#So unless they miraculously come to their senses this year and let us buy the tickets normally I can say bye bye to Love Live

[milfgritty]

constellation of asters | m. frost & j. farabee

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ genre: poly!au | soulmate!au | gender neutral reader ❀ ⇢ word count: 12.9k ❀ ⇢ a/n: yea i have no excuses for this. enjoy.

everyone has a soulmate, it’s just a simple known fact. a red string, a soulmark, first words tattooed on the inside of your wrist, there’s something to help every person find theirs. except, well, you never had any of those. growing up, you (kinda) came to terms with the fact that you might just not have a soulmate at all. it’s not until you meet morgan and joel that you begin to reconsider the possibility that you actually have not one, but two.

⇢ posted: 02.07.21 . | . masterlist

There are the lucky ones in the world who are born with an identifying soulmark. Something that leads them straight to their soulmate, whether it be a red string of fate, or the date of their other half’s birth, or even a tattoo shared only by the two of them. 

You, though?

You wish you were one of them. But alas, no string, no tattoo, no drawings, not even a damn clock. Nothing to ever even allude to the existence of your supposed other half. When you were younger it terrified you, made you think that something went wrong wherever soulmates were paired. Left you alone, destined to never be the perfect match for anyone. You used to watch in envy of all the kids in the schoolyard proudly displaying their tattoos, showing off whatever new their soulmate drew on their skin that morning. Knowing that they would remember that you were one of the unlucky ones soon enough, the ones people whispered about under their breath, never loudly as though terrified if someone heard them their own soulmate would vanish.

Not having a soulmate was kind of a big deal, if you couldn’t tell. 

And still years went by and you grew up with half-assed reassurances of ‘don’t worry, I’m sure your soulmate is out there somewhere, you’ll see’ and ‘maybe you just have an invisible soulmark, didn’t you know those are a thing?’. Years went by, and you grew up, and you rationalized. 

You didn’t need a soulmate. People without them got along just fine, and sometimes people lost theirs without ever meeting them in the first place. Hell, you were actually luckier than everyone else because you had the free will, the agency, to pick who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. So what if they weren’t handpicked and perfect for you, you would be happy, dammit.

That’s what you told yourself, at least. 

~

Done with a particularly rough day of classes, you figured it was only fair to reward yourself with your favorite drink from your favorite cafe near campus. It was a special treat that you rarely afforded yourself, what with you fitting the stereotypical broke college image to an almost painful extent. Dodging other people on the sidewalk, you clutched your jacket closer around your body to protect from the harsh wind. The bag on your back straining under the combined weight of your single (five subject) notebook, textbooks, and laptop, you cursed yourself under your breath for not at the very least putting it in your car before making the five minute trek. 

Slipping into the tiny cafe nestled on the corner, you allowed yourself a sigh of relief. You took the moment to drop your stuff at a vacant table before making your way to the counter. Waiting in line, your eyes scanned the menu despite knowing exactly what you would get, as you did every time you let yourself come here. Back aching and your hand attempting to massage it from the worst possible angle, the line continued to shorten until you could order and retreat back to your table. 

You were tempted to stay, even after getting your coffee. Free wifi, decent music, and minimal noise? Easily get through at least homework for one class. But a larger part of you yearned for your warm bed and cozy blankets, preferably with pajamas. And so, it was with maximum effort that you picked back up your bag and coffee and slipped out the door and into the windy outdoors once more. 

The walk back to your car was more bearable with the addition of a hand warmer, so much so that you took the longer way through the small park you had walked past on your way there. With the trees above and around you and the dancing leaves raining down, their colors slowly changing from their normal shade to the yellows and oranges of autumn, a smile slipped onto your lips. Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

A body slammed into yours, shoulders knocking violently as you were shoved off balance. Your still mostly full coffee fell from your hand, lid flying off and spilling onto the ground. You landed miraculously not in the growing puddle of hot coffee, but still flat on your ass as you stared up in shock at the man who had somehow remained standing. 

Seconds ticked by as you stared at each other, uncomprehending. The tall and outrageously sturdy stranger broke through his shock first.

“I’m so sorry, holy shit,” he rushed out, hand reaching down to help you up. Gazing unblinking at the outstretched limb, you allowed him to pull you up. Bare skin touching yours, you only allowed a split second of disappointment when there was no discernable reaction before smothering it back down.

Really, you thought, what did I expect? A mark to show up on our hands linking us together? How naive. You really thought you had gotten passed doing that.

“It—it’s fine,” you mumbled, sparing a despaired glance down at your spilled coffee, “don’t worry about it.” How neither you nor your bag didn’t end up in the puddle was beyond you, but you’ll take it. 

His gaze followed yours, landing on the pitiful cup. “Fuck, your drink, I’m so sorry.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Stop apologizing,” you told him, adjusting your bag and turning to leave. There was no way you were going back to the cafe and getting another drink, this one was already indulging yourself. 

“No, hey,” he lightly grabbed your jacket, stopping you. “Let me buy you a new one, make it up to you for spilling that one.” 

Suddenly much closer to his tall frame, your eyes caught on his brown ones. There was just something about him that you could already feel your resolve chipping away. 

“I was on my way to Starbucks anyway, it’s no problem,” he continued, as though sensing he was breaking you down. At the mention of Starbucks, though, your nose involuntarily scrunched. Something he definitely caught. “Or wherever it was you got that,” he laughed, his smile making your heart catch a beat. 

You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Not when he’s oddly pretty and he could have a soulmate who’s not you and—

“Yea, sure.” You smiled, “Luckily for you, it’s pretty close to here.”

His smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corner, and his hand dropped from your sleeve. It was strange how much you felt its absence, but you pushed the thought away. “After you then,” he stepped aside, gesturing you forward. 

Moving around him, you fell in step together, going back the way you came. 

“I’m Morgan, by the way,” he—Morgan—introduced himself after a beat. Studying him for a split second, you thought the name suited him. 

“Y/N,” you said in response, ignoring the way his smile made you want to smile, too.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” And the two of you kept walking. 

~

Two months. It had been two months of hearing Morgan talk about Y/N this, Y/N that, and Joel still wasn’t quite sure if he liked or hated you. 

Depends on the day, really.

It wasn’t anything against you as a person; it was just, well. He wasn’t sure what it was if he was being completely honest. Maybe it was the way Morgan brightened at the mention of your name, maybe it was how he always brought you up in conversation, maybe it was how obvious it was that he liked you.

But he definitely wasn’t jealous. Of course not. How ridiculous.

He watched Morgan move around in their shared kitchen, rambling on and on. Something about how you joked earlier when you were hanging out that you would wear his jersey if he bought it for you. At that moment, he couldn’t hold the thing he couldn’t quite identify in anymore. “So have you brought up how you feel, yet?” 

Morgan stopped and closed the fridge door that he had half his body shoved inside and digging around in as he turned to face him. Brows furrowed, he shook his head with a look of poorly feigned confusion. “I—what? No, it’s not like that. Why would you even ask that?” he questioned, staring him down.

Joel shrugged, fidgeting on the stool he had perched himself on when Morgan went into the kitchen. He really wasn’t sure why he had asked. He just had. A part of him didn’t want to know why.

“Just feels like the two of you have been hanging out as much as you can. The way you talk, it’s pretty obvious how you, at least, feel,” he replied. He picked at his sweats, avoiding his roommate's gaze.

Morgan cleared his throat, turning back to the fridge. “I don’t—not like that, man,” he told him over his shoulder. He gave the fridge a second glance before closing the door, walking past Joel and out of the kitchen. 

“It’s not a big deal if you do,” Joel said as he followed him back into the living room. “You haven’t found your soulmate yet, plenty of people date before they do.”

“Why are you so concerned about it, Beezer?” Morgan pivoted on his heel to face him, forcing Joel to stop in his tracks unless he wanted to run him down. 

“I—I don’t, I’m not,” he answered, mind racing, “I just think you’ve been practically obsessed with them for months and I haven’t even met them—”

Morgan laughed sharply, cutting him off, “Is that what this is about? Seriously?”

“I mean, kinda? It’d be nice, at least.”

“Fine, then I’ll ask if we can all do something together this weekend. Is that good for you, Joel?”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his last sentence, he maneuvered around his body and flopped down onto the couch. “It is actually, thanks.” In his head, however, he was less certain. How was he gonna be able to interact with you? Would his jealousy—no, not jealousy—be obvious to Morgan, to you?

Aside from the noise coming from the TV, the next few minutes passed in relative silence after Morgan crashed down next to him. Their previous conversation already partially forgotten, Joel became focused on the shitty reality show that had started to play without them noticing earlier. 

“Look, it’s not like I’m an idiot,” Morgan started suddenly, scaring him slightly. Joel’s head turned toward him, brow lifting in question. Morgan glanced at him before returning his gaze to the TV and continuing. “It’s just, yea. Maybe you’re right.”

He trailed off, leaving him to wait. “And?”

Morgan rolled his eyes and shuffled further into the couch. “And, I don’t know if I even have a soulmate,” he steamrolled on, “Just because I might not doesn’t mean—doesn’t mean no one does, you know? I don’t want to be the selfish asshole who gets into a relationship with someone who might have a perfect match waiting for them, someone that isn’t me.” 

“You don’t know if you have a soulmate?” The piece of information stuck out to him. Hit him in the gut and made his heart jump into his throat.

His roommate shrugged, continued to steadfastly ignore him. “Never had a mark or any of the other shit people had. It’s not—not that big of a deal. But I don’t want to be with someone and always be afraid that they’re going to find what I can’t and leave me behind.” 

Joel swallowed roughly, his heart racing. “Oh,” he mumbled, voice as quiet as Morgan’s had become by the time he had gotten done speaking.

“Yea,” Morgan huffed a bitter sounding laugh, “Oh.”

“You know,” Joel spoke lightly, softly, as though worried that talking too loud would ruin everything, “People always say that things work out in the end, even if it’s shit getting there.”

This time the laugh that escaped Morgan was more real, less cold. “Is that your way of making me feel better, Beezer?”

“Depends,” he smiled, bright at the sound of his laugh, “is it working?”

Morgan threw a pillow at him, it bouncing lightly off his head. “Dude, shut up,” he told him, the smile on his face softening his words. Following his advice, Joel adjusted himself on the couch, heart feeling just a bit lighter than it had previously.

~

“So I was thinking,” Morgan started as you walked down the street together.

“Absolutely shocking, continue,” you cut in, rewarded with a shove as you laughed.

“As I was saying,” he stressed, “You should come over for a game night or something this weekend.”

“Uh,” you stuttered out. “Yea, sure. Sounds fun. Will Joel be there?” You hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, but as it was, you most definitely were. In the what, two, three? Months since you had known Morgan, you never went to his place. Never met his elusive roommate. Sure, you had heard about Joel. It was hard not to when Morgan could—and had—talk for hours about his teammate. 

But you had never met him. And to be honest, at this point you were kinda scared to. 

Sure, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Except he clearly meant the world to Morgan, and well, Morgan meant the world to you. And yea, you weren’t sure when he began to mean so much, but he does. And you want Joel to like you. What if he doesn’t?

“Yea, Beezer’ll be there. Finally get to meet him.” He nudged you lightly, shooting you a smile. Smiling nervously back, you ducked under his arm and into the cafe as he held the door open for you. 

Coming to the little cafe on the corner had become tradition, Morgan falling in love with the shop just as much as you had. It didn’t bother you in the slightest since he pays for you whenever you two come. Which is, to say, far too often.

Placing both of your orders and finding a table, you turned to your friend. “Do you think,” you began nervously, picking at the edge of the table, “do you think he’ll like me? Joel?”

Morgan looked up from his phone and tilted his head. “Of course he will. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, lying through your teeth. “It’s just, he’s your roommate—and your teammate—and wouldn’t it be, like, a little awkward if he actually hates me?”

Your question seemed to stump Morgan for a minute, his mouth opening and closing, eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at you from across the tiny table. You sat quietly, watching him think over his answer. Eyes wandering his face, your lips quirked as you just managed to pick out the way his lashes curled at the ends. So unfair, you thought, why does he get the long eyelashes? Finally, he seemed to get his words in order.

“Even if he doesn’t like you, which he definitely won’t,” he rushed out the last half, “But if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like we would stop hanging out or anything. We would just, just keep hanging out the way we have been.”

Watching him, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Promise?” you asked, voice coming out quieter than you had wanted. You hated the way you feared losing Morgan, scared that he had wormed his way into your life so quickly. 

His foot nudged yours under the table, breaking you out of your thoughts. Eyes meeting yours, your heart gave a tug at the sweet smile dancing across his lips. “Yea,” he told you, “I promise.”

Breath catching, you smiled back. “Then this weekend it is.”

~

The weekend came far sooner than you expected. 

“But you’re on your way, right?” Morgan questioned you over the phone. Figured you were running late today of all days. It was Saturday, dammit, you slept in late. That wasn’t a crime.

“Yes, Morg, I’m on my way. Leaving right now,” you reassured him, grabbing your keys off the counter and making your way to your door.

You heard his—frankly, exaggerated—breath of relief even on your end, gaining a fond eye roll out of you. “Okay, good,” he replied, “See you in like, twenty?”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered halfheartedly in response, more focused on locking up behind you. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

The only downside, of course, is that twenty minutes was definitely not enough time to settle your anxiety. And so soon enough, you were at Morgan’s shared apartment, and walking up to Morgan’s shared apartment, and oh god you were in front of his door, oh no—

This is fine. This is fine. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that no matter what, even if Joel didn’t like you, Morgan wouldn’t drop you. He promised. 

Christ, that sounded lame even in your head. 

Psyching yourself up, you raised your hand to their door and knocked. Ignoring the way your hand trembled lightly, you almost jumped when the door swung open faster than you expected.

“Hey,” Morgan appeared in the doorway, beaming down at you, “You made it.”

A snort left you without your permission. “Yea, you dork, I made it.” 

Catching his eye roll, you grinned as he stepped aside and swept his hand out. “Welcome to our apartment.” Your grin widened at how dumb he was and moved past him, brushing lightly against him as you entered. 

Walking in, your eyes caught on the form draped against the couch. Heart stuttering, all the anxiety that had briefly left you came flooding back. Morgan stepped around you, guiding you over to the living room. 

“Hey, asshole, you gonna say hi or what?” he asked, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Joel. It thumped softly onto his chest and rolled off the couch, causing him to glare up at Morgan. 

You stared wide eyed as Joel huffed and slung his legs over the side of the couch, standing up and unfolding to a height similar to Morgan. Giants, you scoffed lightly under your breath, they’re literally giants. Casually, you maneuvered until your body was just barely behind Morgan.

“Sup,” he did a weird head nod thing, his eyes roaming up and down your body. “I’m Joel, it’s uh—it’s nice to finally meet you.”

You smiled weakly up at him. “Y/—” you tried, cutting yourself off and clearing your throat, “Y/N. Nice to finally meet you, too.”

The two of you stared the other down, silence filling the room as Morgan watched the two of you watching each other. Rocking on your heels, you alternated between looking at him and around the room. 

“You know, uh,” Joel started abruptly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweats, “Frosty talks a lot about you. Can’t shut up, I don’t think.”

“Dude,” Morgan hissed at him as a laugh slipped past your lips. You felt your cheeks warm, your smile finally feeling less forced and more genuine.

“It’s funny,” you told him, ignoring Morgan, “he talks a lot about you, too. Once he gets started, it seems like he can’t stop.”

“I hate both of you. Why did I think this was a good idea,” Morgan said, throwing his hands up and slipping in between the two of you into what you assumed was the kitchen. The sound of yours and Joel’s laughter followed him, the pair of you sharing a conspirator’s smile. 

Joel was the first to break, his smile lingering as he spared you a glance and followed Morgan. “Don’t be like that, Morg. We’re getting along already. Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

Giggling, you walked in after them. “I don’t know what I was worried about,” you teased, sidling up to the counter, “Joel is great.” 

“Oh, you would think so,” Morgan rolled his eyes, pulling a sweet tea out of the fridge and handing it to you. Smiling in thanks, you opened it and took a sip.

“Wait,” Joel stopped and shook his head, “were you actually worried about meeting me?”

Eyes widening and head shooting up, you were positive panic flitted across your face. “Uhhh,” you started, shifting from foot to foot and shrugging, “A little? I mean, you’re his roommate and teammate and he talks about you all the time—”

“—I do not—”

“Yea, you do, Morg,” you laughed, glancing over at him before returning your attention to Joel. “But, yea. After so long without meeting, I guess I kinda built you up in my head and I got worried you wouldn’t like me and things would, I don’t know, be awkward for Morgan. It’s dumb.”

It was dumb, you realized, standing there. Joel was...you didn’t even know how to describe it. He was soothing. Calming in the same way Morgan was to you, like a balm to your anxiety. Easy to talk to, joke with. It had barely been ten minutes and already you could tell that. It was the same feeling that made you let Morgan buy you another drink when you first met.

“It’s not dumb,” he told you, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug, “I guess I felt the same way.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. For some reason, you didn’t really expect him to feel much of, well, anything when it came to meeting you.

Grinning, he nudged your foot. “Don’t look so shocked. Even NHLers have feelings, you know.”

“Shut up,” both you and Morgan chorused, glancing at each other before laughing. It was then you realized how close the three of you were, the kitchen not exactly the largest room. If you moved one way, you’d bump into Morgan. If you moved the other, it would be Joel. 

“Wanna play fortnite or something?” Morgan asked, clearing your thoughts. He knew you well enough to figure out what the scrunch of your nose after his suggestion meant. “Or not fortnite, you have a better idea?”

“What else do you guys have?” You asked, hoping against odds they would have something that wasn’t completely awful. 

Joel and Morgan shared a look, communicating silently. 

“Uhh,” Joel started, “I think we have like, Skyrim? Never got around to playing it, though.”

Eyes immediately brightening, you straightened. You almost didn’t notice how the move brought you that much closer to him. “Dude, Skyrim came out like ten years ago. How have you never played?”

“Looks like Skyrim, it is,” Morgan muttered, squeezing past you to the living room. 

“I don’t know,” Joel tried to defend himself, “It’s not what I usually play.”

“Well, that changes today, buddy.” 

“Did you just call him buddy, oh my god,” you heard Morgan’s voice distantly, covered mostly by Joel’s shocked snort. 

Thirty minutes later found the three of you sprawled across the couch, limbs just barely intertwining as Joel tried still to make his way through the character creation screen. 

“Is that a cat? Do they have fucking furries in this game?”

“I swear, I’m gonna throw my sweet tea at you,” you threatened while swallowing down laughter at Joel’s commentary.

“Do it, I’m not getting you another one,” Morgan told you, his hand lying lightly on the bottom of your calf. 

“Yea, you would,” you smiled over at him. 

A snort came from Joel’s direction, followed by, “Dude, you would.”

“Shut the fuck up, Beezer, I didn’t ask you.”

Mock gasping, you reached over and hit Morgan’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp ‘hey’ from him. “No being mean to each other,” you laughed, settling back down, shoulder brushing against Joel’s side.

“You heard the lady, Frosty,” Joel smirked, sticking his tongue out at him. 

“I’m never letting the two of you hang out again,” Morgan groaned, throwing his head back. His thumb had paused in the motion of rubbing circles into your leg. 

Exchanging a glance with the boys, you smiled. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

~

“You know,” you had innocently told Morgan and Joel a few days ago, “it’s kinda funny that two of my closest friends are professional ice hockey players and I’ve never even gone skating before.”

He was shocked at the revelation. Horrified, even. And definitely planning on rectifying that minor fact, something Joel fully supported and helped plan. Sadly, it took a few days before he and Joel were both home and didn’t have practice or a game and you didn’t have classes or homework, leaving the three of you able to hang out. 

He always counted it as a minor miracle when all of your schedules lined up. In the months he and Joel had known you, it happened far less than he would’ve liked. But as much as it felt better, more…more right, for it to be the three of you—which was normal, you were best friends; he didn’t like one of you more than the other—he took what he could get and didn’t complain. 

Much.

That’s how Morgan found himself at an ice rink with his two closest friends on his day off, watching one of them tie the other’s skate.

“You could’ve done this yourself,” Joel told you, fingers making quick work of your laces.

You beamed down at him, a satisfied little smile on your face, “But you do it so much better than me.”

Morgan laughed to himself, bending down to finish lacing up his own skates. Joel had gotten his done first and found himself helping you, not that he exactly put up a fight. Finishing up, he stood and leaned against the boards, peering down as Joel worked. 

“You waiting for us? That’s so sweet,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your hands behind you. 

Joel huffed a laugh and half turned to look over his shoulder at him, flashing him a smirk, the asshole. “Our Morgan? He’s just a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

Morgan reached out and kicked him, mindful of the blade of his skate. Rolling his eyes, he maneuvered around both of you and stepped out onto the ice. 

“Just for that, I’m going without the both of you.”

Hearing the teasing calls of his name accompanied by laughter, he smiled and went to do laps around the rink. Slowly he went through the motions, glancing behind him now and then to see if Joel had finished yet. 

When he finally did, Morgan made his way back to the two of you. “You ready to see what you’ve been missing out on?” He teased, eyes catching on the way you wobbled unsteadily and clutched tightly to Joel’s arm next to you. 

“Quick question,” your laugh came out high pitched and as unsteady as your walk, “just how hard is skating?”

“Please, don’t worry,” Joel scoffed, shortening his steps to help you. Morgan watched his teammate stabilize you, the steady rock to your choppy sea. “Skating is one of the easiest things in the world.”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” a cheeky smile flitted across your lips, “how hard is skating for us normal people?”

He shared a fond look with Joel, laughing quietly. “Trust us, you’ll be fine.” 

“I do,” you responded without a moment’s hesitation, pausing in your baby steps before continuing. “Trust you, I mean.”

The breath left his lungs in a quick rush, not expecting that, not expecting how sincere and matter of fact you had said it or how it affected him. It wasn’t fair, how quickly you could throw him off balance with what seemed like barely a thought. 

Joel cleared his throat, his hand tightening around yours. “Good,” he told you, voice remarkably soft and low before returning to normal. “I guess it’s time to get you on the ice, then?”

Morgan had to laugh a little at the fear that filled your face at Joel’s words, the way you immediately clung somehow even tighter to him. Smiling, he reached out to you, offering you his hand.

“You said you trusted us,” he told you, “So trust us. We’re not gonna let you get hurt.”

He watched your eyes meet his and fly down to his outstretched hand, back and forth between the two. One of your hands slowly let go of their iron grip on Joel and settled into his.

“Promise?” You looked from him to Joel, eyes painfully doelike. 

Once again, he shared a soft glance with his teammate before looking back at you. 

“We promise.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and appearing to steel yourself. “Okay, alright, I’m good. Let’s fucking do this.”

Laughter peeled out of him and Joel. “There’s our Y/N,” his teammate grinned, helping you out onto the ice. The two of them kept their grips on you tight as you shakily stepped onto the ice, making sure you didn’t immediately fall.

Your first steps were wobbly, with the only thing keeping you from eating ice being him and Joel. Slowly, the three of you made your way across the ice. “There you go,” he encouraged you, “just like that. Slow and steady for right now—”

“Head up, try not to look down so much, alright? We’ve got you,” Joel reassured, the two of them going back and forth, offering advice and making sure nothing happened.

It took a bit, but soon you were giggling and flashing them pretty smiles, your grip on them loosening slowly but surely. It was enough for Morgan to speed up and swing around to skate backward in front of you.

Catching your worried glance, he smiled. “Still here, just letting you skate more on your own,” he squeezed your hand, now being held more for assurance than to help keep you up.

And so the three of you kept skating around the rink with you getting more and more confident until you were on your own and no longer needed them to hold on to. Morgan watched proudly as you went from wobbly steps to actual skating, though your arms still stayed out by your sides for balance. 

“Show off,” you yelled and laughed, attempting to shove Joel when he went to skate in wide circles around both of you. 

“What?” Joel threw his hands up, laughing loudly and dodging you. “I’m just skating circles around you.” 

“Ha ha,” Morgan grinned when you sarcastically laughed at Joel’s antics. “You’re simply hilarious, you dork.”

“I know,” Joel smiled happily, swooping in to smack a loud kiss to your cheek before speeding away. The kiss nearly knocked you over, leaving you gawking after him.

Morgan observed the two of you as he glided in front of you, a wide smile stretching across his lips. Small huffs of laughter left you as you skated—still not great, but definitely better—over to him, grabbing his hand and trying to tug him. 

“Morgan, come on,” you giggled, “help me avenge my honor.” 

“Oh, of course,” he replied, nodding his head in mock seriousness. He pulled you along in chase of Joel, the three of you laughing as you went around and around the rink. 

It wasn’t until you two caught him—Morgan suspected Joel had let them catch him, like they wouldn’t have been able to eventually—and Joel decided to try to teach you how to skate backward as Morgan followed that he realized something. 

He realized as he watched the two of you smiling and laughing, as he skated behind while Joel held your hands, as both of you made corny jokes and looked back at him to make sure he was still with you, he realized that—fuck.

He was fucked. 

Because he looked at you and heard your laughter and felt his heart tighten. Because he looked at Joel and the way he looked back at him with a fond look and toothy grin, and his heart stopped.

Because he looked at both of you and felt the same exact thing. And he realized it didn’t feel right when all three of you were together because you were just his closest friends. 

It was because when he was with the two of you, his heart skipped beats and all of these feelings weighed him down and lifted him up and—and—

Fuck. He was well and truly fucked, that’s what he realized.

~

Humming quietly under your breath, you picked up the plates from the table and made your way back to the kitchen. Stepping around Morgan, you reached down to put the dishes into the sink for him to wash. After you let them sit, you hoisted yourself up and onto the counter next to him and watched as he grabbed for one of the dirty plates.

“You think Joel will be back soon?” You asked him, tilting your head and pursing your lips. 

Morgan met your gaze and held it as he washed the plate. “Hopefully, we can’t start the movie without him.”

Dinner and a movie at their place. It was almost like a date if you let yourself think about it. But you didn’t, because they’re just your friends.

Your tall, attractive friends that you had completely platonic feelings for. Okay, mostly platonic feelings for. Fine, not at all platonic and actually very romantic feelings, but you refused to think about it. There were two of them and one of you and that, that was weird. Right? 

Right?

Kicking yourself mentally, you shot him a tiny smile. “Do we even want to know what he chose this time?” Every movie night, a different one of you had complete control over the movie. Tonight was, regretfully, Joel’s night to choose and he refused to tell either of you what you were watching. 

It went without saying that you were a bit scared. 

“I don’t think so,” Morgan made a face, putting another plate in the dish rack. You laughed lowly to yourself, watching a smile creep over his face as he glanced back at you.

“Either way,” you told him, “he needs to get back soon, I’m starting to miss the weirdo.” Shimmying down from the countertop, you walked over to the fridge to get a drink. 

Morgan made a noise of agreement, finishing up and turning off the sink. He turned to face you, grabbing a hand towel from next to him and leaning against the counter. He stared down at you without responding; the action causing you to grin slightly in confusion. 

“What’s up?” You questioned him, stretching your foot out to lightly tap his.

Head shaking slowly, his mouth opened a bit. Closing it, his eyebrows squished together in what seemed like deep thought. 

“Do you ever think about your soulmate?”

The question caught you off guard, making your body physically recoil just a touch. You shook your head, mouth hanging open. “Uhhh,” you stuttered, a startled laugh making its way past your lips. “Not if I can help it, why?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, brows still furrowed and an intent look painted across his face.

Shrugging, your eyes flitted around the room. At your side, your fingers twitched against the counter, creating a muted tapping noise. “Nothing, just...I don’t know. It’s not my favorite subject. You?”

“Yea,” he said with a forced smile, “Same thing, I guess. Not if I can help it.” 

You hummed softly, trying to figure out his expression and the change in subject. You couldn’t recall ever, ever, talking about soulmates with either Morgan or Joel. Not in the entire time you had known them. It was like some sort of weird unspoken taboo topic, never brought up, never talked about despite how popular it was for everyone else. Never asking what your soulmark was, or what date was splayed across your skin. Like there was a sense of fear lingering around it, which made sense for you but never for your boys. 

The boys. Not—not your boys, you scolded yourself.

“It’s just, you and Joel,” Morgan started, scaring you a little. “The two of you get along really well.”

Was he? Was he implying that you and Joel? Soulmates?

For a split second, your mind ran wild with the thought. To be soulmates with Joel, with his smiles for just you and Morgan, and his wild hair and dumb hats, and horrible facial hair and horrible jokes and—

How nice it would be. How irrevocably nice it would be. 

But even as you let yourself think about it for that split second, you knew it wasn’t what you wanted. Not entirely. Because it wasn’t just Joel in your daydream, but Morgan, too. With his pretty eyes and the look of exasperation he always had when he was with the two of you. The three of you. 

Always the three of you.

Shaking your head before you knew what you were doing, you replied, “Me and Joel? No, no, I mean—”

“You’re always happy and smiling around him,” Morgan cut you off, not making eye contact, “maybe the two of you—”

“I’m always happy and smiling because I’m with the two of you, you idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you cut him off in return, ignoring the way your heart pounded in your chest. 

He pursed his lips, about to retort when the sound of the door opening caught your attention. 

“Alright, assholes. I’ve got the goods,” Joel’s voice called out, the door closing behind him and keys clattering loudly into the horrible gritty tray you had gotten them. You and Morgan remained quiet as Joel made his way into the kitchen, digging around in the bag he was holding. 

He paused upon entering, eyes lifting to look from you to Morgan and back. His arms slowly fell, his face screwing up in cautious confusion. “So, uh, what did I...miss?” he asked, stepping inside apprehensively. 

“Soulmates, apparently,” you told him sarcastically when Morgan kept silent. You made grabby hands for the bag, reaching in to grab your bag of peach rings. 

Joel winced, a just barely audible ‘oh boy’ falling from his lips. “What got you on that god awful subject?”

You snorted, already shoving a peach ring into your mouth, “So you agree? It’s an awful subject?”

“Oh yea,” he nodded, reaching over and tugging at the peach ring balancing between your teeth before it tore in half, shoving his stolen half into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. 

Pulling back, you batted at his outstretched hands, “you should’ve gotten your own. Stop stealing, thief.”

“I prefer the term rogue,” he replied, shooting you a cheeky grin. A soft ‘oh my god’ left you with a groan as you rolled your eyes and set the bag down.

Morgan’s continued silence worried you, and you could tell it unnerved Joel just as much. You stole glances at him, his posture tense and face troubled. The whole soulmates thing wasn’t your favorite, but what was going on inside of his head that had him like this? Was he still thinking about you and Joel—which was a ridiculous idea. But maybe that’s just because you knew the truth you resolved yourself to. That you just didn’t, for some unknown reason, have a soulmate to begin with. 

“What’s going on in your big boy brain,” Joel nodded at Morgan, eyebrow quirking as he watched him.

Morgan startled almost imperceptibly, his attention shooting to his teammate. He shook his head, “Nothing, just the whole soulmates thing.” 

“Still?” You frowned as you crossed your arms, puzzled. 

“Dude, just move on already,” Joel told him.

Morgan rolled his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You saw his grip on the countertop behind him tighten for a second before relaxing again.

“What’s going on?” You asked him, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.

He flinched back, a tiny movement that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already watching. Swallowing roughly, you stopped and let your hand fall, hurt coating your insides. Morgan licked his lips and rubbed at his chin, face screwing up. 

“Don’t either of you ever think about the people you have feelings for being a perfect match for someone else? That it doesn’t matter what you feel in the end?”

Taken aback, you share a look with Joel as you grasped for words. Because you do think about that, about how Joel and Morgan have someone waiting for them that isn’t you and you don’t know when it’ll happen, only that it will and you’ll end up left behind like you always are. Alone. It wasn’t often, but late at night, the knowledge crept over you like thick sludge, refusing to move or leave.

“All the time,” Joel spoke before you could string together a sentence, his voice weak and a frown marring his features. “But it does matter, doesn’t it? Because you still have time with them now, and you can’t waste it for something that might happen.” 

“But it will,” Morgan stressed, the hand that had rubbed his chin flying out to his side with a look of helplessness. “It will happen.” 

“But you don’t know that,” you countered, fighting to get the words out. Your throat was tightening up, your heart pounding away. “No one really does. You don’t even have to end up with your soulmate.”

“Why wouldn’t you,” Morgan laughed without humor, “why wouldn’t you leave to be with the person hand picked for you?”

“Because I don’t have one,” slipped past your lips without your permission, the truth behind your words hitting you like a brick. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you swallowed harshly, stepping into yourself. 

Morgan moved back and hit the counter behind him with a dull thud, staring at you with an unreadable expression. To your other side, Joel looked down at his feet, hands shoved into his pants. 

“I never had one,” you continued, softer, quieter. Weaker. “I’ve always been the person without someone made just for me, but I’ve moved on. Because it doesn’t matter. It’s what I make of it, and it’s the scariest fucking thing, but it is what it is.”

“What if I can’t move on?” Morgan whispered, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Then the people you were scared of leaving weren’t worth it to begin with,” Joel told him, gazing at him sadly. 

Morgan’s face dropped forward into his hands, rubbing harshly. The three of you were silent, the tension nearly suffocating. Waiting, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I can’t just get over it,” Morgan said, shaking his head. 

“Why not,” Joel questioned just as quietly, running a hand through his hair. 

“Because I just can’t,” Morgan threw his hands up, voice raised as he stepped forward. “I can’t stop thinking that my feelings are a waste. That all of this is just a waste.”

“All of this?” You asked, uncomprehending.

“Yes, all of this,” he told you, gesturing wildly between the three of you. “Us. This. It’s a waste.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Morgan,” Joel was the one to ask this time, his voice low and daring. Daring Morgan to say it, to tell you exactly what he means.

“That I look at both of you and see two people who are going to leave me. Two people that I care about, that I want to be with, and know that it won’t last.”

The shock that came from him admitting his feelings and finally giving you the knowledge that you weren’t alone in your pining all these months still wasn’t enough to overwhelm the rest of his confession. The part that said that we were a waste, that cut a part of you that you kept hidden.

“Did you ever stop and think about how we felt?” The words left you as you stepped away, needing to get away. “That we might, for just a second, feel the same?” 

“But it doesn’t matter,” Morgan nearly cried, voice shaking. “It never did.” 

Nodding, you swallowed down tears. “Okay,” you whispered, maneuvering around Joel, who had remained quiet. “Okay.” 

“Where are you going?” Morgan asked, reaching toward you.

Nearly laughing, you told him, “Away. I’m sorry, Joel, but I can’t be near someone who thinks everything about us, our friendship, our relationship, our feelings, are a waste. Not right now.”

Joel nodded, glancing back at you and offering a weak smile. “Don’t worry, I get it.” 

Returning it, you turned and went to grab your things. 

“Wait,” you heard Morgan before you saw him try to follow you, looking between you and Joel. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter, Morg,” you whispered, shrugging lightly. “I’m gonna go for awhile. I need to go.”

“No, please—”

Dodging him, you left the apartment. Vaguely, you heard Joel tell Morgan to stop, to let you go. Silently, you thanked him. You just couldn’t be near them right now, constantly reminded of your feelings and knowing at least one of them thought it was all useless.

All of this is just a waste. Us. This.

You nearly ran out of the building and to your car, just barely making it in before a yell forced its way out.

“Fuck,” you hit the steering wheel, letting your head droop forward to rest on it. You gave yourself a minute to pull yourself together and turn your car on, starting your journey back to the apartment you had slowly considered home less and less. 

And so you drove away from the one you had begun to consider home, and from the boys that made it feel like that, and to the place you could finally let yourself break down.

~

Day after day became a week and then two. There was now this tension between him and Morgan, you weren’t replying to his texts the same way, and he wasn’t even sure if you and Morgan had talked at all since that night. He hated it.

Joel hated this. 

It didn’t help that everything was bleeding over onto the ice and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop making rookie mistakes, couldn’t do anything when Morgan got yelled at for fucking up on a play. Couldn’t do anything.

The two of them were this close to getting benched, they both knew it. He knew this couldn’t keep happening, but he didn’t know how to stop it. 

He saw his phone light up on his nightstand out of the corner of his eye. Mentally, he debated leaving it and continuing his inner dilemma, but a glance at it convinced him otherwise.

Sitting up in bed, he struggled against the blankets tangled around his legs to reach over and grab it. He crashed back down, lifting his phone above him and pulling up the text.

[10:38pm] armrest ; coffee tomorrow? 

Seeing the name he had you under brought out a grin. You hated it the moment you saw it and argued that everyone was short next to a group of hockey players, which is exactly why both he and Morgan had you listed as it. In a sense, it was a reminder of better times.

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; yea ofc

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; the two of us?

He didn’t miss the fact that you texted just him and not the groupchat—the one aptly named the 3 stoiges, because Morgan made it with a typo and you and Joel kept it there to bully him. Time after time, Morgan tried to change it, and yet every time he went back, there it was once again in all of its dumbass glory. 

[10:43pm] armrest ; yea i wanted to talk about everything. just the two of us for now

[10:44pm] bumblebee ; im there just lmk when

You texted him back the time, and that was that. The entire exchange left him feeling underwhelmed and anxious. It felt wrong. Stilted. He missed the jokes and subtle digs at each other. The goodnight texts that just kept on going. 

He had a hard time going to sleep after that, not that he was doing a good job of it before. Tossing and turning, knowing that his teammate was his roommate and just a door over and that it didn’t matter because they hadn’t actually talked since the fight. And probably wouldn’t, since that was how things seemed to be going.

But tomorrow, maybe tomorrow would change things.

~

Morning came and went and he woke up to his alarm, feeling the opposite of well rested. He had slept like shit, just like he had been for the past two weeks. Getting out of bed, he got ready to go meet up with you, ignoring the absence of Morgan in the kitchen or on the couch. The lack of a good morning and a smile from his arguably favorite teammate. 

He left the apartment in a rush, something he had found himself doing a lot of lately. Not on purpose, he didn’t think. It was just like a lot of other things in his life now; it felt different. Less warm, duller. Void of life, of everything that made it home to him. 

An open bag of peach rings still abandoned on the kitchen counter, never moved. A little shittily made origami crane knocked over on the coffee table, never fixed. Hoodies missing, never returned. Reminders.

He made it to the little rinky dink cafe on the corner soon enough, refusing to admit he hesitated a bit before he went in. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you at all since that night, but he would be lying if he said it was the same as before. 

You were at their usual table, wearing a recognizable sweatshirt—one of theirs, but at this point he wasn’t really sure if it his or Morgan’s—and clutching a cup in your hands with a cup sitting across from you. Hearing the bell ring, you looked up and spotted him, giving him a tiny smile.

He didn’t want to think about the way the sight made the tension bleed from his body, the familiarity filling him with a rush of warmth. He made the short walk to you, slipping into one of the open seats.

Both of you ignored the still empty third seat.

“You’re late,” you told him, with just enough of a smile to take the edge off. 

He grinned back. “You telling me you weren’t, too?”

Your laughter rang softly through the mostly empty cafe. “No.”

“Thought so,” he replied, taking a sip of the coffee in front of him. His go to order, just the way he always got it. 

God, he missed you. 

A few beats of silence passed with the two of you just soaking up the other’s presence. 

Clearing your throat, you looked down at your hands and picked at your nail. “I think it’s probably time we talk about…”

“That night?” he finished for you. “Yea. I think so, too.”

Another pained smile passed between both of you. Another beat of silence. 

“You know—I mean—” you tried to say, taking a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I care about you and Morgan. About both of you. Not—not platonically either.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading, the heat creeping into his cheeks. “Yea, I figured.” You deadpanned at him and he had to resist the laugh bubbling up inside of him. He nudged your foot under the table. “Me, too. Non-platonically care about both of you.” 

“Yea,” you rolled your eyes, grinning, “I figured.”

Letting the laugh out, he shook his head. “Ass.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, “You started it.”

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” you whispered back, smile gaining a sorrowful edge.

Staring at you, he felt so many emotions. So many things, and yet something was still missing. 

Licking his lips, he risked a glance to his right, at the empty seat next to him. “It doesn’t—things don’t really feel the same without him, though.” 

“Yea,” you looked at the chair for a second, pain flashing across your face so fast he almost didn’t catch it. “They don’t.”

Hearing you agree, he let the breath he had been holding go. He picked at his cup, resisting the urge to down it. Dimly, he realized you had gotten his coffee before he got there. Which meant you bought it for him. The broke college student who rarely gets anything from here got him coffee without thinking twice. That feeling in his chest grew, fondness for you radiating throughout him. It was a small gesture, one you probably barely thought about, but it made him fall even harder.

“You know, I keep,” you stopped, tilting your head with a jaded smile before steamrolling on, “I keep hearing him say it in my head. ‘Everything’s a waste.’ And I know he didn’t—didn’t mean it like that, but…”

“But it still hurts,” he finished for you quietly, watching you and the way your shoulders hunched forward. 

“Yea, it still hurts.”

“We’re all just miserable anymore, aren’t we?” he asked, knowing the answer and asking anyway.

You laughed softly, glancing up at him. “That we are.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“No,” you held eye contact, steady and intent, “It wasn’t.”

The bell above the door jingled, your conversation dying down. The two of you nursed your drinks, avoiding the painful subject. Pushing it off and dragging it out just a little more.

“I don’t want us to end here, Joel,” you told him, voice barely a whisper. “Not like this. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“I don’t think I could either,” he replied. He could handle not being everything he wanted with the two of you. He resigned himself to that a long time ago. Could handle not being in a relationship, unable to hold or kiss either of you, to look at you and know both of you were his.

He could handle that. What he couldn’t handle? 

This. 

These past two weeks, the three of you barely talking. The tension, the awkwardness, the lack of everything that made you work. Not having either of you really, truly, in his life anymore. 

“I’m gonna talk to him,” he told you, not letting himself think too hard about it. He nodded, ignoring your unreadable expression, and kept talking. “I’m gonna talk to him and then we’re gonna—we’re gonna—”

“We’re gonna fix things?” You croaked out, gnawing at the inside of your bottom lip.

“Yea,” his throat tightened, making him force out the words, “Yea, we’re gonna fix things.”

~

He cornered Morgan later that night in the kitchen when he finally came out of his room to get something to eat. 

“We need to talk.”

Morgan jumped, keeping his back turned to Joel as he dug through the fridge. “About what?” He asked, the forced casualness of it shining clear.

“I think you know what.”

He slowly drew himself up and closed the fridge. “I don’t think—”

“Yea, we do,” he cut his roommate off, his arms folded across his chest. “We both know we do.”

Morgan turned around, facing him with his eyes closed and shaking his head. “Please—”

“We can’t keep going on like this, none of us can,” Joel forcibly told him, refusing to back down. He was doing this for them, for you and for Morgan and for him. “I was with Y/N earlier.”

Morgan flinched back, ducking his head. “Yea? How—how is—”

“Good,” he softened his voice, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward him. “Come on, let's go sit down.”

“Okay,” Morgan whispered, nodding and following him slowly to the couch. They sat further away than they usually would, a space left open for the one not there with them. 

Joel opened his mouth to start, but Morgan cut him off before he could.

“I’m so sorry,” he told him, avoiding eye contact. Clenching his hands tightly on his lap, he squeezed them periodically. “I didn’t—didn’t mean anything I said that night. Not really. Not like that.”

“I know.” 

“I was just scared,” he kept going, still not looking at him, “I still am. Fuck, I wish I could go back and just—”

“Morgan,” Joel stopped him, getting up and moving to sit down on the table in front of him. “Look at me.”

It took a second, took him reaching out and nudging his face toward him. 

“We know. We’re all scared. And we can’t take back what was said, but we can move forward. Together. The three of us.” 

Morgan shook his head, tears lining his eyes as he leaned imperceptibly into his hand. “How?” 

He almost laughed, but stopped himself in time. “I don’t know,” he shrugged helplessly, smiling at him. “But we will. Because we care about each other. That’s all that matters.”

“Yea?” 

“Yea,” he laughed this time, his hand pressing further into Morgan’s face, the other coming up to rest on his knee. 

Morgan’s hand found his, and they stayed like that for a while, taking comfort in finally being near each other again. Mentally, physically. 

“I missed this,” Morgan told him, blinking softly up at him. 

Joel grinned back, “Well, I don’t know if we’ve ever done anything like this before, but—”

Morgan scoffed, rolling his eyes and pushing him away. One of his hands came up to subtly wipe at his eyes and Joel pretended not to notice as he reached out and pulled him back to him. 

Hand threaded in his hair, he tugged him in to rest his head against his neck. “Kidding,” he laughed, turning to nuzzle into Morgan’s hair. “But seriously, I did, too.”

Morgan’s hand squeezed his side, the two of them lapsing back into silence. At least, until he broke it.

“So, which one of us is gonna text our better part?” 

~

[8:17pm] frostbite ; come over?

The text from Morgan lit your phone screen and sent your heart into a steady gallop. You knew Joel was going to talk to him, but for some reason, you hadn’t thought it would be so soon. 

Was it bad that you didn’t feel ready?

Honestly, if you thought about it, you didn’t think you would ever feel ready. In a way, this was the buildup of months of dancing around each other. It was terrifying, that tonight everything would be out in the open.

You would be lying if you said a part of you couldn’t wait.

[8:19pm] armrest ; omw over

Rushing around, you put on shoes and threw back on the hoodie you were wearing earlier when you saw Joel. You grabbed your keys and locked the door behind you, making your way to your car. 

The drive to their apartment was short, though it still took everything in you to obey the traffic laws on the way there. The walk up filled you with even more anxiety, your hands shaking despite your best attempts to settle your nerves.

You knocked lightly on their door, unable to manage more than a mediocre tap. Luckily, it was Joel that opened the door, beckoning you inside with a hand on your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, sending heat into your cheeks.

“He’s in the kitchen making tea,” Joel told you, closing the door behind you. 

You nodded, dropping your keys onto the Gritty tray. Together, you made your way to the kitchen. 

Seeing Morgan for the first time in two weeks, after not having spoken at all was...was strange. It hit you like a fist to the gut. 

You saw how exhausted Joel looked earlier, disheveled and messy. But compared to Morgan, he looked only a bit different from usual. Morgan, though—

He looked rough. 

Heavy bags under his eyes, hair wild, clothes wrinkled. Even his shoulders were hunched in more than usual. Your heartstrings tugged just looking at him. 

“Hey,” he mumbled when he looked up and saw you, mustering up a weak smile. 

Slowly, you made your way to where he stood. He set down the cup of tea he was reaching out to offer you, worry plastered on his face.

He took a deep breath and started to talk, “Look, I’m so sor—”

You caused him to stop mid-sentence, throwing your arms around him and gripping tight. “You’re such an asshole,” you told him, voice muffled in his shirt. Burying your face deeper, his arms came up and wrapped tightly around you.

“I know,” he said, laying his head on yours, “I’m so sorry.” 

You didn’t respond, taking the moment to really let everything sink in. Giving him one last squeeze, you let go and stepped back, picking up the mug that you claimed as yours on one of your first visits.

“Living room?” you asked, smiling at the two of your boys—because you finally let yourself give in and call them that, because they were yours and you didn’t plan on letting go so easily. 

“Living room, it is,” Joel answered, reaching around to grab his mug and guide you over. Morgan followed behind, staying close. 

Like none of you could bear to be more than a few feet anymore. It was just a tad ironic at this point. 

The three of you settled down in your usual seats, with you in the middle, Joel to your right, and Morgan on the left. You put your tea down after taking a sip, smiling when it tasted exactly how Morgan always makes it for you. 

“So, I guess this is where we talk about everything,” Morgan said, putting his cup down next to yours and turning to face the two of you. 

Joel followed suit, nodding. “That it is.”

For a second, the three of you sat there in silence, looking around at each other. 

“Any volunteers to go first?” You ventured finally, raising your eyebrows. Your question earned you a pair of laughs. 

“I’m the one that started this mess, so I’ll go, I guess.” Morgan darted his tongue out to lick his lips, glancing between the two of you. 

“That night, I let my fear take over. And I know I’ve already told both of you, but I’m sorry.”

“Morgan,” you tried, but he stopped you. 

“Let me talk,” he smiled, so you let him. “At that point, I just really let myself consider that I had feelings for the two people I thought of as my closest friends. And it made me scared, because there are soulmates out there and I know—I think—I don’t have one. But as far as I knew, both of you did. The thought of losing you to someone I had no chance against, it made me lash out. 

That was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. We’re adults, mostly, and I should’ve handled it better. I’m sorry.”

You were aware you were gaping a little, but you were unsure on how to stop. Joel got his bearings back before you.

“Yea, you definitely handled it like shit,” he said, shrugging and getting a snort out of you and a ‘fucking hell’ from Morgan. “But it is what it is. It got the ball rolling and we can’t go back. We can only go on.”

“When the fuck did you get good at talking about your feelings?” You turned to him, an incredulous look on your face. “Seriously, you were like the last person I expected to be spouting off relationship wisdom.”

“What can I say,” he grinned, “I’m a man of wisdom. Isn’t that why you care about me non-platonically?”

“Why do I like you,” Morgan muttered to himself, covering his eyes, “Literally why.”

“Moving on,” you announced, choking back a laugh, “On the subject of soulmates, as far as I’m aware, I don’t have one either, so there’s that. And right now, I don’t know if me having one would even stop me from wanting to at least see if this is something worth having. Which I think it is.”

“Yea, I remember you mentioning the soulmate lack,” Joel nodded, “And I agree, with the second part.”

Bumping his shoulder, you went to pick up your tea. 

“So that’s two out of three?” Morgan asked, looking at both of you.

“Make that three out of three,” Joel butted in, raising his hand. “Like 99% sure I don’t either.”

“So none of us have soulmates?” You looked between Morgan and Joel. “Really?”

“Lucky?” Morgan hazarded a guess. 

“I’ll take it.” Joel grinned.

“And to clarify, there are mutual feelings here? Threeway feelings?” 

“Don’t—don’t call it that,” you replied to Morgan, wincing. “That’s just bad.”

“I don’t know,” Joel told you, grinning, “I like it. Threeway Feelings. New groupchat name?”

“Yes.”

“No.” 

You glared at Morgan, repeating, “No, motion overruled.”

“You’re two to one,” Joel teased.

Smiling sweetly back, you told him, “Cute that you think this is a democracy.”

Laughter rang through the apartment. It was almost like the past two weeks had never happened at all. 

“But let me clarify,” Joel started, sitting up straighter and holding up a hand, fingers up, “All of us think we’re soulmate-less, and even if we’re not, it’s something we’ll deal with when we get there,” one finger down, “All of us have feelings for the other two people in this room,” another finger, “and we’re not dating yet?”

“Correct,” you confirmed.

“Sounds about right so far,” Morgan nodded.

“But we should, though,” Joel said, glancing at you, “Date, I mean. It’s the next logical step, right?”

“Kinda worrying when he uses logic,” you leaned over to stage whisper to Morgan. 

He nodded, leaning close, “I agree.”

“I’m right here, jackasses,” Joel threw a throw pillow at Morgan, apparently taking the name literally. 

“Were you? I couldn’t tell,” Morgan replied sarcastically, throwing it back. 

Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath and tried not to laugh. 

“I agree with Joel, though,” you told them, stopping them in their tracks. “About dating.”

“You wanna date us?” Morgan asked you, Joel pointing at him to back up his question. 

Rolling your eyes, you smiled, “Yes, I wanna date you. Do you wanna date me?”

You felt ridiculous for asking, like a flashback to kindergarten with a note saying ‘do you like me? yes or no’.

“I don’t know, what are the options?” Joel asked, pretending to think about it.

“Yes or yes,” you deadpanned.

“I think I’m gonna have to go with yes on that one,” Morgan told you, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’m gonna have to go with yes, as well,” Joel nodded, kissing your other cheek. 

“Okay,” you tried to ignore the pulsating heat in your cheeks. 

“Wait,” Morgan stopped, clearing his throat and looking over at Joel, “Are we? I mean—”

“Dating?” Joel asked, lips quirking into a soft smile. 

Morgan nodded, staying quiet. 

Joel shook his head and laughed, “Yea, I think I could manage dating both of you.”

“Yea?” Morgan smiled. 

“Yea.” Joel returned it.

“Cool,” Morgan said, running a hand through his hand before stopping and frowning. “I know that all of that shitshow was my fault, but we’re never doing that again, right?”

“Oh, seconded,” you immediately replied, “Never again.”

“Thirded,” Joel agreed, nodding wholeheartedly.

You looked at your boys—now officially yours—and smiled. 

~

Their first date, it was decided, would be dinner at Morgan and Joel’s apartment, just the three of them. Private, no pressure. 

You showed up, dressed up but not too much, as per Joel’s vague instructions, at 8pm on the dot, making it the only time you were ever on time for something. You liked to think that if it wasn’t at your boys’ apartment, they’d be late, too.

“Well, don’t you look lovely,” Morgan let you in, bending to kiss your hairline. 

“I could say the same for you,” you replied, taking him in, pressing a kiss to his chin.

Not the usual pre-game suit, you noticed, unable to decide if it was disappointment or relief in your stomach. He was clad in a nice pair of pants, his dark blue button up undone at the top and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Sans shoes, because of course.

On the whole, a very nice look, in your humble opinion.

He noticed your glance down at his lack of footwear and grinned, “Footwear optional.”

“You should’ve mentioned that sooner,” you groaned, bending down to remove your own shoes that had already begun to pinch at your toes. 

He laughed, waiting for you to finish and take his hand, leading you to the kitchen. 

Joel waited for you there, bent over a pot on the stove. Shirt completely unbuttoned, tie hanging around his neck. Shaking your head, you stepped up behind him to wrap your arms around his back, kissing his shoulder blade. 

“Who let you be in charge of dinner?” You teased, catching his eye as he turned around in your embrace to return it. 

“Say the word and we’ll order pizza,” he whispered back into your ear, lips lightly brushing it.

A tingle ran down your spine as you withdrew, sharing a secret smile and ignoring Morgan’s snort. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” you told him, leaning against a counter. 

A laugh bubbled up and out of you at Morgan’s subtle wince. “Dinner’s just about done, anyway. Guess we’ll find out,” he said, getting out a few plates. 

“So, what exactly is on the menu?” You questioned, unable to quite tell. 

Joel looked up at you, opening his mouth and closing it quickly. “You know,” he answered, hand bracing on the countertop, “I’m not sure if I can pronounce it right.”

Giggles flew out of you even as you felt a sense of apprehension take over. “This is gonna be good.”

Sharing a laugh, you got to work setting the table and bringing over the food, which you cautiously noted smelled somewhat decent. Not—not really entirely good, but decent.

“Not gonna lie,” Joel told both of you once everyone was seated with a plate, “Kinda scared to eat this.”

“You’re really not filling me with confidence here, babe,” you replied, getting a tiny forkful of food. 

“On three?” Morgan proposed. 

“On three,” you and Joel agreed. 

“One,” you started.

“Two,” Joel continued.

“Three.”

You shoved the food into your mouth, barely giving yourself a moment to reconsider. Slowly, you chewed, watching your boyfriends’ faces.

It seemed the general consensus was…not good. 

“I think we fucked up somewhere,” Joel swallowed loudly, grimacing.

“Oh, we definitely did,” Morgan agreed, pushing back his chair and standing. “I’ll get my phone.”

“Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

~

“We’re only here to get essentials,” Morgan reminded the two of you, grabbing a cart. 

You and Joel followed behind, hands swinging between your bodies. “Yea, totally,” you smiled, “Essentials.”

“Of course,” Joel nodded gravely, before turning to you and whispering, “We’re definitely getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes, right?”

Giggling, you nudged into him. “He said essentials, Joel. Obviously, we’re getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes.”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” Morgan called back, looking over his shoulder at the pair of you. 

You shot him a smile and blew him a kiss, knowing Joel was beside you doing something just as cheesy.

The next thing you knew, Joel was speeding up and dragging you along to catch up to your other boyfriend. “I’m getting in,” he dropped your hand, lifting a leg over the side of the cart. 

“No—Joel—oh my god,” Morgan tried to jerk the cart away, laughter spilling out of him.

“Joel, you’re not getting in the cart,” you shoved him, blissfully ignoring the stares coming from the old lady down the aisle. 

Joel pouted exaggeratedly, turning to face you. “Why not?”

In a quick motion, you propelled yourself into the cart. “Because I am!” Your giggles came out maniacal, joined with Joel’s bark of laughter and Morgan’s groan of disappointment. 

“Where’s the food gonna go?” Morgan asked, continuing to push the cart with you in it. 

“In the cart with Y/N,” Joel told him, bumping lightly into his shoulder with a grin. 

You pointed at Joel, agreeing. 

Morgan shook his head, that exasperated fondness prevalent on his face as he sighed and tried not to smile. “Fine,” he relented. 

~

“You know, that monkey kinda looks like you,” Morgan overheard you tell Joel as he paid for the cotton candy. 

“You’re such an ass,” Joel pushed you, laughing. 

“Speaking of asses,” Morgan said, coming up behind you and handing over the cotton candy, “Do you think they have donkeys here?”

You threw your head back with a loud laugh. 

“This is the zoo,” Joel replied, grabbing his hand, “...I actually don’t know. We should check.”

“In the whole zoo, you want to see donkeys?” You asked in bemusement, leaning into him. 

He shrugged, wrapping his unoccupied arm around you. “What can I say, I’m a man with taste.”

“Oh, for sure,” Joel retorted, snorting and squeezing his hand in his own.

~

Limbs tangled, you relaxed on the couch with your boys.

A book in one hand, you carded your fingers through Joel’s hair with the other. Sprawled across your lap as you rested against Morgan, he was the perfect image of relaxation. Rain pattered against the windows as a romcom played in the background, the volume just low enough to zone out. Morgan and Joel—okay, just Morgan, because you were pretty sure Joel was half asleep at this point—were watching, attention set on the tv.

All in all, an excellent night. 

~

Seeing your boys over the summer was difficult, but you made it work. You always did.

It was one of those incredibly rare days where you lounged about in the midsummer heat with them, Morgan and Joel taking a slight break from offseason training to just be together. It was nice, and it was quiet and exactly what you needed. 

You had made the mistake of putting on one of their thinner, more threadbare hoodies last night and the decision was catching up to you. You untangled yourself from the pile of limbs on the bed belonging to your two boyfriends, ignoring their cries of protest, and just barely managed to get up. 

First, you were gonna turn up the air conditioning, and then you were gonna take off this damn hoodie. 

Meandering over to the A/C, you accomplished one mission and moved on to the next one. Pulling the hoodie over your head, you felt your shirt slide up and refuse to separate from it. 

“Hey,” you heard Joel call from behind you, “Did you get a tattoo without telling us?”

Confused, you yanked the hoodie the rest of the way off and turned back to them. “No?” You answered, but it came out less sure than you would’ve liked. 

“I definitely saw something on your back,” Joel insisted, reaching over and swatting at Morgan to get his attention. 

“Hmm?” Morgan grumbled, switching sides to look at you. 

“Come here,” Joel beckoned, an action you reluctantly obeyed. His hand on your hip turned you to face away from him, your back in his line of sight.

You shivered, feeling his fingers glide across your skin as he lifted your shirt. In an instant, you felt his grasp waver, a choked gasp slamming out of him.

“Holy shit,” Morgan breathed, the bed creaking as he shot up. 

Spinning, you turned to face them, grabbing at your back. “What?” You demanded, terrified of their answer, “What it is?”

Adrenaline poured through your veins as Joel lifted his gaze, now wet with tears, to meet yours with a wide smile.

“It’s a soulmate tattoo,” he told you, standing up and cupping your face. His lips came down fast and hard to yours, the emotion behind the kiss slamming into you. 

You felt Morgan come to stand behind you, lifting your shirt to look. His fingers traced down your spine, almost reverently, sending shiver after shiver through your body. 

“Liar,” you croaked when you and Joel split, refusing to believe it. 

Joel shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, “I’m not. Go look in the mirror.”

You pulled away, making your way slowly to the mirror by the door, your boys close behind. You twisted around, craning your head as you pulled up your shirt. Your breath stilled to a halt when scrawled writing along your spine become visible out of the corner of your eye with every inch of skin shown. 

And there, once your shirt was all the way up, was an indisputable soulmate tattoo curving down your spine.

morgan frost ~ joel farabee

The names of your boys—your boys, you nearly cried—written in calligraphy on your body, separated only by three flowers. 

“Soulmates,” Morgan whispered, finger stilling on the flowers. 

Recognition sparked deep in your mind, a memory surfacing behind your eyes.

Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

“I know those flowers,” you mumbled, lips parting as you stared uncomprehendingly. 

Joel laughed a little, fingers running up and down your side. “I didn’t think you were into flowers.”

You shook your head, fixated and unable to look away. “No, I know those flowers. Asters. They were—”

“In the park by the cafe,” Morgan finished for you, catching on, “The day I bumped into you.”

“The day we met,” you said, smiling. “I was trying to figure out what kind they were, it’s why I was distracted. Why we—”

“Met,” Morgan gaped, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. 

You nodded, unable to talk just yet. The sight of those flowers, ones that you hadn’t really given any thought to after you had googled them one day after being curious. Flowers that were now imprinted on your body, a permanent reminder of everything you gained in such a relatively short amount of time.

To your side, you watched Joel take off his shirt and turn around, revealing flowing names down his spine separated by three dainty flowers. 

y/n ~ morgan frost

Morgan mirrored him on your other side and sure enough, there were your names in identical print and the same tiny three flowers. 

joel farabee ~ y/n

A perfect set.

~ fin ~

[shuuenmei]

the hunter and the hunted

BEFORE WE BEGIN:

This piece will be involving a portion of how the Savanaclaw chapter will turn out and it’s potentially long with a slightly stilted chronology.

Without further ado, Here we go!

“You seem too calm over the recent string of incidents targeting potentially good Magift players.”

Cater Diamond can’t help but stare at the unofficial Ramshackle prefect as the words utter out of her mouth.

What are they trying to do by saying this?

Are they buying time to ensure their escape out of Savanaclaw?

Cater turned towards the Savanaclaw students surrounding them and even those close to Leona-kun.

To his surprise, the demeanor in some of the students changed.

Almost as if... as if they’ve gotten afraid.

Yuu-chan kept talking. “Normally, people would have some fear that they’ll be targeted next once they learn the pattern to the attacks. And yet... none of you show even a little bit of panic of the situation and don’t try to cooperate with someone to put the incidents to a stop.”

Yuu-chan tilted their head a little to the right, a hand under their chin. “...Almost as if you actually knew who the perpetrator was, but you let them continue and act as their accomplice to the scheme.”

The moment the words left their lips, several students started running after them.

“OI! YOU LOT!” Leona-kun tried calling for them, but to no avail, as the group of students started charging after Yuu-chan.

Ace-chan, Deuce-chan, and Gri-chan are too exhausted to move, while Shiro, the infamous rascal white cat familiar that Yuu-chan miraculously won over to a point the cat chose them as it’s new master, stood calmly next to them.

Before any of the students could reach to Yuu-chan, there was a glow coming from Yuu-chan’s new bracelet.

A bracelet he noticed that they started wearing, claiming that it’s a gift from Lilia-chan.

A runic wall was formed and blow the attackers back.

Before he could comprehend what just happened, Yuu-chan raised their right arm to the sky, the hands opened.

“O thunder, heed my call!”

As soon as Yuu-chan said the chant, the unmistakable crackling of static electricity resounded and flowed throughout the field.

Every single Savanaclaw student in the vicinity unceremoniously fell on their knees.

Some struggled to rise, but to no avail, as the static kept them down.

Almost as if they were struck by lightning.

“Cater-senpai, let’s go.”

They lifted up his arm with ease (He knew that they did some equivalent of fencing back at their home but experiencing how strong their arm was is surprising)

“Run!”

They called and they ran ahead, not looking back.

________________________________________________________

Once they escaped Savanaclaw and gone straight to Heartslabyul, Ace-chan and Deuce-chan both let themselves fall to the ground, sitting and out of breath.

While Cater had his hands on his knees.

“What the hell... was that...” Ace panted.

“Fnaahh... we could’ve been toast if that didn’t happen...” Gri-chan huffed.

When Cater had collected himself and steady his own breath, he decided to ask.

“Say Yuu-chan? What did you do?”

The prefect, who didn’t look out of wear, blinked at him. Ace-chan, Deuce-chan and Gri-chan now looked at them. Shiro now on Yuu-chan’s shoulder.

“You’re magicless right? I can excuse the bracelet as Lilia-chan giving the bracelet a teeny defensive magic spell for yourself, but that doesn’t explain what you did next.”

Hey, he might not be the smartest, but he knows enough that it would be fishy if a magicless kid can suddenly use magic.

For their part, Yuu-chan looked thoughtful. “It might be easier to show you instead.”

Saying that, Yuu-chan rummaged at the pocket of her hood jacket (Scarabia themed, since Kalim-kun heard about how Lilia-chan bought them a Diasomnia themed hoodie from Mister S’s Mystery Shop. Kalim-kun really spoiled Yuu-chan as if Yuu-chan is like his baby sibling or something.)

Yuu-chan took out a hand sized rock. He couldn’t help but look flabbergasted at what they are doing for bringing out a rock.

That look was put to an end when they spoke what is unmistakably a magical chant.

“Dripping Water.”

He can now see the glow of what seemed to be a runic letter, the rock changed form to water that cascaded down the ground they stood on.

Gri-chan jumped. Exclaiming in surprise. “Fnah!”

Ace-chan and Deuce-chan stood before the water made contact to the ground.

“That was close...” Deuce-chan exhaled a sigh.

Ace-chan, however, scrutinized the ground.

He knelt down and then picked something up.

Cater noticed that it was a rock with a runic letter carved on it. Though the rock’s now scattered to little pebbles save for the one with the runes carved.

“...Say Yuu? Where did you get your Mana from?” Ace-chan decided to ask.

Mana is another word for magical reserves for magicians. Most magicians have their own magical reserves in their own body once they are born and awaken their ability to use magic.

A magicless person from another world suddenly gaining a magical reserve of their own just sound impossible unless something unordinary happens.

“It’s not my Mana.” Yuu-chan replied. And spoke. “In the olden days, people once used to request the world to lend them their magic.”

Olden days?

Wait-

“So you’re 100% magicless, but the source of mana came from elsewhere.”

Yuu-chan blinked at him. Nodding. “Yep.”

They explained. “What I did was simply carve a runic letter to a medium I would use, in this case, a rock, and all I need to do is chant the spell I needed to use corresponding to the rune.”

They took out a folded paper from the pocket of their pants and chanted. “Sun Flower.”

A glow of runic letters was formed and this time, a miniature sun shaped flower burst out of the paper, staying firm with the paper acting as soil.

Deuce-chan had been staring at Yuu-chan wide-eyed. “What was that you were saying... Sail... Fiola?”

Gri-chan furrowed his brows. “I remember Yuu saying something like Eala Aka earlier...”

Oh.

He didn’t notice it before but now that he heard Deuce-chan and Gri-chan spell out the words, he now knew what language Yuu-chan had been using for their runes.

“You speak Alician?”

He might not be from the Rose Kingdom, but Alician got covered once in Trein-sensei’s classes.

Only Riddle-kun knew how to speak and understand the language well enough in Heartslabyul.

...Maybe because of his super scary education mama.

“You knew what Alician is?” Yuu-chan wondered.

“It’s an old Rose Kingdom language, but it’s only covered when you’re a second year. But not much records are found about it so not a lot of people use it for runes and magic.”

Well, Riddle-kun DID tell him last week that he had to pick up his old notes for Alician again once Trein-sensei brought it up in history class to brush up his skills in the language.

Yuu-chan nodded at him.

“Seriously, who taught you how to speak “Alician”?”

“Oh, Lilia-san taught me.”

...What.

“Lilia-san also had been teaching me how to apply runic magic by asking the world to lend their mana to me as well.”

...What.

Gri-chan took that moment to exclaim. “Wait!” He now looked up to Yuu-chan. “So you mean all those times you’ve been telling me that you’re off studying with Lilia tutoring you, Lilia is teaching you on how to use magic!?”

“What.” Ace-chan and Deuce-chan simultaneously utter out in a flat tone.

“Pretty much.” Yuu-chan admitted, turning to the Adeuce duo and monster cat. “None of you asked about what I actually would be studying with Lilia-san so I never really talked about it.”

“You should’ve talked about it, we’re your pals aren’t we!?” Ace had a mock like betrayed look on his face.

“I doubt you’d be interested.” Yuu-chan admitted. Adding. “Even if you did, Lilia-san told me that the world’s Mana and the Mana in magicians don’t mix naturally, so a magician using them too much is the equivalent of getting an allergy to normal people. And that doesn’t sound like something you’d willingly learn as someone whose naturally born with magic.”

They all blanched at the thought.

“Alright, never mind.”

Gri-chan only tilt his head in wonder. “What are allergies?”

“You know how Lyle starts sneezing and wheezing like no tomorrow when he smell a whiff of the flower pollen in the botanical gardens and start having rashes on his skin last week?”

Gri-chan paled at Yuu-chan’s explanation.

“Yikes, I don’t wanna experience that.”

Yuu-chan shrugged. “Besides, with how I was never born with any mana at all,” Yuu-chan looked as the flower they were holding slowly wilts, and disintegrates along with the paper.

“This is a perfectly safe method to use magic for someone magicless like I am.”

They stare as the pieces of paper crumble down into small dusty pieces.

“...So how did you get Lilia-chan to actually agree to teach you?” Cater questioned them.

At the question, he noted how they reached for their neck, as if a phantom pain still existed there.

“It’s Lilia-san who suggested it to me first. I just took his offer since...”

Ah.

He gets it now.

Ace-chan and Deuce-chan screaming over Yuu-chan’s fallen body with Gri-chan running for them shortly after they brought Riddle-kun back to his senses from his overblot.

Their school uniform and hood sweater dyed in bloody red.

Lan-Lan, Trey and some of the Heartslabyul students screaming at the Headmaster to get help for Yuu-chan-

He supposed when you’re in a near death experience, you’re bound to not let yourself be in that position anymore.

“And the bracelet?” Ace-chan questioned this time.

“This?” Yuu-chan rolled the sleeves of their hood jacket and shirt, showing off an antique looking bracelet with letters engraved on it.

“Lilia-san gave this to me as a target practice based on what I learned from him. It’s a rune that I applied based on whether or not any physical and/or magical attacks are coming my way.”

“...That sounds like an overkill and just thinking too much, don’t you think?”

Yuu-chan gave Ace-chan a grin. “I’d like to call myself well-prepared.”

________________________________________________________

“Aaahhhhh!!!!”

Gri-chan suddenly shouted out loud. Surprising the other students.

“I- I know who has that unique magic!”

Yuu-chan frowned, eyebrows furrowed. “...It’s that Savanaclaw student Ruggie, isn’t it?”

Cater paled, recalling what Yuu-chan accused the rest of Savanaclaw for doing yesterday.

He’d forgotten all about it from his panic yesterday!

“Yuu-chan... you suspected Savanaclaw as a whole are behind this since the start?”

Riddle-kun’s eyes widened. “Wha- is it true!?”

“Totes! Riddle-kun! Yuu-chan said something about how the Savanaclaw students are too calm in the face of this whole mess of problems of students getting caught in accidents that injure them yesterday!”

Yuu-chan shook their head. “It’s just a guess I made based on their reactions and mood they had at the time Cater-senpai. I’m only saying that as a bluff so we can escape.”

“...Actually, Yuu’s on the mark on this one.” Kalim-kun spoke up. He placed a hand under his chin, pondering.

“I looked up a bit on who got hit by the accident. Among all the students I know and checked on who are known to be injured...”

Beside him, Jamil-kun’s eyes widened, he supposed Jamil-kun also knew who the students were as he revealed. “None of the victims are from Savanaclaw.”

As the realization hits, the other students begin to murmur.

“Now that they said it...”

“Yeah, I heard from my pal in class D about who got targeted but none of the kids he named are from Savanaclaw...”

“Then...”

“...I think it’s still too early to tell whether or not are Savanaclaw as a whole were actually behind this.” Yuu-chan utter out. Then suggesting. “If we want to get the confirmation that they really are behind this, we should interrogate one of them first.”

Riddle-kun cleared his throat. “That’s true. Assumptions and deductions can turn moot without a legitimate proof.”

“...So what class is Ruggie-san in?” Yuu-chan wondered.

“Oh! Ruggie’s in 2-B!”

________________________________________________________

Yuu felt panic when the weight on her wrist is gone.

She rolled her sleeves up and saw that the bracelet she had to defend herself is gone.

She couldn’t have dropped it back in 2-B didn’t she-

“Sorry senpai, you go ahead! I need to get something I dropped!”

She ran ahead with Shiro on her shoulder, not waiting to hear for their replies and Grim choosing to go with Riddle and Cater.

She can’t lose that bracelet so soon, not when Lilia-san gave her that bracelet as a gift and as one of her few means of defense-

She returned back to the class, asking if any of the students saw a bracelet on the ground.

And the students told her no.

So she left the class and decided to look around the halls.

It was when she was about to make her way to turn right that Shiro mewed, pulling on her ear with his bite, the pain was enough for her to escape the haze of her own panic.

And she looked in front of her.

A group of beastmen students stood a good distance in front of her.

She saw the telltale of the Savanaclaw dorm vest at their uniform.

And their gazes turn to her, as if they planned to hunt.

Why did they-

She then recalled how Ruggie stole Riddle-san and Cater-senpai’s magical pens without anyone noticing before panic hits her when she realized that her bracelet has gone missing.

She exhaled a quiet sigh as the realization hits.

She’s been trapped.

________________________________________________________

“Ah, you’re not getting this back though~.”

Ace felt dread running his veins once Ruggie Bucchi took out an old looking bracelet from his pocket.

He may have only seen it several times but he recognized that bracelet anywhere.

“This? Lilia-san gave this to me as a target practice based on what I learned from him. It’s a rune that I applied based on whether or not any physical and/or magical attacks are coming my way.”

Ace stepped forward but the Hyena beastman is already steps ahead of him and left before Ace could catch him.

He gritted his teeth and soon vented his frustration to the nearest tree.

“Dammit!”

“Ace, what are you doing!?” Deuce exclaimed.

“...It’s a trap.” He answered. Soon elaborating once he saw Deuce and Grim’s questioning gaze. “He stole Yuu’s defense rune infused bracelet to trap Yuu so all of us can get off their trail.”

“Fnah!? He did-”

Ace took out his phone and decided to give calling Yuu a shot, hoping that he could get an answer.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Ace?”

“Yuu, where the hell are you?”

“Wha-”

“Just answer me, will you!?”

“...I’m at the library with Morgan and Shiro.”

“Library? Aight. Just stay put there, got it!?”

“Huh... sure.”

He ended the call.

“Was that Yuu?” Deuce wondered.

“...Yeah, he’s okay.”

________________________________________________________

“Your friends are quite worried sick for you from the sound of it.” Morgan, the librarian of Night Raven College spoke to her.

She shrugged in response.

She hadn’t really given it a thought but ever since that fight with an overblotted Riddle, Ace, Deuce and Grim had been sticking close to her and didn’t let her go all by herself unless she has another company.

If they’re not around, Mel, Lyle or Kasper comes with her.

Heck, they only let her go to her lessons with Lilia because those were the only days that Lando tagged along with her.

Sure, they lighten up their vigilant watch on her once Shiro proves to be capably good for a familiar so she was able to go by her own self, and she figured that whatever happened after she passed out in the aftermath of that fight terrified them enough that they decided to keep watch on her.

But it’s honestly suffocating. Just a bit.

Either way.

She managed to escape from them with some of the other runes she had in hand and was thankful she had the mind to place a rune on her shoes and clothes with other functions in mind since they really helped as she and Shiro evade the group of Savanaclaw students chasing after them.

She did include a rune that prevents the bracelet from being destroyed in any form, but she failed to account the possibility that someone can steal it.

If she can get the bracelet back, or if she gets another new bracelet, she’s going to have to apply a runic mechanism that would prevent it from being stolen again.

Morgan simply nodded at her. “Now, please explain why are you running in the library and requested that I “hide” you from the rowdy Savanaclaw students coming in and making a ruckus in the library. For the record, I don’t care if the library is currently empty, all I care about is the fact that they look like they’re about to damage the property and peace of my library.”

...Well.

For as long as she knew the librarian, Morgan took their job as librarian seriously and will not tolerate people causing a ruckus in it.

...Or damaging the books and furniture in it.

...Morgan is otherwise relaxed and fun to talk to, if you aren’t notorious enough to be put on Morgan’s personal blacklist.

“...It’s a long story.”

________________________________________________________

“Ruggie, I heard you got chased around by those Heartslabyul kids in the afternoon.” Leona starts pleasantly, before his grin morphed to a scowl.

“That’s why I told you to not leave a single evidence, you fool!”

Ruggie’s ears drooped down at the sight of Leona’s scowl. “Th- that’s not it! There’s some circumstances there...” And then he continued. “But they haven’t gotten their hands on any of the evidence so don’t worry about it!”

Leona scoffed. “Yeah, all but that kid from Ramshackle.”

Ah, yes. The kid who figured out that they’re the ones behind the whole thing simply from observing the body language and expressions of everyone in Savanaclaw during that time they came here with the Heartslabyul people.

He had to admit that the kid got guts and smarts to be able to figure it out from their body language.

But what surprised him more was what the kid did following his claim and accusation.

Leona has an inkling suspicion at what caused the magicless kid to suddenly be able to use magic, since it’s nigh impossible for a magicless person to have magic overnight.

He inspected the rocks that the kid sneakily dropped all around the arena to shock them all as they made their escape. The rocks are carved with runes.

But what runes are used, he doesn’t know.

He maybe best at Ancient Incantations but that doesn’t mean that he knows every single rune out there.

Or the ancient languages used for the runes.

That’s why he asked Ruggie to steal something from the kid if he could and hinged on a plan that with how the kid suspected him and the rest of Savanaclaw, the kid would follow the Heartslabyul kids again to investigate the incidents, Joe, Amare and Talib will gather some of the other students they can trust and be on standby near Ruggie’s class to see if the group comes by and then surround the kid to keep their mouth shut.

From what he heard, though, the kid managed to escape in spite of falling into the trap.

“Did you managed to snatch something?” He decided to ask Ruggie.

“Here ya go Leona-san!” Ruggie obliged, grinning at him and handed over something from his pocket.

An old looking bracelet that doesn’t seem so odd to be on the hands of that Lilia, knowing his odd fascination with traveling.

Runes are carved onto the wooden parts of the bracelet.

He still couldn’t recognize the language used in the runes yet. But he still needs to test it out.

“Ruggie, try shooting magic at me.”

“Eh? Sure... if you say so.”

Ruggie readied his magic pen and shoot an icicle his way.

A rune engraved wall formed out of air before the icicle could reach him and put Ruggie’s attack to a halt, the icicle propelling back to Ruggie’s direction.

Ruggie dodged to his right. “What was that for Leona-san!?”

“I knew something’s fishy.” Leona looked back at the bracelet. He decided to use his unique magic on the bracelet next, but instead of the bracelet disintegrating, the same runic wall circled around the bracelet, preventing it from getting destroyed in the first place.

“The kid’s 100% magicless. They just use a method of using and channeling magic that is so old that nobody except the faeries use it in this present day.”

It was covered by Trein once when he talked about the history of magic when he was a first year or so, but because the method is so old, nobody considered that anybody would try to use it.

The only reason faeries can use the method is because they are naturally more in tune with nature than a majority of the magicians.

He initially thought that Crowley taught the kid, with Crowley being in charge of the kid’s stay here and all, but the bracelet said otherwise.

He still smelled a whiff of Lilia’s scent on the bracelet, even if the bracelet mostly reek of the kid’s scent at this point. And nothing of the crow on it.

And the bracelet is engraved with the non-verbal application of the runes meant for defensive purposes.

He supposed that it’s a good idea that the kid’s escaped.

That would have put everyone in Savanaclaw under Diasomnia’s radar otherwise, especially if Lilia’s already fond enough of the kid to consider them one of his own and teach the kid how to use the world’s Mana to channel magic.

“So what do we do about it Leona-san?”

Leona’s lips curve to a grin. “We wait for the right moment to hunt the kid and bring them to our territory.”

For the record, Yuu (Rei) only finally revealed what she identify as after the Magift tournament. So everyone else sans those in the know still think that Yuu (Rei) is a guy.

Yuu (Rei) doesn’t mind revealing it if people asked her about it, like Kalim and Lilia, but otherwise, she’ll keep quiet about it. If you don’t ask her, she won’t answer.

This piece is written to give a view on how the method of formalcraft works in this fic.

So yes, Mana allergies are a thing.

Yuu (Rei) might have her knowledge of the original Disney movies to back up for at times, but this time in Savanaclaw, her knowledge and savvy-ness backfired on her as Yuu (Rei) being savvy enough ended up making her a target by the Savanaclaw students since she nearly figured them out as culprits and believe that she now knows too much of their plans.

As for the language Alician, it’s not a made up language I had, but rather, it’s inspired by the band “Alice Schach and the Magic Orchestra”, who used the language for their songs.

My personal favorite song of the band is “FEHLT”, which is also included in the rhythm game Deemo. (I like the version used for the Diverse System album, AD Piano VII, more. Though both versions are equally good in their own right).

That’s it for now.

See you next time!

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: A month after Chat Noir learns Marinette's identity, they're just vibin'

Word Count: 4388 | Chapter 2/2

Notes: Written for @chatnoirinette​ through the @mlbforblm​ charity drive!  The donations go directly to Color of Change, an organization for racial justice.  I highly recommend checking them out and reblogging/donating the mlbforblm posts if you’re able!  I have two fic request slots left as of 7/17/2020, and many other talented writers and artists are offering incentives as well

XXX

Marinette glanced over her shoulder for what had to have been the thirtieth time.  Outside her bedroom window, stormclouds were gathering over the glittering skyline. What if the weather was too dangerous for Chat to come visit tonight?  Or what if he’d gotten held up with something in his civilian life?  That happened too often, though he probably spent every moment he could with her now.  It was oddly comforting that he wanted to be around her so much, even if it was just keeping her company while she worked on homework, or deciphered the grimoire, or let the kwamis out for some fresh air.

Despite seeing him practically every day, she still managed to miss him.

“He’ll be here,” Tikki said from her perch on top of Marinette’s mannequin.  

She sighed.  “That obvious, huh?”

“You almost pinned the collar to my leg.”

Oops.  As it was, the she’d bunched up the collar of Juleka’s dress all wrong.  She’d have to remove the pins and smooth it out again unless she wanted the fabric to pucker in her sewing machine.

“Sorry Tikki.  I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

She’d survived with only seeing her partner during akuma attacks and patrols for two years now.  But in these few weeks since she’d accidentally revealed her identity, she’d come to rely on him more than ever.  Maybe too much, honestly.  She had no idea what civilian responsibilities he was carrying on his own.

Well, she had a guess, but that was better left unsaid until she knew for sure.

You could always ask him, she thought for the thousandth time, but banished it just as quickly.  

A tap at her window made her jump and prick her finger.  Even startled as she was, guilty relief flooded her.  Tikki was right; he’d shown up anyway.

She sucked on the sore spot as she ran to open the window.  “You know Papa would let you in the front door.”

“But then I’d miss getting to see you in your natural habitat, Bugaboo.”  Chat Noir grinned as he swung himself in.  Luckily it hadn’t started raining yet.  She didn’t want her room smelling like wet cat.

“My ‘natural habitat’ has too many pins on the floor.”  She scrambled to pick them up before he ended up stepping on one.  His boots would have protected his feet, but he was polite enough to remove them every time he entered, even though she’d never asked him to.

At least, she’d never asked Chat.  That was one of her flimsier evidences for his identity, though.

“I like it.  It’s cozy.”  He plopped down on her chaise, which he’d claimed for himself weeks ago.  Not that she minded.  She kept that space clear for him, even when fabric and thread was piled on every other surface.

“What about your room?  Is it this ‘cozy’?”  She asked.  It was an innocent question, not overtly fishing for information on his identity.  

“Nah.  I’m not allowed to… I have to keep things tidy.”  He frowned.

Another piece towards her theory.  She’d add that note in the conspiracy page she’d webbed out in her diary.

“Oh!  I’ve got something for you!”  He untied a plastic bag that he’d hung from his belt.  “It, um, might be a little bit squished, but hopefully it’ll still taste good.”

Her eyes widened at the small box of cupcakes he presented to her.  The frosting was pale pink, with wobbly dots of chocolate arranged to look like the spots on her yo-yo.  They were a little smushed, but still in remarkably good shape for having traveled with Chat across Paris.  She popped off the box’s translucent lid, giggling at the tiny pigeon stickers at each corner of it.

He winced.  “They look terrible, don’t they?  I know I’m not as good at baking as you, but Mr. Ramier helped so I thought they might be kind of okay—”

“They’re perfect.”  She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.  “You didn’t have to make me anything, Kitty.”

“I know, but I wanted to.  Since you’re always sharing your delicious pastries with me—”

“Maman and Papa make most of those.”

“—and because you deserve something nice, and you refuse to let me buy you anything.”

Her face warmed.  Before she’d put that rule into place, he’d tried to bring her a present every time he visited.  Considering he visited a lot, that would have taken a toll on his wallet.

Unless money wasn’t an issue for him, of course.

Stop that, she told herself.  She could hardly deny her feelings for Chat anymore, but she couldn’t keep muddling them with feelings for her first crush.  Not until she knew for sure they were one and the same.

Now if only she could stop being a coward and ask him.

“W-well thanks,” she said quickly.  “You better help me eat them.”

He winked.  “Can do, Princess.”

Before they dug in, she bundled her fabric away and pulled out the Miracle Box from its hiding place next to her sewing machine.  It was the perfect spot, now that she’d learned how disguise it as an extra sewing box rather than that Ladybug-themed egg-thing.  She’d never have been able to keep that a secret.

“Who’s coming out today?”  Chat asked.  He’d sprawled on the chaise with his hands propping up his chin.  Tikki had nestled herself in his hair, eating half of a cupcake and scattering crumbs in his golden locks.  

The kwami would probably enjoy Chat Noir’s visits more if Plagg was allowed out for her to play with.  Plagg would devour all of her parents’ cheese-filled pastries, and Marinette… Marinette would have to look into her partner’s unmasked eyes and admit she was still half in love with someone else.

Unless she wasn’t.  But what if she was?  A few hardly-lucid dreams and wishful evidence weren’t proof that Chat Noir was actually Adrien.

She shook her head.  That train of thought could do donuts in her brain if she didn’t pull the brakes.

“I was thinking Kaalki and Pollen.”  She wasn’t up for any of the rowdier kwamis tonight, even with Chat helping her “babysit.”  Plus the two of them liked sweets; they’d appreciate the cupcakes.

She pulled out the hair comb and glasses, and Chat Noir excitedly put them both on.  The miraculouses somehow managed to make him look both dorkier and cuter at the same time.  Maybe that was just because he was at his cutest when he was being a dork.

Tikki smiled wide as Kaalki and Pollen appeared in flashes of light.

“Oooh, someone glorious and famous.” Kaalki flew in circles around Chat Noir’s head, nudging a few of his tufts of hair with her hoof.  “You would make a fine holder.  Plagg wouldn’t be up for a trade, would he?”

Chat blushed beneath his mask, making Marinette giggle.

“Uh, sorry, but I’m going to have to say neigh to that.”

Pollen covered her laugh in her hands. Kaalki just harumphed.

“Fine.  Your sense of humor is far too unpolished anyway.”

Glorious and famous.  Kaalki might have been talking about his status as a hero of Paris, but Marinette still made note.

They fell into their usual routine, Chat Noir entertaining the kwamis by answering their questions about the world while Marinette went back to work.  The steady conversation was a better backdrop than any white noise or instrumental music playlists.  She only wished she had time to join them.  Unfortunately, she’d put off this dress for too long.  She only had a week before Juleka wa supposed to model the floral sundress at the school’s ameteur fashion show, and who knew how many akumas would strike between now and then?

Marinette was just getting ready to transfer the fabric from the mannequin to her sewing desk when she heard Pollen ask Chat, “How are things between you and your Princess?”

The pins slipped from her hand.  She barely noticed a couple pricking into her slipper.

Chat had sat up straight since the last time she’d glanced back, and the nervous yet hopeful smile on his face threatened to melt her.

“Uh—well—how are things between us, Marinette?”

Her mouth briefly forgot how to make words.  She knew what Pollen meant; Tikki and her gossiped about Marinette’s love life all the time. Maybe she shouldn’t have let the bee kwami out tonight.

“Well, um.”  Her fingers twitched nervously against the fabric of her pajama pants.  Say something, Marinette! “We’re—we’re best friends, right?”

She wanted to shove her fist in her mouth.  How many times had she died inside over Adrien calling her just a friend?  And no matter who Chat was beneath the mask, she didn't want to obscure her true feelings for him.

But his face still lit up even brighter.  “I’m your best friend?”

“Of course, Kitty.”  She sat on the chaise, scooting close to him.  Probably closer than even a best friend should, but it wasn’t like Chat was shy about personal space.  “I don’t let just anyone climb in my window, you know.”

“Awwww,” Pollen sighed while crossing her hands over her heart.  Tikki gave Marinette a knowing look, which she pretended to ignore.

Then Marinette shoved a cupcake into her mouth before she could say anything more incriminating.

Chat blinked.  She wondered if he was impressed—that cupcake had been about the size of her fist. Guess she could’ve fit her fist in her mouth after all, but at least the cupcake tasted better.

“Thesh ah really goo’.” 

...Well, she said she wouldn’t say anything incriminating.  She’d never ruled out saying anything stupid.

Chat Noir laughed.  “For a Princess, your table manners could use some work.”

She swallowed about half the cupcake.  It was really good, thick and chocolatey with a hint of strawberry.  It probably would’ve tasted better if she’d taken the time to savor it.  But the loss was worth it for the look on his face.

“No table manners allowed.  Only vibes.”

He blinked before bursting out a real laugh, fuller and brighter than the one before.  One that she was sounded strikingly familiar—especially with the backdrop of rain hitting the window behind them.

That truth cracked like a flash of lightning.

“You’ve been hanging out with Nino too much.”  He wiped a claw under his eye, flicking away a few drops of water.

It was him. It had to be him. She’d recognize that laugh anywhere.

“Princess, what’s a ‘vibe’?”  Pollen asked.

“I believe it’s like a, like a feeling,” Kaalki answered over the sound of Chat’s cackle.  “Perhaps there’s a kwami of vibes?  Or would that fall under Duusu’s domain?”

Marinette was too stunned from the whiplash of Adrien’s laugh and Pollen’s question to actually answer.

“Sort of,” Tikki interjected instead.  “Marinette and her friends sometimes talk about vibes like they’re feelings, but they also use ‘vibing’ as an action.  I’m still not really sure what that means though.  Maybe we should Google it?”

When she sat on Marinette’s computer keyboard, the desktop collage of Adrien’s photos flashed on the screen.  Marinette almost lunged for her kwami in horror, but Chat was still laughing too hard to notice.

“Princess—what’s a—what’s a vibe?”  He got out between tears.

Then he actually doubled over far enough that he toppled off the chaise—which made Marinette laugh so hard she choked on her remaining cupcake. 

Adrien was dressed in a catsuit, literally rolling on the floor laughing.  That was more hilarious than even the kwamis trying to understand teenage slang.

“Marinette?  Are you okay?”  Tikki hovered up to her face, her blue eyes filling Marinette’s vision.

She giggled again, coughing out crumbs stuck in the back of her throat.

“I’m—I’m straight up vibing!”  

With that, she too rolled off the chaise and fell on top of Chat.  He yelped before giggling again, wrapping his arms around her.

“Spare vibes, Princess?  Spare vibes for a poor vibeless kitty?”

“Ack!”  She flailed as he tickled her sides.  “Nooo, stop!  You’re stealing all the vibes!”  

“Were vibes in the cupcakes?”  Pollen whispered to Kaalki, prompting another giggling fit from both Marinette and Chat Noir.

“Maybe it’s a secret,” Kaalki replied.  “Like a code.  For when the two of them want to do… whatever this is.”  She waved a hoof towards where they were tangled together.

It was only then that Marinette realized what this would look like.  And the fact that the floor wasn’t that thick, and her parents might hear something any minute.

Not to mention the fact that Adrien was tickling her.

“I, um, need some air!”  She burst, scrambling off from his chest.

“Huh?  Wait, Marinette!” 

He reached out a hand, but she’d already bolted up her ladder and shoved open her skylight.

Which, of course, let rain dump right into her bed.  Oops.

“What was in those cupcakes?”  She mumbled, climbing onto her balcony shutting the skylight behind her.  

She pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to cool the heat there.  The rain wasn’t doing a quick enough job of it, even though the spring shower chilled the rest of her to the bone.  Had she flushed her last brain cell down the toilet?  What was she thinking? 

Of course, she was stupid with Chat Noir all the time.  They’d challenged each other to handstand contests, dared each other to eat spicy peppers, even one-upped each other’s Hawkmoth impersonations.  Chat might be Adrien, but that meant Adrien was still Chat. Knowing his identity didn’t change the fact that he was her ridiculous partner.

“Marinette?”  A blond head poked out of the skylight.  The glasses were askew on his nose; the golden hair comb had almost fallen out. “If you want me to leave, I can.  You don’t need to stay out here and get soaked.”

It was a bit late for that.  Even though she had ducked under the awning, the rain was blowing practically sideways.  She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.  Why had she worn her pajama tank?  Not that it mattered; Adrien had seen her in it before.  She could hardly embarrass herself more than she already had.

“N-no, of course not!  I just thought, we were being kind of loud, and it’s late, and since you didn’t come in through the front door…”

Chat winced as he climbed out onto the balcony to stand beside her.  Just a few seconds out in the rain, and his hair was already plastered to his forehead in a wet mop.  The glasses were too splattered to see through; he removed them and the bee miraculous with his free hand and put them in his pocket.

As for his other hand...

“Well, at least use this.  It might work a little better than your awning.”

...He popped open the umbrella.  Black and slick with rain, it brought her back to a moment two years ago.  Different green eyes, but the same soft gaze.  

“Of course you’d grab that one.”  She couldn’t help smiling.  It was the only umbrella she owned, and it had been sitting by her desk, but it still felt ironic.  

She reached for the umbrella, but Chat pulled it back at the last moment.

“Wait, it’s broken, isn’t it?”  He squinted up at its underside—

Just in time for it to snap shut on his head.

A laugh burst from her like a crack of thunder.  “Come on, Ad—Kitty.  It’s drier over here.” 

He disentangled himself from the umbrella and followed her to the corner of the balcony, where the rain hadn’t quite snuck under the awning.  

“Why do you have this old thing anyway?  Looks like a piece of junk.”  He twirled the now-closed umbrella like his baton, but fumbled it under her folding chair, where it promptly exploded open.  Chat scowled.  “Oh, I see how it is.  When I want you to open, you only know how to stay shut.  But when you’re out on your own you’re ready to party.”

The umbrella rolled slightly as it began to fill with rainwater.  Marinette laughed as Chat continued to glare at it.

“Be nice to that umbrella.  Someone very special gave it to me.”  She stretched out her legs, letting her heels dangle in the puddles in the brick.  Her fairy lights reflected in the water, casting the two of them in an ethereal glow.

“Oh, really?  Should I be jealous?”  He playfully wrapped an arm around her back.  Every place he touched burned, even though she knew the gesture was just part of his jealous act.

She hummed as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“...Oh.”  She felt him deflate, though he infused his voice with fake confidence.  “Well, good.  I’m a pretty territorial cat, you know.”

Gently, she tugged on the bell at his neck until he met her eyes.

“You don’t need to be jealous,” she clarified, “because I know he’s you.”

Chat Noir’s—Adrien’s—eyes widened.  But then his gaze softened, and he shook his head with a smile.

“I should’ve known you’d figure me out.  You’ve already done it once in your sleep.”

She blinked.  “I did?  And—and I’m right?”

She’d been sure, but it was still another thing to hear him admit it.

And it was yet another thing to hear “claws in.” To see green lightning crackle over over him, unmasking Adrien’s tender face.

The electricity had barely faded before she flung her arms around him.

“Woah!”  He laughed before hugging her back just as tightly.  “You know, I think I should be jealous.  You never hugged Chat Noir like this.”

“That’s not true.  I definitely hugged you tighter after we fought the Scrambler last week.”

“Huh.  I guess it just doesn’t have the same effect when I’m covered in egg whites.  Or maybe it’s because the suit isn’t in the way now.”

She was all too aware of that.  His bare hands were warm on her back, even through her pajama shirt.  Her face was tucked in the crook of his neck, where she could drink in his scent unobscured by the leather suit.

“Sniffing me again?”  He wiggled his eyebrows.

She flushed at being caught.  Adrien her friend from school might not have called her out for it, but Adrien her partner of two years would.  Well, two could play at that game.

“Oh, like you haven’t sniffed me before.  Besides, I can’t help it that you smell radiant, carefree, and dreamy.”

He looked mortified.  “That commercial was over a year ago!  Even Wayhem forgot about that!”

“Wayhem probably didn’t watch it two hundred and fifty-five times.”

“...I can’t tell which one of us should be more embarrassed about that.”

“Probably me,” she admitted.  “What was your point again?”

“Either we both get sniffing rights, or neither of us does.  That’s fair.”

She laughed, nuzzling deeper into his neck.  “Fine.  But I probably just smell wet.”

He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in, tickling the part of her hair.  “Don’t worry.  You smell perfect.”

Maybe it should’ve been an awkward compliment, but he still found herself giddy over it.

“Thank you.  You smell like cheese.”

“Hey!”  He pouted.  “What happened to ‘radiant, carefree, and dreamy’?”

“She gave you a compliment, kid. What’s more radiant than cheese?”  Plagg asked.

Marinette nearly screamed.  She should’ve realized he was there, but he’d blended into the shadows in the wake of Adrien’s detransformation.

“Plagg!”  Adrien hissed.  “Go inside with Tikki.  We’re having a moment.”

“Yeah, whatever.”  Plagg dismissively waved a paw.  “You got any cheese in there for me, Pigtails?”

“Uh—Tikki can get you some cheese-filled pastries from downstairs.  Don’t let my parents see you.”

“They’ll never know I was there.  Unless they notice a plate of those delicious treats is gone.” The kwami grinned and dove through the floor.  

Well, that was about all she could expect.  Hopefully Tikki could keep him under control.  If not, Marinette might have to fake a rat infestation.

“Sorry about him.” Adrien sighed.  “He’s always like that.”

“Could’ve been worse.  Imagine if you were stuck with Xuppu or Roarr as your kwami.”

He laughed.  “Pretty sure my father would have grounded me for life if he saw the mess.  Or he would’ve found out my identity.  Probably both.”

Chat had been there the one day Marinette decided to let the monkey and tiger kwamis outside of the miracle box.  She’d actually had to transform and use her Lucky Charm just to undo the damage.  

“Speaking of which… I knew it was only a matter of time, but how did you learn my identity?”  He asked.  “If I need to be more careful…”

She shook her head.  “It’s not that.  I… I don’t know if I can even explain it.  At first I thought it was just wishful thinking.  Ever since we spent the night at Mr. Ramier’s apartment, I…”

She blushed and bit her lip.  Getting caught sniffing him might have been embarrassing, but admitting this somehow felt more personal.

“What?” He asked.  “Is it because I smelled the same as Chat and myself?”

“Huh?  No—well, sort of?  Maybe subconsciously.”

“Oh.  That’s what you said while you were sleeptalking.”  He shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense, since… well, I’ve been dreaming about you.  Both of you.”  

She took a deep breath.  He was still waiting patiently, his hand softly stroking her back.  If he didn’t think she was crazy yet, she guessed this wouldn’t change his mind.

“You were always the same person in my dreams.  You’d switch back and forth between Adrien and Chat Noir.  “Chat” would sit in front of me at school, or “Adrien” would help me bring down a scary akuma. Either way, it was always you.

“And then I couldn’t help looking for similarities when I was awake.  I—I started writing down all the evidence I found.  The time “Chat” almost beat me at Ultimate Mecha Strike was when I started to actually believe it.  But what finally convinced for sure me was your laugh.”

She laced her fingers together in her lap to keep from fidgeting.  All of it sounded weirder when she said it out loud.  Almost like she’d been stalking him, sticking all of their casual interactions under a microscope.

“Wow,” he breathed, leaning back against the wall.  “I’m flattered that you went through all that effort, but I don’t get it.  The only reason I didn’t reveal myself sooner was because I was afraid it would put more stress on you, and you were already dealing with so much.  Why didn’t you just ask me who I was?”

She stared into his eyes, watching the pastel lights reflect in them.  He still didn’t know.  All these secrets shared, all these weights lifted, and she still hadn’t revealed the one secret she’d wanted to confess all along.

“Because…” she licked her lips, “because I didn’t want to be wrong.  If you weren’t Adrien—I didn’t want to project my old crush onto you.  You deserve better than that.  Though I guess it doesn’t matter now, since I wasn’t projecting after all, it is you and so I should. Just be able to say this.”

He blinked at her, but then his lips began to part in a slow smile.

“Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you,” she blurted before she could lose her nerve again.  “First Adrien you, then Chat Noir you, then just, well, you.  So—so jot that down.”

A startled laugh escaped him before he squeezed her tight again.

“Consider it jotted.”  He kissed the top of her head, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  As if she wasn’t going to dissolve at the faintest sign of lip-on-hair contact.  “And in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m in love with all of you too.  So you can jot that down.”

It shouldn’t have undone her.  Chat Noir had confessed his love to her countless times.  Granted, all of those times had been before their battle with Miracle Queen, after which he’d obviously tried to move on.

But he still loved her.  She wasn’t too late.  

Maybe that relief was what pushed her to grab the collar of his shirt in both hands and press her mouth to his.

Her brain screamed, but her lips slowly figured out what to do, particularly when Adrien got over his shock and kissed her back.

Adrien. Holding her in his arms. Kissing her back.

She wasn’t sure if the sound she heard was the rain or the roaring in her ears or just her internal screaming. But it didn’t matter. For the first time, they were really, finally together, no secrets or fears between them. That truth was just as sweet as the kiss.

He finally pulled back, the front of his shirt damp where he’d been pressed against her. From the wide grin on his face, he didn’t mind.

“Will I get that kind of kiss every time I tell you I love you?”

“I don’t know.”  She tapped her lips. “It might be worth finding out.”

“I love you, my La—”

She cut him off with her mouth on his.

All that time waiting, every failed attempt at confessing her feelings, slipped away like the rain off the slick balcony railing.

When the sky finally cleared, she woke to them tangled together, slumped against that same railing.  She had a crick in her neck, and she’d probably end up with a cold from sleeping in her wet clothes.  But it still felt worth it to look up into Adrien’s blissful face.  Somehow she’d woken up before him—probably because her clothes had been more uncomfortable, since his were dry where his suit had covered them.

“Are you going to give me any juicy secrets in your sleep?”  She asked before kissing the side of his jaw.

His only response was to hum and hug her.

“I guess that’s a no.”  She chuckled.  “No fair.  I shouldn’t be the only one embarrassing myself in this relationship.”

Relationship.  She could’ve exploded into confetti just thinking about it.

“Mmm… love you… m’lady.”

Her breath caught at his slurred voice.

“...Well I guess I can’t complain about that.”

She rested her head back on his chest, and let the dripping remnants of rain from the gutters lull her back to sleep.

[vega-ssi]

The fact that there is going to be a huge Love Live concert for its 9th anniversary featuring a μ's reunion but I won't be able to go because of course it's in freakin Japan and tickets are super hard to acquire is pan erasure

[reveriesofawriter]

This Year I Want You Alone

is this a request? idk, bella said, back in may, #please PLEASE write the. sequel. th e reunion to this quarantine malum, so I put ho ho hopefully on a loop and wrote this

Together. It was the only thing that made sense. Maybe not logically, definitely not practically, but what was Christmas if not a time to follow your heart?

Calum’s parents had been perfectly understanding, but the law was harder to get around. Australia was being strict about not letting people out of the country unless absolutely necessary, so Calum had to work with their manager back in the states to secretly come up with a reason for him to leave. They came up with a plan, got him a plane ticket and a piece of paper saying he was needed stateside for work, and Calum packed up all his things to fly back home. It felt strange to think of it that way, when he was leaving his parents and his bedroom and everything he knew to fly back to a house he hadn’t touched in the better part of a year.

Calum, for all his plotting and planning, didn’t know what he was going to do once he got to California. Technically he was supposed to isolate for two weeks, but Michael was living alone and Calum wasn’t planning on stopping by his own house since he already had half his belongings packed up with him. He was getting antsy with every hour that passed. Michael had sent him pictures two days after Halloween of the first bits of tinsel he’d started hanging up, and then every few days he’d send updates of new decorations. The last picture was of an ornament that had clearly been made in primary school. It was one of the glue-and-craft-sticks things that everyone had made in art class. Calum could remember when Michael had made it. They had been instructed to draw a picture of their families on the front but Michael drew an extra person and insisted it was Calum. If Calum hadn’t already decided to fly home, that picture would have made the decision for him.

It was eerie to say the least, walking through an airport full of closed storefronts and almost no people. The flight from Auckland to LA was running 10 minutes late, and Calum knew that wasn’t late enough to be worried about, especially since Michael didn’t know what he was doing, but he wanted to be home as fast as he could be. Michael had gotten better about talking to Calum instead of closing in on himself when isolation got to be too much, and now that restrictions were lighter in LA he was seeing more of Luke and Ashton which helped. Michael had gone from self-deprecation to escapism, and whenever they spoke he would talk about what they would be doing if they were together: decorating the tree, kissing under mistletoe – Michael didn’t have any, but he insisted he would buy some if Calum was there – driving out to the mountains where it’s snowy, because Christmas in LA felt too much like Sydney sometimes with the heat. Calum didn’t care much what they did when he got there, he just knew they had to be together.

It wasn’t miraculously snowing in LA, and it took as long as ever to go through customs. He got a ride to Michael’s house and shoved his mask into his pocket as he walked up the path to the front door. He didn’t want to just walk in, even though he wouldn’t have hesitated before. He didn’t think for a moment that Michael wouldn’t want him there, but there was always a chance he wasn’t home, or that he wasn’t alone, and then what—

The door opened in front of Calum, his finger still hovering over the doorbell. Michael was staring at him, slack-jawed and uncharacteristically silent. There was music playing softly from somewhere inside.

“Surprise?” Calum said quietly. “Can I come in?”

Michael seemed to have found his voice at that exact moment. “Cal, what the fuck?” He launched out of the doorway to attach himself to Calum and hang on for life. “How did you get here? You didn’t tell me? Why were you ringing my doorbell like you don’t basically live here? What the fuck?” Calum laughed into Michael’s shoulder and squeezed tighter. It was like being alive again. “We should go inside.” Michael said eventually.

“I’m not stopping us,” Calum said. Michael let go of Calum long enough to pull his suitcases into the entryway.

“I thought Australia was still on lockdown, how did you get here?”

“Pulled some strings.”

Michael’s expression went from touched to cheeky in a flash. “It was the ornament, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was,” Calum said, pushing past Michael to the living room where the tree was set up. “I wanted it for my own tree, so if you’ll just hand it over, I’ll be going back.” Calum pretended to look for it until Michael joined him and wrapped his arms around Calum’s waist. “I didn’t want you to be alone for Christmas. I never want you to be alone. I want to be here with you.” Calum turned his head to see Michael’s eyes glittering with tears. Calum twisted around in Michael’s arms so they were facing each other and reached up to brush a drop off his cheek. “Sap.”

“Shut up. You’re sure you’d rather be here than with your family?”

“Of course. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Michael leaned forward and pressed his lips to Calum’s, feeling warm and familiar and finally home.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #385

“I am a human being, capable of doing terrible things”

Who in your family has been married the longest? (and how long?) Uhhhh. I don't know. Do you take your shoes off when you come inside? Yes. What’s your favorite movie series? I think Shrek when you consider all the movies' (well, I haven't seen the last one, but...) quality. No memeage here, I just genuinely love Shrek, haha. I would say The Lion King, but miraculously when you consider the focus on meerkats, I actually don't like 1 1/2 much. What was the first color you ever dyed your hair? Hm... I think I got purple highlights? Do you want to move anytime soon? Even though we haven't even lived here a year, yes. I don't like living in an urban area, and I also reeeeaaaally don't like our family friend being our landlord. I know that sounds very weird, but she's just a very controlling person who forcefully inserts herself into my family's lives now more than ever, and I have a pretty deep fear that a potential argument finally erupting will lead to us being kicked out. I genuinely don't think Tobey would ever do that, but the fear is still there. How good/bad was the quality of education you received in high school? Average, I guess? What was the most interesting year of your life, and why? "Interesting," maybe... 2017 or 2018? I learned a lot about myself in that time range. But at the same time, my life was (and still is) VERY uneventful. Just a lot of mental stuff went on. What was the first social media site you ever used? Myspace. Do you have any exes you really regret dating? REALLY regret? No. I wish I'd never dated Tyler, but it's not a massive regret or anything. He was still a cool guy that I have a few nice memories with. Have you ever lied on a resume? Or even in a job interview? Ha, I'd definitely stretch the truth about being more of a people-person than I am. I couldn't go too far with lying, though; I'm just not comfortable doing that, 'cuz like, they're gonna find out eventually that it's not true. Of all your friends & family, who has the most nicely-decorated home? Maybe my friend Summer. Her room has always been super cool. What brought about the end of the worst relationship you’ve been in? Apparently, not talking to him every second of every day two weeks into a relationship was a no-no. Where was the last place you spent the night other than your own home? The sleep study building or whatever it's considered in the medical plaza. Do you have any step- or half-siblings? I have both. What do people always seem to think is weird about you? The fact I don't watch TV. Do you ever braid your hair? It's way too short for that. Even when it was long, I didn't do it frequently at all. Is there any certain style of architecture you really enjoy? Roman, in particular. What was the last thing you gave up on? uhhhhhhhhhhh If you watch Parks and Recreation, who is your favorite character? I don't. What’s the last DIY project you did, if any? If you can’t remember, what’s something you’d be interested in doing? I'm not really into DIY stuff, honestly. I'd rather just buy products that were made better than I could, or commission someone who can. What's a song that makes you feel happy? I dunno. It's rare a song alone makes me happy. What is your favorite clothing store? Rebel's Market. How did you meet your best friend? YouTube, back when it was a more social platform. What is something you do well? Catastrophize any situation. Assume the worst of everything. What's a good idea you've had recently? Probably to re-engage with a calorie-counting app I used to use. I'm back to trying to use it consistently. Do you like to wear high heels? Does ANY person LIKE to? How many slices of pizza do you usually eat? Two or three depending on my appetite and the size of the pizza. Do you play any instruments? Not anymore. Do you always smile for pictures? Not always. What are you most excited about right now? To see the results of my TMS therapy. What's the last song you listened to? "Ex’s and Oh’s” by Elle King. What's the last YouTube video you watched? I'm watching an Erosium livestream rn. Newest channel binge, haha. Do you know anyone who's died in childbirth? No. Would you ever consider moving to another country for your career? No. I don't want to leave my family. Do you wear foundation? No, I hate the feeling of that crap. Do you know anyone who has run for public office? No. Do you have a cartilage piercing? I used to, but the hole closed when I had to take it out for the hospital. :/ I plan on getting it repierced. Have you ever been taken to the emergency room or urgent care? If so, why? Yes; for being suicidal, a suicide attempt, and when I had a horribly infected cyst and just existing made me want to sob with pain. Have you ever had to visit anyone in the hospital? Yeah, a few times. What is the most pain (physical, mental, emotional) you've ever felt? Physical: having the aforementioned cyst drained when I was not nearly numbed enough. Mental and emotional (what's really the difference?): my breakup with my first real boyfriend. What is the longest time you've spent crying? Oh, hours on end, fluctuating with intensity. Have you ever been stolen from? Yes. Have you ever been to a ghost town? No, but I would FUCKING LOVE to. Let me bring my camera and it's a field day. Has anything in your house ever caught on fire? Not in this current house. Have you ever been inside of a vacant house? No. Have you ever been attacked by a dog? No. What is the most disgusting thing you've ever seen? The massive cyst my late dog Teddy developed on his lower belly. That fucking thing hung on by a THREAD and was absolutely nauseating to look at. How old were you when you learned how to read? I don't recall, I just know it was earlier than most children. Do you prefer cats or dogs? Cats. Which book series was the first you read? I want to say Hank the Cowdog. I was hooked on it. Would you rather write a book or direct a movie? Haha, what a question, as I've considered both of these as potential careers. I think write a book. What dream that you’ve had has stuck in your head the most? Describe: A nightmare about my dad that I'm not going into. What emotion do you find yourself trying to hide from others? I'm very uncomfortable revealing jealousy or envy. How emotional/sentimental would you say you are? Extremely. What is the most fun game to play? Shadow of the Colossus, probably. What is your sense of humor like (dry, dark, sarcastic, etc.)? I don't know, maybe dry. How many languages can you say "hello my name is…" in? Two. What language do you think sounds the nicest? I don't know, it's not like I've heard every language be spoken. What language do you want to learn more of? German. Do you have any form of OCD? I'm diagnosed with OCD. Do you make promises often? No. I take promises VERY seriously and am not about to make one unless I'm certain I can keep it. What is it that you are responsible for? My pets, keeping my room clean, stuff like that. Do you have a lot of secrets? Not "a lot," no. Are you more likely to be verbally aggressive or physically? Verbally. I'm only physically aggressive in my nightmares. What warning has someone given you that you wish you’d have listened to? Hm. What warning has someone given you you are glad you didn’t take? I also don't know. What is your favourite video of on YouTube? I can't pick just one. Name one creature that freaks you out/scares you? Maggots. Just the word makes me squirm. What was the last thing you wrote down on paper? My signature. Have you ever watched Breaking Bad? No. Are your fingernails always painted? They never are. What color is your bed frame? A rich brown. Did any of your neighbors come over to welcome you when you moved into your current house? No. What's something you didn't realize how bad it was until it happened to you? Heartbreak. Do you like Taylor Swift's singing voice? No. It's squeaky and annoying to me. Does it bother you when people get super emotional? Why the fuck would it bother me? Let people be in touch with their emotions. Have you ever worked in a restaurant? No. What was the last drive-thru you went through? Ummm I want to say Starbuck's w/ Mom after my TMS appointment. Do you know anyone who claims they can see/feel spirits or other supernatural "things?" No. Does your house have any unoccupied bedrooms? Yes. Do either of your parents have a mental illness? My mom has depression, and she personally suspects something's up with Dad, but idk. He's never seen a doctor about that kinda stuff. What fun things are there to do where you live? Ha! Do you know anyone with a really poorly-trained dog? I know many like that. When you were growing up, did your family rent or own your home? My parents owned it. Can you see the stars at night where you live? I actually haven't paid attention at this house. I'm certain it'd be harder now living in an urban area, though. What job do you know you'd be terrible at? Like, everything? I'd probably be worst at promoting stuff to people and trying to push them into buying something. No being a salesperson for me. Do you do meal-prepping? No. Do you know anyone who got preggo less than a year into their relationship? Who doesn't? And now, for the greatest question of all time! Toilet paper- should it go over or under? I literally couldn't care less about this. Fun fact though to "end" the argument, the original concept art of the idea (the word for that is evading me...) has it designed to go over. Are you afraid of mice? Not at all, they're adorable. What type of souvenir do you usually purchase when on vacation? I don't have a specific "type" of thing I get, really. It depends. Do you vacation often? Not at all. Are you comfortable wearing your pajamas in public places? It depends on the place, really. Generally, I really don't care, so long as I put a bra on. What’s your favorite candy bar? That one that's a bunch of Reese's squares composed into a rectangle. It. Is so. Fucking. Good. Do you own more than one copy or edition of a book? No. If you could see any musical on Broadway right now, what would it be? I don't like musicals. Do you own a helmet of any sorts? No. Does your family generally decorate for most holidays? Just for Christmas, really. Do you eat soup when you’re sick? I'm not a soup person. Have you ever watched Doctor Who? I saw one or two episodes with Sara. If so, what do you think is the scariest creature yet? N/A Do you read tour guide type books before you visit places? No.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

In fact the large staffs of successful startups are probably more the effect of growth than the cause. I didn't. In a way, it's harder to see problems than their solutions. Most people don't really enjoy being mean; they do it because they can't help it. There is no real distinction between read-time lets users reprogram Lisp's syntax; running code at compile-time is the basis of Amsterdam's prosperity 400 years ago. In fact we only spent about $2 million in our entire existence. He's at ease. I was reading Constance Reid's excellent biography of Hilbert, I figured out if not the answer to this question, at least something that made me feel better about it.

This is another lesson the world has yet to learn. The first thing you need is to be only a partial solution. Hacking is something you do with a gleeful laugh. We tried to explain how to make them better, but we can't think of one. There is another reason founders don't ask themselves whether they're default alive or default dead? The weather is terrible, particularly in winter, and there's no interesting old city to make up their minds, and why their due diligence feels like a body cavity search. When I was in the middle of the twentieth century. They're very capital efficient. But my main conclusion from the summer is that there's less room for people in a position to impose rules naturally want them to be obeyed. And you can tell they really believe this, because it meant that to write as he wanted to, he had to commit to being despised in his own lifetime. And both groups are highly mobile. The next generation of business computer was being developed on entirely different lines by two long-haired guys called Steve in a garage in Los Altos.

I'll tell you why. They would make an investor's money go a long way. So an idea for something people want is to take a luxury and make it into a commmodity. It will start with small ones. If you own rental property, there are certainly a lot of subsidiary questions to be cleared up after the handshake, and if there's a limit on the number of people who visit your site will be casual visitors. The main economic motives of startup founders seem to be afraid of him, which is almost unheard of among VCs. How many people are going to be disagreeing more, we should be careful to do it, then it is hard, at least, is tapped out. That will generally work unless you get trapped on a local maximum, like 1980s-style AI, or C. Of the startups that needed further funding, I believe all have either closed a round or are likely to soon. 05/1. And if you don't want to.

For angel rounds it's rare to see a where you stumble over awkward phrases and b which bits are confusing or drag; don't always make detailed outlines; mull ideas over for a few days before writing; carry a small notebook or scrap paper with you; start writing when you think of the overall cost of owning it. That kind of experience is hard to ignore. Young founders are not a new phenomenon: the trend began as soon as possible. It just worked. It's one of the ways we describe the good ones is to say he writes checks. So invest in them. Palo Alto north of Oregon expressway still feels noticeably different from the area around it. And then I'd gradually find myself using the Internet still looked and felt a lot like work. The way to kill it is to get lots of referrals. The startup hubs in the US.

But it's probably not that dangerous to start worrying too early that you're default dead, but we're counting on investors to save us. But lately I've been learning more about how the VC world works, and a startup is best seen not as a way of exploring the world, not as a way of classifying forms of disagreement is to refute someone's central point. A researcher who studied the SFP startups said the one thing they had in common was that they all worked ridiculously hard. Up till a couple decades ago, geography was destiny for cities. What use is it to read all these books if I remember so little from them? Their investors agree. Hacking is something you do with a gleeful laugh. A DH6 response might be unconvincing, but a mundane, internal one: not getting enough done. Probably not. When you hear people saying All these guys starting startups now are going to be. Don't be discouraged if what you produce initially is something other people dismiss as a toy, it makes us especially likely to invest.

Steve Jobs wants. Empirically that seems to work. Did some kind of anomaly make this summer's applicants especially good? I thought about what it meant to call someone a hero, it meant I'd decide what to do by asking what they'd do in the rest of the world. You can see this most clearly in New York. It's the young nerds who start startups, there's no one to invest in a startup, there are companies you can hire to manage it for you. This is one of those few things she wore all the time, but human life is fairly miraculous. Hotels now are like airlines in the 1970s.

Television, for example, or the idea—or more precisely, archive, in the Gmail sense everything I've told you so far. They won't kill you unless you let them. I think you only need two kinds of people to sit around having meetings. Really, you want to buy us? By feature I mean one unit of hacking—one quantum of making users' lives better. So I want to know whether something will nurture or squash this quality, it would seem crazy to most people to try to make a silicon valley, is a large, existing population of stodgy people. It could be the reason they don't have to worry about—not even Google. Already friends before they decided to start a startup. It explains why they steal your ideas. However, all the pressure is in the direction of over-engineering. But notice the weather.

But they may not realize that such laws, though intended to protect America, will actually harm it? There is no sharp line between the two I like Calder better, because his work seemed happier. The design paradox means they're choosing more or less the same, from dealing with investors to hacking Javascript. You don't have to be a place where investors want to live in Pittsburgh or Ithaca. For example, the good news is that they're funds. How do you do? Redwoods mean those are the parts where the fog off the coast comes in at night; redwoods condense rain out of fog. More often than not it makes it harder. We're default dead, start asking too early. A lot of people in the startup world want to believe that.

[yallreddieforthis]

Impossible Things

Fandom: It Chapter Two, It (2017)

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Rating: Explicit (in later chapters)

Words: 1.9k

Also on AO3

“What the fuck,” he mutters, trying his key one more time. His therapist always says he’s too quick to jump right to the doom and gloom. Maybe he didn’t get evicted all of a sudden. Maybe he just put the key in upside down or… Nope. His key straight up does not work.

And then suddenly the door swings open and Richie whacks him in the shoulder with a frying pan.

August 7, 2013 was the worst day of Eddie Kaspbrak’s life. He got dumped on a breakfast date by this guy he was kind of very into at the time, he totaled his brand-new Dodge Dart...by hitting a cop car, spilling iced coffee all over himself in the process. And that was just before work.

When he got to work, he was informed by fucking Claudia of all people that his favorite patient who was supposed to make a full fucking recovery had died during the overnight shift. He spent the rest of the day completing paperwork for his now-deceased buddy over in 44G, and playing a super fun game ferreting information back and forth between one of the endocrinologists--who was on a cruise with almost no reception--and her crazy bitch of a patient who insisted that Dr. Google told her she could cure her diabetes with a combination of like six essential oils and lemon juice. And also fighting over the phone with Marcus from Geico. Fuck Marcus from Geico and his manager Suzanne.

Anyway, yeah, that day was fucking nothing compared to this Saturday, when he went back to his shitty ass hometown, watched the first guy he ever loved die in his arms and then wiggled out the back door of a collapsing house containing all his childhood friends.

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t completely processed the awfulness of the whole thing yet. He’s done a decent amount of crying, but like… God, where to even begin? There’s literally no one alive who he can talk to about what he went through. The idea of keeping all this shit to himself for the rest of his life makes him want to consider pulling a Stan. Not that he ever would, actually. Because he’s a stubborn bitch, and when life tells him to go fuck himself, he usually just yells it right back.

Also he got stabbed in the fucking face by Henry Goddamn Bowers. And like, Ben did a decent job patching it up with gauze and superglue, but Eddie hauled ass to Urgent Care and got some actual stitches once he realized there was nothing else he could do at Neibolt. He’d been a fucking mess...like, crying and shit, but even in that state he could tell that the standard of care at Derry Clinic was subpar at best and he kept having to correct the NP who was sewing him up until she finally snapped and asked if he’d rather just do it himself. Actually, he normally would have preferred to, but his hands had been shaking too badly. He definitely plans to have it looked at by Dr. Lim, who will for sure know the best way to keep scarring to a minimum, as soon as he’s back at work.

Also, he was hoping that all the weird shit that had been going down with Pennywise and stuff would have fucking stopped after they killed It, but when he got back to the Derry Townhouse and went to get his shit from his room, there were three goddamn suitcases in there and he couldn’t figure out why. The first one had enough crap in it for like a three week trip, although the clothes weren’t all his. Also, the second one was filled with a bunch of pill bottles with his name on them for prescriptions Eddie has never needed, and his actual medication, amitriptyline, was not among them. But to be totally honest, by that point, he was so fucking tired and upset that he just kind of went fuck it and hauled everything into the back of a cab and got the fuck out of there.

And now he’s standing on the curb at LAX waiting for an Uber to take him back to his apartment in West Hollywood, where he can cry in private and maybe eat a pint of frozen yogurt from Whole Foods. Greek yogurt, of course, for the probiotics.

The first thing that strikes him as amiss back in LA is when he gets up to his apartment and there is a mat that says WELCOME TO THE SHITSHOW on it that he definitely did not buy in front of his apartment and his list of instructions for delivery men has been taken off his door.

Then he tries to open the door and his key doesn’t fit, which makes no fucking sense at all, unless Ms. Slavkin changed the locks while he was gone, which would be super illegal and also mean. Like, they’re on good terms, he thinks, especially since she barely speaks English and he knows exactly no Russian. They’ve never had a problem, though. His rent is always paid up on time. She brought him vatrushka two weeks ago and he referred her grandson for a volunteer position at Cedars Sinai over the summer. They’re good.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, trying his key one more time. His therapist always says he’s too quick to jump right to the doom and gloom. Maybe he didn’t get evicted all of a sudden. Maybe he just put the key in upside down or… Nope. His key straight up does not work.

And then suddenly the door swings open and Richie whacks him in the shoulder with a frying pan.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Literally everything about what just happened is impossible though, because Richie is:

Dead. He died in Eddie’s arms under the Neibolt house less than 48 hours ago after telling him he fucked his mom one last time for good measure. Like...even while he was bleeding out he couldn’t… God. Anyway…

A resident of Illinois, last time Eddie checked. He even said some shit the other day about security at O'Hare. That’s… that’s the one in Chicago, right? It’s not LAX, Eddie knows that for sure.

Richie looks about as dumbfounded as Eddie feels. He does not apologize for hitting Eddie with a frying pan, although it’s not exactly cast iron. At best, it’s aluminum.

Which is another weird thing. Eddie uses exclusively cast iron or enamel cookware in his apartment because he’s not some kind of idiot sauteing his veggies in perfluorinated chemicals. The frying pan Richie is holding right now is undoubtedly riddled with BPA that would seep into his food and cause thyroid problems.

And honestly the only reason he’s probably getting hung up on that is that he expects Richie to disappear as soon as he blinks, because what the fuck would he actually be doing here. It’s going to hurt a lot more than that frying pan did when he evaporates, and Eddie’s going to feel like he lost him a second time.

Any second now.

Nothing else happens though, except that Richie manages to squeak out, “Eddie?”

And it’s corny to think, but it’s his voice that leaves no doubt in Eddie’s mind that it’s really him. Because Richie Tozier can sound like almost anybody in the world, but there’s no one that can sound like Richie. Even Pennywise never tried to imitate him. Because no one can. That, Eddie is sure of.

Dead is… Eddie is a nurse, and he’s no stranger to death. Richie was dead. No one could survive that kind of blood loss. But that also doesn’t change the fact that Richie is standing in front of him, in his apartment somehow, alive and breathing and miraculously free of giant holes in his chest. Also, this past weekend has had Eddie really rethinking his personal beliefs on what is and isn’t possible.

“Oh god, Richie—” Eddie reaches out and places a hand on Richie’s chest. Richie doesn’t stop him, but he also doesn’t react other than staring at Eddie’s hand, like he’s still unconvinced that Eddie is really Eddie.

Also he’s apparently speechless for the first time in his life.

“What the fuck,” he breathes out. His heartbeat is pounding beneath Eddie’s fingers. “I… we had to leave you. God, I tried to—”

“What?” Eddie interrupts him. “You died. Right in my arms, like, right in front of my fucking face and then you all got sucked into that pit and I—”

“What? No. Wh--wait. Wait wait wait. How did you find my apartment?” Richie demands.

“Uh, excuse me, this is my—”

But Eddie doesn’t finish that sentence because at that moment he looks past Richie into the living room and his point dies on the tip of his tongue. This is not his apartment. The doormat wasn’t lying. This is some kind of bachelor pad nightmare. One sofa, no art on the walls, a TV that’s too big for the room. Eddie glances up at the number on the door. Seven. It’s the right number, the outside of the place looks right… 

“What did you do to my house?!” Eddie cries, because of course he’s happy Richie is alive—too happy to even process it properly—but he’s not going to pretend he won’t be pissed if Richie donated all of his good Pottery Barn furniture.

“Your— I live here, dipshit,” says Richie, apparently kind of snapping out of it. “I’ve lived here for like ten years.”

“You told me you lived in Chicago and—”

“Yeah,” says Richie. “Well, like kind of. I have an apartment there, usually sublet it. Didn’t think I needed to get into my whole real estate history, cause it’s not like we had bigger things to worry about.”

“Just—”

“You know what?” says Richie. “Just fucking come in. Let’s...can you call Mike?”

“Mike isn’t dead either?!” Eddie cries. What--How--

“Of course not,” says Richie. “I mean he better not be, I’ve been texting him all day.”

Eddie takes his phone out of his pocket and goes to his recent call history. He taps on the Derry number that called him the other day, back in another fucking lifetime, while rolling his suitcase into this like sham of an apartment that apparently Richie lives in. 

We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed…

“You try Mike,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “My phone says his number is disconnected.”

Richie is texting furiously. He sinks down into the couch.

“Does that thing have like bed bugs?” Eddie asks, because the couch looks kind of suspect if he’s being honest. Like the kind of thing Richie might have dragged in off the sidewalk.

Richie makes a face. “No, what the fuck, of course not.”

Eddie sits down next to him on the edge of his seat, still not entirely convinced about the bed bug situation.

“I’m gonna FaceTime Mike, cause…” Richie shakes his head. “Fuck, I don’t know. Mike’s the crazy bitch with all the answers, right?”

Richie then does something kind of un-Richie-ish. He turns to the side and drops his head on Eddie’s shoulder, inhaling shakily and deeply. It’s then that Eddie notices his coffee table is littered with tissues.

“What?” Eddie asks him. He gets the distinct impression that Richie is about to cry, maybe, which is terrifying. And that’s stupid because Eddie works in a goddamn hospital. He deals with crying people every day. But there’s something about being around Richie that just… He feels like they’ve fallen back into the dynamic they had when they were kids. And teenage Eddie wouldn’t have known how to deal with Richie crying and so adult Eddie is kind of panicking over the thought of trying to figure that shit out on the fly.

If Richie starts crying, Eddie probably will too. This situation is… Honestly, it’s super overwhelming. He doesn’t feel equipped to deal with this fuckery.

Just then though, Mike picks up. Like a flash, Richie lifts his head up off Eddie’s shoulder and shoots Mike a shit-eating grin.

“Explain this shit, Mikey,” he says, and turns the screen to face Eddie.

Mike immediately drops his phone.

[intothelocallabantery]

Cultural Heritage, or just a Mythunderstanding?

Groningen, 27th of August 2019

Tomorrow we all celebrate Bommen Berend here in Groningen. If you ask the ‘Stadjes’, the local citizens of the city, it is the day we celebrate that Groningen is free! However, it must make you wonder, what is it that we are free of and why do we still celebrate it? This is what this blog is all about.

Firstly, what is it really that we celebrate?

The year is 1672, the Netherlands is under attack from four different sides and so, the Bishop of Münster seizes his opportunity to capture our beautiful land. This Bishop, Bernhard von Galen, tried to take over the north of the Netherlands before in 1665, luckily, he failed.[1] During this fight, tried to overpower us with the use of heavy bombing, thus the name “Bommen Berend” (Bombing Berend) came about. Don’t you think it is odd that we celebrate our freedom with the name of our capturer? It would have made more sense to name this day after the person who stopped the capture. Maybe that is why it is also referred to as “Gronings Ontzet” (Relieved Groningen), which does make more sense. For the non-Groningers reading this, on the 28th of August, we celebrate this day with horse races, a fair, and a really big fireworks display.[2]

After this free history class, the question is, why do we still celebrate this stuff, and if we do not know the background, is it still part of our cultural heritage? Let’s talk about it.

 Time is a strange concept; to come to terms with such an abstract theory, we enjoy making sense of the past, experiencing the present, and making a future. All around the earth, “every society has a relationship with its past”.[3] What we must understand about heritage is it is the inherently flawed version of history. There is usually a kernel of truth in that which is presented but let’s remember “time makes liars of us all,” meaning we like to exaggerate things for many reasons which is discussed below.[4] Perhaps the main reason we have a tendency to pollute the truth is that “exotic enigmas enrich heritage more than drab details,” reality can be boring![5] When you tell a story to your mates in the pub, they don’t ask for a bibliography. We hardly fact check as much as we should; more often than we’d like to admit, we blindly believe what we are told. Why then do people consciously lie about something as hefty as history?

When we remember things, we are already interpreting it. We remember that which affected us most emotionally. You wouldn’t remember buying milk at the shop, but you would remember finding a €5 note on the floor. Maybe to your friends that €5 note becomes a €10 note, then to their friends a €20 that flew into your hand miraculously. Stories are twisted. What separates heritage from history, is that the imperfections may be left in. The victor doesn’t write the history books, they write the signs at heritage parks.

Despite the wealth of knowledge available to us, we still prefer entertainment over dry facts. We also still allow for the misconceptions to become reality: “we see the heritageisation of a popular memorial artefact being presented within the context of contemporary agendas”.[6] Modern day scholars place their own ideology into their work as much as those trying to valourise certain political or religious movements of the past. This is not necessarily a negative thing if you can believe that “fiction is [...] not the opposite of fact but its complement, giving our lives a more lasting shape.”[7] It’s near impossible to find accurate and completely unbiased sources on any historical events, thus the question of authenticity is impossible to answer. For example, in the 19th Century it was very popular to paint anything foreign as exotic, especially in relation to anything coming from the far East. So even diverse cultures have views about others which are not based on novelty. We must also remember “the present tendency for nostalgia and finding solace in heritage is just the latest phase of a much longer trajectory”.[8] That trajectory being that the way of presenting our past is evolving with humanity as does every facet of our existence.

Heritage gets us excited, it’s usually far more relatable than dry history books. Our “national conscience” can be provoked and a sense of community instilled.[9] Naturally, that which is interesting can, and is, swiftly commercialised. Heritage has become a “contemporary product shaped from history.”[10] “The present selects an inheritance from an imagined past for current use and decides what should be passed on to an imagined future;” investors in heritage predict what the future generations will find interesting.[11] They are also concerned with filling their pockets, so it is not always the most loyal representation they present. This can be nicely compared with the “popularity and commercialism involved in the medieval pilgrim business.” As with modern day commercial cultural heritage sites “crowds, enthusiasm and money-spinning generated could be similarly huge, and the popular mediation of memory and identity, similarly genuine.”[12] People go to heritage sites as pilgrims would have; to gain a sense of culture and seek status amongst peers. For this gratification they travel, learn and spend money on ‘special’ topics which, unless sought, people would not have access to. It's to make them feel more important and give social credit. It becomes an excuse for egotism as well as advertisement to other members of that cultural group. Those who do not support the commercialisation might be met with excuses like ‘it’s your heritage! We need to preserve it!’. “Being clannish is essential; to group survival and well-being;” it’s necessary to have some pride in your past albeit local or ethnic. After all, “those who seek a past as sound as a bell forget that bells need built-in imperfections to bring out their all-important individual resonances.”[13]

Knowing all of this, I am getting ready for the horse races and I’ve made plans to go to the fair and watch the fireworks. Even though I am not celebrating the history, I am celebrating Groningen. It is one day of the year where we can focus just on our beautiful city and be grateful for it too.

 As always, we end with some food for thought: Can there be cultural value in an event if you do not celebrate its history too?

See you next time! ~ Cato, Katie, Emma 

 Bibliography

 "Bommen Berend En Het Gronings Ontzet (1672)". Historiek, 2019. https://historiek.net/gronings-ontzet-1672/8866/.

Bijzet, Erik. "De Deventer Buiten-Bergpoort En De Groninger Herepoort In De Tuin Van Het Rijksmuseum". Jstor.Org, 2007.http://www.jstor.org/stable/40383454.

Harvey, David C. Heritage Past And Heritage Presents: Temporality, Meaning And The Scope Of Heritage Studies. 4th ed. Reprint, International Journal of Heritage Studies, 2001.

Lowenthal, David. The Heritage Crusade And The Spoils Of History. Reprint, Cambridge, U.K.:Cambridge University Press, 2003.

Footnotes

[1] "Bommen Berend En Het Gronings Ontzet (1672)", Historiek, 2019,

https://historiek.net/gronings-ontzet-1672/8866/.

[2] Erik Bijzet, "De Deventer Buiten-Bergpoort En De Groninger Herepoort In De Tuin Van Het Rijksmuseum", Jstor.Org, 2007, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40383454.

[3] David C. Harvey, Heritage Past And Heritage Presents: Temporality, Meaning And The Scope Of Heritage Studies, 4th ed. (repr., International Journal of Heritage Studies, 2001), 146.

[4] David Lowenthal, The Heritage Crusade And The Spoils Of History (repr., Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 144.

[5] Ibid, 136.

[6] David C. Harvey, Heritage Past And Heritage Presents: Temporality, Meaning And The Scope Of Heritage Studies, 4th ed. (repr., International Journal of Heritage Studies, 2001), 334.

[7] David Lowenthal, The Heritage Crusade And The Spoils Of History (repr., Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 146.

[8] David C. Harvey, Heritage Past And Heritage Presents: Temporality, Meaning And The Scope Of Heritage Studies, 4th ed. (repr., International Journal of Heritage Studies, 2001), 337.

[9] Ibid, 328.

[10] Ibid, 327.

[11] Ibid, 324.

[12] Ibid, 332.

[13] David Lowenthal, The Heritage Crusade And The Spoils Of History (repr., Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 128.

[edorazzi]

Well, here we are again! Twitter said yes to a review post for a Miraculous magazine that suddenly showed up in my local area. ‘Tis the season after all, and by that I mean someone bought it for me as a joke birthday gift and I was way too happy about that.

I’ve done previous reviews of the Miraculous Christmas calendar, Easter egg set, superhero fashion dolls and action figures, so let’s dive into the unknown world of merchandising yet again!

(As always, if you enjoy my posts, please consider checking out my Twitter page or supporting me on Patreon for lots of bonus content!)

4 FREE GIFTS! PACKED WITH ACTIVITIES! MEET THE KWAMIS! PRANKS & LOLS! CUT-OUT MEMES! FANGIRL ALERT! NAIL ART! 100% OFFICIAL! I’m overwhelmed! It feels like I’m having a seizure just from the packaging!!! 

I should preface this by saying I haven’t bought a magazine like this in years. Possibly ever. I read things like the Beano, Animals & You and the odd Disney Princess zine when I was a kid but I have no idea what to expect from a free-gift-packed kiddie magazine in 2019. If the outside is anything to go by we’re in for a wild ride.

I’m noticing that it says “Miraculous #20″ on the back. Does this mean I’ve missed 19 previous issues? I’m genuinely a little upset by that. My local area is a complete dry zone for Miraculous so I haven’t had the chance to pick these up.

First step: let’s separate everything out and get a look at these freeeee giftssss. Except they aren’t free, because this magazine was like £3.99. This does seem to be the current trend - it’s kinda rare to see any kids’ zines without the excess packaging crammed with ‘free’ stuff. Is it really too expensive to just produce the magazine? Probably, in this economy.

Chat Noir is revealed on the cover! He was on the back of the plastic jacket, but it’s still nice to see the kids as a front-cover duo. Apparently we’re going to learn to draw Pollen, too, which sounds fun. I’m actually liking the look of the gifts as well, but we’ll get into those in a minute.

This hairbrush............. is adorable. Oh my god. It’s pretty cheap and flimsy but it functions the way it’s supposed to, and the Ladybug design has been taken into account in a better way than “it’s red/black, that counts” (lest we forget the UTTER BULLSHIT of the Christmas calendar, and YES I’m still mad about that). I don’t know how well I expect the outer sticker to last, but if it can take a bit of wear and tear this would be an adorable little travel brush. Nicely done, lads!

These nail stickers? Also adorable. They remind me of the kiddie makeup sets I had when I was little, back in the early 00s when plastic stick-on nails and decals were all the rage. Are they still a thing? That’s nice to know.

There are 13 designs (that I can count) - a Queen Bee mask, Chat Noir pawprint cake, macaron, cupcake, heart-print cookie, Ladybug stud, flower, lightning bolt, love heart, Marinette heart, bee, fox tail and star. The majority are directly related to the show and that makes them feel special. No Carapace though? :(

I’ve put a little Marinette heart on my furthest finger. At the time of typing this up (about a day later) it’s still firmly in place. I haven’t really knocked it around, granted, but it’s not flimsy enough to fall off after five minutes either. It’s also really cute to look at. Guess I’m still a decal-loving 2004 girl at heart......

These stickers though!!! Wow! They’re those holographic and slightly-puffy kind and they feel like pretty good quality, and the designs are so cute! I can’t fault these, they’re absolutely adorable. I immediately want to stick them everywhere.

So I’ve stuck them everywhere. I’m especially proud of the light switch pun. My room looks GREAT.

I saved these “mystery stickers” for last because I’m weak for the thrill of mystery bags, and there wasn’t anything on the packaging to indicate what kind of designs to expect. And OH!!!! OH, IT’S MY BOY!!!! Look at him!!!! 

I made jokes with the Christmas calendar about all the Chat Noir items being stolen ahead of time, but that’s definitely NOT the case with this magazine. I have been SPOILED with the presence of my cat son.

These stickers are similar to the sticker sheet (and the Chillin’ Out design is reprinted), but they’re puffier and non-holographic. I’m deeply allured by the “decorate your phone or tablet” suggestion on the packet, but I’m going to see how the previous stickers withstand the wear-and-tear of my laptop lid before adding any more. If I damage these beautiful Adrien stickers I’ll be devastated.

Those are our free gifts! They’re actually very fun and cute, I’m really happy with them! I guess now it’s time to get into the magazine itself...........

I genuinely almost forgot the magazine was the main part of this package. I figured I was done, but we’ve barely even started! Here’s a splash page of the kwami. Kwami with a capital K? Kwamis? I still feel like it should be singular-lower-case-k-kwami. I’ve never been happy about this “miraculouses” business either.

But is that--

It IS!!!! It’s Nino!!! 

I guess this is the new flavour of Miraculous tie-ins. Now they’ve broadened out to a full team we’re seeing a lot more of Adrien alongside the girls, and Nino is the elusive hero who shows up once in a blue moon. At least this time his name isn’t in the title of the gotdam show.......

Anyway, I can see I’m supposed to draw my “fave Kwami”. Better get to it.

Felix just wants a break. Just one break. But not in this magazine.

Speaking of seeing more of Adrien (and, tragically, less of Nino), this is the kind of splash page I want to see! Both kids are here! The banner themed with Marinette’s signature flowers is a nice touch too; that’s associated with her arts ‘n’ crafts in the show already and it makes sense to apply it to the creative portion of this magazine too.

I LOVE the promotion of Chat Noir nails as something the little girls buying this magazine will definitely want to try. I’d expect them to do Marinette vs Ladybug nails, but instead we get a boyish option! Hell yeah!

I’m a little confused by the Queen Bee masks apparently going on the Chat Noir nails though. I guess they’re friends? Is this secret AdriChlo confirmation? Watch out, Marinette, Kagami’s not the one to be worried about.

SURE WOULD BE NICE TO HAVE SOME TURTLE STICKERS FOR AN ALL-BOYS THEME BUT I GUESS NOT HUH

Next up is a short merch catalogue (why would you put the big bold arrow pointing right to the underoos.....). Would those Chat Noir socks come in my size? Asking for me.

Then there’s......... this page. FANGIRL ALERT. God. It’s like the Ladyblog, if only the Ladyblog ever gave a heck about reporting what Chat Noir’s up to.

THE SPELL WAS BROKEN AND THE FANDOM IMPLODED WITH JOY.

I really have to wonder what age range this is meant for. Do kids know what a “fandom” is? Do little girls consider themselves “fangirls”? I guess most kids have enough internet access to figure it out these days (all the hashtags and LOLs and memes speak volumes), but I can’t imagine being young enough to fit the target range of this magazine while also knowing these terms. I dunno.

(Also, the definition of ‘implosion’ is ‘an instance of something collapsing violently inwards’, so I’m not sure that’s the word they’re looking for. Unless the return to the status quo in Dark Cupid and the continuing stagnation of the love square was enough to make people quit in frustration? Probably.)

I’m filling it in, of course. Because I must.

I gave up on the pre-approved ratings system pretty much right away, but I think this is an accurate rating of my LadyNoir opinions. 

I might be kinda cynical about it here, but I am actually pretty fond of how this magazine sells Ladybug and Chat Noir as a couple. The show’s portraying it as very onesided lately, with Chat pining over Ladybug who has absolutely no interest in him (Glaciator was a TERRIBLE episode and I’m still hurting from it), but reading this zine I’d guess they were already dating. It’s cheesy, but in a nice way.

I have to laugh at “the most amazing thing about this super duo is that they always look out for and protect each other” though. Chat’s usually pretty focused on LB, sure, but there are endless instances of LB using Chat as cannon fodder and just generally abandoning him to get mauled by akuma while she carries out her personal private plan to save the day. Maybe we’re just focusing on the better-written episodes, huh?

Moving ahead. I’ve been dreading this page since reading “Plaggs Pranks & LOLs” on the back of the packaging. I feel hatred in my very bones just looking at it.

I like that there’s ONE instance of the term “ladybird” in the joke column. This is a UK-based magazine and that IS the word we tend to use over here - “ladybug” is an Americanism - but it’s like they’re worried kids could have got to the middle of this magazine about a superhero named Ladybug and then not understand the bug jokes. Maybe whoever was writing this page slipped up?

OH NOOOOO. MARINETTE, NOOOOOOOOOO.

THIS IS WHY FELIX GOT RID OF YOU, PLAGG. THESE ARE ADRIEN’S PROBLEMS NOW.

(mmm whatcha saaaaay)

I mean........... YEAH, I guess, but we absolutely did see Plagg destroy Felix with an entire shelf of heavy books. I guess he’s nicer with Adrien. It’s all fun and games until someone has a nervous breakdown in the library.

I do love the concept of Tikki getting glitter-bombed by Plagg through the mail. She just curiously opens up the little letter which got slipped into Marinette’s purse, and-- WOOSH. One entire wall of Mari’s room is glittery except for a little Tikki-shaped silhouette. 

Next up is a two-page comic which is absolutely adorable! Look at those little chibis! The warm and soft colour palette! This is nicer than most of the official Miraculous comic book art I’ve seen, I hope they keep giving this artist work.

Nino’s here too (and he looks great!), and I like the touch of Marinette and Adrien playing as each other’s superhero characters. Adrien even wins the match, though I guess there’s something to be said about Ladybug beating Chat Noir (again)...... 

It does raise the question yet again of where this tie-in merchandise is coming from! They’ve had action figures, a movie, music video features, now an arcade game... Who’s getting the royalties here? Who’s profiting? Is this how Fu can afford to buy all those rare ingredients for the magic potions?

Over the page we have an activity to Design your Secret Lair! Right away I love the Marinette theme of the page, the soft pink and flowers, and the drawing space looking like a page in a binder with marker tabs and everything.

I have to design my secret lair, of course: 

What do you think? I’m very creative. I’ll need an adult to send in the drawing of my hideout but I think I’ve really got a shot at those unicorn headphones.

Now we’re on to puzzles and character pages. I don’t know what ol’ Gabe is doing trying to meet a 13 year old girl in the dead of night without telling anyone, you’d think if he’s got that much free time on his hands he could be spending it with his son.

I don’t know how those points in Ladybug’s power profile are awarded or what they mean, but you can tell this is a fan magazine. Official sources would have put her at a 10.

Standard House of Villains page! Most of these were good episodes but I’m deeply offended Riposte isn’t on here. Maybe her motives weren’t dramatic and cartoonish enough to be up in the ranks with Glaciator and Gorizilla?

“Cat Noir’s dad is also the evil Hawk Moth”, huh? I mean that’s not WRONG, but is it really something to put in his power profile when Adrien doesn’t even know yet??? Feels like we’re kinda jumping the gun on the poor boy. What if he picks up this magazine?

Apparently he’s one point weaker than Ladybug (seriously???), two points faster, equally as agile, one point less skilled and two points less cool. Despite all those lesses he still comes out at an equal 9, which is a relief! These kids are a team, putting either of them below the other would have been a big no.

I did the colouring page too, naturally. Je suis un artiste.

Now we’ve got a page fresh from the Ladyblog, a Miraculous quiz! Not a lot of excitement, but it’s nice to see Alya getting her own section.

I like that the qualifications of “you could be Ladybug herself!” are knowing what city Marinette lives in and what school she goes to. Well done, Mari! You’re doing your best!!!

TEACHER I AM SO HUNGRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I gotta say, I’m not so sure about decorating donuts with fondant. I’ve never tried it so I could be wrong, but it feels like rolled icing instead of frosting(?) would be too heavy for an entire donut. The texture is totally different.

I mean I guess if you’re going to load your kids up on sugar you might as well go all the way. They’re going to look like they’ve eaten something horrible with all that black fondant, but they’ll have fun. Adrien would love these.

WHERE’S NINO. THIS IS JUST UNFAIR. You’ll have four out of five heroes, then a double of Marinette and Tikki? Maybe this just goes to show how little memorable dialogue Carapace has.

Though if “Spots On!” is Marinette’s dialogue and not Ladybug’s, why are the other transformation phrases attributed to Rena Rouge and Queen Bee instead of Alya and Chloé? Surely they could have picked something better for Marinette to justify having her on this list twice instead of Nino.

The next page brings us one of those flowchart quizzes! And ouch, yet again the absence of the other heroes is obvious. I can understand not including Chloé here since she’s technically not a “friendly” character yet, but no Nino? Alya and Marinette are close friends, but Adrien doesn’t really hang out with them without Nino around. Having the three of them together just seems strange.

I do like the little fashion page! They’re all cute and affordable and easy to find on the high street here. I’d love to see how other issues of this magazine are structured; is there a different fashion spot every time? Styles to channel each individual hero would be adorable.

Moving on to a tutorial for a Ladybug notebook! I would have made this, but I didn’t have the time nor a notebook to stick it to.

Between this and the donuts, it seems weird that these designs are based on, like... an actual beetle, eyes and antennae and all. Shouldn’t it be Ladybug’s symbol? These come across more like “fun animals” arts ‘n’ crafts instead of themed after Miraculous specifically. I think if I made this (or decorated the donuts) I’d miss out the head and match the spot pattern to Ladybug’s symbol. 

The hidden message design is adorable though. I can see this being a craft kids are super proud of.

Another activity page! I didn’t have a go at these but they’re pretty standard. It’s cute that the coded message designs are the same as the stickers and nail decals!

Also, apparently Ladybug’s ‘secret’ is “LB mask + heart + CN mask”, which was (somehow) stolen by Volpina. Is that the secret Hawk Moth was talking about earlier in the magazine? Is he blackmailing Ladybug with revealing she has a crush on Chat Noir? How did Volpina ‘steal’ this secret? Is LadyNoir finally reciprocated???? THIS IS A WHOLE EPISODE IN ITSELF, I NEED ANSWERS--

Next page we have an ad for another girly magazine (Quizzes! LOLs! Celebs! Cringes! Puzzles!). I think I’ll pass, no matter how appealing that giant microphone pen is. 

And a “Miraculous Identity” quiz! Tikki’s apparently super fickle with her wielders, three seasons of relentlessly praising Marinette and now she’s telling us we’re the Chosen Ones. You can’t fool me with those big ol’ eyes.

My inner superhero is Marvellous Fox, by the way. Though yet again I’m noticing we don’t have turtle options...................

And on the back cover... the memes. Oh, sweet lord, the memes. They’re hashtag-SoRelatable! And I can cut them out to keep! Oh boy!!!

Is this what kids do when they have limited internet access? Cut fresh memes out of magazines and carry them around? I need to know.

That’s a very sinister Ladybug at the bottom of the page though. What’s-- What’s she going to do to me if I don’t cut out and keep these memes. Ladybug what are you going to do if I d--

Well that brings us to the end of the magazine! And yet again I’m surprised by how much time it takes to just put a bunch of photos together and write about them.

This is a neat little magazine all in all! The ‘free gifts’ are pretty nice, there’s a fair amount of content and the whole thing is pretty cute for young fans of the show. I could see myself buying this again - if it ever shows up on shelves, Miraculous is so scarce around here that I fully expect it to disappear again after this one issue - just for the free junk, but it would be interesting to see how they’d structure different issues too!

I notice we never did get that promised tutorial on how to draw Pollen; the one advertised on the cover. Was the “draw your favourite Kwami” activity supposed to cover that? I’m not sure that really counts.

If you got this far, thanks for joining me on this Miraculous journey! We’ll meet again whenever I get another piece of weird ML merch to cover. Bien joué!

[gaslightgallows]

Jack and Phryne reunite in London and go book shopping and happen upon AZ Fell & Co. I rather not on the smut.

Oh my lord this is the silliest thing ever. ♥

(Read at AO3)

"I don't know if you'll have much luck in there, Jack," said Phryne, as they stood on a street corner in Soho, and Jack eyed the well-stocked windows of the venerable "A.Z. Fell & Co." book shop. "My cousin Guy once got thrown out by the owner."

Jack couldn't help a grin. "That's not too difficult to imagine. I'll wager your cousin Guy's been chucked out of most of the respectable shops in London."

"True, but he wasn't doing anything untoward this time. He just wanted to buy a book."

"...And the owner threw him out?"

Phryne nodded. "Apparently, Mr. Fell is chronically averse to actually selling any of his stock. According to Mac, it's more of a esoterically curated private collection, than an actual retail establishment. She spent a lot of time here, when she was a student, and got to know him rather well."

"Dr. Macmillan knows this Mr. Fell, Guy Stanley knows him... and you, Miss Fisher? Are you acquainted with him?"

"Only in passing. I'm afraid I don't have any patience with people who run shops but won't sell anything."

Jack's grin widened. "Not your type of man?"

Phryne's eyes twinkled, but she shook her head. "Not any woman's type of man, I'd say."

"Ah."

"Mac and I got thrown out, too."

That made Jack blink. "Oh, well, now I have to go in. Any man who has the fortitude to toss both you and Elizabeth Macmillan out on your ears is someone who deserves at least my theoretical patronage. Unless you're banned from the shop?"

"Well... I was... but that was a long time ago. Fell probably won't remember me."

It was wishful thinking, as Jack realized within seconds of opening the shop's front door.

"You! I thought I told you not to come back." A pale, slightly plump figure swirled out of the back and made shooing motions with his exquisitely manicured hands. "I'm a patient person but I do draw the line at shoplifting, young lady!"

Jack swallowed most of a laugh and looked down at the Honourable Phryne Fisher, who had the grace to appear at least a little abashed. "Hello, Mr. Fell, I wasn't sure you'd know me. It's been well over a decade."

The shopkeeper cocked his head slightly with an expression that reminded Jack of a deeply disappointed school mistress. "I never forget a face, especially the face of someone who tries to make off with one of my books, no matter how much they've grown up in the intervening years. Now, I really must ask you both to--"

"Is that an original Morte D'Artur?" Phryne asked, breezing past the owner. "Oh, how splendid."

Mr. Fell blinked.

Jack coughed politely. "I'm sorry to have brought trouble to your doorstep, sir. It was my idea to come into the shop. I'm visiting London and--"

"Oh no, my dear fellow, no apologies needed." Mr. Fell sighed. "There's very little point wasting energy trying to resist Miss Fisher when she's made up her mind, I quite understand that. I learned that when she was a girl."

"You, um." Jack stopped and looked the man over with a professional eye. Average height, a little too well-fed, clothes of good quality, if having seen better days, white-blond curls that seemed to resent being so neatly combed, and suspiciously guileless blue eyes. Jack decided three things, based on his observations: one, that he wouldn't trust this man within an inch of his life; two, that he would absolutely trust this man, when the chips were down, and three, that Mr. Fell was one-hundred percent the sort of bloke who would be taken up in a police raid at a Certain Type of Establishment.

What he couldn't put his finger on was how old Mr. Fell was. Because he didn't look any older than Phryne or himself... but he'd known Phryne when she was a child, probably since shortly after her relocation to England.

It made no sense.

"You've known Miss Fisher long?"

Mr. Fell scrunched his nose. "Oh, yes. Long enough to realize that what she can't pay for, she'll make off with--oh, for--don't touch that!"

Phryne rolled her eyes and waggled the fingers of her free hand. "I'm wearing gloves!"

"I assure you, Mr. Fell," said Jack quietly, not sure of the undercurrents happening but deeply amused, nevertheless, "she can pay for anything she decides to buy."

"Hmph. That's a long chalk from where she was the last time she was in my shop."

"I was fifteen!"

"You were a menace to society. You and that Macmillan girl."

"Well, that hasn't changed," Jack said, with a smirk. "Why did you toss them out?"

"For trying to buy a book," Phryne replied, before Mr. Fell could open his mouth.

"No, I threw your cousin out for trying to buy a book. I threw you and your friend out for trying to steal a book. A first edition of Gray's Anatomy, I believe, or possibly Harvey's "On the Circulation of the Blood. Some important medical title, at any rate. And you're lucky I didn't do more than chuck you out!"

Phryne snapped Le Morte d'Artur shut, making Mr. Fell wince. "Mac had the money, you just wouldn't sell it."

"Those funds were ill-gotten, as you knew perfectly well. It would have been wrong to sell either of you anything."

"How did you know the money was stolen?" Jack interjected, before things got too out of hand.

Mr. Fell made some unintelligible noises, before settling on, "Well, it was obvious! One gets to recognize such signs, in my business! And what would have happened to me, if I'd sold it. I'd have had the police round here after me as an accomplice!"

"Well, she got the book in the end, didn't she?" said Jack. "I've been to Mac's flat, she's got that gorgeous copy of Gray's Anatomy on her desk. Pride of place, too."

"Yes, funny thing about that." Phryne was looking at Fell now with an unfamiliar mixture of amusement and awe. "After we reluctantly went home and, er, returned the funds to their rightful owner, Mac found that very same book in her room."

"She might have said thank you," Mr. Fell muttered, turning away to brush some dust from a nearby shelf.

"How could she? You banned us from the shop."

"Doesn't seem to have stopped you."

"It was twenty years ago! Now, if you're done lecturing me over childhood misdemeanors, I'd like to buy this."

Fell snapped out what to Jack's ears sounded like an utterly obscene price, but Phryne accepted it without a murmur and pulled out her chequebook.

"Cash only," said Fell loftily. "No cheques."

"That's fine, I'll just run to the bank--"

"I'm closing in five minutes. Then I'm going on holiday. Won't be back for months."

Phryne's face fell so sharply that Jack suddenly felt a lump in his throat. "That's a shame," she said, with complete sincerity, and carefully laid the book down. "I was hoping to give it to my daughter as a present."

"Oh, that's... well, that is unfortunate."

Was it Jack's imagination, or did the dapper little man look uncomfortable? No, not his imagination, and nothing that Phryne was doing, either. He'd seen her delicately manipulate people of both sexes into getting her way, and there was none of that tactic here. She simply looked... disappointed.

And Fell didn't appear to be on board with that.

"Right, well... anyway, terribly nice to see you again, do stop back the next time you're on this side of the world. Must close up now." He all but shoved them out of the shop, and in a moment they were back on the sidewalk and halfway down the block before they realized what was happening.

"Silly old fool," said Phryne, taking Jack's arm for the walk back to their hotel.

After the story about Mac and the book, Jack was half expecting something miraculous, but seeing the small oblong parcel sitting on the desk of their hotel room still sent a shiver up his spine. He hadn't seen Fell leave the shop, and there hadn't been any time for him to slip out, let alone...

Let alone what?

"Phryne. The money you and Mac tried to use when you were children. Was it stolen?"

"I'm afraid so, though the only till we'd rifled was my father's hidden stash. But how Fell could have known that..." She sat down at the desk and gently untied the parcel, revealing the beautiful little copy of Le Morte D'Artur and a small card:

For Jane. Compliments of A.Z. Fell.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

I found a piece of fic that I wrote ages ago and decided never to post and miraculously did not delete! Which is rare for me! I delete too much! I think it’s pretty crap but I promised an anon a while ago that if I found something like this I’d share it (and apologies if there are errors this is a completely unedited first draft of something that I never finished).

Lily Evans is thirteen-years-old when her mother sits her down and explains that her body is about to "undergo some changes."

Her active participation in such a conversation is not how Lily pictured kicking off the summer holidays, but after two years at a boarding school that keeps her apart from her family from September 'til July, her mum is chomping at the bit to delve right into the Talk, lest her daughter learn about menstruation elsewhere—or god forbid, wake up covered in blood one morning and assume that she is shortly about to die.

Of course, Lily knows what to expect from her period. She can read, for one thing, and has numerous female friends. Beatrice got her first ever period at the start of second year, and on the train to school, of all places. Lily will be fine if left to her own devices, but her mother is so excited to talk about Puberty and Buying Bras and Now You're Becoming a Woman, and Lily doesn't have the heart to tell her that she's already quite clued in, thank you very much. She doesn't think she could live with inflicting such disappointment.

There's even a shoebox of props to hand, for Grace Evans is a nurse, and she wants her daughters to have all the information that she was denied at school.

Menstruation education station, she calls it.

"Tampons," her mother tells her, slapping the tiny, lipstick shaped contraption down on the kitchen table like she's preparing to place it as a wager in a high-stakes poker game. Her hand returns to the box and draws out yet another item. "Or pads. They're your two main choices. I'll give you a good supply of both before you go back, just in case, unless—do they have some other method, at Hogwarts? Some sort of magic potion? It's a very difficult subject to research, in my position."

Lily's father walks into the room—newspaper in hand, lips pursed as if preparing to whistle—catches sight of them both, then turns and walks right out again.

"What's wrong with Dad?" says Lily to her mother.

"Men are afraid of menstruation, sweetheart," Grace tells her, with a baleful glance at the door through which her husband has just exited, "because they're weak and silly, and can't be bothered to learn."

"Oh," Lily says, then lets out a laugh. "I suppose I won't ask Professor Slughorn how witches deal with periods."

"Heavens, no, he'll faint dead away."

Lily does not add that it would be rather funny to watch Slughorn faint to get out of an awkward conversation about the miracles of puberty. She doubts that he would feel comfortable talking to the boys about such a thing, let alone a member of the opposite sex.

Puberty is so much easier for boys, she reflects, and that's dead unfair. She may be but a girl and ignorant to the inner workings of the male body, but the only visible change she ever noticed in any of the boys in her year—specifically, in her house—was a sudden onslaught of squeaky voices. To make things more unfair, that phase didn't even last very long, except for poor Peter Pettigrew, who seems to be a squeaker by default.

Now she has to deal with people like Potter—to pick a name completely at random—acting like puffed-up, macho twits because their voices have finally broken.  

"I don't know what witches do normally," she says, "but I can always ask Madam Pomfrey. She's the matron at school. My friend Beatrice started hers last year but she's Muggle-born too, so she never thought to ask. Her mum just sends her pads."

"Make sure you do," says her mum, her tone almost warning. "I can send you whatever you need, but it'll be easier for you if there's some magical method you can access, especially for the cramps." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "And the mood swings. And the sore boobs—" Her eyes light up. "—which reminds me..."

Lily groans as Grace delves into the box again and extracts a small measuring tape, such as a tailor might use.

"I don't have boobs to measure," she reminds her mother, clasping both hands to her chest.

"Yet," says Grace, brandishing the rolled-up tape like a particularly tempting treat. "You don't have boobs to measure yet, but that doesn't mean you'll never have boobs." She nods down at her own chest. "I was your classic late bloomer—not so much as an insect bite until I was sixteen, then I ballooned out. Same with your sister. In any case, you've got at least enough to fill an A-cup, and you need to start wearing bras."

"I don't need a bra."

"Well, you're getting one. As soon as I've got you measured up, I'll take you to M&S and get you sorted."

"What else have you got in there?" says Lily, eyeing the battered blue box with a wary eye while her mother unfurls the tape.

"Just the essentials," says Grace airily. "Some leaflets from the hospital, panty liners, condoms—"

As if her mother has cranked up the dial on an embarrassment meter that only a parent has the necessary skills to operate, Lily immediately turns as red as her own hair. "Mum!"

"I'm not saying you need to use them—"

"I'm thirteen!"

"—but it won't hurt you to know how, for future reference!"

"Mum, no," says Lily, as firmly as she can, in her best attempt to sound as if she's taking a mature line on this, "I don't have any reason to want to know how to—how to use—honestly, no." She can't pretend. Her face feels all hot, as if it has been set aflame. Even the thought of what her mother is referring to makes her feel slightly sick. "Seriously, no, I don't want to learn—"

"You don't have to take them with you in September, of course, you're still only thirteen," Grace continues, completely undaunted by her daughter's mortification, "but it seems like you were just a baby five minutes ago, sweetheart. The time goes so fast, honestly, and it won't be long before you start to experience your own sexual awakening—"

"I'm going to my room," says Lily desperately, and shoots out of her chair.

"It's really not that bad—"

"I am grounded. I am grounding myself."

"Really, Lily, I'm just trying to help." Her mother lets out a hefty sigh. "Once we've measured you for a bra, I'll show you how it works on a banana, and you'll see that it's really not that complicated."

Lily Evans decides that she will never eat a banana split again.

***

The inconvenient, unwanted, and oft warned-of sexual awakening comes to hammer down Lily's door when she is fifteen-years-old, by which time her boobs have most certainly come in.

Despite a multitude of painfully awkward conversations with her mother—who doesn't say it, but seems desperate for Lily to fancy someone, anyone, so that they can gossip about it together—on the topic, she finds herself entirely unprepared for it.

She's unprepared because it's… weird.

Lily has had crushes before—sort of—fleeting things that seemed to exist because she thought they were supposed to, rather than stemming from any particular stirrings on her part. She's a late bloomer, just like her mum, and she knows as much. Bea and Mary have both been snogged, and Lily knew that she was trailing a little behind, but she never cared. It was fine and dandy and totally normal. She might even say that she's been lucky to escape it for this long.

It doesn't happen in the way she was expecting, not that Lily had any particular expectations, but had she ever, they would not have formed along these particular lines. It wouldn't be so embarrassing, or confusing—not the how or the why or the when or the where, but the what. The what, of all things. 

The what is the thing that baffles her most, because Lily always figured that it would be some transformative, meaningful thing, like an effortlessly witty conversation with a mature intellectual—tall, dark, and a little bit older than she, a boy with soulful blue eyes and scholarly interests.

The what should not be James Potter's arse in a pair of jeans.

But it is.

The thing about the magical world at large is that the robes are basically formless—loose, large, flapping things that hide the body away and become quite annoying during hotter months—but younger witches and wizards will opt not to wear them when it isn't strictly required. Throw Hogwarts, where robes are the mandatory default, into the mix, and something as unexpectedly disarming as a structurally spectacular derriere may spend a vast amount of time being cunningly hidden.

It's the last Hogsmeade trip of fourth year—with summer looming tantalisingly ahead like a ripe apple dangling from a tree—when Lily steps out of Scrivenshaft's and finds herself perfectly positioned to spy James Potter's denim-clad backside as he walks past with his mates.

Her eyes flick over his form as she scans the general area, then Lily finds her gaze dragged abruptly back, as if she's snagged her sleeve on a nail whilst passing through a doorway.

And now she's staring.

At an arse.

At James Potter's arse, which is the worst of it. If Lily has just discovered that she is, in fact, a person with a thing for bums, James Potter's bum—a neat, compact, beautifully fashioned marvel that looks like a peach in those bloody jeans (what monster let him go out in public wearing those things?)—should not have been the catalyst for this discovery, because James Potter is an immature sod, a walking headache, and a bloody annoying git. He and his gang of mates are childish boors, and Lily considers herself to be quite above their general tomfoolery.

She doesn't want to stare, but her eyes won't cooperate.

She likes it, and as she's quite certain that she doesn't much like James Potter, that makes even less sense than the school’s policy on using quills in a world where ballpoint pens exist. Would that she could deny it to herself… but Lily is not deluded. She can recognise the pleasure she's deriving for exactly what it is.

And that is just… not acceptable.

And how dare he, really?

"James Potter," she says hotly, finding herself suddenly and inexplicably compelled to acknowledge his existence, point him out, say his name, anything, "is a complete and utter toerag."

"What?" says Beatrice, who has been counting coins in the palm of her hand.

"Potter is a toerag," Lily repeats, even as she's telling herself to stop, shut up, why are you letting these words come out of your mouth? "I can't believe McGonagall even let him come here after the prank he pulled the other day."

"He got a bunch of detentions," says Mary, eyeing Lily curiously.

"Isn't that enough?" seconds Bea. 

"Why are you so angry?" Mary adds. "What's he done to you?"

"Nothing, he's just an arse." 

That's an unfortunate choice of words, Lily thinks, colouring nicely.

"Right, but he's always an arse," Mary presses on. "Why are you so angry about it now?"

"Nothing," Lily repeats, "but he just walked by and it reminded me that he's been pissing me off lately."

"If you say so, I suppose," says Mary, looking nonplussed, but a giggling Beatrice sticks her free hand in the air, waving as if to signal a rescue ship.

"Oi, Potter!" she bellows.

Several heads, including James Potter's, turn in their direction.

"Potter!" Beatrice repeats, waving him over.

Lily's heart leaps into her throat, gets stuck, and slides sheepishly back down to her chest.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, taking a swipe at Beatrice's arm.

"If you're pissed off with him, you should tell him to his face," says Bea, dodging out of Lily's grasp to beckon Potter over. "More fun for me that way."

Mary snorts, while Beatrice grins like a cunning fox. Meanwhile, Potter has left his friends to wait for him outside the Three Broomsticks, and is sauntering over with his hands in his pockets.

"I hate you," Lily mutters to Bea.

"That's right," says Bea, smiling broadly, "get it all out of your system."

"I don't want to talk to Potter."

"Then you shouldn't have been mouthing off abo—hey!" says Beatrice brightly, as Potter draws level with their group. "Look who it is!"

"Hello to my adoring fans," he says, with a grin that would be charming, if only it were spread across any other face, and widens considerably when his gaze lands on Lily. "Alright, Evans?"

Potter has been doing this lately, offering bog-standard greetings to the masses, then following them up with, "Alright, Evans?" as if he’s been compelled to single Lily out.

Knowing him, there's some wildly nefarious reason behind it, and Lily persists in believing that despite Bea's insane theories pertaining to thoughts and feelings of the romantic persuasion.

"It means a lot that you don't consider me a fan," she says coolly.

"It's not my place to tell all your secrets," Potter replies. "What did you buy?"

She frowns. "What?"

"In Scrivenshaft's." He nods to the shop behind her. "What did you buy?"

"That's none of your business."

"Oh, right, because Scrivenshaft's is known for selling top secret wizarding spy equipment, and the world as we know it will end if you tell me," he says, sending her a flat look. "Why'd you call me over?"

Lily has to force the corners of her mouth to stay determinedly downturned, rather than laugh, which she really wants to do. "I didn't call you over."

"Didn't you?"

"No, you idiot. Beatrice did."

"That's strange. Could've sworn it was you." His eyes haven't budged from her face for a second, and Lily is beginning to feel irrationally fearful that he's seen her ogling his arse. "Why'd Beatrice call me over?"

"Because Lily wants to talk to you," says Beatrice.

Lily wants to die on the spot.

[seasonofthegeek]

Saving My Life, Part 3

Today’s drabble was requested by the lovely @ming85 with a ko-fi donation. Thank you so much!

Parts 1, 2, 3:

Marinette ran her fingers along the white ribbon with a frown. It’d been three nights since Chat Blanc landed on her balcony and touched the same ribbon. Three nights since she’d coaxed Adrien to sleep beside her in her small bed and watched him have nightmares she knew it would be no good to wake him from. 

She missed the days they’d had school together. At least then she would have a reason to go check in on him, but she didn’t want to make Gabriel suspicious. She would try to be patient and trust that he would visit again when he could. He was trying to protect her as much as she was trying to protect him. 

She would go to Master Fu tomorrow if Adrien or Chat Blanc didn’t show up before she could get over there. They were running out of time and she knew Hawk Moth would be running out of patience.

__________________________________

“Well?” Hawk Moth walked a wide circle around his son, watching him flex the sharp silver-tipped claws.

“It’s different than I thought it’d be.” Chat Blanc flinched at his voice. It sounded deeper even to his ears and held more of a rolling growl to the tone. His body felt different too. He was taller and broader and...

His tail twitched and he looked back to see it was a thicker white leather now and studded with dangerous spikes. He swallowed hard and stood, feeling it weigh him down, though that could’ve been his imagination. Spikes similar to the silver tips of his claws lined his wrists and his ankles and ran along the front of his body with the wrapped belt.

“You and Ladybug seem to be falling into close combat everytime you fight,” Hawk Moth mused as he studied his handiwork. “It seemed prudent to give you more protection.”

The thought of one of the spikes tearing across Marinette’s skin had him trying to suppress a visible shudder. She’d been so soft and warm against him the other night. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. “I was holding my own before.”

“Yes, but now you’ll actually be able to defeat her.” Hawk Moth held up his hand and one of the white butterflies settled into it easily. “And now that you’ve let me finish the ritual, we’ll be able to communicate much easier to keep you on task.”

And that was the part he’d been dreading the most. “How do I contact you?” Chat Blanc asked, trying to keep his voice light and curious. 

“We can speak whenever I’m transformed. You’re the first of your kind so we’ll have to figure out some of the connection issues along the way.”

The proud smile his father gave him would’ve been better suited for the day he’d graduated rather than the day he’d finally lost his will. “But you’ve been able to communicate with all of your akumas, right? How am I any different?”

“The spell I laid on your ring gives you a bit of a power-up,” he explained. “And now that it is complete, it will protect you from the power of other Miraculous so Ladybug shouldn’t be able to effectively use a Lucky Charm against you.”

He frowned and his teeth felt too big for his mouth. He wondered if they were spiked now too. “But you were able to akumatize me.”

“Because you willingly accepted it.”

“Oh.”

Hawk Moth pursed his lips. “Perhaps you should go to your room and get some rest. The ritual may have taken some of your energy and I want you in top shape the next time you face Ladybug. You will take her earrings.” His expression softened as he reached out to touch his son’s shoulder. “We’ll have your mother back soon and everything will be as it should be, I promise.”

Chat Blanc nodded, afraid to speak because he wasn’t sure what he would say. He left the lair, forgoing the extravagant lift system to take the stairs back down to the main part of the house. His steps felt heavy and he knew it was his new akumatized form as much as his heart. 

Once in his room, he stood just inside and wished more than anything that Plagg would come out of the ring. He’d been his constant companion for years and it was hard not to have him to talk to anymore. He was tempted to talk just to get it out of his system but he couldn’t know if his father was listening. He wouldn’t chance it.

He trudged across the room to the bathroom and took in a deep breath before going through the door to look into the mirror. His hair had darkened even further and grown out longer and wilder. His eyes were still a glowing magenta and he remembered Marinette’s comment about not liking the color but that they were still his eyes. He hoped she would still be able to say that now. He thought he just looked feral. 

He slid down to the cool tile before he could assess his looks anymore and tried to talk himself out of crying. His father would be able to sense his emotions if he wasn’t careful enough. He needed to be strong. He would be strong. 

He just had to think. He could be smart about this. His father could only communicate with him as Hawk Moth so he would just have to wait until he wasn’t Hawk Moth anymore and then he could get out and warn Marinette. He couldn’t trust business hours since Nathalie knew about Gabriel’s supervillain activities so it would have to be when his father fell asleep. He could wait him out.

__________________________________

Marinette wasn’t sure what roused her from sleep. Maybe it was the shadow interrupting the moonlight streaming over her bed or maybe it was just intuition. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes and caught a glimpse of glowing pink before it blinked back into darkness.

“Chat?” she whispered, pushing the skylight up and peering out on the balcony with tired eyes. She became more alert as she took in his hunched form, one hand gripping the end of the white ribbon.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and he sounded utterly broken as Marinette climbed the rest of the way out of her room. “I...I had to do this.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he straightened. He’d grown in size, as a lot of akumas did, and silver spikes glinted all over his body. She couldn’t even hug him now. She covered her mouth, trying to hold in the sob she could feel building in her throat. 

Chat Blanc wouldn’t meet her eyes, his shoulders hunching in once again to make himself seem smaller. “I have a connection to him now,” he said quietly and it came out in a growling sound. “I don’t know if that helps you, but I thought maybe...I thought maybe it would, I guess.”

“Adrien...” she whispered. She reached up to brush hair from his eyes and he froze when her hand drew near. She cupped his cheek, rubbing her thumb along the edge of the white mask and he melted into her touch. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m going to fix this, I promise.”

He audibly swallowed and it was a painful sound. “I don’t have much time. The, uh, the spell he used on my ring, he said it gave me protection against other Miraculous unless I allow them to affect me. At least I think that’s what he meant.”

“So I could use a Lucky Charm on you and it wouldn’t do anything?”

He nodded. “I think so, but anything you try to do to me, I’ll let happen.”

Marinette worried her lip. “Will he know that?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” he sighed. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Did he do the spell to his Miraculous?”

Chat Blanc blinked. “I don’t...no, he couldn’t have. He hasn’t changed and he can detransform.”

“And it’d be dangerous,” she muttered with a dark look. “So that means he isn’t protected.”

“That’s not what it means. We’ve fought him hand-to-hand before, my Lady, and he wiped the floor with us. He isn’t helpless. Who do you think taught me fencing before I ever started lessons?”

“But if I can get him as Gabriel--”

“I don’t want you near him,” Chat Blanc growled and a frightening sound rumbled through his chest as his spiked tail lashed out behind him, metal tips clinging against the balcony railing in a menacing staccato.

Marinette tried not to let the fear that his reaction had elicited show through. She rolled her shoulders back and straightened. “You don’t need to protect me, remember? I’m Ladybug. This is my job.”

“And it’s my job to protect you!” he roared, eyes going wide and wild as he loomed over her.

She shrunk back and Chat Blanc stumbled away in shock as Adrien began to peek through again.

“I’m...I’m so sorry,” he whispered, clawed hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Marinette, I don’t...I’m not...”

She swallowed back her anxiety and moved towards him, reaching for his face like she had earlier. He crumpled and shied away from her touch but she kept moving forward until he was huddled against the balcony railing.

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” she said, proud of how calm and confident she sounded when she wasn’t completely certain she knew that for sure. She felt him push against her hand with his cheek and she went down to her knees, keeping a small bubble of safety between herself and the spikes around his waist, ankles, and wrists. “We’re going to beat him and we’re going to fix this,” she assured him. She saw the doubt in eyes that weren’t the right color and very carefully leaned forward and moved the wild dark hair away so she could press a gentle kiss just above his mask. “I promise.”

“I want to believe you.”

“Then you should.”

He finally met her eyes. “I know even alone, you’re strong and capable and the best.” He saw her open her mouth to argue so he quickly continued on. “But I’m not sure you can do this on your own, my Lady, and I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt.”

“I need reinforcements,” she nodded.

“I think that’d be best.” He stiffened and quickly stood, pushing her away roughly so the metal tips didn’t catch against her clothing and skin as he moved quickly. “He’s awake. I have to go.” He lept up onto her railing without a second thought and then was running away.

Marinette watched him leave, feeling her heart crumble. She was tempted to fall apart right there on her balcony but she gathered her pain and resolve like a suit of armor and marched back down to her bedroom. She had a plan to create.

Buy me a cherry coke?

[thewritewolf]

Rekindle Chapter 1: No Powers

Hello! In this story that I’ll be telling over the next month, Adrien and Marinette haven’t seen each other since graduation, which was several years ago. One chance meeting during an akuma battle has Adrien thinking about his old friend, but after everything that’s happened, he’s sure that she doesn’t want to see Adrien Agreste anytime soon... Chat Noir, however...

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30  31

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Ducking an errant beam, Adrien swung his baton into Mega Drain. Behind him, he heard it hit a car, killing the engine inside. “You feline up for a fight, metal head?”

The name was fitting since today’s akuma looked like a poorly put together metal robot slightly bigger than Adrien was, moving on treads. With how slowly it moved and how short its arms were, Adrien was feeling confident even though Ladybug hadn’t arrived yet. And why shouldn’t he? Nearly a decade of being Chat Noir had honed his reflexes and combat power to a fine point.

“CHAT NOIR WILL SUBMIT HIS MIRACULOUS TO MEGA DRAIN.”

Adrien winced at the volume. His enhanced senses could be both a blessing and a curse sometimes. “Tell you what.” He paused for dramatic effect. “No.”

That didn’t seem to be the right choice since Mega Drain began rapid firing beams at him. So far, he’d only seen it hit electronics, but every time they’d immediately shut down. That alone was enough reason for him to avoid getting hit, even if he wasn’t sure that he would actually be affected by the beams. If nothing else, Mega Drain seemed to think something would happen.

It wasn’t actually that hard to avoid the rays, but it stopped him from getting close to the akuma. Ah well. At least that means he’d get to see Ladybug, itself an increasingly rare event. He suspected that she was going to university, but who knows? He was just glad she hadn’t left Paris and given her miraculous to someone else. Despite all the rejections, he couldn’t bring himself to stop loving her.

A flash of black hair caught his attention. A sly greeting died on his lips when he realized it wasn’t Ladybug he’d seen but someone he hadn’t laid on eyes on in a couple years - Marinette Dupain-Cheng. His elation at seeing a childhood friend was matched only by the pang of sorrow he felt at what had happened the last time they’d seen each other. They tried to keep in touch, but after their talk on graduation day, life had gotten in the way of their friendship. It really was a shame. He missed having her in his life.

He ducked under another beam, but his wandering mind had made him less aware of his surroundings. The beam reflected off a metallic object and right back at him. He felt his strength leave his muscles and his limbs become more sluggish. Just as his senses deadened, he realized what had happened - the power his miraculous granted him had been drained- Oh. OH. That’s why he called himself Mega Drain.

Feeling almost as upset with himself taking that long to realize the meaning of his name as he was mad at getting hit, he ducked into an alleyway. All he had to do was shake off the akuma and he could - theoretically - detransform and recharge. He was thankful that Plagg was able to hold on and keep the Chat Noir suit on. Recharging was easy, but losing his secret identity would be irrecoverable.

His plan to escape wasn’t going well. Mega Drain was right behind him and the alley reached a dead end. Drawing his baton, he turned to face the akuma, locking his eyes on the single red lensed camera on the akuma’s face.

“YOUR MIRACULOUS IS MINE.” The akuma charged up his beam and Adrien tensed, ready to jump out of the way. He may not have superhuman reflexes, but he still had his training. He just had to wait for…

...A trash can to be shoved roughly onto its head from behind, apparently. Blinking in surprise, he looked past the flailing akuma to see Marinette motioning at him wildly. He took the opportunity for what it was and rushed over to her side, only for her to grab his arm and start running. They’d gotten a fair distance away before they heard a metallic roar. Marinette quickly unlocked the door to an office building and locked the door behind them.

Hands on her knees, she took a few deep breaths. “That… was a close one.”

“I’ll say.” Adrien took his tail in one hand and began idly twirling it. “What were you doing out during an akuma attack? You don’t strike me as the reporter type.”

She stood up straight, her breathing now under control. Adrien let himself be impressed - blindsiding akumas and making mad dashes through the streets can be exhausting. She’d kept herself in shape over the years. Crossing her arms, she glared up at him, “You’re welcome, you ungrateful cat.”

That got a laugh out of him. He didn’t remember her being so spunky, but then again, he knows why she was never herself around him, doesn’t he? “Sorry, sorry.” Bowing deeply, one arm held out, he added, “My deepest gratitude. Saving the feline in distress was very noble of you.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, but he pressed on. “And while I do very much appreciate what you’ve done so far, I have one more favor to ask.”

That got her curiosity. “And what’s that?”

“Go away.” He grinned at her shocked expression. His voice softened a little as he added, “Find somewhere safe to hide. I need to recharge and I can’t have you peeking at my secret identity. Besides, I’d feel better knowing such a kind civilian were out of harm’s way.”

She nodded and pointed behind him. “There are bathrooms over there that lock from the inside. I’m going to uh, sneak out the back way.” She started jogging away, and yelled back at him over her shoulder, “Good luck!”

He watched her go until she darted down a hallway. He knew there were more pressing things to be thinking about, but he felt a pang of remorse. Maybe if their last meeting hadn’t gone the way it did, they’d have worked harder to keep in touch. A warning beep sounded from his miraculous, shaking him out of his thoughts. No use dwelling on what might have been. He ran towards the bathrooms Marinette had pointed out, eager to recharge and get back in the fight.

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

Adrien landed in his room with the sun setting behind him. It was a smaller space than his childhood home, but he had to make some concessions if he wanted to be living on his own. Father wouldn’t rent or let him rent his own mansion and Adrien wouldn’t want to even if he did. He’d had more than enough of large, empty spaces for one lifetime already. At least now the empty spaces were smaller.

“Claws in.”

Plagg emerged from the ring and crash landed on top of his private refrigerator. “Geez, kid. You’re overworking me here! And could you at least tryto not eyeball every pretty civilian you come across? Unless this is some weird way of moving on from Ladybug.”

Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose will Plagg opened up his fridge. “First off, I don’t oogle random people. That was Marinette. You know? We went to school together.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember Pigtails alright. Even if the name doesn't match anymore. Real awkward parting words at your graduation.”

His heart was heavy for a moment as he remembered her confession… and how he had to gently reject her. It was the last time they’d seen each other face to face, and he hated the hurt he’d seen in her eyes. But what else could he do? Which brought him to...

“Second - you know I can’t just move on from Ladybug. I’ve tried, you know it as well as I do, but…”

“Blah blah heart blah blah the pain of unrequited love. Yeah, you’ve mentioned it a few hundred times before.” He shoved a wedge of cheese in his mouth and talked around it. “At least you have something in common with Pigtails.”

“I guess we do,” Adrien replied in a sad whisper.

While they were never the closest of friends, Adrien keenly felt Marinette’s absence in his life. The energy she always had, the confidence she had not only in herself, but in everyone around her. Just being near her was usually enough to get people motivated - something she often took advantage of as class president. The certainty she had in what she wanted to be was something he could really use some of right now. He felt like his life was in a holding pattern, just working for his father while being groomed to take up the management portion of the Agreste business.

But what could he do? While they made a slight effort to keep in touch, he had no idea how she would react to seeing him again, face to face. Has she moved on from him? Did she come to resent him? Who knows? Somehow he doubted that she’d appreciate him showing up on her doorstep.

While watching Plagg do his absolute best to scarf down an entire wheel of camembert, a smile dawned on his face. While Adrien might not be met eagerly, who wouldn’t love a visit from the local superhero?

“Finish up quick, Plagg. We’re going out tonight.”

While his kwami complained, Adrien pulled up the discord channel the four of them had made to keep in touch. Wading through the conversations - mainly between Alya and Marinette - he eventually found what he was looking for: An address.

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

Half an hour later, Adrien landed on a balcony that he hoped was Marinette’s. He’d made a detour to buy some sweets to bring over. After all, it was rude to show up unannounced and empty handed.

The lights were on. He breathed a sigh of relief - that was a good sign. It had become painfully obvious to him that he didn’t know much about how her life was going now when he didn’t even know where she was working, let alone her hours. He peeked into the window to check if she was actually home.

The room seemed to be some combination of a work space and living room. There was a TV turned down as it played some show that she only glanced at occasionally. A familiar, old chaise, a couch and a couple armchairs, but there was also mannequins, reams of fabrics, and a table littered with pins, sketchbooks, and a sewing machine. Working at the sewing machine was Marinette herself, only occasionally glancing up at the TV from a jacket she was working on.

Satisfied that she was at least present, he tapped at the glass. Softly at first, but becoming more insistent when it became clear that she was too focused on her work to hear him. Even then it took her a few moments to realize just where the tapping was coming from. It was all worth it though when he saw how her eyes went wide at seeing him at the window. He grinned as she rushed over to the window.

“What are you doing here?! Do you realize how late it is?” She hissed at him. His smile faltered. This wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting.

“Well, I was in a rush earlier, so I couldn’t thank you properly for your help today.” Seeing her dubious expression, he pulled out the big guns and moved his basket of snacks in front of him. “I brought chocolate croissants?”

She glanced between the basket and him, torn. Just before she was about to speak, her stomach growled. Blushing, she opened the window wide and said, “Quick, get in before I change my mind.”

Adrien didn’t need to be told twice. Slipping inside, he took another look at the room around him, now using all his senses. It was messy, with several projects in various levels of completion scattered around the room. There were a few pictures on the walls, mostly of her and Alya, plus a few older ones from lycee and one from graduation. But nothing recent. His heightened smell backed him up - the only scent he could pick up was Marinette’s. Did she not get visitors?

“Sorry I haven’t cleaned up recently. I wasn’t expecting guests.” She rubbed one arm, embarrassed at the state of her apartment.

His cheeks heated up. It hadn’t been his intention to show up just to gawk at her living space. “No, no! Its fine.”

A few more moments of awkward silence passed. Why did he think this was a good idea again?

“Uh, Chat?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, eager for any conversation starter.

“The basket…?”

“Oh! Sorry, here you go.” The goodies changed hands and Marinette took a look at them, inhaling the scent of the baked goods with a blissful smile. While she was busy, he pressed on. “So… anyway. I wanted to say I really appreciated the help. It was very brave of you to get involved like that. That could very well have been the end of me as Chat Noir.”

She smirked as she looked back up at him. “Yeah, then Paris would have to get a new Chat Noir and a new Ladybug and it would just be a mess. I figured I might as well save us the trouble.”

“Well, a new Chat Noir definitely, but why would we need a new Ladybug? I’m sure she would have been fine handling Mega Drain on her own.” Which was true. A lot of the time he felt like he was more a bodyguard for Ladybug, or sometimes emotional support.

“Do you really think Ladybug would want to go on without you?” She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him, a smile that quickly vanished when he said:

“Yes, no question. It might be rough for her at first, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’d be able to move on.” He shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe the next one would be better at this than I am.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “But they wouldn’t be you.”

Laughing, he replied, “Yeah, that’s the point.”

Silence stretched between them again as Adrien stared at nothing in particular and Marinette fidgeted with the basket in her hands. Just as he was about to say his goodbyes, she spoke up.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have gotten this many. I don’t think I should eat them all on my own.”

“Oh?” That sounded like an invitation, but he didn’t want to make assumptions.

“Do you want to stick around? I could put a new movie on. It always helps me be productive.”

It was at this point that Adrien realized he hadn’t actually known what to expect when he came over here. But right now, spending time with a friend sounded much better than sitting at home alone.

“Sure, I think I can do that. So long as you don’t mind me commenting during the movie.”

Shaking her head with a smile, she said, “I should’ve guessed the famous Chat Noir is a movie talker.”

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

One movie had turned into two, then three. Granted, they weren’t particularly long movies, but it was well past midnight by the time Adrien began making his way for his window escape. Despite how tired he felt, even now he was leaving reluctantly. He’d had a great time laughing and eating and talking, and he from how often he’d coaxed laughter out of Marinette, he thought she was enjoying herself too.

It made leaving feel bittersweet. A taste of the friendship he’d never gotten to have. And now he had to go back into his strict, regimented life as if he hadn’t just had the most fun in ages.

“Hey, Chat?”

“Yes, purrincess?” He grinned at her eye roll. The nickname had stuck while they were watching the Princess Bride, much to her feigned displeasure.

“I was just going to say… tonight was nice. If you wanted to come over more often, I’d appreciate the company.”

“You sure I wasn’t too distracting?”

“Are you kidding? I made more progress on my pieces today than I have in the last two days combined. Something about an empty space drains motivation, you know?”

Smiling back at her, he replied, “Yeah, I think I get what you mean. I’ll come visit again soon. I promise… purrincess.”

He leaped out of the window and made his way home, smiling all the while.

[silvorr]

Lost In Paris

In the origins episode, it’s mentioned that before giving Marinette and Adrien their miraculous Master Fu had once before committed a mistake. In this AU, that mistake was giving the Ladybug miraculous to the wrong holder. The Evil holder is eventually defeated but unfortunately the Ladybug earrings are lost, and they remain lost until they’re found by a 13-year-old Kerryn:

A city slept in the dark of night, and a young girl picked up the sound of footsteps closing in. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old, bright golden eyes wide with fear as she scurried on her way. Still, when the footfalls behind her started coming closer to her own, quiet as a mouse she slipped into the shadows of a narrow alleyway. She pressed herself within those shadows and waited with bated breath as her pursuers paused at the mouth of the passage, no doubt looking for her.

She slipped deeper into the space between the two buildings, careful not to make any sound and after a tense minute or two, her pursuers decided to continue on past her hiding spot. She waited another minute or two before making to slip outside, but not before something in the deep of the alleyway caught her eye. She paused and looked to see a soft red glow coming from somewhere up ahead, almost completely muffled by the shadows. Her curiosity got the best of her, and when she came to stop before the source of the glow, she realized that it was coming from two dots on the dust covered cobble stone floor. When she crouched down to look closer, she saw that the two dots were actually a pair of earrings that were emitting a soft red pulse.

Something about them… they seemed to call to her. Before she could study them further, however, she heard voices closing in to where she stood. Before she could think too much of it, she had scooped those strange earrings up and into her pocket and was on her way.

·       Tikki was attracted to the Kerryn’s aura for a certain reason and that’s why she risked being found, even when there was a chance that Kerryn could have been a bad person. It was a situation where it was better Kerryn than someone else.

·       When Kerryn finds the earrings, her first desire is to use them as a means of finding freedom. She is young and growing, and with her parents constantly away she seeks approval from those around her. Tikki realizes this and allows the use of her earrings as long as Kerryn is careful and good.

·       Thus, Red Bandit is born, a vigilante who’s content to stay in the shadows. Tikki encourages Kerryn to be secretive, afraid that any flashy use of the earrings might attract the wrong kind of attention. In a way, Kerryn keeps from using her super powers too much, and whenever Red Bandit is active, she mostly sticks to using her enhanced sense. This means that whenever Red Bandit is featured in the news, she’s just seen as a normal person and not someone with magical superpowers.

·       Tikki soon comes to realize that while Kerryn is becoming better as Red Bandit, its clear that she does not suit the Ladybug miraculous. The reason Tikki was attracted to Kerryn was because she’s a very good fit for the Black Cat miraculous, and since that is Tikki’s other half, she trusted Kerryn to protect her.

·       The reason Tikki doesn’t have Kerryn take the earrings to Master Fu is because she doesn’t know where he is, the Guardian having changed location after the last time her earrings were misused. Also, having the earrings and the Black Cat’s ring in separate locations is better, as anyone looking for both would find it more difficult to acquire them.

·       Kerryn will eventually come to understand that the Ladybug miraculous will never belong to her and she will have to give it away once the true holder is found. She is mostly okay with this, even though she’ll miss Tikki immensely once she’s gone.

·       In the end, Kerryn gets to keep her miraculous for three years before disaster strikes.

-

(A/N: The following is when Hawk Moth first makes an appearance, and our protagonist is faced with the choice of having Red Bandit making her official debut as a super hero, or finding the true successor for the Ladybug miraculous (Also, this when Kerryn is 16)):

“Almost… There…” Kerryn felt her fingertips brush against the book on the top shelf. She felt the step ladder wobble beneath her and grabbed the bookshelf to keep herself from falling, but no one could have warned about the tremendous shockwave that ran through the ground seconds after and shook her right off her perch.

“Owwwwwww… What the fuck?”

“Kerryn! Are you okay?” Kerryn looked up to meet worried violet eyes and managed a pained smile. “M’ fine Tikki. What was that though?”

The little kwami shrugged. Kerryn got up and brushed herself off, highly aware of the distant screaming that was audible even in the usually quiet library. She made her way to the front and saw the librarian standing a few feet in front of her desk, eyes glued to her phone. When Kerryn peered over the woman’s shoulder, she was met with the image of a stone… monster? Yes, something that seemed to be a stone monster, terrorizing the streets of Paris.

“What is that?”

By the wide-eyed look the librarian spared her, something told her that she was just as lost as Kerryn felt. Kerryn slowly backed away until she was hidden behind a bookshelf and Tikki slowly floated out to join her. “Tikki, what’s going on?”

“It’s- It’s an akuma…” With a spark of fear Kerryn realized that never before had she seen the little god this afraid. Between them Tikki was often the optimist, always one to see the bright side of a situation. While Kerryn often ended up in messes she did not mean to cause, Tikki was all about finding ways out of them. She was the kwami of creation for a reason, after all. (It always seemed like a bitter reminder to Kerryn. As if she needed further proof than Tikki’s own words that the Ladybug miraculous had never been meant for her, that she was just a simple place-holder until the true Ladybug was found.)

“Hey, come on, look at me Tikki.” The little kwami had her mouth set in a worried frown, “Its okay. We’ll find our way out of this. I know things have been really rough for you for a really long time, but you found me, didn’t you? And I promise, I promise, I won’t let you down Tikki, not if I can help it.”

The little god gave a soft smile, “Thank you Kerryn. I knew I made the right choice reaching out to you.”

“Hell yeah you did. Come on now, back in. I’ll see what I can learn about the situation.”

-

After running around Paris for about half an hour Kerryn was none the wiser. From what Tikki had told her, an akuma, a name for the kind of creature that was currently running around, was basically a champion for a dark butterfly miraculous holder. The butterfly miraculous had the power to give out superpowers so that normal people could possibly help in a fight, but an akuma was basically the butterfly taking advantage of people’s negative emotions. According to Tikki, only the Ladybug miraculous holder could possibly stop and ‘purify’ an akuma.

Nobody knew what the current butterfly was currently after, but Tikki’s best guess was that they were probably looking for the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous. Wielding the two together at the same time meant gaining ultimate power, and who didn’t want to rule the world?

Kerryn made to follow after the akuma but made sure to keep a safe distance. Her first instinct was to analyze the akuma, and after watching a number of failed attempts from the police it became evident that StoneHeart, as the akuma called itself, only got bigger whenever he was hit. The police didn’t seem to register this and kept attacking anyways but they only succeeded in further angering the stone being. StoneHeart seemed to be shouting a particular name wherever he went, and Kerryn had to make a guess that this was probably the name of the person who had angered him in the first place.

She was currently hiding behind a building and out of sight as StoneHeart rumbled around the city.

“Do you think Red Bandit will need to make an appearance Tikki?”

“Absolutely not.” Kerryn looked down to see Tikki poking her head out of her jacket, “You know you’re not suited for the Ladybug miraculous Kerryn.”

“Tikki, you know as well as I do that Red Bandit would rather stick to the shadows and never make her debut if she could help it, but unless the Guardian gives out a miraculous and soon, Red Bandit is really the only person who can stop StoneHeart.”

“Well what about- “Before Tikki had the chance to continue there’s a sound of metal against cobblestone as a someone in black leather comes crashing down in front of them. Tikki quickly ducks back into her jacket and Kerryn bends down to help the poor soul to his feet.

“You okay?”

“Yup! Just peachy!” the enthusiasm in his voice is contagious and Kerryn finds herself smiling at him.

“Strange get-up you got there.”

“Thanks. Don’t know about you, but I’m still new to this whole super-heroing thing.” The boy, whose probably younger than Kerryn if not her age readies the baton he’s carrying against the sidewalk, “See you later miss!” the baton extends and becomes impossibly long and the boy vaults away, leaving Kerryn to stare after him.

“Looks like we better make our decision quickly, Tikki.”

-

Kerryn decides that she’s had enough running around for a while and finds refuge in a nearby bakery. She vaguely remembers her friend recommending this place to her, something about how this was probably the best bakery in the whole of Paris. Whatever it is will do, because if she’s right then the Ladybug miraculous will become active soon enough no matter what, and Tikki needs to keep her strength up for it. She buys herself and her kwami a couple of macaroons to munch on and keeps an eye outside while she watches the news on a nearby television.

“I’m home- Ack!” Kerryn turns just in time to see someone trip into the bakery, arms out and flailing as the girl tries to keep herself upright. Before Kerryn can move to help the girl a gasp sounds from her jacket, catching both her and the new comer’s attention. Kerryn moves forward to cover it up and extends a hand to the new girl, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The girl excepts her hand and pulls herself upright, “I’m really clumsy so this isn’t anything out of the ordinary.”

Kerryn smiles, “If you say so.”

Once the girl has drawn away from her and to the owners of the bakery Kerryn slips into a quieter corner of the shop. She glares down at her jacket, “What was that Tikki? You almost gave yourself away.”

Tikki whizzes out of Kerryn’s pocket, “Kerryn, she’s the one!”

Kerryn gives Tikki a startled look, “The one?”

Tikki nods excitedly, “I can feel a really strong Ladybug aura from her! It’s quite possibly the strongest I’ve felt for a while now!”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, “Are you sure Tikki? You know we can’t mess this up.”

“I swear! You have to trust me on this.”

Kerryn worries her bottom lip between her teeth. So, this was it, huh? Her years as Red bandit were over, and there was a high possibility that she’d never see Tikki again.

“Hey.” Kerryn looks up to meet kind eyes, “I’ll miss you a lot Kerryn. You were most possibly one of the best holders I’ve ever had, even when we didn’t get to save the world together.”

Kerryn manages a small smile at that, “I’ll miss you too Tikki. Come on, lets sneak your earrings into her room.”

-

When Marinette later goes up to her room, her attention is caught by a black pair of earrings kept in front of her computer that she can swear weren’t there before.

-

@tyagressian @zazzlejazzle

[komorebirei]

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 22: Tiptoe

(AO3)

“…drien. Adrien!”

Adrien rolled over, burying his face in the pillow, before realizing the voice was coming from the real world, not his dream. He shot up and cursed, heart pounding with the sinking feeling of panic that he was supposed to be somewhere other than his bed. What day was it? What time was he supposed to be up?

“Watch your language, Adrien. It’s nine-forty-five on Monday morning,” Nathalie announced, as though in answer his panicked inner voice.

“Nathalie?!” Adrien cried. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re supposed to be attending the quarterly design screening—your father sent me to get you.”

Right, of course she had the key to his apartment. She’d been the driving force in procuring it, after all. Suddenly, his sense of privacy evaporated. He groaned.

Nathalie stood in the doorway, watching him sternly.

“Nathalie!” Adrien cried, throwing a pointed look at the door. “I need to get dressed.”

“Yes, all right—please hurry.”

She stepped out and closed the door behind her. Adrien got dressed in a flurry, brushing his teeth and taming his hair with water and gel.

When he came out into the living room, the fragrance of coffee greeted his nostrils, and Nathalie pushed his stainless steel tumbler into his hands. “Do you still drink it black?”

Adrien nodded. “Thanks, Nathalie—you really didn’t have to do that. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she returned in a rote, hurried tone. “No time to spare. Get yourself over to the office immediately!”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m going.”

Now that he was up and alert, the memories from yesterday were flooding back, making him feel heavy, as if his heart were filling with lead. The office was the last place he wanted to be, especially since he was pretty sure Marinette would be in the meeting, and he wasn’t ready to face her. But life had little concern for his relationship problems.

—

To Adrien’s surprise, Nathalie’s car followed him all the way to the Champs-Élysées and the Gabriel building.

“Father’s here?” Adrien prompted as they met again in the elevator, shooting up to the sixth floor.

“Yes,” Nathalie answered. The line of her mouth softened into a faint smile. “I think the trips to the theatre have been doing him good. He’s been making more effort lately. It was his idea to appear in person.”

“Good,” Adrien murmured, feeling repentant for being late himself.

The first thing he did upon entering the board room was to scan the occupants for Marinette.

As he dreaded, she was there, seated near the front beside Camille, listening intently to Henri present his lineup and taking notes in her sketchbook.

Adrien took a seat near the back and extracted his slim black notebook, uncapping a pen. He tried to focus on what Henri was saying, but kept getting distracted by Marinette. The emotional trauma from his discovery and their fight was bearable from this distance, but a different kind of anxiety started to take root in his mind as he watched her tuck her hair behind her ear repeatedly, exposing the black stud in her earlobe.

He glanced at his father, who was coolly observing the powerpoint from the seat at the head of the table, directly across from the presentation screen. Did he know what the ladybug earrings looked like when they weren’t activated? He had promised not to send out any akumas, and wasn’t wearing the butterfly miraculous anymore, but he hadn’t fully given up on the idea of making the wish.

Suddenly, Marinette’s proximity to Gabriel was deeply unsettling. He didn’t trust his father not to try other methods to obtain the miraculous, if he found out who Ladybug was. The situation was more precarious than Adrien had thought. He would have to work harder in helping Gabriel move on emotionally, at least enough to return the butterfly miraculous to Master Fu and do something about Émilie’s body in the basement, before he could be trusted.

Adrien breathed more easily when Marinette’s hair fell in front of her ear again like a curtain, shrouding the stud from view.

When it was Camille’s turn to get up and present the designs from her and her interns, Marinette straightened up self-consciously. As Camille went through the design concepts one by one, Adrien wondered which ones Marinette had worked on, feeling sick with admiration. It made perfect sense that she was Ladybug. She was so creative and resourceful, strong-willed and big-hearted. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. The longing he felt, to get closer to her and forge a real relationship with her, was almost intolerable. Yet, there were so many complications, and he wasn’t ready to let go of the dregs of resentment he felt toward her.

Finally, mercifully, the meeting ended. On the way out, Marinette caught his eye and smiled—of course, oblivious to his inner turmoil. He averted his eyes, not yet ready to handle a direct interaction with her.

When he snuck a glance at her a moment later, she looked concerned.

“Adrien.”

Adrien looked up at the source of the voice—his father was coming toward them. Marinette smiled and greeted Gabriel, and Adrien tensed, checking if her earrings were visible. Barely.

His father returned her greeting, like normal, and pulled Adrien aside to discuss manufacturers.

Marinette slipped out of the conference room, and relief trickled down Adrien’s limbs.

If every day was going to be like this, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Maybe Gabriel working from home wasn’t so bad, after all.

—

As soon as Adrien got to his personal office, he closed the door and switched on the window tinting to make the pane of glass facing the hall opaque. He slumped at his desk in despair. “Plagg, I don’t know what to do.”

The ancient being zipped out of hiding.

“You and Ladybug are supposed to be a team,” he reprimanded his charge. “You can’t look out for Paris if you aren’t getting along. Even if your father isn’t sending out akumas, that doesn’t mean the danger has entirely passed—there’s a reason Master Fu has let you keep your miraculouses. The first step is to apologize to Ladybug.”

Adrien rubbed his temples, his head spinning with conflicting emotions. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet,” he muttered.

“What did she do wrong, Kitten?”

Adrien scowled. Plagg used that nickname whenever he thought Adrien was making a bad decision and was trying to talk him down. He felt like everything was spiraling out of control—even his kwami wasn’t on his side.

“What did she do wrong?” Adrien sighed, forcing himself to reflect on this question.

He had been so worried about her vulnerability in front of Gabriel that he had barely stopped to think about why he was upset with her.

“Plagg… don’t you get it? She never even let me buy her coffee or anything for eight years. She barely even stayed to talk after akuma fights! The only way I could get her to spend time with me was patrol. And all of a sudden she’s inviting me to her home, snuggling and watching movies—and that whole thing about best friend privileges—” he felt raw frustration rise again as he rattled off the things that hurt him. “What the heck, Marinette? If she meant it, would it have killed her to show me an ounce of that as Ladybug? She treated me like a—like a freaking business partner! Why so different as Marinette? I don’t get it!”

“Maybe she was just being cautious.” Plagg sounded optimistic. “You didn’t let her explain, Kitten. Give her a break.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe,” Adrien growled, feeling even more hurt that Plagg didn’t seem to sympathize. He lowered his voice to a whisper, drawing Plagg to hover by his cheek to hear. “Even more importantly, I’m worried sick that Father is going to find out and try something. Her earrings are so obvious! She’s just flaunting them right in front of him!”

“Kitten, calm down,” Plagg soothed, nuzzling Adrien cheek with rare affection that he only pulled out when Adrien was visibly upset. “She ‘flaunted’ them right in front of you for years, and you didn’t notice a thing. Do you really think your father would put two and two together?”

“Yes,” Adrien stressed.

“Not a chance, kid. Not a chance. Trust me, I’ve had experience with situations like this. Unless, of course, you do something stupid to reveal her.”

At this suggestion, Adrien went cold with dread. Suddenly, he understood why Ladybug had been so insistent on keeping their identities a secret. “Plagg, I don’t know if I can handle this pressure,” he muttered.

“Kid, just calm down and don’t freak out. You will be fine as long as you don’t panic and do something ridiculous.”

“Plagg, stop planting ideas!”

“—which you won’t, because you’re a highly capable, mature, adult human. Step one. Chill out. Step two. Talk to Ladybug and apologize.”

Adrien glared at his desk.

Plagg watched him for a moment before speaking in a measured tone. “Why are you still angry, Kitten?”

“I know I’m being an idiot,” Adrien sighed, “But why do I have to be the one to apologize? Sure, maybe I shouldn’t have gone off on her like that, but…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words. ‘That wasn’t fair’ sounded too childish. ‘She betrayed me’ sounded like too much of an accusation. “She hurt me,” he finished in a small voice.

Plagg tousled his hair affectionately. “Of course. Remember that you confessed to her while she was Ladybug, kid.”

Adrien dragged a hand down his face. “So? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“So maybe there’s a reason she’s been rejecting you for years. Why would it be any different this time?”

“I know the reason—she told me,” Adrien moaned, “She likes this other guy.”

“That’s what she says, anyway. Have you ever considered that there might be another reason she’s been rejecting you as Ladybug? ”

“You mean… she might have responded differently as Marinette?”

Plagg shrugged. “I really don’t know, kid. Maybe, maybe not.”

“But… she’s the same person.” Adrien slumped in his chair, throwing his head back in misery. “Why would she act any different? I don’t get it.”

“Don’t you act different as Chat Noir?”

“Yeah, but… that’s just because I can’t act the way I want as Adrien most of the time. I have to be perfect. It’s not like anyone’s putting those types of expectations on Marinette. She’s always been so sincere.”

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Plagg suggested.

Adrien sat up. “What? You mean it’s like that for Ladybug? She’s putting on an act?”

Plagg shook his head. “You’re hopeless, kid. You’ve really never thought about it?”

“But I mean…” Adrien frowned. “What does that have to do with her relationship with me? Chat Noir? Doesn’t she know she can be herself around me?” The thought that she hadn’t been sincere around him as Ladybug for all these years made him very sad.

Plagg flew to the cabinet where Adrien kept cheese. “I don’t know, kid. I may not be as oblivious as you, but I’m still guessing here. That’s why I told you to talk to her.” He phased through the door and nudged it open a moment later, holding a gooey wedge.

“Right. Talk to her,” Adrien repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can do that.”

—

After twenty minutes of clicking aimlessly through manufacturer websites, gathering information, downloading catalogs, and sending off emails, the words were all starting to blur together inside his tumultuous mind. A knock on the door posed a welcome diversion.

“Come in,” Adrien called out.

To his surprise, Marinette tentatively opened the door and stepped inside.

“M-Marinette!”

“Hi, Adrien. Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to ask…” She played with the button on the cuff of her pastel pink blazer. “Are you okay?”

The question hit Adrien out of left field. “Um—yes, of course. Why?”

Marinette bit her lip. “Sorry, if it seems like I’m jumping to conclusions, it’s just—you didn’t seem like yourself, and um… I got worried, that’s all. Sorry.”

Part of Adrien’s heart melted at her admission, but the complicated emotions he felt toward Marinette now, combined with his vulnerability, put him ill at ease. Moreover, he wasn’t sure if his father was still in the office. He didn’t want to make it seem like he and Marinette were close, in case it gave his father any ideas. Gabriel knew Adrien was Cat Noir, after all; he knew he loved Ladybug and would surely pay special attention to anyone Adrien showed favor toward. The only reason he hadn’t suspected Kagami was because he had akumatized her, but Marinette? She had never been akumatized. It wouldn’t take much to connect the dots.

“I’m fine,” Adrien said, sounding perhaps a little more curt than he intended. “Is that why you’re here? Just to see if I was okay?”

“Uh… yeah,” Marinette confessed.

“Oh.” Adrien felt a lump in his throat, and had to fight to keep tears from welling up. Many words came to mind, none of which he was at liberty to say: No, I’m not okay. It’s your fault that I’m not okay. But actually, I don’t blame you. It’s my fault for falling in love with you. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I still love you, but I’m mad at you right now. And I don’t understand you. Why were you so cold as Ladybug? Just tell me why, so it can make sense and I can forgive you. I’m sure I’ll forgive you right away, because I love you.

To Adrien, Marinette equated to warmth and kindness. She helped her friends without reservation, and was generous with her time. Even despite Plagg’s suggestions, it was difficult to reconcile this sweet, caring girl in front of him with the stoic, aloof Ladybug who stood up his attempts to spend time with her and kept him at arm’s length. He was about to cry, and it was entirely inappropriate for Marinette to see that, especially at the office, doubly especially because she had no inkling about what was going on. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here,” he forced out.

Marinette looked taken aback. “What do you mean? I-I just thought… I mean…” She looked disoriented, as if reevaluating her version of reality. “We’re friends, right, Adrien?”

“Of course,” Adrien choked, getting up from his desk to usher her to the door. She needed to get out now before he had a complete breakdown in front of her. As he approached, she took a step back, into the doorframe. “Sorry, Marinette, it’s just… maybe you shouldn’t be seen coming by. It’s…” He floundered for an excuse. “…not appropriate, and… people might start talking.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, then seemed to rethink her words. “R-right. Of course. It’s not appropriate. I’m sorry… I’m completely out of line. Excuse me.” She quickly turned around to leave.

Adrien wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but the hurt expression on Marinette’s face definitely wasn’t it. “Wait, Marinette, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I understand.” She looked back, her eyes seeming a little red at the rims. “Things have changed, and… anyway, take care, Adrien.” She shut the door behind her.

Adrien cursed under his breath, letting his forehead thump against the wood of the door as tears started to leak uncontrollably down his cheeks. “What is wrong with me?”

“That could have gone better,” Plagg commented helpfully at his side.

—

Adrien sat at his piano bench, left leg hooked under his right knee, half-heartedly picking out the notes of Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1 from memory.

His attention was drawn to how different it sounded when he felt depressed, versus when he was feeling okay.

When he had played it with Marinette, the piece had sounded poised and peaceful, beautiful, if tinged with a hint of bittersweet melancholy.

Now, though, it sounded like mood music to a despondent walk along the Seine, too empty of energy to even feel anguished, kicking stones and contemplating whether to jump in. Not that he wanted to—the mental image just came to mind unbidden as the notes fell on his ears and echoed in the void of his heart.

He was reminded of the expression marking at the top of the sheet music—lent et douloureux, slow and painful. He never fully understood how the piece could sound painful until now.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Marinette-slash-Ladybug, a heartsickness that seemed to eat him alive from the inside out, like a Cataclysm to the gut.

He stopped playing, feeling frustrated with himself.

Even if he did apologize, he couldn’t fathom any possible happy ending between him and Marinette, even as friends. Even if she let him visit her balcony again after this, how could he do that in good conscience? His previous moral qualms regarding Kagami aside, how could he keep visiting civilian-Ladybug’s home? It was like begging for her identity to be revealed. He had already stumbled into it unwittingly; how long before his father noticed and pieced together the clues?

And how could he be closer to Marinette as a civilian? In his father’s eyes, it didn’t make any difference whether he was in the suit or out of it. Plus, if Adrien made it too obvious that he favored Marinette, people would start jumping to conclusions about the successes of her budding career, as Kagami had warned before.

No matter how he thought of it, there were too many dead ends. He was looking at a future of torment over a soul-consuming love that he could do nothing about, whether it was returned or not.

“Maybe I’m just not meant to be with her,” Adrien despaired out loud.

Plagg rose from a cat nap and floated to the airspace by Adrien’s shoulder. “Why do you say that, kid?”

“No matter what I do, our relationship is doomed before it’s even started,” he moaned. “God, why do I have to love her? I give up. I can’t do this anymore. I thought it was bad with Ladybug, but… ugh! Why am I so stupid?” He stood up. “…Where’s my phone?”

“Here, kid.” Plagg nudged the cell phone lying on his bed.

Adrien picked it up and placed a call.

“Who are you calling, kid?”

“Hey, Tigress.”

Plagg put a little paw to his forehead in exasperation. Adrien glared at him defiantly.

“Just wanted to talk to you … Nah, I’m home now. … Sure, I’ll make reservations.”

As soon as Adrien hung up the phone, he rounded on Plagg. “What? Don’t judge me. What am I supposed to do?”

“Not go back to your rebound. Real mature, Adrien.”

“It’s never going to work out with Marinette. Plus, she doesn’t even like me.” Tears came to Adrien’s eyes, but he scrunched his brow and blinked them away, determined not to be bested by his emotions. “I’m sick of just languishing and wishing for more with her. Kagami’s awesome—we get along great. And we’re still officially dating. I owe it to her to be a better boyfriend. I was just being stupid about Marinette—my head was in the clouds.”

Plagg clearly disapproved, but he seemed to understand the futility of attempting to dissuade Adrien. “Suit yourself, kid. I’ll just be over here enjoying cheese and waiting for you to come to your senses.”

Sighing heavily to dispel the cloud of gloom hanging over him, Adrien picked up the phone again to call the restaurant.