovered the secret.

Marinette would kill him. She would definitely kill him.

  Sometimes, Adrien thought Marinette would forgive him. She was just that kind, after all. He recalled the situation with Nathaniel, and while it was way milder, it still granted him hope.

“It's okay,” he heard her say one time. This was years earlier, maybe weeks after the first time Chat Noir had ever met Marinette.

The tone contained so much concern that Adrien paused in his walking. Curious, he glanced at the direction of the sound: the classroom. Marinette must still be in there.

“N-n-no, Marinette. I'm seriously sorry!” Adrien recognized the voice as Nathaniel. Maybe he shouldn't be eavesdropping on their conversation.

But he didn't leave.

Marinette laughed, a nice sound echoing through the the closed classroom door. “Seriously, Nathaniel, I don't mind.”

“I still should've asked for permission first,” the boy mumbled. “I know some people don't like it when others draw them—”

“Nathaniel!” Marinette said, and Adrien can catch the mirth in her voice. “I don't mind! Really!”

“I also made you damsel in distress,” Nathaniel continues on, almost rambling. “That was so rude of me. I know you're brave, Marinete, a-and confident…” Adrien found himself nodding along with his classmates’s words, despite the fact neither of them can see him, considering they don't even know he's overhearing the conversation.

“Nathaniel, if you think I'm going to criticize you for wanting to seem heroic, then I'm not brave at all. I know I'd like to be a hero every once in while.”

She does? Adrien thought. He didn't think that's common for most girls. Then again, the only girl he really knew was Chloe, who always wanted to play royalty, prancing around like a queen.

Maybe she really did enjoy working with Chat Noir then. Adrien had thought Marinette exaggerated her excitement, though he had initially been excited to see that someone was so ecstatic to work with him.

“So don't worry about it, okay? It's totally fine! Though I can't speak for anyone else. You're right; some others might not appreciate it. But I do! Your drawings are amazing, Nathaniel! I only wish I can draw as half as you do.”

“N-no,” Nathaniel murmured, “you're plenty good.”

Marinette giggled. “You're too kind. I disagree, but thanks for the compliment anyways!” There's a brief pause. “Oh! I have to go manage the bakery for my parents today—and I'm late!”

Adrien heard Nathaniel's slight laughter. “Then you should go. Thanks for talking to me Marinette.”

“It's no problem. And really, I'm flattered! And you're very kind to have talked to me about this.”

They stopped talking and Adrien heard feet shuffling, papers rustling. Realizing that they're leaving, Adrien walked in the opposite direction, trying to make it seem like he was simply walking past.

When the doors slid open, Adrien's feet just walked past the classroom.

“A-A-Adrien!” Marinette squeaked. Nathaniel stood behind her, hands holding a sketchbook. Her face was flushed pink and he saw Nathaniel’s ears tinted red.

Somehow, the sight didn’t bode well in his chest.

 (He doesn't figure out what that meant until later, however.)

   Other times, Adrien was sure Marinette would be infuriated with him.

Something he was sure Marinette would be irked about if she knew is something he tried doing at every occasion.

He liked to be vague. It was like an inside joke he had with himself.

Maybe it would be funny to Marinette years later, after they were together (he hoped, so desperately), when he explained the situation to her. Maybe she would guffaw with him, fondly reminisce of how foolish they were.

But she didn’t know—not now.

“Good night” he would say, trying to keep his tone flat and removing any unnecessary mirth that might give him away. “See you tomorrow,” Chat would finish, even though he’s fairly certain Chat Noir won’t be visiting her tomorrow.

Adrien would be.

Marinette would nod, oblivious, and sometimes he just wants to tell her, the truth on the tip of his lips.

But of course, Adrien wouldn't say anything, at least until he cleared things up with her formally, but he still wasn't ready for that.

  “Do you think girls would accept flowers and chocolate as a gracious apology?”

Nino almost spat out his drink. Fortunately, he didn’t. Unfortunately, he started to choke.

Adrien, being the great friend he is, thumped his best friend a couple times on the back, who nodded in thanks. Adrien was glad not a single drop of the soda spilled in the classroom; the professor would kill them. (Nino was secretly drinking while before the teacher arrived.) He wiped his mouth and looked back.

“What, you break a girl’s heart or something?” “Wouldn’t be the first time” he heard Nino mutter below his breath. Adrien narrowed his eyes.

“No,” he answered, indignant. “I'm just...preparing.”

“Preparing?” Nino looked suspicious. “You’re planning on breaking a girl’s heart?”

“No!” Shaking his head furiously, he denied, “No! Oh god, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, it seems a bit far-fetched, even for you, Agreste.” Adrien rolled his eyes at the name. Nino only ever called him that when he was joking about Adrien’s reputation.

“Okay, any ideas?”

“I think flowers and chocolate sound good. Anything romantic right?”

“I don’t need it to be romantic, Nino.” Adrien was about to remind his friend that he was apologizing when a couple of his classmates walked by their desk.

Alix snickered. “Loverboy finally making his move?”

“‘Loverboy’?” Adrien repeated.

"To Marinette, of course."

"I never said it was Marinette!" he shouted, jumping up, red faced.

"Well, it wasn't hard to guess. That's not the question here," Nino said. "The question is what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Adrien defended immediately, before deflating. Well, he did, actually.

"Yet," Alix added helpfully. "You want to ask her out or something?"

Seeing Alix's question, it's evident that she didn't hear his entire conversation with Nino, and only caught on with "Marinette" and "loverboy". Oh, she thought he liked her.

Which isn't wrong.

"I—" he stammered. Adrien's cheeks were growing hot. "I—"

He didn't have anything to say in defense. They weren't wrong. And neither was Adrien ready to admit to them he might've betrayed her. (Not that Marinette knew yet.)

Alix supplied a satisfied smirk before flicking her eyes to Kim, who looked rather crestfallen. Her fingers snapped, a harsh sound resounding through the classroom, one that made Adrien flinch, just a bit. Alix then smoothed out her fingers. With a heavy sigh, Kim handed over a couple of euros.

Adrien watched the exchange with disbelief. His eyes switched between his two classmates, continuing to go back and forth even as Alix clicked her tongue with happiness and spun away.

“You’re kidding me.”

Nino sent him a sympathetic look, but he’s also smiling. His best friend—“best” friend shrugged. “It’s been going on for a while, to tell you the truth. They also banned me and Alya from betting since no one trusted us to not have an unfair advantage.”

“They banned you—meaning you actually had something to say?”

Nino froze, then turned slowly, trying for a sheepish grin. Adrien crossed his arms. “Well...Oh, c’mon. Do you think you’re so suave with those looks you send to her every minute of every day that no one in our class would bet on you?”

Adrien didn’t respond. He was absolutely speechless.

“Bro, come on. I swear, everyone knew. I bet you that even your gardener knew.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, huh?” Adrien retorted.

Nino looked surprised for a second, then laughed awkwardly. “Thanks, but I’ve got no spare change to spend on bets.”

“Now there’s a bummer,” the boy responded, dramatically shaking his head.

“And a shocker,” a new voice came. Adrien turned to see Alya enter through the doorway. She set her bag down at her seat with a flourishing grin, one that spoke of triumph. “Agreste doesn’t have money?  Better tell Marinette that she’ll be needing to start feeding her boyfriend her bakery treats to prevent starvation.”

“My father doesn’t allow me much spending money,” Adrien said stupidly, brain still not functioning. “I’m not her boyfriend.” That was a struggle to say. Even just by looking at Alya, he can see that the entire class was watching the exchange, definitely highly amused.

“Yet,” Alya added with a wink. The crowd that started to surround them chanted ooh before breaking into peals of laughter. Adrien was practically combusting on the spot.

Trying to regain some of his composure, Adrien crossed his arms, attempting to go for a nonchalant look. It probably didn’t work. “Okay, fine— I like Marinette. But we’re not dating, and there’s no saying that she even likes me.” He was still hesitant about that. Despite all signs that he had hoped were signs, Adrien still had a feeling of unease residing in his stomach. An anxious thought that he was wrong.

However, as the words left his mouth, Alya just stared at him. Nino just stared at him. In fact, as Adrien looked around, everyone just stared at him.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“Dude,” Nino said.

“Dude,” Alya continued. The word, coming from her, gave him a shock.

“Dude,” various classmates chorused along, only making Adrien more and more self-conscious. Was he not getting something?

Nino shook his head, evidently disappointed.  His hand was at his forehead, like he was trying to wipe a massive headache away. “ Dude. ”

“What,” Adrien repeated, trying to echo the same tone Nino gave him, but was more than likely failing. Nerves a wreck, he was sure his voice was two seconds from cracking.

“Dude!” Nino shouted, jumping towards him and throttling his best friend at the shoulders. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What? Why would I joke about that?” He swatted Nino’s hand away. Glancing around, he noticed that the people were giving him the same look of disbelief Nino wore. “W-what, you’re telling me Marinette likes me?”

“Uh,” Alix said, hands at her hips, “duh?” She threw one hand up as if trying to wave the obvious around. And, as if they were in a movie, Adrien realized that the entire class was nodding in unison.

“Did literally everyone know before me?”

The people around him snickered. “Dude,” Nino said helpfully, “she wasn’t subtle.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. Rolling his eyes, Nino explained, “C’mon. The looks. The stares. You’re not blind, are you? ”

Alix snorted at the boy. “Out of all the thing she does, that’s what you point out?” Redirecting her attention to Adrien, she said, “The girl would shriek when you touched her. And her smile? Jeez, Adrien, I don’t know if I’ve seen anyone else wear such a painfully revealing and awkward expression.” The rest of the class nodded.

“Okay, okay,” Adrien said, trying to defend the remainder of his pride, ducking his face from the onlookers, “I get it.”

Alya grinned. “Do you?”

He looked at her.

“You realize this is the part where you’re supposed to court her, right?”

 His friends live in the 19th century, if not even further past.

Courting? Were they serious?

Apparently Alya was.

“I'm not kidding, Agreste. If you don't do this properly and unnecessarily hurt Marinette, I will kill you, no matter how much she likes you.” 

Nino had agreed, sending him a knowing look about the so called "plans" for breaking a girl's heart.

He wasn't sure how much of the threat was exaggerated (or wasn't exaggerated).

Truthfully, Adrien was worried he’ll hurt Marinette. There's the standard protocol of screwing up the confession or saying something he doesn't actually mean, but Adrien was mainly worried that he’s making a big mess with their secret identities.

Because he still hadn't told her. Still hadn't admitted that he knew she was Ladybug for almost a year.

To be fair, he only really knew for sure for about half a year. The first six months had him roaming around, constantly ranging anywhere from 30% to 99.99% sure that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug, before she had confirmed it firmly by talking about her best friend.

(Ladybug had always been hesitant in revealing anything personal, which was reasonable. It lead him here, after all.)

Adrien fell back on to his bed, heart a wreck. He honestly didn’t know what to do. He broke Ladybug’s trust and figured out who she was and here he stood (laid), thinking about ways to tell her he loved her—to her civilian self! From what he could gather from Ladybug’s brushes whenever he flirted, she didn’t anything closer to Chat Noir than they had right now.

Adrien groaned, rolling to his side. He was breaking Ladybug’s trust, through and through. He figured out who she was, didn’t tell her, and what’s worse, knows about her crush. In any circumstances, Adrien didn’t think Marinette would appreciate the fact that he talked about their relationship to their entire class. Alya had told him as much when she briefly mentioned that she was disappointed that the class (and herself) got to him before Marinette could.

Well, what was done was done. He shouldn’t contemplate it any longer.

But he did. Oh god, he did. Adrien would never be able to shake off the fact of how badly he broke Ladybug’s trust.

He wondered if she would forgive him if he pleaded his case of fear.

Adrien almost laughed. How ironic. Adrien, not telling her he knew his secret, out of fear, but also feared the aftermath of breaking her trust for keeping this secret of knowing her secret.

Oh, what a mess.

He caught her staring. Repeatedly.

Now that Adrien knew for sure Marinette liked him, the next several weeks that followed was coupled with his now intensified observations of Marinette. He noticed everything.

Sometimes Adrien would be able to suppress the grin that was sure to appear on his face if he was alone or something, but obviously Marinette was in proximity of him. Instead, he would give the small smiles he gave everyone and ask, “what’s wrong?” when he knew exactly what was going on.

Sometimes Marinette would blush and shout “n-nothing” in reply. Other times she would fix her longing stare into a smirk and throw back a witty reply.

He wasn’t sure he liked better.

   Adrien didn’t want to say he was disheartened when he Marinette took off those posters.

Because that’s just egoistic.

Sure, he had been elated when he saw that Marinette found him attractive enough to put his modeling spreads up in her room. Adrien knew that he was good looking to some extent—he had to be, for his modeling career. But the fact that Marinette thought that is a whole new story.

So when Adrien entered Marinette’s room for the first time as Adrien Agreste, he had expected to see her decorated walls he had barely glimpsed at as Chat. He was excited to, even.

But he didn’t. He was disappointed with the empty walls glaring back at him.

Marinette asked him what’s wrong and he couldn’t have just told her he wanted to see his face in her room. That was wrong on so many levels.

Besides, that was so long ago. They were barely even good friends, let alone close enough to warrant such a strange question.

So Adrien didn’t bring it up.

But now that he knew Marinette liked him and now that he was hyper aware of her, he kept self doubting himself. Were they sure he liked him? Yeah sure...that many people couldn’t be wrong, but why would Marinette take off those posters other wise? She had to detest looking at his face to do such a thing right?

He tried to push the thought away, but it kept crawling back like a stubborn infection.

Maybe everyone was wrong. Maybe she didn’t like him anymore. 

   “Adrien?” Marinette shrieked. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled. Surprising her never got old. “Just wanted to visit a friend.”

“It’s—” She whipped out her phone, glancing at the clock. “—8 o’clock.”

“And time stops friendship?”

Plagg would tease him for that cheesy line, but like Plagg had any right to complain about cheese.

Marinette flushed—a pretty pink, Adrien noted, with his own heart flipping and flopping—and glanced down, suppressing a grin and gestured wildly inside. “You can come in.”

“Thanks,” he said breezily, stepping over the threshold, his hands still laced behind his back. Marinette’s home was cozy as it always had been, but the homeliness of it just always puts him at awe—and envy.

Walking up to her staircase, she warned, “Wait a sec okay? My room’s super messy.”

He laughed. “I doubt it. You’re the most organized person I know.”

Marinette’s cheeks blossom again, and she looks at him and back at the door, mumbling a quiet and strangled “t-thanks” before disappearing behind it.

 “When did you turn in your essay?” he asked, as a means of making conversation. They had a paper due tonight at ten—a requirement their teacher thought would help them sleep earlier. Adrien snorted at that when the professor had explained as such. Nino would procrastinate until the last second, putting off other homework until ten. Then the boy would spend another three hours finishing it, sleeping at an early bedtime of one A.M.

Adrien expected a simple “oh, like, days ago” or a “maybe an hour ago?” as a reply from Marinette but when there’s no immediate reply, he glanced up at the girl sitting a couple meters away from him. Marinette was absolutely frozen, her arms midway between its previous stop and it’s next one, her entire body indicating that she stopped suddenly.

Seconds ticked by, seconds of such length that Adrien wondered what he should say.

“ I forgot about the essay!” Marinette shout-whispered. Her hands were slapped on her cheeks, her bright blue eyes dawned with horrible realization.

Adrien instantly shot up from his seat on the chaise and ran to her computer, turning it on and jerking the mouse, willing it to go faster. Marinette followed him, smoothly sitting and spinning around in her swivel chair and sliding over toward him. When the home screen asking for a password fired up, he automatically flipped around, giving Marinette privacy to type it.

“How much have you written?” he questioned, waiting. He heard the rapid typing, followed by a quick succession of tapping, which he can only assume is her backspacing her misspelled password. Calm, Marinette, he thought.

“Actually, a lot of it, so this isn’t as bad.” Although the waver in her voice indicated otherwise. “Just half of the last body paragraph and the conclusion and editing.” She groaned, her voice shrill.

“Okay, how about you send the file to me and I’ll edit what you have so far?”

“You’ll do that?” Marinette took a quick break from furiously finding the file and opening, looking over at him with stars in her eyes.

He struggled to keep a straight face. Clearing his throat, Adrien answered, “Y-yeah. Of course.”

“ Thank you, Adrien!” More clicks, followed by a lightning swipe of her mouse. “Okay, sent! Just read the intro and the first two body paragraphs, okay?”

“Will do,” he said, grabbing Marinette’s tablet. He quickly found the email application, logged Marinette out and himself in.

He downloaded the file. When Adrien opened it, he smiled at her introduction. For him, it was usually the last thing he wrote, because it was hard getting his words out when he wasn’t sure what the rest of his body paragraphs really said, but Marinette always wrote her first. And she nailed it. The essay started off with a bang and he was sure if it was like this all the way through, Marinette would have nothing to worry about.

Adrien sat back down on the chaise, leaning his back against it, scrolling. While he read, he thought that Marinette never mentioned difficulties in literature, so even failing this essay—even if major—wouldn’t be too big of an impact. If she didn’t do as well as she usually did, she wouldn’t fail the class or anything. Besides, Marinette’s essay, the bits he read so far, was already superb, so Adrien didn’t expect Marinette to receive a terrible, surprising grade.

Voicing his opinions, Marinette nodded, though it was obvious she was still nervous. She bit her lip as her fingers flew off her keyboard and before he knew it, Marinette was finished with the conclusion.

Adrien read it, decided it was great, and gave her essay another one over. After that was finished, Marinette said it was okay if he put the tablet away. If Adrien thought it was fine, then he didn’t need to proofread it again. However, Marinette did so, looking at it over and over again.

Then, right before Marinette was about to turn it in, Adrien asked, “You didn’t forget the bibliography, right?”

Marinette went ashen. Adrien groaned.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay!” she yelled, more to herself than him. Her hands were at the mouse and keys again, opening new tabs and documents. “I pasted links to all the articles I used in my notes document, so I’ll just cite those. And I have twenty minutes. Easy!”

Even with all that time left, Adrien still offered to help, but Marinette refused. “I got this. It’s my paper anyways. And you’ve helped enough. It’s been like—” Marinette glanced at the clock. 9:38. When she turned back to him, her face wore puzzlement. “Adrien, it’s almost ten.”

He couldn’t help but say, “Your deadline.” It didn’t deter Marinette like he hoped it would. She continued to stare at him, wasting precious seconds from her essay writing.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?”

Adrien should. Nathalie would call soon. That is, if she knew he was Marinette’s house working on her essay. But he had told the assistant that he’d be off at Nino’s for a dinner with his parents, and to expect him home late. He was older now, and with that, he had more liberties (surprisingly). Besides, his father was out of town, so he wouldn’t be personally checking up on Adrien.

If this were a couple years ago, however, Nathalie would’ve kept minute-by-minute updates for Gabriel Agreste. She may even inquire Nino if the so-called dinner was actually happening (who would still totally back him up). But it wasn’t.

“Eh,” Adrien said, causing Marinette to raise her eyebrows. “Father’s not home,” he finished, as if it explained everything.

It did. For Marinette at least. She didn’t know they had that connection that required no words when they were Ladybug and Chat Noir, but Adrien liked to think that after all these years of being friends with Marinette, they had some sort of understanding that was incomparable. Marinette nodded understandingly, spinning back around to face her computer.

Well, almost. Adrien doubted Marinette knew the reason he didn’t want to go home was because he wanted to spend more time with the girl furiously trying to finish a literature assignment.

But the tips of her ears were dipped with red and Adrien found himself smiling. Maybe she had a hunch, then.

   “Can I see you newest design?”

Marinette, busy with her hands, with ten minutes left and trying to finish the bibliography for the essay on time, didn’t even glance at him. “Sure,” she said, her fingers firing off at her keys. Adrien glanced once at her fast moving fingers, picturing a machine gun, and wondered if she would need to get her keyboard replaced afterwards.

He walked around the room, touching the fabric that hung loosely against her mannequin. That one was almost finished; a flowy dress Adrien had seen Marinette work on for the past couple of months. Considering that it’s almost complete…

He pulled out the second drawer, finding fabrics marked with pins. Aha! Adrien took it out carefully with a flourishing grin. A fluttery blue overlaid with sheer pink. Great choice. It looked like a skirt, and knowing Marinette, she would create other pieces to go with it, in order to complete the set. She just started, so she might not have much, but still. Adrien expected a sketch here and there.

He rummaged in the drawer, hoping to find something more, but only got layers of unused or leftover fabrics. No in progress pieces or even sketched figures. Frowning, Adrien pulled out the first drawer, hoping Marinette had misplaced her sketchbooks in the first instead of putting them in the second.

Instead, he got his face.

His breathing stopped.

Adrien’s eyes snapped up to Marinette’s walls—her bare walls—and almost gave himself a whiplash in the process. He remembered he had a brief glance of her (amazingly) decorated walls when he visited once as Chat Noir. And the next time? Adrien Agreste met eye-to-eye to natural, empty pink walls.

She kept them.

Adrien stuck his hand under around halfway of the stack, lifting it up. A magazine from three years ago. Fall edition. Adrien remembered being particularly fond with the results; they came out fabulously and his father even complimented him for doing a great job.

There was a small sticky note on the spread, and curious, Adrien slipped out the magazine and read it. Marinette’s cute handwriting pointed to his face and said, “Great shoot! Even his father said it was good, according to Adrien.”

Three years ago. They weren’t close then, but were acquainted well enough to tell each other their ups and downs. He didn’t exactly recall his conversation, but apparently Marinette cared about it enough to write it down.

If Nino were here, he may make a light joke about Marinette being just a little stalkerish, but rather than feeling creeped out with the large stack of glossy papers with his face on it, Adrien felt his heart skip a beat. Skip multiple beats.

 She still liked him.

  Just thinking about it made him want to roll around in his bed.

To which, Plagg would groan and persistently whine until Adrien fed him cheese.

Marinette liked him.

A lot.

Sometimes Adrien still couldn’t believe it. Ladybug, who always pushed him away when he so much tried to hold her hand, liked him.

His heart fluttered at the thought.

Adrien rolled to the side of his bed, covering his face with his pillow. He was burning up.

He liked her a lot too.

  He can’t stop staring.

He would always make sure to turn away when she gave any side of turning her head, however.

     “Bro, you gotta tell her.”

Adrien sent Nino a sidelong look. “I know,” he replied. Alya was already getting on his case but he just wanted to get the perfect moment. He took another look at Marinette, who stood in the gymnasium several feet away. She caught his look and Adrien felt his ears warm. Marinette smiled and waved. He waved back.

“Dude.”

Adrien redirected his attention to Nino. Seeing his face, Adrien smiled, a little defeated.

“I know.”

   “She still doesn’t know that I know,” Adrien had pointed out to Plagg when he, too, complained about his ineptitude. “I’m not ready.”

He still hadn’t told her that he knew she was Ladybug. She probably had no clue.

   He wondered how badly she would murder him when she found out.

Adrien pictured Marinette throwing her yo-yo at him, tying him up and angrily yelling at him. He saw her giving him the silent treatment for a good month. He imagined her furious expression, animatedly ranting to herself, eyebrows furrowing and pinched, before looking at him.

He can’t help but to smile.

It’ll be worth it, he decided. And any longer would just multiply the damage she might inflict.

Though he knew that wasn’t really true.

Still, sometimes Adrien would get waves of panic, and instead of coming with ideas of the reveal, he would block it away from his mind. She’ll hate me. I’ve lied to her for too long.

Maybe just not telling her would be the best bet...

He should tell her.

Adrien should definitely tell her. It’s been over a year since he had a hunch about Ladybug’s secret identity. He’s completely sure by now, obviously.

But she wanted to keep it as a secret. It was plain as day how much she wanted to keep her superhero life separate.

She would kill him. She would really kill him. She might even hate him—forever.

 “You know she’s my best friend, right?”

Alya stood in front of him, arms crossed. The brunette wore a disapproving glare—one eyebrow raised and a small scowl.

Adrien smiled sheepishly. “She’s mine, too,” he tried. Alya fixed him with a stare. The boy sighed. “Okay, well, I’m not going to abuse her or anything like that.” He’s afraid he already did.

Alya rolled her eyes. “Of course not. If I thought you were, your head would be twisted behind your back.”

“ Twisted behind my — what kind of movies do you even watch?”

“Ones where the best friend doesn’t betray the main character.”

“Am I the main love interest?” Alya shot him a deadpan look. Adrien held up his hands in surrender. “You’re not betraying her—”

“—I’m only giving you dirt on her?”

“It’s not dirt —”

“It’s blackmail.”

Adrien breathed in, then out.

“I just want some proof. Y’know? To give me confidence.”

The girl smirked. “A model needing confidence to know if a girl likes him?”

“You know that looks aren’t everything. That Marinette doesn’t only care about looks.”

“You’re calling yourself good looking now?” When Adrien didn’t return the joke, Alya sighed. “I know.” She cocked her head. “I never thought you would need confidence. It was never a worry I had.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You had others?”

The blogger scoffed. “You kidding me? Believe me, I have had years to run through all sorts of scenarios through my head. All sorts of disastrous outcomes.”

I bet us being superheroes wasn’t a factor, Adrien thought, still worried Marinette would hate h forever after he told her. “Do you have anything?”

“Any possible outcomes?” Alya raised her eyebrow. “You'll confess, she'll confess, you'll make out—”

Adrien coughed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Alya sent him a deadpan look. “Are you kidding me? You better kiss the hell out of her, considering the torment you’re putting her through.”

“The torment I’m putting her through ?” If only Marinette knew. She was driving him mad, what with her smiles and sparkling blue eyes and that face she makes when she’s happy...Adrien can hardly think straight with Marinette around, though he guessed that was already established.

Alya kept her arms crossed, unrelenting.

“Please? You guys all say she likes me—”

“She does . How is that even a question?”

“But I could use a little proof. You know, anything for a push.” Truth was, Adrien knew Marinette liked him. And he knew she trusted him and would never kick him out or throw him away. Of course not; this was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. But despite all that, Adrien still had that humongous fear that Marinette will never forgive him. So what Adrien was really doing with Alya was to get her to tell him something that told Adrien she would; a sign if you will.

“Proof.” The girl scoffed, blowing a little of her hair out of her face. “There is so much proof that she likes you that I don’t even know where to begin.”

Adrien stared at her patiently.

“Okay,” Alya said, looking extremely exasperated with herself. She held up a finger. “You can never tell her I told you this but you guys seriously need a push to solve that goddamn sexual tension of yours. You wanted dirt on Marinette?”

Adrien can barely follow along. “I didn’t ask for dirt—”

“She stole your phone once several years ago. That time you lost your phone for a while—she had it. She knew you were at fencing—hell, she knew your entire schedule. Her crush on you was a little out of hand, to be honest.”

He blinked. And blushed. “She knew my schedule? Why would she even steal my phone?” There were so many questions he needed to ask; half the things Alya said barely made sense.

“To get to know your shit better, what else?” Adrien’s eyes widened and Alya rolled her eyes. “She tried calling you to ask you out once. The little spaz can’t get two words out without stammering so she thought a call would be better.” Alya looked at Adrien. “You were at fencing.” She looks back at her hand, counting off her fingers, “You didn’t pick up, she freaked out, she threw your phone on her bed without hanging up, didn’t know that and continued talking to me, revealed some embarrassing stuff”—Alya shot him a look—“what else could be done to fix all that without stealing your phone?”

Adrien could only stare at her. “Is that all?” Alya smirked and crossed her arms. “To delete the voicemail?”

“You could have less sophisticated technology so it would make it easier for two innocent best friends to a crush’s phone and delete an embarrassing voicemail.” Alya brushed her hair back. “Though I did manage it.”

“That’s...uh, wow.”

Alya fixed him with a stare. “What else did you think she could do?”

“Explain the situation?” The girl shot him a look. Are you serious?

“If she told me how much she wanted it deleted, I wouldn’t even have listened to it.”

“She can barely talk to you. How do you think she would’ve managed that?”

Fair point. “Was it that bad?”

“You tell me. What did you think of Marinette speaking skills back then?”

She had him again. “Okay, I see what you mean. How does that help me?”

Alya groaned and threw her hands in the air. “Just because the girl doesn’t stutter like hell in front of you anymore doesn’t mean her feelings has changed. She still likes you. That much.” She poked him in the chest a couple times. Adrien backed away. “Even more so, now that you’re potentially stealing my spot for the best friend title.”

Adrien frowned. “I could never replace you.” Alya raised an eyebrow. “She’s your best friend.”

“Best girl friend, maybe,” she conceded, “but I know there are things she’s not telling me.”

“There are things she doesn’t tell me either.” Alya gave an unconvincing “hm”. “ Seriously,” he said. “You’re the best friend; I’m nothing more than the love interest.”

Alya shoved him. “I can’t tell if you’re giving yourself too much credit or too less. You’re important to her too. Also, you’re very smug about this whole ‘love interest’ thing.”

Adrien can’t stop the grin stretching on his face. “Yeah? Well, isn’t it expected considering how much she likes me?”

“Then you should get your ass moving. You’re doing it this weekend, right?”

“You make it sound like I’m assassinating her or something.”

“You practically are. You’re too happy about this.” Adrien opened his mouth to protest but Alya started to poke him again. “You are. And I know you can’t help it, so I’m not even going to bother to tell you to stop, because you won’t be able to. Marinette’s going to see right through that. And then she will blush. Massively.”

“That’s not bad.” Look, he finished mentally, That’s not a bad look at all.

“Yep,” Alya confirmed, eyes narrowed. “You’re too happy about this.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s okay though, since she’ll be pretty happy afterwards too.”

Adrien grinned.

    “She might just murder you when you tell her.”

He tried not to let that get to him. Instead, Adrien tried to busy himself with his hands, finding his pencils, tablets, papers, anything necessary for a study session. There wasn’t any huge test or midterm coming up—only a simple quiz—but a lot of their classmates were going to join in and hit the library together. He zipped up his bag.

“I know,” Adrien said. “But it’ll be worth it.” That’s what he was trying to convince himself, anyways.

“You could’ve just told her a year ago. You would’ve been together for a year.”

“Oh, don’t give me that what could’ve been. I didn’t know her as well a year ago.”

“You still knew her,” Plaag pointed out, “rather well.”

“Yeah, yeah—oh, a call.” Adrien picked up his phone, seeing that it was from Nino. When he accepted the video call, he realized Alya was on the other side of the line, too.

“Study session is cancelled,” Nino said through the video chat. “Sucks.”

“And I really needed that review.” Alya groaned. “The quiz is on Tuesday, and I barely understand anything.” Alya’s perked up with a sudden idea. “Why don’t we just add Marinette to our video chat? We can add the other classmates too, if you want. But I think it would get too messy. What do you think, Nino?”

“I’m down.”

Alya looked at Adrien.

“I, uh,” Adrien said, “actually will go with Marinette. It’s raining, but I can still go to her house.”

Alya gave him a knowing look. Adrien hung up immediately. His heartbeat raced, pounding in his ears, and he tried to calm himself. Adrien placed a hand on his chest, feeling its thumps.

“Plagg?”

“What,” his kwami said from under the covers.

“We’re going out.”

“You’re visiting Marinette today? Weren’t you going to kiss her tomorrow?”

“I was going to tell her tomorrow, but there’s been a change of plans.”

“I’ll get the bandages ready.”

    Alya was going to kill him.

After Marinette was done, of course.

He might’ve just teased her a little too much.

But that's okay, decided Adrien, as he smiled into Marinette's hair. It was worth it.

    She didn’t kill him.

At this point, he knew Marinette wasn’t completely angry with him (even if he had vestiges of fear).

Marinette certainly got in quality attempts to, however.

“Should I even let you in?” Marinette hissed when he showed up at her door a couple hours ago. Adrien grinned and Marinette narrowed her eyes even more.

“I brought flowers?” he said, bringing out the bouquet from behind his back.

“Hm,” Marinette gave, turning slightly away, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. Adrien was still smiling.

“And a fashion magazine? It's a longer issue, with pages they had before editor has them removed. Small annotations, too.”

Marinette turns back to him, arms still crossed. “I might be persuaded to let you in.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, not missing the way Marinette’s eyes darted to his lips. His chest flips. “Is it a hard decision?” Adrien asked, barely aware of the words he’s saying.

She made a weird sound in her throat, her face flickering between two different expressions, fighting for victory. “Not at all,” Marinette squeaked

“I also brought a picture of me, ‘cause I don’t quite think your collection is big enough—”

She slammed the door in his face.

Maybe his girlfriend should take on Hawkmoth’s plans, because if she had taken his Miraculous, he wouldn’t be able to get in. But in the next minute, he had slid down her trapdoor and tiptoed to the living room, where he could hear she was still fuming to herself, ranting to Tikki.

“The nerve of him!” he heard her say.

“What nerve?” Adrien asked her cheekily. Unfortunately, he hadn’t caught her on surprise. Marinette spun on her heel, grabbed him by his bell, and threw him against the wall.

“Even without transformation, my lady?” Adrien whistled. “You never cease to impress me.”

“And you never cease to annoy me,” she replied, lowering her self to his eyelevel. Marinette grabs his collar harshly and Adrien prepares himself for her second hurl.

She kissed him instead.

Adrien sunk into the kiss instantly and cups her face. He also decides the transformation isn’t really needed anymore, and sees a brilliant flash of green behind his closed eyelids. He parts from her but his eyes are still closed and Marinette’s still clutching his the soft cotton of his t-shirt and Adrien really likes this, really likes her.

Then she released him and did hurl him across the room.

“You never cease the surprise me either,” he said with a flourishing grin.

“Get up, you stupid cat,” she told him, holding a hand out. He took it and Marinette pulled him up. “What are doing here?”

“I can't visit my girlfriend?” They both flushed at the word. Adrien grinned at her, his face warm, but despite being slightly embarrassed, he enjoyed every moment. He watched with delight as Marinette struggled to maintain her composure, vigorously fighting down a blush that’s creeping up her cheeks.

“Not if he can't help teasing me.” She leaned in to peck him again. “Do you want to finish this?” Marinette grabs a DVD case from the coffee table and holds it up. It’s the second of movie of the one they watched a couple days ago. Marinette’s favorite, he remembered. Truthfully, he didn’t enjoy it that much, though it was good. Just not his type of genre.

Adrien wrapped a hand around her shoulders, kissing the side of her head, his lips landing on her soft hair. “Sure,” he answered her.

Marinette giggled, dragging him to the seat next to her on the couch. He sat closer than he usually does, but considering yesterday, he’s happy he had the liberty to do so.

His girlfriend picks up the remote that she placed on the couch’s rest arm and clicks it on. Adrien snickers when he sees that it’s paused five minutes into the movie.

“What’s the point of asking me if I want to watch it if you already started? You'll just finish it anyways.”

She shoots him a knowing smirk. “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You know me well.”

“Mhm.” His heart skipped more than one beat when Marinette abruptly dragged her legs over, placing them over his lap. Adrien felt his neck warm, his ears burn.

Marinette looked at him questionably. “Are you okay?” As if she had no idea.

“Yeah,” he breathed. Marinette nodded, and went back to watching the movie.

He could barely concentrate. Which is a little disheartening because he wants to try to enjoy it as Marinette is. But between her legs wrapped over his and warm hands touching his bare arms, Adrien hardly has a rational thought.

She’s practically sitting on me.

“I have a question,” Marinette asked suddenly. Her attention is still focused on the movie, but Adrien can read from her eyes that it’s anywhere but.

“Yeah?”

“What did you think when you figure out I was Ladybug?”

He looked at her. Her eyes barely darted to him, but he was able to see it; he always had that connection with her, even when she tried hiding it. Adrien flickered back to the conversation they had a year ago: Marinette admitting her fear of not living up to expectations.

Glancing at his girlfriend, his wonderful partner, Adrien’s almost disappointed in himself that he didn’t resolve this fear of hers earlier.

“What did I think? Well,” Adrien said, smiling a little as he watches the movie, “I tried pushing away the thought that you were Ladybug.” In the corner of his eye, he saw her lips quiver. In his hands, he felt her stiffen. Marinette, he pleaded, listen, I won’t hurt you. “ You trusted me and I respected you; I wasn’t about to go about figuring out who Ladybug was without your permission.”

She looked at him. “But you did,” she croaked.

“That’s because...I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You and Ladybug—I don’t even know. You’re just so similar, in more ways than you can see. Just one day, I realized...I already saw you as one person. I’m surprised I didn’t let anything slip. With how comfortable I was seeing you two as the same person, I thought I would’ve mentioned something I told Ladybug, not Marinette.” Adrien laughed, scratching his cheek. “I mean, you are the same person, but you didn’t know I knew that.”

“So...you aren’t—”

“Marinette,” Adrien said. “You’re my best friend. You’re my partner. Don’t ever think I would be disappointed in you, okay?”

She didn’t brighten. She softened, but she didn’t relax. The tension in her face was still plainly evident. Marinette didn’t smile that smile he wanted to see, that happy face she always had.

“Marinette,” Adrien started again, feeling this immense need to make her feel wanted, special, “you said so yourself, right? I knew you were Ladybug and it didn’t change our relationship. A whole year—I’m really sorry about that. But we’re still best friends, partners aren’t we?”

“More than that,” Marinette replied, pecking his lips.

“I don’t think so. Lovers have that, yes, but I think that you and I always have each other’s backs. We’re always there for each other, right? We didn’t need to date for that.”

Marinette looked up at him then, and then—then she gives him that smile he’s been waiting for. Her lips stretch, her eyes glimmer and Adrien can’t help but to lean in. His eyes haven’t closed yet so he can count each individual freckle on her face, and there’s a lot of them. A lot of those beautiful spots marked on her skin that Adrien wanted to kiss. He might take a while just counting them all, but that’s something he doesn’t mind spending forever doing.

“But I’m still glad we are,” Marinette whispered, and all of his lingering, suppressed worries regarding her not forgiving him for keeping this secret for an entire year was washed away. He pressed in close, the same time Marinette invited him to her, and they sit on her couch, kissing, for what felt like hours.

“I have a question, too,” he told her when they part. Marinette’s eyes were half hooded, glazed over. His heart won’t calm down at the sight.

“What?” she asked.

He chuckled, kissing her nose. “What was your reaction when you found out I was Chat Noir? You didn’t figure it out like that I did and I’m sure that must’ve been shocking…”

“Hmm,” Marinette pondered, a hand at her chin. “I was a little surprised at first,” she admitted, “but even though it’s only been about twenty-four hours since I found out...I don’t feel any different.” Marinette laughed. “I think it’s because you’re my best friend and I knew you better than I thought I did. I just never realized.”

“And you’re okay with it? With liking me—liking Chat Noir…”

Marinette blinked. Then flushed—massively. He would never tired of that sight. “I—I, uh...”

He nodded a little, patiently bidding her to continue.

Marinette swallowed, closing her eyes as if to steel herself. “I liked you—both of you. Adrien and Chat Noir. I hated it because you kept on confusing me…” She looked away, embarrassed.

He smiled. Really smiled. Marinette must hate him for it because her eyes peeked at his before darting away with mortified fury.

She was so cute. Though he needed to remedy this issue.

Adrien’s knuckles brushed her cheek. Marinette didn’t flinch like he almost expected her to, but instead actually leaned into him. Adrien tried not to burst with happiness right then and there.

He loved her so much.

“You confused me too,” he finally said. She stared at him, shocked and puzzled. “I mean, significantly less, since I guess I caught on earlier. But you made me really confused. I couldn’t fathom how much I liked you.”

She’s practically burning right in front of him. Adrien didn’t bother concealing his grin.

He swooped down to kiss her again.

“I like you,” she whispered against his lips. “I like you, I like you, I like you.”

“I like you, too.” Adrien kissed her too. “I like you so much.” Feeling over the moon, Adrien held on to her hips and spun her. She giggled gleefully, face red as Marinette tried to steady him by placing her hands on his shoulders. “I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you,” he paralleled her, setting her down and connecting foreheads, “I like you so much .”

Her breath is intertwined with laughter. “That was one too many, I think.”

“Can’t be. I’m saying how much I like you.”

She blushed at his cheesiness and he did a little too. But Adrien didn’t mind. They were both hopeless romantics.

“I can’t believe this,” Marinette confessed. “That was only yesterday… ”

“Me neither,” admitted Adrien, “though according to Nino, we acted like we were already dating…”

She wrinkled her nose. “Please. I would’ve known.”

He laughed. “Really? You didn’t react to my flirtations the same way when Chat Noir flirted with Ladybug.” Marinette flushed—a lot. More than Adrien expected she would.

“That’s—that’s because Chat Noir—yo-you didn’t—you weren’t serious!”

Adrien gaped at her. His jaw literally dropped. There was a pause. A pregnant one. “What? ”

Marinette was stubbornly angry. Stamping her feet, she insisted, “You weren’t!” Her hands was whacking the air violently now.

He continued to stare at her.

“You weren’t?” Marinette asked tentatively, dropping her fire when Adrien didn’t respond to her for maybe an hour. “I mean...I wasn’t sure if you were?”

“You weren’t sure,” he repeated, incredulous. She wasn’t sure. If the entire class hadn’t asserted that they were hopelessly in love with each other, Adrien might’ve not been overwhelmed with perplexity. “You weren’t sure.”

“I wasn’t, okay?” Marinette snapped, though Adrien could tell she’s embarrassed. “You were Chat Noir and yeah, you flirted with me, but you flirted with Marinette, too! How was I supposed to know that was real?”

He groaned.

“You’re the only person I ever flirted with,” he said finally, ignoring the blush that’s crawling at the back of his neck.

Marinette whirled towards him, eyes wide.

“I admit, I flirted with you without knowing you were the same person. But you were. And I guess I wasn’t serious initially…” He scratched the back of his head, unsure how to about this. “I did like you. I didn’t know how I liked you...Not to mention, I’m more open as Chat Noir.”

“You got that right,” Marinette mumbled. He chuckled and pulled her in. She buried herself into the crook of his neck.

“Did you like me flirting with you?”

“You better shut up right now, kitty, unless you want to be thrown across the room again.”

“Ah, the perks of having a superhero as your girlfriend.” Adrien pulled away, watching her glowing face. He brushed her bangs back.

“Don’t tease me.”

“Now don’t go asking for the impossible.”

Watching her blush massively again, freckles illuminated clearly, Adrien decided that he would never tire of teasing her.

    But now, now Adrien thinks he’s getting what he deserves.

He could hear Ladybug’s smirk when he exhaled, eyes closed in pleasure, and Adrien briefly wondered if this was how Marinette felt like when he did the same.

She pulled her head back and he opened his eyes to see a beautifully confident expression gracing her face, lips curled up in the corner. “Is this the part where I say ‘cat got your tongue’, handsome boy?”

It’s thrilling, Adrien noticed as his heart flips, when Ladybug utilized both his identities like that. He leaned down, lips barely touching. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?” he asked, brushing his lips over hers, but pulling away when she leaned forward. It’s a little disappointing when she didn’t flush massively like he’s used to, but it’s also exhilarating when Ladybug smirked in reply, sensually tucking one finger around his collar and pulling it towards her, slowly. His nose bumped with hers, and his heart is beating so erratically, Adrien’s not sure if he’s ever going to regain his calm.

Her breath was intoxicating. Adrien’s eyes fluttered shut when Ladybug’s mouth hovered over his and her hands crawled up his hip and towards his chest. He can’t feel the cool of her fingertips or the warm of her palm when she’s Ladybug, yet the touch of her gloves was equally appealing. He sighed heavily when she dragged a finger down his chest.

“Can you kiss me already?” he asked. Adrien was unable to suppress the slight quirk of his lips when Ladybug laughed. She pulled her hand away from his chest, which was bothersome but as she drifted her fingers lower, at an almost painstakingly slow rate, Adrien’s heart threatened to burst. He heard his sigh again and Ladybug’s fingers left him.

She brings both her hands up, cupping his face, and Adrien tilted his head, anticipating her kiss. Instead, Ladybug kept propelling her head forward, at an angle, passing his lips to kiss his jaw. He shifted his head to give her a better angle, getting just a bit annoyed now when he felt her smug lips curve under his neck.

“Satisfied, are we?” he managed without tripping over his words. Kind of, Adrien added, when a strange sound finished his question as Ladybug bit his ear gently. After she’s done with that new aspect to this innovative form of (admittedly pleasing) torture, he felt her lean up, her chest brushing his, so she could whisper, “Consider it payback.”

She pulled back, triumphant grin lighting her features and Adrien tried to roll his eyes. Or anything of the sort to indicate that he’s not completely entranced by her. But he was. Completely and entirely.

He let her roll around in her victory for a couple seconds, before Adrien decided he’s done with Ladybug teasing him, and tugged tightly on her left arm. She’s too immersed with her victory to anticipate it, and her accomplished expression dropped just a bit when Adrien successfully had her close, his left arm wrapped around her waist. He didn’t waste a single second (or give her any to plan her strategy) and leaned in to press his lips to hers.

It seemed she’s finished teasing him too, because she melted and her arms were thrown around his neck in an instant. Ladybug stepped on her tippie-toes to pull them together closer, effectively dragging Adrien down to her level.

When he stepped forward, Ladybug took one back, and they’re awkwardly fumbling until he heard Ladybug’s calf hit the edge of his bed. Adrien broke apart for a brief moment to see her. Her eyes were dazed, but when Adrien’s eyes dart to the bed behind her, Ladybug grinned widely, made a grab his collar and fell on to his soft bed, pulling him down with her.

His hands shot out frantically to hold himself, worried that Adrien would crush her under his weight, but Ladybug seemed like she could care less. She’s kissing him again before his mind even recovered from his initial concern, and distracted, Adrien’s stiff body relaxed under her touch.

Ladybug drew her head back, resting it on his covers, breathing heavily. Her cheeks were tinted with pink, not as red as Adrien was used to seeing on Marinette, but the sight still made his heart soar. He leaned down again, lips touching the area below her chin, and murmured, “How much more do I need to kiss you until you’re as red as your suit?”

He laughed outright when Ladybug swatted him. “Are you ever not going to be cheeky?”

“Hmm,” he said, as if actually thinking, eyes locked with Ladybug’s. Grinning, he pressed another kiss to the bridge of her nose. “No.”

“Ugh,” Ladybug tried, but it’s poor. There’s barely any actual irritation in it. “You’re horrible.”

“Mhm,” he agreed, though he hasn’t completely registered what she said. Adrien’s busy kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her nose again, pulling away again to get a good look of her face.

His breath hitched when Ladybug’s hands tucked under the hem of his shirt again. Her hands roamed his back. She pulled them towards his upper body. Higher up his back, his shirt riding up as she does so.

“If you want my shirt off, you can just ask.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Ladybug raised an eyebrow. One of her hand dipped, and Adrien shuddered when her fingers crawl on the side of his torso, dancing towards his chest.

“I think you’re getting a head start,” he whispered, partly because he’s trying to be just as seductive as she was right now, but mainly because Adrien didn’t think his voice can go much louder without squeaking or something that’s just as mortifying.

“Is that your roundabout way of inviting me to go shirtless?”

Adrien burned. Ladybug was scary, almost. He didn’t expect Marinette to say something so straightforward, but Ladybug thew it out there without blinking.

“I’m just,” he begined, his words caught in his throat as Ladybug raised her eyebrow, her mask curved, expectant. “I’m just, uh, thinking that you should give Tikki a break.”

“Oh please,” she said, flicking his forehead. “You're just too undone.”

“And who's fault is that?” he asked, eyes hooded when he drops his head closer to her's. Ladybug tilted just her chin up, giving him a closed lip, chaste kiss. It's absolutely delicious.

A bright light of pink bounced behind his closed eyelids, and when he opened them, the vestiges of pretty sparkles fluttered in his vision. Adrien grinned, one Marinette returned with a beam, and he's leaning down to kiss her forehead, the skin below her brow, the curve under the waterline of her eye.

“You're pushy today, kitty,” she said, her actions contradicting her words when her fingers carded through his hair. From being with her for almost half a year, Adrien had been quite acquainted with the fact that Marinette loved his hair.

His heart thrummed. Pushing himself further towards her, Adrien hoped that it’s enough indication for what he wants. When Marinette’s hold on the ends of his locks tightened, he smiled through their kiss, humming. She knew him too well.

Adrien felt her giggle a little through her kiss, and before he was even aware, she’s pulling away and getting off the bed. Still not thinking clearly, he wantingly crawls towards where she’s leaving. Marinette noticed, laughed, and pressed another small kiss to his lips.

“Good to know, but we should probably get started.”

“On what?” he asked, still trying to pull her towards him. She allowed him, for a brief second that was. She’s far enough to avoid his lips, but close enough to tap him on his nose.

“Our project. I don’t want to fail history.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he mumbled, lying on his back in the bed alone as Marinette hopped off. She laughed again and Adrien dragged his eyes from the sight of his boring ceiling to Marinette’s back. She sauntered to his chair, spinning in it as she pushed herself to his desk.

“I still can’t believe you have three monitors. Is that even necessary?” Adrien caught her briefly scrunching her nose and tapping the desktop on. It flickered to life, shooting up the home screen as the computer slowly wakes up. He knows the feeling.

Still groggy from her heated kisses, Adrien managed to roll over to his front and sit up on the bed. Marinette’s tapping her cheek patiently as she waited for all his programs to load, for the browser to open up so they can start research.

However, when the desktop came up, Marinette’s fingers didn’t direct the mouse towards the icon for internet; instead, Marinette clicked on his files.

“What are you doing?” he asked her, still rather distracted. The girl didn’t answer him, but simply scrolled through his recents.

Adrien strode towards her, slinging his body over hers, hugging her towards him. His eyes drooped from exhaustion, ready to just take a nap standing with his arms wrapped around Marinette like this when something caught his eye.

Marinette’s cursor hovered over Pictures, and too late, Adrien realized what she’s doing.

“Wait!” he shouted, arm shooting out to stop hers, but Marinette’s a million steps ahead of him.

She gave Adrien a taste of his own medicine.

“What, you didn’t want to tell me about the thousands of pictures you have in a folder called ‘Ladybug wonders’?”

He tried to play it cool. Really, he did. But Adrien couldn’t help the flush that grew on the back of his neck and he’s almost sure his entire face was burning.

“Y-yeah,” he managed, which was quite embarrassing. He just stood there, maybe a meter away from his girlfriend of six months, who turned around from the computer and smugly reclined in his soft chair. A hand propped her chin up, and although she’s sitting in a simple, modern chair, Adrien thought  that she looked like a queen.

She got up, a move that’s ten times more graceful and knee-weakening than it should be, and Marinette placed a hand at his shoulder. It practically burned him.

“Wasn’t going to bother telling me how wonderful I am?”

“I tell you that plenty,” he murmured, still completely entranced with her entire being. God—she was going to kill him.

“Hm,” she responded and flipped back, her hair smacking him in the process because of how close she was standing. Marinette sat back in her seat and selected all his pictures, previewing them. Her eyebrows raised when she gets to the pictures of Ladybug eating cookies from the bakery. She smiled a little when a particularly close up picture comes up, her bright blue eyes illuminated clearly. “These are nice pictures.”

“I know right?” he agreed immediately and Marinette laughed. She continued scrolling, almost deleting one photo of her making a silly face. Adrien’s able to stop her in time; Marinette relents, moving on to the next couple. Her face scrunched up at a particular close up of her drinking a soda; she must’ve thought she looked unappealing, but Adrien didn’t save the photo to his computer for nothing.

Her fingers keep scrolling through, viewing all sorts of photos at all sorts of angles. Newspaper headers, candid photos, posed selfies he’s managed to snag—all of them.

“Almost as good as yours,” she decided, sending him a look. “But you definitely have a lot more pictures than I do.”

He could play this game. Adrien fixed his face into a sly expression. He crossed his arms. “Oh, sure. If we’re not counting the photoshopped images you have in your edits folder.”

“Hey!” She flipped back to the computer, obviously trying to find more secrets to dig out. “That’s not fair; you infiltrated my computer.”

“Um…” he said slowly, barely trying to suppress the victory in his voice. He walked closer to the desk, arm over the chair’s back rest. Adrien dropped a little to bring his head to Marinette’s level. His breath ghosted his ear. “Like you’re doing right now?”

He affected her. Marinette shivered a little and the grin at his lips grow. Indignant, Marinette tried to focus on the computer. She’s clicked back to the previous pictures folder, scrolling through the endless file he has on his computer, trying to find some other picture file that may beat all the photos she had of him. Adrien maintained his smugness. She won’t find any; he’s won this one.

But Adrien is too fixated on his rare win that he doesn’t notice Marinette diving off his chair and for a drawer near his bed. She opens it and pulls out a pillow.

“ Ha!” she shrieked. “I win—you have Ladybug merchandise!” Marinette raised the pillow up like it’s an offering to the heavens. Adrien’s a bit embarrassed, but he realized something else. He raised an eyebrow.

“Is this really a game of who has more embarrassing Parisian superhero stuff?”

She faltered. Marinette doesn’t flush—not the kind Adrien’s expecting anyways. A red made way on her face and her face morphed into an expression that Adrien couldn’t even deem as “mild embarrassment”.

“No,” Marinette answered, putting the pillow down. She looked furious. He couldn’t really tell what it’s directed at. “I’m just...I kind of just want to prove that I wasn’t the only one obsessed.”

He frowned. That’s what this was about? He stepped towards her, wrapping his hand around the back of her left hand. She let him lace his fingers through hers and the pillow falls to the ground.

“I was obsessed,” he reassured her. Marinette’s eyes darted away. “I am obsessed. How can I not be?” Adrien presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I always feel like my crush on Adrien was way over the top. I mean”—she rolls her eyes, a little jokingly, but Adrien can see her shaking, just slightly—“everyone knew. Even you did.”

“Oh.” He coughed. “Yeah.”

Marinette looked at him. “What?”

“I...I didn’t know.”

Marinette laughs. “What?” she repeated.

“I, uh, wasn’t sure if you liked me.” She gapes at him. “ What?” Adrien said this time.

“How could you not be?”

“How could you not know Chat Noir liked you? He visited Marinette on the balcony. For years!”

“A year and a half and no, I was not counting— see? ” Marinette hollered. She covered her face with her hands. “See? I know that. I always feel like you’re the one driving me crazy.”

Did she actually believe that? How could she actually say that honestly? “Marinette,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips. She let him, pressing back, but he could taste the insecurity. “I am so incredibly crazy for you. How can I not be? How could that even be possible?”

Marinette kissed him. Very thoroughly. He had to be crazy for her because the feeling that she poured into the kiss very matched the feelings he had for her.

“Okay,” she says, her eyes brightened. Marinette is positively glowing with happiness. “Okay.”

He pecked her lips again. “Should we get started on that history project?”

She didn’t seem very into it anymore. “Mmm…” Marinette feigned thinking. She tapped her lips, something that obviously affected him insanely. “No. I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap.” Marinette winked and Adrien’s breath caught. She didn’t actually mean—

Then, Marinette grabbed the Ladybug pillow from its fallen place on the ground and hopped onto his bed, faking light snores.

Marinette shrieked with laughter when he tackled her for the pillow.