#had to whip out the magenta suit

[ratsnu]

POV: they hate you

alternative POV: your name is alexander hamilton

[tristayranambrosio]

Burning Dawn (DWC day 5 Flame)

(The song the Performance is to) The deep violet colored silk runs like a living fluid around me… I am shrouded in their darkness, my light obscured by the panels of night. I am center-stage though I have no audience tonight, I never do for this… I’ve not the skill to perform these acts like those I’ve been lucky enough to call my peers… in this I am out matched, but this is not for them… for anyone. When I part the silk like veils I see her face… forever burned into my thoughts like a desert flame, she wound herself in the very same silks and seduced me with the songs she sang from their heights… I twist the panels of fabric into rope using my toes and tension builds, strength from the coiled silk that is stronger than what it’s softness implies, above my head I wind and twist the second panel of fabric as music fills my ears and muddies her features makes her chestnut skin fade into the same dark violet above me. This isn’t for her… this isn’t for anyone… this is for me. When revealed the lights that pin me scatter rhinestone catch lights like a thousand starbursts from my skin tight attire, in the pinks and magentas and oranges… reds of a sunrise, of a dawn bursting to life still barely arched off the stage between two dangling streams of midnight. I nestle into the familiar embrace of the dark, as if I am the flame of daylight… the first pink fingertips of sunlight reluctant to look towards the horizon. She whispers promises I once believed, the sweetest Symphonies of the life I might have had… She asks the question none had ever before, and I melted in her thrall… I wind the silks tight about my torso, fiercely hoisting my upper body level with the engagement of my core set into a hold the position by gripping the far silk partially wrapped about the arch of each foot, pantomiming a steady ascent away from the ground, as if I am walking step by step while parallel to where I’d laid Dormant. “And who is it who takes care of you I wonder?” The words sound like poison now, they were nectar and I was starving and even now they ring true enough to sting my heart with the memory of barbs plunged into it by the very same question from the very same lips… uttered instead in cruel irony.

I climb. My arms scream in protest but I climb. With each yard I gain another coil wraps about my arm until I use one sweep to upend myself to trade one binding of the arm to wrap my thigh… I echo the same then reach out to the darkness into which I cast a thousand prismatic stars from the gems sewn into my suit. I spread my legs and in a surge throw my weight to swing me upright, my hair threatening to escape its tie, but not yet. I catch myself on the two silk sheets and wrap them under my shoulders, closing my knees to artfully construct a hammock for me to hang seated far above the stage. Perhaps I am a fool to practice the art she perfected… that I learned once to offer a partner… a dancer in silk and symphony. Perhaps I’m torturing myself… But I feel a burning in my limbs, and in my core, and it makes me feel I am one with the music in the air. I give in to the music and the exertion becomes a flurry of flips, and reversals tangling, and untangling, whipping my weight in precise extensions to fall… just right and I climb… higher and higher… towards the light that refracts off of me as if I am a jewel, a lantern hung between the last clutches of violet night.

As I crescendo into the rising action I am suspended, legs split above me as I yank the tie from my hair and it cascades out and down with gravity as I defy it with not but silk tension and the power of my core’s ability to support me. I rake my fingers through the curls I unleashed and feel like something wild and alive, like a spill of color blooming in the waking world. I curl myself in and clutch the underside of my knees back bowed and chest arched outward to the open air, like a star is attempting it’s escape from within me… then I reverse and use the momentum to flip upright my hair fanning out in a wild after image behind me that makes me a magenta comet, like a dawn fast approaching to chase the nocturnal back into resting. I wrap my arms in the silks freeing my legs to walk mid air and build momentum… speed… and I am spinning. I tuck my knees in and clutch my silks so the coil with me, I twirl and spin so fast that I am a blur my hair and crystalline catch lights sparkling like I have set the silk ablaze with flame, with sunlight. I burn… This does not -belong- to anyone… this is just as much my art… in fact, with no witness to it, I am the only one this is for.

As the spinning slows I untangle myself… just to wind the length of the silks slowly in coil after coil around my middle, to cross the one rope with another until I reach the knots above… I am wound and cocooned parallel with the stage once more… and as the music halts I take the breath I need to extend my arm and leg out to one last desperate hold… Then I fall, my weight cut loose from its wound coil and I plummet between the silk like a whirlwind yards and yards that took me the whole performance to ascend, unravel me, and -just- as I would crash land… I catch myself mid drop held effortlessly like a timeless piece of art, limbs like brushstrokes lit by my contrast against the dark… I am a flame defiant and my own. The music fades… and I gracefully lower myself to touch down… now a flame slowly dying in the sunset of the performance. No one applauds… but I also do not feel the lingering scorn… or the shame for having come to love the way my body aches after each dance in the air with not but fabric as a partner… I let the streamers of midnight brush my cheek as they settle back as long curtains untangling themselves from my harsh movements suspended between them. It is strange and painstriken how I found this outlet… but I embrace each moment that I blaze as dawn between the silks. 

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[basuralindo]

WIP Wednesdayyyy it's been a while

So, I got obsessed with this art collection drawn by @deezneezz a while ago, and since it's been living in my head rent free, I was inspired to write a chapter based around it in YHMR!

It's not exactly coming up soon in the story, but it'll be there! So, here's that scene under the cut!

   

  "Seasnake~!"

     "Floyd?!" Jamil whirled to track down the familiar voice in an unfamiliar setting. 

     He almost missed the teal hair hidden among a cacophony of vivid fabric. Floyd was seated on the arm of one of the waiting couches, wearing casual clothes in bright shades of teal and purple, accented in yellows and magenta. 

     He was beaming in Jamil's direction, while stiffly poised boutique staff lingered nearby -clearly uncomfortable with his demeanor, but hesitant to approach. Their glares shifted to Jamil when it became clear he and Floyd were affiliated. 

     Embarrassment burned in Jamil's cheeks at the unwanted attention. He looked away to assess the rest of the situation and found that, unsurprisingly, Floyd was not alone. Standing behind his brother, dressed in more muted shades, Jade was grinning at the whole scene. 

     It was Jamil's first time seeing Floyd without black in his clothing, but the look suited him. Jade, on the other hand, was making Jamil realize that he'd never considered what the man's personal tastes would be outside of his uniforms. 

     He wouldn't have predicted red. Or patterns, for that matter. Least of all accessories. 

     Jade caught him staring and offered a small wave. He was dressed in a burgundy turtleneck sweater, worn under a black T-shirt and paired with plaid trousers. Jamil realized with further embarrassment that it was simply a shock to see him dressed his age. 

     The both of them, actually, looked like they had pulled their looks from a fashion magazine. It struck Jamil belatedly that they wouldn't have much experience with human clothing outside of what the school provided, and he was charmed by the idea of seeing what they would show interest in without the influence of cultural associations.

     He let his gaze drift to the chains hanging from Jade's belt, and noticed the collection of charms they hosted. One side included a few varieties of mushrooms and insects in vivid colors, and on the other, an eel the color of his hair, a purple octopus, and something red that looked like a feather and gem.

     Jamil squinted at the last one, finding it uncomfortably familiar…

     A sputtering "owww" jerked his attention back to Kalim before he could finish the thought. The prince met his concerned look with a pout.

     "Your hair whipped me in the face," he grumbled. "The bells hurt…"

     Jamil clutched at his ponytail, mortified, only to be interrupted by Jade's snickering.

     The merman changed expression the second Jamil turned to glare at him, and Floyd broke into a giggle fit of his own. Jamil rolled his eyes and turned back to Kalim.

     "I'm sorry, are you alright?"

     Kalim laughed brightly, perhaps finding the twin's joy contagious, perhaps just not wanting to be left out. "I'm fine! Just surprised. But look! Floyd and Jade are here, hello!"

     He scuttled over to greet them, the raucous energy distressing the staff even more. Floyd's smile turned false at the approach, gaze flicking over to Jamil with weighted interest, while his brother beamed almost sincerely in anticipation of chaos.

     "Hello Kalim, Jamil, a pleasure as always to see you. Doing some shopping as well today?" 

     Jamil smiled back in greeting, and hurried over to join the group before Kalim could say or see anything he shouldn't.

     He was already chattering out an excited reply, much to Floyd's quiet displeasure. It allowed Jamil the chance to sidle up to Jade and get a better look at his belt charms. To his alarm they did, indeed, include a red feather and oval gem, like a small replica of his hair charm.

     "Kind of you to join us…" Jade murmured once he was near. "Had I known we were heading to the same place today, I'd have invited you properly. Although, the surprise appearance does mean that-"

     "Look Jamil, Azul's here too! Hi Azul!!" 

     Kalim's voice echoed through the room, immediately followed by a startled yelp and Azul's voice stuttering out Jamil's name in alarm.

     The twins broke into nearly matching grins at the sound. They all turned in time to see a silvery head emerge from behind a trifold changing mirror, blink in surprise, and duck back out of view long enough to clear his throat.

     Azul reemerged a moment later, straightening an outfit in layered shades of purple, price tags still hanging from the sleeves. He, too, was trying out patterns; similar to Jade's pants but in shades of lavender and gray on a button up shirt. It was layered under a pale sweater and a darker, lightweight coat to form a look very similar to one of the mannequins in the window.

     "Jamil!" he greeted with more confidence this time. "And Kalim, of course, how wonderful to see you both!"

     Jamil smiled at the sight of his flustered antics, only to smother it at the reminder of Kalim's presence. He greeted Azul more formally, then turned back to Jade with a nudge.

     He motioned to the feather charm with his eyes and fixed Jade with a serious look. "If that is what I think it is, I need Kalim not to see it."

     Jade responded with a playful smirk. "Do you like it? I put it together myself, and daresay did the original some justice." 

     Jamil desperately suppressed a flush, turning away to dodge the teasing. "Just hide it from him, please?" he whispered urgently. The significance of the gesture was something he'd have to explore when Kalim was not there to witness it. 

     Floyd didn't give him a chance to think on it any further, coming around to drape his arms over Jade and Jamil both. His body wedged between them effectively hid the charm from view enough for Jade to tuck it away into a pocket.

     "Snakeyyy~" Floyd trilled. His voice was as upbeat as his demeanor, but both held a subtle tension that Jamil had become familiar with as a sign he was straining to be on his best behavior. "What're you guys doin' 'round here? You shoulda told us you were gonna be headin' down this way!"

     "Small island, isn't it?" Azul cut in brightly. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

     Jamil looked up to see that Floyd had ditched Kalim just in time to leave him in Azul's path, forcing the man to address him instead of Jamil. It also allowed Jade and Floyd to heckle Jamil freely, much to the dismay of the now hovering shopping assistants.

     Kalim tore his eyes away from the three of them to beam at Azul. "Hey! I didn't know you were out shopping today! Jamil and I are looking for winter coats."

     "Is that so?" Jade's expression brightened menacingly. Some meddling temptation pulled him away to Kalim's side. "It so happens that we came here for some shopping of our own. Azul has actually been doing rather …extensive research into the available coat options himself, so we would be happy to help you two find the perfect choice."

     Floyd snorted at the comment, and slouched lower to murmur to Jamil. "What he means is Azul's been here for hours fussing over every single jacket in this fuckin' place. Still hasn't picked a single one, but he must've tried 'em all on three times over-"

     "I like to be thorough," Azul said tersely, having reached earshot. He shot Jamil a warm smile. "But Jade, at least, is right. We would be glad to join you in picking something out, isn't that right Floyd?"

     Floyd cocked an eyebrow in Kalim's direction and rolled his eyes, but shrugged in the end. He gave Jamil's shoulders a short squeeze as he responded. "I mean, if we get to watch Seasnake tryin' on clothes, I'm not gonna complain."

     Azul and Jamil both flushed at the comment, and simultaneously glanced over to be sure Kalim hadn't heard. Fortunately, Jade was keeping him occupied enough with conversation to remain oblivious. Though the look Jade threw over his shoulder at them said that he'd heard everything.

     Jamil smiled sweetly at Azul, and elbowed Floyd in the ribs. "It looks like Kalim is happy with the idea, so consider your offer accepted. However," he dropped his voice sternly, "We do still need to be subtle."

[firefallvaruna]

WIP Wednesday

WIP Wednesday, featuring The Winding Road

Excerpt: “Iris, we’re ready,” Gladio called from the main living area. “Just a sec,” she called back. Since she was out of her seat, she was going to take the opportunity to check on Callie. It probably didn’t mean anything for once, but her ‘niece’ was a little too quiet.

She cracked open the bedroom door. The child had fallen asleep playing her Switch, stretched out on her stomach on a quilt of patterned mandalas. There was an utterly boneless quality to the way she lay on the bed; her arms were folded beneath her torso, fingers still near the Switch. It couldn’t have been long. She could still hear the cheerful victory music from her game but knew she might wake her if she tried to slip in and turn it off.

Better she sleep through this meeting.

With a smile, Iris quietly shut the red, upholstered bedroom door. “Iris,” Gladio drew her name out to several times its actual length, just as he used to do when she was little.

“No rush,” Matthias Vivas had flown in with Aranea to present his preliminary findings, and none of them suspected it was good news. She remembered him as a pimple-faced teen of few words; it weirded her out seeing him as a Kingsglaive officer now. “It’s fine."

“I’m coming! Jeez,” Iris made her way through the ornate suite of rooms back to the main living area. She snatched a tufted velvet pillow in a warm sage green with magenta piping as she passed and smacked her brother lightly upside the head.

“Ow,” Gladio said without any real emotion behind it and allowed the soft pillow to fall into his lap.

As soon as she hopped over the back of the sofa and settled against the arm, he reciprocated by whipping the pillow at her face. She didn’t even try to deflect or block it, instead choosing to deadpan an “Ow” of her own when it hit her and fell to the plushly carpeted floor.

As always, Luna’s laugh could coax a rare smile from Noct. Ignis’s body twitched in a silent laugh, likely guessing what had happened by sound alone. As usual, Aranea’s derisive snort said one thing, but her smirk said otherwise.

“Sleeping?” Prompto asked softly from the armchair behind her, and she replied with a thumbs up.

“We good?” Matt asked casually.

“Yes,” Noctis said. His voice was starting to sound and look much better now, save for the periodic “death cough,” as Prompto called it. “Please begin.”

[cythion]

May DWC 2023

Day 6 Gleaming

Warning: some swearing and sexual themes

Cythion was excited for this night. Vixxy’s Elemental gallery gig was the talk of the town and many entertainers like him had vied for the chance to secure a spot as one of her performers or escorts. Cy was here on both those counts. He had been assigned to the Fire room.

It suited him well enough. Floggers, fire and fucking. Yes, that suited the tall kaldorei just fine.

Taking one last look at himself in the mirror as the music started up to welcome guests in, Cy grinned at his image. He looked fine if he did say so himself. “I’d fuck me.” Decked out in red leather chaps that might have been painted on with a black leather jock strap under. Silk threads embroidered on to look like flames up the sides. He ran his hand over his washboard stomach testing the paint and fire-resistant glitter gel to be sure it was dry enough and wouldn’t smudge. His pink skin has an array of flame-colored hues that when he moved in the lights of the room it almost gave an illusion of flickering over his skin. A black leather chest harness and black leather knee high boots completed the clothing portion of his ensemble. His long magenta hued hair was coated in golds and red paint and more of the flame-resistant glitter. The locks bound in braids and pig tails and arranged to look like a flaming faux hawk. The eye makeup completed the look, dark lashes and bright colors making his cloud blue eyes pop.

Cy made his way to the stage he had been assigned for the first shift. It was a little to the side, as the main stage was to feature Dicenne, whose skill at fire whip was well known. There were a few other strategically placed small stages here and there, that performers would take turns working throughout the night. Cy’s schedule was to work the fire floggers as a set of poi, spinning the flames around him, then to work the floor and invite people to experience the performance firsthand with sexy little fire flogging tasters. The further the night progressed the more free form the schedule would become and the sexier. Cy was pretty certain he would be naked before the night was over and probably entangled with one or more of the guests. He reached down to adjust himself in the jock strap, looking forward to when it would be removed from him.

Rolling his shoulders and neck as Cy took his stage. There were no guests here yet. They would take a bit of time to work their ways into this final room, but they all had to look like the show was in full swing when they did. Cy spun the dry floggers around him. They were a matched set, a wooden handle with a short chain then the falls of soft braided fireproof fabric that would hold fuel but not burn. Unlit they weren’t very impressive. Their magic came with the addition of fire.

Once Cythion felt warmed up enough, he dipped the falls into a small closed container of fuel. He was sure to close it up properly before taking the floggers to a fire proof mat to light. The burst of flame was intense, but he was unfazed as he took up the still cool handles and began to spin them. That was after all the only safe way to hold them now, as anything over the falls would face the full brunt of the fire's wrath. He smiled in spite, or maybe because of the added danger and need to stay focused as he moved around the stage, the flaming mops making easy arches around him. No need to hype it up until someone was watching.

When the first guests began arriving, it was Cy's time to shine. Sure, there were other performers here, but he always liked to imagine the patrons' eyes were only on his sleek, muscular form. He twisted and turned his body as he danced with the flame, spinning the falls faster around him, letting them kiss at his own skin. A devil paying for his sins at his own hands. This devil though loved it and every time the heat flickered over his body, he felt the same thrill rush through him. Arousal and need, fire and flame. Firelight gleaming off the gold paint, oil and sweat on his skin. He directed his body and the flames in a primal dance around the stage, being sure to catch the eye of every patron at least once as the flames began to die down. With the last of their light, he spun fast on his heel and threw the sputtering floggers down onto the stage in a small burst of fire then instantly dark. The stunt looked far more impressive than it was as that spot had a fire nullifier spell on it and was there to ensure tools were fully cool and out before each refueling.

Cy grinned at a few gasps from the watchers and took a bow. He straightened and took up the floggers again and hanging them on a wall of equipment before turning back to the room with a wicked grin. Time to meet the patrons.

@daily-writing-challenge @dicenne

[alfredosauce50]

The anatomy of the obsessed artist [2p! Italy x reader]

Synopsis: You have the golden opportunity to display your art at a newly opened gallery. Nobody stops to look at your work until an eccentric connoisseur praises it, even asking you if he can buy it. Touched and fascinated by his personality, you agree to meet him over coffee. Now that he’s no stranger, he keeps inviting you over to his lavish estate until he realizes it’s not the art he’s so obsessed with. It’s the artist. Wordcount: 3, 686 The reader is referred to as she/her. “Nihilism represented a crude form of positivism and materialism, a revolt against the established social order; it negated all authority exercised by the state, by the church, or by the family.” - Encyclopedia of Britannica

“It's hideous.” He murmured, his eyes narrowed with contempt. They were a hot magenta hue, quick-moving and critical of everything they fixed on. How much he wished to say he was standing back to admire a masterpiece. Tossing his paintbrush into the kitchen sink with a sigh, he sauntered to the couch and plummeted down on it.

A loud clang was heard, but it never fazed his companion, who barely dodged the trajectory of the brush. “Oh, really?” They snorted. “It looks the same as every other painting you've done.”

He whipped his head to him and glared.

“Like you'd have an eye for these things, Lutz.”

Said man gave a shrug. This was probably the hundredth time they had this conversation, so he could practically predict what Luciano was about to say—and how he would wind up listening unwillingly to his passionate spiels.

“Just listen to me speak for once.”

Lutz scoffed and poured himself a hot cup of coffee. “Here we go again...” He grumbled with a distinct droop to his features.

Rolling his head back to the pristine, white ceiling, Luciano threw his hands up in emphasis. “It's the only damn thing that gives this room some color. I need to do better, Lutz. Otherwise, I'll tear this whole place down!” Even then, his animated movements were minuscule compared to the tall walls that surrounded him.

The other sipped on his mug. “If you're so stuck—” He smacked his lips. “—how about going to the new art gallery downtown? Anything to get you to shut up.” Lutz grinned at that, half-expecting him to launch a few throwing knives his way. But he never did. Instead, he jumped up and extended an index to point at him accusingly.

“You think you're so smart, huh, cazzo? Well, I might just go. Just to prove you wrong.” Grabbing his coat hanging over the couch, he threw it on and marched downstairs. As the echoes of his footsteps faded, he gave one final reckoning. “You can't rush art, dumbass! I'll turn the place upside down, and I still won't find anything worth my time.”

The volume of his thoughts had never been so loud. It was the only thing he heard in this quiet institution during its downtime. Nobody was around, save for him, but that allowed him to ramble to himself--whatever he was staring at, it was everything he had been looking for.

“This was definitely worth my time.” He muttered with a pistol grip on his chin. As he scanned over the canvas to take in the brushstrokes, he shook his head. “I hate to think he said something smart for once.” They were so violent, yet so gentle. A unique balance of nihilism and faith. Reaching up to his dark maroon hair, he dug through it and laughed in awe. “This is magnificent. Bellisima!”

“I hope you mean what you say, sir. That means a lot to me.” He turned to the voice ended up gawking at a woman. As he processed the words, he was at a loss for his own.

“Oddio--you don't mean you painted this, do you, signorina?”

She nodded coyly, much to his delight.

“Mhm. The name on the label is mine.”

At the sound of that, he gleamed and took both her hands into his own. “How much?”

She blinked, unsure of whether she heard him correctly. Was he offering to buy her work? “Sorry?”

“How much do you want for your painting? I'll pay you handsomely. One grand. Ten grand. However much you desire! I just need this in my living room. Whatever you ask for, it's a done deal!”

In your short career, you never imagined capturing someone's attention so passionately with your work. Your initial impression of the man was a rich art collector of some kind--an eccentric enthusiast--and not a connoisseur by any means. He even dressed the part, having adorned himself in a loose, silky blouse with a coat tied around his waist. His fashion was flashy and exuded confidence, though nothing else could have suited his personality.

As you talked to him over a coffee, however, it became clear to you he was much more than that.

“I've never seen somebody use color like that! You must've done lots of practice to get that good, eh?” He mused, watching you light up at his praise. There was no denying the sincerity in his voice, so you couldn't help being drawn to him and his zeal. “I'll be honest with you, bella. I'm not letting you run off before we settle on something.”

He could tell from the way you leaned in so subtly, never once breaking your eye contact as you listened to him. And knowing this did wonders--he slowly found himself drawn to you.

“Thank you, Luciano. I'm really flattered, but I can't just sell it to you. It's part of the gallery now.” You smiled gently, curling your fingers around the cup handle. Even as you sipped on your beverage, your gaze on him never faltered. And before you could catch any disappointment on his part, you waved your hands at him.

“I don't mean anything by it, honestly. I'm glad that you understand what I'm trying to say--like, you could've interpreted it completely differently. I wouldn't be able to stop you, either. But the fact that you didn't...” He followed you attentively with those sharp and mysterious orbs, but you were strangely comfortable under his scrutiny.

“Maybe we have similar minds.”

The man had been studying you as you spoke. While he did, this one, singular thought occurred to him. There was nothing in the world he loved more in the world than being heard.

“Hearing you talk is the same as being listened to,” Luciano admitted with a small laugh. Deep inside, he knew Lutz always listened. Unwillingly, that was. But being heard and understood was another story. “You take the words right out of my mouth, bella. I don't know how you do it, but you have to stop reading my mind. It's invasive.” He darted his eyes over your expression that morphed into dumbfoundedness--which served as a prelude for embarrassment.

So he couldn't help but smile flirtatiously. “Take me out to dinner first. Only then will I let you finish my sentences.”

You furrowed your brows together, but his smile was far too contagious to be staved off. The end result was an endearingly stupid face that was a cross between a frown and a grin. “Does lunch count then, you impossible little man? I mean, it's around noon.”

He shook his head, amused. Luciano expected you to pull away, but it seemed like he bit off more than he could chew. You were a handful. He was never a fan of handfuls or really anything that required his energy, but he'd be damned if this was the last time he saw you.

“But seriously, (F/N). I need your paintings. And it doesn't have to be something you've already painted.” Standing up at that, he neared your side lowered himself to your level. He settled a hand on your shoulder, much to your surprise. But you never tried to pull away. “I want you to paint for me at my place. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll drink my weight in this mediocre coffee if I have to.”

With his intoxicating personality, all he needed was a few more espressos to do the convincing.

“I can tell from your taste that you're pretty nihilistic.” You commented with a hint of disbelief. “But this is just crazy! What do you even do for a living?” All the expensive decor and extravagance of his stupidly large mansion must have costed a fortune! Lifting your head to take in the sheer size and height of his living room, you then shot him an incredulous look. “Well? I'm curious.”

Luciano leaned against the couch and folded his arms. “Oh, you don't want to know, trust me.” He grinned devilishly.

“What, are you in the mafia or something?” You joked.

He craned his head from right to left.

“Eh. Something like that.”

You blinked, not expecting him to be so frank. Then, you laughed sheepishly, suddenly feeling as if you've walked right into a trap. “... Are you serious?” The man sensed your uneasiness and walked over promptly. Before you could react, he held your arm, but it was much too gentle to stir any panic.

“Don't worry. Nobody would go after an artist I hired.” He leaned in to keep you hostage to his piercing eyes. The close proximity only heightened the tension you didn't know existed. What he said next, however, would have you blushing like a bride. “To have a target on your head means you're a liability. So unless we were an item--”

He smiled contently at the sight of your reddening cheeks. “--nothing will happen.”

Fortunately, your mortification was short-lived as you remembered your circumstances. Giving him a light shove, you walked off to his hallway. While your back was turned to him, he bit back a sharp grin, but to no avail. Man, were you feisty.

“Stop being such a womanizer and show me your studio, Luciano.” You mused, pausing in the doorway to glance at him over your shoulder. Was that playfulness he saw in your eyes?

“It isn't very professional.”

He hung his head and threw his hands up. Being scolded and ordered around was his worst pet peeve. But when you did it, he was only more compelled to misbehave.

“Mi dispiace. But I was only kidding. If I was part of the mob, my windows wouldn't be this big. Nor this abundant.” Making his way to your side, he walked with you to the said studio.

“And Luciano is a bit of a mouthful, no? You call me Luci.”

Unbeknownst to the two of you, someone else had entered the kitchen to pour themselves a drink. And boy, were they in for a show.

“You got it, boss. You call the shots.” A voice spoke in a gravely-exaggerated mobster accent.

“You're milking it...”

“I'm just joking, Luci. Let me have this moment.”

“Fine. Maybe I should've kept pretending. That'll get you to be a little more obedient.”

“And where's the fun in that?”

“Hmph.”

Lutz narrowed his eyes once the voices faded into silence. And he thought he hated being called Luci.

A mischievous smirk plastered across his face.

“Looks like somebody's found their inspiration.”

A few hours later, he appeared in the studio with a canned beer in hand. Even in such a lavish estate, no form of entertainment could beat pestering an old friend. Waltzing inside like he owned the place, he grinned toothily at what he saw. You and Luciano were busy working on a painting. But rather than using brushes, you both used your fingers.

“Hey.”

Luciano glanced at him and immediately felt the beginnings of anger simmer inside. “What do you want?”

Lutz laughed breathily. “Heh. No knives today?”

“If you don't get out, there will be!” The other whisper-shouted.

You stopped painting and turned to the newcomer with nothing short of curiosity. “... Hi. Are you Luci's henchman?” The joke was probably long dead, but you couldn't resist. Not when the stranger was built on six feet of pure muscle. “Nice to meet you.”

So this was the mysterious artist who managed to tame the bastard, huh? Lutz flattened his lips thoughtfully. “... In a way.”

“No, he's not. Now, get out. Your presence is ruining the mood... And killing my brain cells.” At the sound of that, you exploded into a burst of hearty laughter. Seeing Luciano push him out and leave colorful handprints on his tank only intensified those laughs. Once he managed to get his henchman out of the room, he whipped his head to you with a flustered glare.

“What's so funny?” He frowned. For one, he was rather taken aback at how he wasn't annoyed at you. At all. If someone like Lutz pushed their luck by teasing him, there would be more than one scar marring that punchable face of his.

“Nothing, nothing. I just thought... Maybe we could ask for his top and sell it. That was definitely a masterpiece.” You sighed, catching him off guard yet again. “It's the best work you've done today...”

The blush on his face deepened. A comment like that should've ticked him off, but he only found himself thoroughly infatuated. But that was preposterous! He was only letting this slide because you weren't that German bastard of a bum. That had to be it. But no matter what you did, he didn't have a single mean bone in his body for you. And he was about to test that theory.

“If you thought that was a masterpiece, I'll make you some more.” Marching over and undoing your apron, he wiped his fingers all over your once crisp white shirt. Looking down with a gasp, you weren't prepared for him to clap your cheeks and leave two brown handprints.

“You bitch!”

In his whole life surrounded by the worst potty-mouths, himself included, he'd never heard somebody cuss with so much sincerity. So the most logical reaction was to return the favor, if not be a little annoyed. But even as you ruined his blouse, which happened to be more expensive than everything in the room, he was cackling hysterically.

By the time you both calmed down, he had settled his chin atop your head and wrapped two arms around your neck. The paint on his face was drying up, but he was in no hurry to wash it off. Giving you a squeeze, he leaned down and pressed his cheek to yours. “You're coming tomorrow, aren't you?”

“Mhm.”

“And the day after that?”

“I don't see why not.”

“Then what about the day after that?”

You faced him and pinched his cheek affectionately, but he never complained. “If I was, what's the point of leaving, hm? I have something on that day, but I'll update you.”

Standing up at that, you felt his arms slide off of your shoulders. Luciano pulled away reluctantly, and as you left his studio, he found himself trailing after you against his own will. As quiet as he was, inside, he was tearing himself apart, torn between asking you to stay in the guest room and driving you home. But in the end, he got in the car.

Once he arrived outside your house, his body acted out unexpectedly when he shot his hand out to grab yours. The sudden contact startled you, though you could only gleam at his paint-smeared face that stifled back a thousand words. “What, do you miss me that much already?” You chuckled, much to his pleasure.

“You're just missing me too less.” He closed his eyes for a satisfied look. When he opened them again, he added this. “I'll pick you up here. Same spot. 9 am. If you don't show up in five minutes, I'll break inside and pull you out of bed.” Only then did he let you go.

“You got it, boss.”

With that said, you waved at him and made your way inside. Once the door clicked shut, he returned his gaze to the dashboard and shook his head with a defeated smile. “Oh my god.”

When he climbed the flight of stairs to appear next to the kitchen, the hiss of an espresso machine was heard. Rolling his head to it absently, he dropped his keys on the island and dug his hands through his sticky hair. Without addressing the blonde, who took an obvious interest in his disheveled appearance, he sauntered to the couch and flopped down on it.

“... Luciano.”

“What do you want?” He muffled his voice into the cushion.

Lutz walked over with a mug in hand and sipped it. Pointing to his own face, he swirled his index in circles. “You have a little something there.” When the other rolled his head to him, so did their colorful face.

The next two days saw steady progress in the project he paid you to do. While the painting moved closer to completion, he cared less and less about the finished product. At the same time, his eagerness for you to come grew exponentially. He could never admit it, but that didn't mean Lutz couldn't see right through him.

A single glance at him working in the studio was more than enough to deduce the conclusion that he was hopelessly head over heels for you. For one, it wasn't right to say he was even working anymore. Instead, he was staring at you, and sometimes, for twenty minutes or more if you were particularly immersed in your art.

This was only confirmed in due time.

Trotting downstairs to the cellar, he discovered that over ten bottles of wine had disappeared. And the culprit promptly made an appearance when he returned to the living room. Luciano was holding an empty bottle when they bumped into each other, the contact on his shoulder causing him to drop it. When it shattered on the marble floor, so did his patience.

“What the fu--watch where you're going, you fucking idiot!” He hissed, giving the other a strong shove back.

Beer fizzed out of the can and splashed onto his white tank. Lutz couldn't care less about ruining his clothes, but wasting beer? He pulled back with a growl. “I could say the same for you. I'm not the stumbling drunk here cuz' I can actually hold my weight.”

Luciano rolled his eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

“You know what, just leave me alone.” He huffed, kicking the shards on the ground. Once he scattered the glass all over the hall, he stormed off to his studio. Letting out a frustrated string of colorful words, he tore through more canvases than he cared to count. Punching a hole in one, then using another as target practice, half of the artwork was completely destroyed by the time Lutz showed up.

“I don't get it! Why am I so angry? Why can't I paint something like this?” Luciano exasperated, gesturing forcefully to the painting you were working on. Then, he marched up to the man and gripped the front of his tank. “Am I just that shit? But that can't be!”

At this point, Lutz was done with arguing.

“... You know what I'm about to say.”

Luciano threw his hands up as they chorused the same line simultaneously. “It looks the same as every other painting you've done--yeah, I know! I didn't really expect you to give me any useful advice. I just wanted you to listen to me.”

“Don't I always listen to you?”

“No--”

“Wasn't it me who suggested for you to go to that art gallery?”

“Yeah, but it's not like--it's not like you knew she was gonna show up! (F/N) being there only happened once in a blue moon. You were just lucky, so don't think you're a genius or anything, ha!”

Lutz scoffed, but his unimpressed expression quickly morphed into a shrewd one. “Accept it, liebling. You're down bad. Down astronomically. Just invite her over, and when she comes, you'll know what I mean. It's not the paintings you're making a fuss over.” He watched Luciano's hair spike up like a cat, then him light up like a Christmas tree. That little man was many things, but an honest person was not one of them.

“You think you're so smart, huh, cazzo?” Luciano pointed at him accusingly. “Well, I might just do it. Just to prove you wrong.”

When he left, Lutz clicked his tongue with raised brows.

“That's what you said last time...”

And invite you over he did. When he spotted a silhouette on the other side of the blurry glass, he sprung up from the couch and swung open the door with great gusto. There you were, as effortlessly charming as he remembered, and a little startled. You never had the chance to knock, nor process his scruffy appearance.

“Luci--hey! You look... A little more tired than I remember.”

Without a shred of hesitation, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to his bedroom. Yet again, his body was acting against his will, but perhaps, this was what he wanted in the first place. He just never admitted it. As he slowly came to terms with it, his eyes widened to dinner plates, and his heart pounded obnoxiously in his chest.

“Hey, what're you--”

He pointed wordlessly to the bed.

You shook your head, unable to figure out what he meant. “What do you want me to do?”

Luciano glowered at you, but it served as a stark contrast to the softness in his voice. “I'll pay you. As much as you want. Just stay there.” Seeing that you had yet to go along with his requests, he marched over to you and laid you down. Before you could object, he threw the blanket over you and tucked you in.

Sliding himself in from the other side, he scooted in and coiled his arms around your stomach. “Now, sleep.”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you rolled to him and brushed his mussy bangs back. “For someone so straightforward, you're not very honest, are you?” Sitting up to unzip your jacket, you proceeded to take your shirt off. When you stripped down, blood rushed to flush his cheeks as he came to realize he was completely love-struck.

“... Holy shit.”

Climbing onto his lap, you laughed over his lips and squeezed his neck. “You're really bad at hiding things. But like you said, I can read your mind.”

Luciano knitted his brows together. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your mouth. “And it's very invasive. Please stop it.”

“Only if you promise to pay me in the morning.”

“... You're not a prostitute.”

“Oh, but you are one too. We're all whores, if you think about it. We just sell different parts of ourselves.”

“Go to sleep, idiota.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

[mrsgiovanna]

The Reunion (Don Giorno x Fem!Reader)

The cutest scenario requested by @squigglylungs, I hope you enjoy reading this my sweet. 🐞💖💕🥰

TW: None, just F L U F F

Word count : 1.2 k

“Gio? Gio? Gio!”

“I’m here! I’m awake cara… go on, you were telling me about what happened during your class,” the raspy edge to Giorno’s voice, and the fact that the last thing he could recall from your conversation was from 10 minutes ago told a different story.

“It’s alright my love, get some rest, we’ll talk in the morning,”

“I’m sorry cara, I just had a long day, but I’m awake now, please continue…”

“I was just talking about my boring day… how have you been though my love? You said you had a busy day?”

“Just long… overall I can’t complain though, I get to see you in just a few hours. Have you finished packing already?”

Staring at the mess of partially folded clothes and accessories you sat in the middle of, you answer a little too quickly, with a little too much fervor, immediately alerting your boyfriend to your little fib.

“(y/n) … If you oversleep, you’re going to miss your flight tomorrow, I haven’t seen you in almost a year…”

“And now? What’s this? If anyone had to hear the mighty don of Passione pining like this, what would they think?”

“I’d deny it entirely” he said, laughter echoing through his words matching your own. You were still confused by his uncanny ability to pick up even the tiniest change in your voice, even through the distortions of the long-distance call.

“I’ll be landing around midday though, I can’t wait to see you Gio, by the time I go home and get settled in it should be midafternoon and perhaps we can do something then?” you proposed, knowing how consumed Giorno gets with his work.

“Of course bella, I’ll send the driver to fetch you, let me know if there are any changes to your flight. I’ll leave you to carry on packing or it’s never going to get done… and stop pouting, you know you’re in this situation because you left everything for the last minute,”

Gasping in fake derision you retort, “If you’re going to be this awful to me, I might have to look for another cannoli-haired trickster with a dream to be my boyfriend… applications are open,”

“Good luck in your endeavor, cara, when you get your list of applicants, send it to me, I’ll even screen them for you,” you couldn’t contain your laughter at his remark. After a few more moments of witty bantering followed by sweet affirmations of your love for each other, you both said your reluctant goodbyes, and ended the call.

The excitement of knowing that you were only a few hours away from seeing the love of your life fueled you with the energy you required to complete what you needed to do before your flight. Slowly creeping into bed, you went over your mental checklist and eventually drifted into a dreamless sleep.

To an outsider looking in, you two probably sounded like overly dramatic kids, but your path was fraught with difficulties. You and Giorno had known each other since middle school, just pair of ragtag kids existing around each other, however, as the years went on, you had become unlikely friends, sharing a few common interests and a dessert here and there. It wasn’t until after he had disappeared in your second year of high school that your friendship bloomed into something more. When he finally sought you out a few weeks after his vanishing trick he poured out his heart to you, recounting a whimsical tale of loss and gain and dreams realized. He was incredibly busy with Passione’s reform, and you had thrown yourself into your studies, but had somehow still found time for each other, when it dawned on you both that perhaps the affections ran deeper than you initially thought.

With an emphatic confession and dozens of your favorite flowers strewn across your doorstep, the rest was, as they say, history. Your young love was put to the test when you had accepted an offer to study at your favored university… in an entirely different region. You had worked hard though, balancing everything, and your efforts were matched in no small part by Giorno who used his resources whenever and wherever he could to make your life just a little bit easier.

As you slept peacefully on the other end of the country, Giorno laid awake in bed thinking about how best to surprise you at the airport. He had lead you to believe that he was too busy to welcome you back into Naples. Your thinly veiled disappointment almost caused him to scrap his plans, but imagining how happy you would be to see him steeled his resolve. He would have loved to see you more frequently, but between your hectic class timetable and his erratic schedule, an opportune time could not be found until now. Turning to his side, knowing you were just a few hours away, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

“Oi Giorno… wow, that’s a blast from the past. How does that suit even fit you anymore?”

“It’s not the same suit Mista, I had this one made to look like the other one,” explained the young Don, expecting the young gunslingers surprise at his choice of outfit. The combination of an unexpected growth spurt, combined with his fitness routine resulted in him building a physique that towered over his former self.

“Are you ready for today? Between Fugo and myself we’ve taken over all your engagements for the next few days so you’re free,” Giorno was thankful for his underboss and consigliere, and nodded with a small smile as Mista countered his thanks with requests of his own.

Glancing at his watch, Giorno decided that it was time for him to leave. The drive to the airport was shorter than expected, leaving him with some time to just walk around and take in the sights and sounds of the bustling crowds of curious tourists, travelers returning to their loved ones, naïve foreigners… he smiled to himself, remembering a time a few years ago when he walked around in a similar magenta suit, looking for similar people to prey on… it felt altogether like another lifetime.

Snapped out of his reverie by the sight of you, he hastily walked up to you, your back still facing him.

“Do you need a taxi signorina? I can give you a very good rate…” he jested. Your head whipped around meeting the sight of a beaming Giorno. Being altogether too excited, you threw yourself into his open arms, a few happy tears escaping your lovely eyes. The pure display of unbridled love and affection attracted warm gazes from a few kind onlookers.

“Gio! I missed you so much, I thought I was only seeing you later today!”

“Surprise! I missed you so much too amore, your expression right now, makes it all worth it. Come here,” said Giorno, wrapping his arms around you once again, then drawing back to place soft kisses on your lips. “Come bella, let’s get you home, I can’t wait to start my break with you…”

“Of course my love, let’s go…” with a dreamy look in your eyes and a pure smile on his face, you walked hand in hand, falling perfectly into step with one another, as if you had never been separated at all…

[mercurial-madhouse]

Anon prompted me with a Disney drabble and several plot-bunnies bounded and burrowed into my brain. This is the first that insisted on coming through my fingers and it is Sleeping Beauty inspired. I just couldn’t get the idea of Louis, Liam, and Harry as the three fairy godmothers (fathers? non-binary magical beings who aren’t parents?) out of my mind. The official prompt will come with the other drabble! Enjoy the light-hearted humour!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

Got this spell on me (’cause everything you do is magic)

Niall loves his flatmates.  Truly, there’s never a dull moment when the four of them are all home. The three Brits are oddly protective of him, something about him living in a strange land or summat.

Louis will fight the weather to make sure they’ve got a footie match to watch. Harry will create a new designer store to keep Niall in the latest fashions that work for him. And Liam pulls every delicious food Niall ever wants out of thin air. No, it’s never a dull moment when they’re around.

That insanity might have a wee bit to do with their magic.

Something whistles through the air.

“Blue.”

As Louis’s tart declaration rings behind him, Niall flops back into the sofa and makes himself comfortable. He flicks on the telly and finds the most recent match.

Harry huffs somewhere on the opposite side. Another whistle sings from his end of the room. “Pink.”

Schwip.

“He looks brilliant in blue.”

Schwip.

“He’ll stand out in pink.”

Niall probably shouldn’t have let Harry and Louis decide his outfit for the Gala Friday night.

Schwip.

“He doesn’t need to stand out. He needs to look good.”

Schwip.

“He always looks good.”

“Batter?”

Niall glances up at Liam, holding out a bowl to him. He’s got a spot of chocolate dough on his cheek and some hair falling over one eyebrow. The bowl he’s holding has mostly been emptied, but he always lets Niall lick the containers.

Niall takes the bowl, peering over Liam’s shoulder.

The dishes are washing themselves, there’s another bowl stirring itself on the worktop, and Louis’s guarding the border between kitchen and living room. Hair fluffy and torso wrapped in a loose, royal blue jumper, he’s facing Harry, who’s defending the window on the other end of the flat. The early-afternoon light filtering in glitters off Harry’s rings and the shine in his fitted lilac shirt.

True to form, they’re glaring daggers past their wands in a British standoff over a flamingo-coloured Paul Smith suit that’s floating on its own in the centre of the room.

Niall tips his head left then right, impressed. “Full sentences, proper grammar, no swearing or name-calling. Sounds like progress,” he says to Liam.

Liam screws his face up skeptically. He sticks his wand over his upper lip like a mustache and rolls it between his fingers as he thinks, which twists his features up to look even more doubtful. “Ah...”

Louis twips his wand and crosses his arms in one fluid movement. Not quite a twirl, not quite a whip, it’s what Niall has dubbed a twip. Sapphire sparks shoot out of the end of his wand as it’s being tucked under Louis’s arm. They smack into the suit and it transforms into a beautiful periwinkle.

“Blue.”

Harry scrunches his nose and swishes his wand in an understated pointing motion. Magenta sparks shoot from the end and the suit blooms a lovely pale rose. “Pink.”

Without missing a beat, Louis flicks his wand up like he’s flicking Harry off with it. More cerulean sparks. The suit reverts back. “Blue.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

Liam just shrugs and taps the side of the bowl with his wand in a nudge, completely unaffected by the madness behind him.

Niall scoops a heaping fingerful of chocolate batter onto his tongue. His eyes widen. Feet flattening on the floor, he stares between Liam and the traces of batter. “Nandoca’s Choice?”

Liam winks. “I get it right then?”

Niall loves his flat mates. He’s certain there’s no one in London who would try to recreate Nando’s for him with magic. Actually, he doesn’t know anyone else with magic, just these three eccentric misfits who it feels like Niall’s known all his life.

“Pink.”

“Blue.”

Niall swipes up another glob of perfection, sucking on his finger as he jerks a nod towards the other two. “Is this still because Haz ‘flirted’ one smile too many with that bloke at the pub last night?”

Harry had turned on his blinding charm to distract the bartender because Louis got a mite too tipsy too early. Alcohol loosens the link with their magic and Niall, in his non-magic role as damage control, hadn’t been expecting anything to happen so soon. Louis’s pint had frothed teal and spouted out like a volcano when he’d burst out laughing. Niall hadn’t covered it fast enough and the bartender saw it.

But Niall knows that’s all semantics to Louis when he’s halfway to flutered and watching his partner make googly-eyes at a stranger.

Liam shrugs a yes, scooping out a small sample himself and giving it a taste. His eyes pop in delight. “They’ll sort it tonight.”

Niall snorts. “With which wands?”

The question is rhetorical because he knows the answer, but Liam responds anyway. Liam’s got the strangest and honestly quaintest quirk of being incapable of perceiving what’s rhetorical.

“Both, I reckon.”

“Blue!”

“Pink!” The tempo increases until Louis and Harry are practically shouting overtop each other. Magic whips behind him and Liam and ruffles Niall’s hair.

“Blue!”

“Pink!”

A small implosion resounds through the flat. Liam glances up and sighs. Niall gathers the last of the glorious Nando’s batter and hands the bowl back to Liam. He takes the bowl and disappears back to the kitchen, fwipping his wand by his shoulder towards the suit without looking.

In the silence, the excitement on the telly from the announcer buzzes as though the proverbial dust is clearing.

Louis flops down next to him and twists, throwing his legs over Niall’s lap. In the far edge of his vision, Niall watches Louis’s wand twirl in a circle. A bowl of Coco Pops appears in Louis’s hand.

“Should’ve gone left. Chelsea’s defense is weaker on the left,” Louis grumbles with his mouth full.

Niall glances at Louis and tries not to laugh. With his eyes trained on the telly, Louis dings his spoon against the bottom of his bowl like his hair and eyebrows aren’t a vibrant shade of bubblegum pink that, combined with the sleep-fluff of the strands, make him into a life-size piece of cotton candy.

The sofa dips on his other side before Niall can answer Louis.

“You say that every time,” Harry mutters as he lifts Louis’s feet and drops them on his own lap. The pout on his face matches the cobalt blue his brows and curls are now dyed. With the expression and colour combination, Harry looks like a caricature of an anime character and Niall barely manages to keep a straight face.

“Because it’s still true,” Louis gruffs back. His legs dig into Niall’s thighs when he shifts. Niall glances down to see him burrowing his feet under Harry’s hands until Harry starts rubbing them.

Niall chuckles and shakes his head. The suit is now a boring grey, like a canvas waiting to be finished. Whatever colour it is the moment he walks out the door will be fine with him. His flatmates are ridiculous, but he wouldn’t give them up even for the chance to have magic too.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

(I need to create a post on Tumblr and AO3 where all my drabbles can be found. Alas, it is not this day. But I promise there’s at least one more drabble coming that is Disney inspired, beautiful Anony!)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Go wild! Pairing, situation, feeling… Send me an ask (anon or not) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

Superpowers Drabble 

Invisible Drabble

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

ABO new-omega!Louis drabble that became a fic on AO3.

Spy AU Drabble

[chaosangel767]

A Misconstrued Birthday

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution

Pairing: Fenrir x MC

Rating: SFW - Angst/Fluff 

Prompt: “ How was I such an idiot to believe that you of all people could ever love me” &“ Hey, look at me. Focus on me, Alright?”

WC: 2246

Requested by: Anonymous

“Oliver, these are gorgeous.” I look up at the teen in front of me with a huge smile. He snorts as he wraps the items in an inconspicuous bag and hands it to Ray to add to our groceries. 

“Of course they do, Cream Puff, I made them,” Oliver quips back, causing me to roll my eyes at him. Before I can reply, Ray places his hand on my shoulder with a laugh. 

“Come on weirdo, we have to get back and finish our plans.” Ray winks at me and we wave goodbye to Blanc and Oliver before heading back to headquarters. The early morning sun is steadily making its way into the sky while Ray and I plan out the rest of the day.

“So Sirius is going to take Fenrir out for lunch and to run errands so we can get everything else ready right?” I double-check our plan and Ray nods at me with a huge smile. 

“I can’t wait to see his face later when he finds out,” Ray laughs. I take the groceries from him to deliver while he grabs the other supplies and the box from Oliver and takes it to the office for Sirius. I walk into the kitchen to find the Jack of hearts starting breakfast up. 

“Luka, I have groceries for you, most of them are for dinner tonight,” I told him as I walked into the room and he nodded, remembering the plan. I help him whip up breakfast for the officers and work on my secret project, Luka occasionally helping me. Once officers start to get up I put my secret project on hold and helped plating the last of breakfast. I hear footsteps enter the kitchen and I feel arms wrap around my waist. I smell a familiar scent of gunpowder and turn my head to kiss my boyfriend on the cheek. 

“Morning Fen, Happy birthday Sweetheart.” I greet him and he squeezes me tightly resting his head on my back. 

“Morning MC, I missed you this morning, you were gone before the sun came up.” He told me and I sighed softly. 

“Sorry Love, I had to go with Ray to run some errands, but I made your favorite breakfast.” I apologize and take his hand, tugging him over to the display of food on the counter. I see him grin and Fenrir wraps his arms around me and gives me a sweet kiss on my cheek.  

“It looks really good sweetheart, thanks.” Fenrir seems to relax a little and he sets the table while I finish helping Luka serve all the food. After breakfast is ready I sit between Fenrir and  Luka, and we all eat. The morning is normal, I help Luka clean up after breakfast while the other officers and soldiers all go do their duties.

I go up to the office to bring Ray, Sirius, and Fenrir their morning tea, knocking. I see Ray and Fenrir on the couch mulling over paperwork while Sirius is signing other paperwork at the desk.

“Breaktime gentlemen,” I announce walking into the open office door. I place the tray on the coffee table. Fenrir pulls me into his lap and grabs his drink. Sirius comes over to the couches for a break. 

“Hey little Lady, do you mind if I steal Fenrir away this afternoon? I want to take him out for lunch and then we have to go to a few stores.” Sirius asks me calmly and I smile and nod. 

“Of course, I am working on a huge project so I am really busy this afternoon,” I reply and I see Ray light up suddenly. 

“Oh, I have something for you weirdo.” He stands up and goes over to the desk. “ Here is the stuff you need for your project.” Ray hands me a small thin white box, the wrapping paper tells me that it's from my favorite stationery shop. 

“OOOOh thank you so much, Ray, this is going to help a lot!” I beam at him and I see Fenrir tilt his head as he looks at the box in my hands.

“What is that?” He asks, tightening his grip on me and I smile nuzzling his cheek. 

“It’s for a top-secret project, so I can’t tell you.” I kiss his cheek and he rolls his eyes. 

“Alright then, keep your secrets. Want to go out for dinner tonight?” He asks me but before I can respond, Ray interrupts. 

“Sorry Buddy I need all the officers at dinner tonight for a special announcement, your dinner is going to have to wait until tomorrow.” I see Fenrir is getting frustrated and he growls a little before moving me off his lap before he stands up. 

“Fine, I have to get ready to go to lunch with Sirius.” He storms out of the room. I looked worriedly at Ray. He sighs heavily. 

“I hate lying to him,” I whisper to Ray and he nods in agreement. 

“I know, it's just for a few more hours and then this will be worth it.” He promises me before he stands up. I follow suit and we walk down to the kitchen to check on Luka’s progress and clean the dishes. 

I hear a commotion just as Fenrir storms into the lounge next to the kitchen. I stop talking when I notice him and he grabs my shoulders. 

“Where did you go this morning?” He asks me with a growl and I take a step back, keeping my gaze steady. 

“I was out running errands with Ray, we needed groceries and supplies,” I reply and he snorts. 

“I heard that you guys were over in the residential district of the Central quarter, why were you over there if you were running errands?” Fenrir is steadily raising his voice and I feel myself start to panic inside and I contemplated spoiling the surprise to calm him down. Ray calmly steps in. 

“Fen, please take your hands off of her and back up, this is a conversation we should have in the office and not in the middle of the hall.” Ray tried to de-escalate the situation but Fenrir shakes his head, his magenta eyes were full of pain. 

“I don’t get it? How was I such an idiot to believe that you of all people could ever love me?” He asks hurt before storming off and I feel my heart shatter, he misunderstood. The party isn’t worth losing him.

 “Fenrir, wait!” I cry out, raising my hand to him, but he doesn’t stop or even slow down as he races down the hall and slams the door on the way out to the gun range. “ Fenrir,” I whisper again, feeling tears prick at my eyes. I feel arms wrap around my shoulder and I look over to see Luka rubbing my back with a slight blush. 

“He’ll be back MC, I promise.” Luka starts to calm me down, while Ray dishes out orders to continue the plans for the party later tonight. I hide in my room and work on the handmade wrapping paper I have been working on whenever Fenrir isn’t around. I pulled out the box that Ray handed me earlier which contained special gold ink and a refill of the black ink. The paper is a beautiful light green with little black spades covering it. I took my pen and dipped it in the gold ink, carefully making a cursive little A in each of the black spades. I also filled in some of the blank spaces with little bullets of different calibers and added little grenades. It takes forever, but once I am happy with the result I carefully pulled out the bag that had Fenrir’s presents in it. I take out the card and secure it to the top of the inside of the box. I then opened the carefully wrapped box where there were two new gun holsters, made from a special black leather that I found on my last trip to the land of reason. I found a pair of custom gloves that matched with the same leather, the pointer and pinky fingers bare just how he liked them. I set them in the bigger box carefully. 

I then reached over to the box that Oliver packed this morning and pulled out the new twin pistols that Oliver and Ray helped me design. The guns were shiny silver, with Fenrir engraved on the side of each pistol. The cartridge and trigger of the gun were set with Jade that gleamed in the sunlight. I run my fingers over the shiny metal before carefully settling them in the box amongst their holsters and the gloves. I carefully seal the box and wrap it in handmade wrapping paper. I feel tears start to prick at my eyes just as a knock sounds on my door. 

“Mc, the party is ready downstairs if you want to go down.” Ray’s voice is gentle as he opens the door slowly. I turn to him and let out a soft sigh. 

“He doesn’t want to see me, I'll just ruin the mood,” I tell Ray, sadly handing him the present for Fenrir. 

“MC, this came out beautiful.” Ray looks the package over carefully before staring at me worriedly with his emerald green eyes. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come downstairs?” He asks me softly and I shake my head trying to smile. 

“I’ll be up here, I need to be alone right now Ray,” I quietly tell the King and he nods before giving me a small hug and leaving my room. I sit in my room and think about the time I have spent with Fenrir, feeling my heart clench over and over as his words echo in my heart. I don’t get it? How was I such an idiot to believe that you of all people could ever love me? I feel the tears build up and spill over my cheeks. I love you so much, so much it hurts. I think to myself, crying. I curl up in my blankets. I gave up my world for you, why would I not love you, what did I do wrong? I have no idea how long I have been crying and lost in my thoughts, but when I open my eyes next my room is dark and my pillow is stained with tears. I hear a knock on the door but I don't have the strength to call out or open my eyes. I hear the knock again before the voice I’ve been missing comes from the other side of the door. 

“MC? Please open the door, I want to talk to you.” His voice is just loud enough to be heard through the door. I ignore him not having the strength to get up and deal with it. 

“MC? I’m coming in.” Fenrir is insistent and after a couple more minutes of ignoring him he opens the door, light from the hallway spilling into the room. I hear him take a step into the room and he activates the lamp by the door before closing it. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” I hear Fenrir walk closer to the bed and sits next to me on the bed. I shift a little away from him with a whimper. I feel Fenrir lay down next to me and wrap his arms around me. 

“I am so sorry sweetheart, I got the presents, they are so beautiful.” He whispers rubbing my back. His touch brings sparks to me and I whimper, fresh tears starting to fall again. 

“Fenrir,” I whisper and he pulls me into his chest and holds me close, wiping my tears away with his thumb. I feel my body shaking against him and I keep down, not able to meet his eyes. 

“Hey, look at me. Focus on me, Alright?” His voice is gentle and I open my eyes, meeting his sad magenta ones. 

 “I am so sorry for accusing you and getting jealous. I know how much you love me, and I was so scared of losing you. I overreacted and I made you cry. I am so sorry.” Fenrir apologies, nuzzling against my cheek, I can hear the pain in his voice and I  nuzzle back against him. 

“I wanted to surprise you with the party and the gun. It was so hard to keep it a secret,” I whisper and I hear Fenrir chuckle wryly. 

“I am so sorry I ruined the surprise and ruined the party.” He continues to run circles over my back. “I trust you, I honestly don’t know what came over me.”

“ It's okay Fen, just talk to me next time, please. I love you so much, I left my world for you. I would never want you to stop trusting me.” I reach up and cup his cheeks, giving him a soft smile. He presses his lips to mine in a soft kiss, wiping the last of my tears with his thumb. 

“Do you want to go downstairs? You planned such an amazing party, we should go enjoy it,”  Fenrir proposed and I nod, we get up and I make myself presentable. As we are leaving my room Fenrir pulls me against him in a hug and I lean up on my tippy toes.

“Happy Birthday, Fenrir, I love you.” I kiss him one more time before we go downstairs to enjoy the party.

[libermachinae]

Lost Light/Rodimus

Notes: No, I don’t mean the crew. Unedited bc I’ve already spent way more time on this crack fic than I meant to. Rated G, no warnings apply, 2K.

---

It wasn’t Brainstorm’s fault, entirely.

“How the hell did you make a metrotitan spark?”

Just mostly.

“Well, it’s actually an extremely complicated, delicate, precise procedure,” Brainstorm said as they ran for their lives through shifting, narrowing corridors, Rodimus’ engine gunning to keep up with the jet. “It’s something other scientists have been trying to crack since before the war started, but between the exact measurements of the photonic supercrystal and the pattern of coding charges, no one else ever managed to—”

“Okay, forget how!” Rodimus shouted. “I don’t care about how! Or why! Or even at what point you decided to make a massive t-cog to go with it—”

“Actually, Perceptor cracked that one.”

“—or how you got it past Riptide and the rest of security! I don’t care!” A wall appeared front of them; Rodimus swerved around it while Brainstorm pulled into a neat roll. A wingtip brushed Rodimus’ roof. “Assuming we survive this any other way than First Aid scraping our pancaked frames off a random corridor wall, you’re going to tell the whole story to Megatron, and he can use all the practice he’s had with me to tell you exactly how terrible an idea this was.”

“Pancaked?”

“Earth term. Watch out!”

The hallway to the shuttle bay disappeared behind two shifting plates, and Rodimus had just enough time to brake and avoid being crushed. Brainstorm pulled up and transformed, landing at Rodimus’ side.

“Oh, this isn’t good,” he said.

“No kidding?” Rodimus angled his mirrors to look around, but every glance just revealed fewer directions to escape to. “We’re trapped.”

“Not that,” Brainstorm said. “We’re in the abdomen.”

“Belly of the ship, sure.”

“In root mode, the Lost Light’s power core is situated in the lower decks, under multiple layers of plating and insulation to keep the heat from frying everyone around it.” Brainstorm traced a small circle on the plating just underneath his cockpit, then drew it up, toward his chest. “When Perceptor was designing the transformation sequence, though, we couldn’t quite work out how to transport the core with all its extra plating. So, we just, hm, put a pin in it.”

Rodimus stared.

“So, what you’re saying is—”

Brainstorm pointed to the ceiling.

“The power core is one level above us right now. As soon as the transformation sequence is completed, it’s going to come online. The Lost Light’s designed to handle that kind of output, but not standard Cybertronians.”

“So, right now, this moment, we’re standing in the smelter, waiting for it to come on.”

“More like in front of the smelter after the blast doors have malfunctioned, but yeah.”

“Okay!” Rodimus revved his engine. “Well, that’s no good! We’re getting out of here.” He glanced around again. The walls were thick, but there had to be a weakness somewhere. “Don’t you have a drill gun? Or a drill you reformatted into a gun that can still be used as a drill?”

“I have a regular gun.”

“You do not.”

“I do!” Brainstorm insisted, pulling the standard issue pistol from subspace. “I was just about to see if I could do something about the problem of a finite ammo capacity (spoiler, I could’ve) when Light’s t-cog started spinning. I have others on me, but nothing that’s gotten the Perceptor stamp yet.”

“Everything else you’ve got will kill us if we fire it?”

“Might,” Brainstorm corrected, “they might kill you. Percy just hasn’t had time to test them yet.”

“Okay, fine.” Rodimus glanced around once more, optics falling on one feature he’d thus far overlooked. “You know what? We can work with this.”

  It’s a simple fact that if you’re desperate to have floor-to-ceiling windows along the vehicle-accessible corridors of your miles-wide spaceship, they’re going to need to be reinforced. Heavily. A full round of shots fired at point-blank from a non-infinite pistol might be enough to get a crack in it, but that’s about it.

Of course, if you then ram that crack with a Matrix-armored sports car dropped from the undercarriage of a speeding jet, you might get somewhere.

Rodimus hit the window bumper-first, vibrations from the impact traveling in both directions throughout his frame. Whatever he was feeling, though, the window was having a much worse time: the crack stretched and exploded, shards of glass whipping out into the empty density of space. Rodimus went with them, and for a brief second he feared he would never stop going, before strong arms and the sound of thrusters secured him.

::We’re alive!:: Brainstorm’s comm crackled to life in his audial. ::And assuming at least a couple people listened to Minimus’ instructions, we should be looking at a good—oh frag.::

::What? How bad is it?:: Rodimus tried to angle his mirrors, but two teal wings blocked his view.

::It’s fine! Don’t worry!::

::That’s my ship, Brainstorm, of course I’m going to worry!::

::It’s alright, Rodimus.::

::Who was—::

A white hand appeared in front of them, large enough that Rodimus could have done donuts on its palm, large enough to punch a moon clear through. Brainstorm’s thrusters were straining to slow them down while Rodimus’ emergency brake slammed on, but momentum seemed committed to mashing them like a reverse rustbug.

The hand shifted, flipping over so the palm was underneath Rodimus, scooping up until his tires were just skidding across the metal surface. Forgetting to release his brake, his swerved before he came to a stop, swinging around and taking in the full view of his ship as, with a final ripple, her plating shifted into place.

She glowed. From the fuel rods around the corona of her helm and the winding lanes of windows around her arms, legs, and sides, light streamed from her, but not so much that she hurt to look at. Her optic band was a solid magenta and, Rodimus suspected, unseeing, but even that gave off a light that drew the eye, even as Rodimus felt the increased pressure of the hand lifting them up. In their ascent, they passed her chestpiece, the bow of the ship, and through the viewscreen Rodimus saw a decent portion of his crew, staring back out at him.

They came to a halt in front of her faceplate, and from this distance Rodimus could see the wavering patterns of optical lights, perhaps attempting to generate an expression. Ratchet would demand a look at Perceptor’s coding, he thought, a moment before the Lost Light’s voice returned.

::Hello, Rodimus, Brainstorm.::

::You gave her a comm suite?:: Rodimus asked, glancing at Brainstorm.

::Didn’t you check the ident?:: Brainstorm returned. ::She’s using the communications hub.::

::Oh.:: He glanced at her again. ::Can you access all of our major systems like that?::

::Yes.::

::Cool. Neat.:: An independent Cybertronian with the ability to quantum jump. And they’d been doing so well staying off the bad side of this reality’s Galactic Council.

::Do you have a name?:: he asked.

The optic lights wavered, shifting without meaning.

::Of course,:: she said. ::Drift named me Lost Light.::

Rodimus spluttered.

::How do you know that?::

::I have complete access to all in-network records,:: she said. ::My ‘memories’ extend as far back as my registration five million years ago, though they become more comprehensive within the last several decades, starting with the commencement of your quest.::

::Anything anyone ever dispersed via in-house networks, saved to a private console, or was automatically logged by the systems is up for grabs,:: Brainstorm said. ::Makes introductions pretty simple, at least.::

::Sounds like a fancy way of saying she’s got the worst possible first impression of everyone, but sure, that’s an optimistic way of looking at it.:: Brainstorm had climbed off him, so he transformed and took two steps forward. ::I’m Rodimus, your co-captain. Though, you already seem to know that.::

::Yes. I know all of you.:: For a moment, Rodimus thought they were moving again, but it was the large helm tilting forward. ::Thank you, by the way, Brainstorm. Though I unfortunately agree with Minimus Ambus’ preliminary assessment of your actions, I do appreciate this opportunity to be alive.::

::Like creator, like creation, I guess!::

::Wait, you talked with Minimus?:: Rodimus asked.

::Of course. I’m speaking to everyone right now,:: Lost Light said. ::I’ve been looking forward to this.::

::Wow. You’re either going to be Swerve and Misfire’s missing trinemate, or their biggest competition.::

::I do not find either of those options appealing.::

::Oh, yeah, that’s fine!:: He waved his hands. ::Just a joke. You can do whatever you want, now, you’re your own bot. Well, within reason, I guess. We might need to make another new officer position for you, and then—::

::I will continue to perform my duties, Rodimus. You have no need to worry in that regard.::

::Oh, good.:: Rodimus’ spoiler sagged and a few bubbles of trapped air escape his vents. Brainstorm’s scheme hadn’t dehomed them, at least.

::If you wouldn’t mind hearing it, I do have a request.::

Rodimus’ spoiler twitched back up.

::Sure!:: he said. ::After everything we’ve put you through, we owe you, huh?::

::I would prefer you not consider it that way,:: she said. The connection crystalized and strengthened into a private transfer as Lost Light cleaved Brainstorm into his own channel. ::After reviewing the records, I find I admire you, Rodimus.::

He stared.

::Oh?::

::Despite what you call a poor first impression, I have observed a crew that cares for each other and looks after its most vulnerable, with you as the spark that inspires such communal behavior. You act for the good of others, you encourage selflessness and self-improvement. Does that sound correct?::

There was nothing to hide behind on the palm of her hand. That observation could not kill Rodimus’ instinct to flee.

::I, uh. I don’t know?::

A flicker around the optic band again.

::Oh. My apologies. I have only just started to engage in pattern recognition, and it is possible my assessment is—::

::It’s fine!:: Rodimus assured. ::Sorry, you did fine. Um, yeah, I guess you could say all those things about me. Not everyone would, but if that’s what the logs are telling you, you should trust your instincts. Maybe just like, make sure to update them with your own observations?::

::Acknowledged.:: There was a pause, and Rodimus imagined she was sorting the suggestion among her priority trees. ::I will maintain my assessments as an ongoing process. However, if I am utilizing my initial understanding of each crew member as a basis to form a more informed conception of their character, then it is logical to assume that there must be some element of validity to my initial evaluations, correct?::

::Uh, sure?::

::Excellent.:: Her whole visor brightened, a straightforward positive that must have been easier for her programming to calculate than the emotions it had been trying to convey before. ::Then it is not unreasonable for me to hold to my initial conviction that I admire you, Rodimus. If you have time, I would like to get to know you better.::

::Huh. Uh.:: He hated to make assumptions, but the way her visor sparkled seemed more coordinated now. ::Can you give me one moment?::

::Of course.::

He hopped into a channel so well worn it felt like sinking into his own thoughts.

::Rodimus? Are you okay?::

::I’m fine, Drift,:: he said. ::Just, uh, need some advice.::

::Just advice? Not a rescue? Rewind and Perceptor managed to map out a way down to the shuttle bay, if you need an out.::

::No, no,:: he insisted. ::I’m just… I really don’t want to assume anything, but I think it’s possible my ship just asked me out?::

::Oh, yeah.::

::Oh, yeah?::

::I mean, she did,:: Drift said. ::Before you and Brainstorm broke free, she commed everyone, introduced herself, told them her favorite thing she knew about them, then asked about you.::

::Do I… want to know what she asked about?::

::Depended on the person. Swerve got interrogated about whether you’re available.::

::Swerve?::

::The Lost Light Insider pegged him for a rumor monger and she ran with it.::

::Cool. Great.::

::Hey. Really, you okay up there? Tailgate’s halfway through the vents, we can come get you, if you need.::

Rodimus pointed his gaze down to the deck, though he was too far away to see anyone individually. It was possible the ship’s exterior cameras were still streaming to the command screens, in which case Drift would undoubtedly catch his disapproval.

::Please make sure Tailgate doesn’t get squished, I don’t need Cyclonus seeking vengeance against our ship.::

::Sure. But seriously, Rodimus, are you okay?::

Rodimus spun his wheels with a flick.

::I’m fine. I just… isn’t this, I don’t know, kind of taking advantage?::

::I mean, she asked you, and—wait, are you interested?::

His engine heated up and Rodimus started to pace.

::I don’t know! Maybe?::

::Aw, Rodimus!:: He could imagine Drift’s face: goofy smile, softly dimmed optics. ::Hang on, I’m patching Ratchet in.::

::No, hang on, you don’t have to—::

::You’re saying yes?:: Ratchet demanded as the new connection crackled through.

::I don’t know,:: Rodimus insisted. ::I could? She’s attractive. And she knows a lot about me and hasn’t decided I’m worthless slag.::

::Rodimus,:: Drift chided.

::Hey, look, I’m not saying that about myself,:: he countered. ::Just that it’s a conclusion she could have come to, but didn’t. And I guess I kind of like that?:: He shrugged. ::I wouldn’t mind getting to know her. First new Cybertronian we’ll meet for a long time, you know?::

::Sure,:: Ratchet said. ::Follow her lead, but be up front about your expectations.::

::Both of you will have bots looking out for you,:: Drift promised. ::Seems like she and Nautica are already hitting it off pretty well.::

::Alright.:: Rodimus smiled. ::Okay, thanks guys. I think I can handle it from here.::

::Sure you can,:: Drift said.

Rodimus cut the call and switched back to Lost Light’s channel. Brainstorm was wandering around behind him, still engaged in his own animated conversation with his creation.

::Still with me?:: he asked.

::Of course.::

::Great,:: he said, offering her a smile and a flicker of his headlights. ::So, yeah, I’m down to spend more time together.:: He leaned down until he was sitting, crosslegged, on her open palm, brushing the smooth metal with his own hand. ::You can tell me all about what it was like that time we were getting chased by space pirates.::

::I look forward to it,:: she said. The platform of her hand drifted closer, until Rodimus could have reached out and brushed his fingertips against his facemask. He could have felt afraid, then, but he didn’t. Instead, he felt a warm light in his spark as he regarded Light, the familiarity and comfort that came with meeting an old friend face to face for the first time.

[frizz22]

Growing Up Spellman Ch 2

Read on ao3

Note: Sabrina is 3, Morgan 7. Sorry for the extreme delay between chapters 😬

Zelda placed the potion in front of Diana, who eyed it skeptically and unconsciously lifted a hand to tug a strand of her hair.

“You sure you fixed it?” She asked, carefully taking the flask but not drinking it.

Unable to blame the woman’s hesitance, Zelda smiled reassuringly. “Yes, it was just a few tweaks with the ingredients. Perfectly fine, now.”

They’d been experimenting with potions to prolong Diana’s life and the last one happened to turn her lovely blonde hair an interesting shade of magenta—much to Diana’s horror and Morgan and Ambrose’s amusement.

Beyond that, though, the potion appeared to work and had no other side effects, so Zelda felt confident this potion would allow them to extend Diana’s life... hopefully without the unwanted makeover.

Though it seemed a promising answer, Hell knew how long it’d be effective. It was entirely possible Diana would develop some kind of tolerance to the potion and they’d soon be back in square one.

But this bought them time, quite literally, and Zelda intended to use that time find alternatives; her sister would not die prematurely and leave sweet Sabrina without a mother. Not if their family had anything to say about it.

She knew, even now, that Ambrose was in the basement researching additional ways to save Diana. Perhaps Lilith would have some ideas as well, might as well tap into that deep well of knowledge. Making a note to speak with the witch the next time she visited, which was becoming more frequent, Zelda’s inner musings were interrupted by Diana sighing.

“Well, here’s to hoping.” She attempted a smile, then plugged her nose and threw back the contents of the flask. “Hell,” she gasped, shuddering lightly. “Is there anything we can do about the taste?”

Smirking, Zelda took the flask back and walked it over to the sink, not missing how Diana replaced Heaven with Hell in her vocabulary. They were rubbing off on her. Refocusing, Zelda rinsed the flask. “Perhaps, that would be more Hilda’s expertise than mine. We can certainly try, the good news is, your hair is still the same color.” She nodded at Diana’s head.

Hand flying up to grasp a section of hair and bring it into view, Diana exhaled in relief. At Zelda’s raised brow, the woman shrugged and released her hair. “You know I trust you, Zelda, but after last time I was a little wary.”

A small chuckle escaping her, Zelda dried the flask then her hands. “Understandable,” she conceded, “it seems that for now we’ve accomplished our goal. Let’s go tell Hilda the good news.”

Happily sliding off the kitchen stool where she’d been perched, Diana led the way out to the garden where Hilda had the girls. While her sister was busy harvesting tomatoes, Morgan and Sabrina were kneeling in the dirt, a small basket of seeds between them.

It was only as they neared the two, that Zelda overheard Mo lecturing her little cousin on the properties of sunflowers, how to plant them, and the many things they were used for in both mortal and witching realms. Zelda smiled, Hilda would be proud of how well Morgan paid attention to her herbology lessons, and though Sabrina looked on with rapt attention, Zelda couldn’t help but notice that every time Mo looked away, Sabrina stuffed sunflower seeds into her mouth, chewing quickly to try and hide her transgression.

Sharing a smile with Diana, Zelda caught the girls’ attention. “How many sunflowers have you managed to plant for Aunt Hilda today?”

Her words had both turning, Sabrina with her cheeks still full of seeds, making Morgan frown at her disapprovingly. “‘Brina,” she admonished, taking the seeds from her cousin’s hand, “these ones aren’t for eating, Auntie Hilda set those aside already.” Nodding in agreement, Sabrina promptly snatched another handful from the basket and stuffed it in her mouth, much to Morgan’s chagrin. “Mama!” Morgan exclaimed, looking to them for help. “‘Brina keeps eating the seeds Auntie Hilda wants us to plant!”

Careful to smother her smile, Zelda lowered herself to the ground, Diana next to her. “Is that so?” She asked, reaching over and popping a few seeds into her mouth as well.

Caught between indignation and amusement, Morgan threw up her hands. “Mama!” She exclaimed.

“Morgan.” Zelda teased, tugging her girl into her lap and dropping kisses all over her head and face, making Morgan giggle and squirm though she made no real attempt to escape. “Sabrina can eat a few seeds,” Zelda soothed, brushing Mo’s wild curls away from her newly flushed face. “Though we don’t want to be ruining our appetite for dinner, do we?” She arched a brow as Sabrina reached for more.

Giggling, Sabrina fell into Diana’s lap without taking any more seeds. “No, Auntie Zee.” She chirped, playing with one of Diana’s bracelets, already distracted.

Arms wrapping around Morgan, who really was getting a little too big to be sitting in her lap—not that Zelda would ever have the heart to tell her girl such a thing—Zelda cocked her head. “I see you’re learning quite a bit from your Aunt Hilda.” She noted, just as her sister came to join them, basket full of tomatoes slung on her arm.

Only having caught her name, Hilda cocked her head. “What’s that, Zelds?” She asked, sitting as well and wiping a bit of sweat from her brow.

Beaming, Morgan leaned against Zelda. “Mama said I’m learning a lot from you,” she stated proudly. “I was trying to teach ‘Brina, but she kept eating the lesson.” She peered at Sabrina and shook her head, but the little girl just burst into giggles making Morgan lose her sternness and grin.

A soft smile curling her lips, Hilda reached over and cupped Morgan’s cheek. “I’m so glad you are learning a lot, sweetheart. Maybe next time Cee is over you can teach him a thing or two.” Her sister reached over and playfully tweaked Morgan’s nose.

Laughing, Morgan snuggled closer to Zelda. “Is he coming over soon? He promised to bring another book.”

“Morgan,” Zelda chastised softly, “Cerberus doesn’t come around solely to bring you things.”

Lips pouting just a tad, Morgan shifted to look at her. “I know, mama, but this next book is about ghouls, and he said we could read it together.”

Practically melting, Hilda interjected. “So, you want to spend time with Cee? Is that it, Mo?”

Morgan settled back against Zelda and nodded. “Uh huh, he’s nice and funny. And he makes you smile and laugh a lot too, Auntie Hilda.” She observed, playing with the ends of Zelda's hair as she spoke.

Examining her nails, Diana coughed pointedly. “He certainly does.”

Her lips twitching up at the comment, Zelda shared a knowing look with Diana over their daughters’ heads, both suppressing further amusement when they made eye contact. Despite her anxiety when Hilda first expressed interest in the odd mortal, Diana helped her come to terms with the potential relationship. And when the two truly started dating, Zelda went to Diana often for advice on how best to deal with it, how to interact with Cerberus before he knew the truth, and then after he knew as well. While a small part of Zelda still wanted her sister to date a witch or warlock, if only because their lifespans matched, she didn’t want to scare this Cerberus away… not when he really did make Hilda so happy.

Their attention was recaptured when Hilda playfully swatted at Diana and gave Zelda a ‘stern’ glare. “Cee does make me happy, darling, you’re very astute.”

Brow wrinkling, Morgan looked up at Zelda. “Astute means observant, my little demon.” Zelda informed her daughter before the girl could even voice the question.

“Ahh, yes, it’s very important for demons to be astute.” A voice sounded behind them, startling them as they whipped around to find the source.

Ambrose gestured to the witch walking next to him. “Look who appeared in the basement.” He remarked, bending over to swoop Sabrina up into the air when she barreled at him. “Thought I would escort her out here.”

Popping up as well, Morgan grinned widely. “Lilith!” She exclaimed, hurrying forward and hugging the witch hard. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

The witch returned the hug in kind and pressed a quick, soft kiss to the top of Morgan’s head—something Zelda noted Lilith had only started doing recently—and smiled. “Well, your mama told me today was another experiment day, I was curious about how it went.” She eyeballed Diana. “Unless you haven’t done it yet?” Her eyes glanced, not so subtly, at the woman’s head.

A blush gracing her cheeks, Diana patted her hair. “Actually, we have, kept my normal hair color this time, so progress.”

Gently disengaging from Morgan—who ran to jump on Ambrose as well, leaving the adults alone— Lilith joined them on the ground. “Well, while magenta isn’t really anyone’s color, dear, you managed to pull it off remarkably well.”

Scoffing in good-natured disbelief, Diana rolled her eyes. “Liar.” She intoned, amusement infusing her words. “But I appreciate it, nonetheless. No, I think Zelda and Hilda might have truly cracked it this time... can, can you sense anything different?” Diana peered up at the Demoness, fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

“If anyone can overcome the aging process of mortals, it would be the witches who outwitted and out-brawned the Dark Lord himself.” Her hand landed on Zelda’s shoulder in an act of solidarity, but the innocent gesture had tingles erupting in its wake as Lilith removed her hand and Zelda had to make a conscious effort to keep from leaning into the retreating touch.

She snapped back to attention when a now comforted Diana nodded. “Thank you, Lilith, I know you’re right. I’m in the best hands.” She smiled at Zelda and Hilda, eyes shining a bit. Clearing her throat, Diana turned—each of them following suit—to where Ambrose was playing leapfrog with the girls—Sabrina landing on top of him and Morgan more often than jumping over them.

The women chuckled at the sight, the small amount of anxious energy filling the air at the topic of Diana’s mortality dissipating as they watched the kids play.

Hilda broke the silence first, brushing off her dress as she stood. “Shall we head in for some tea? You have time to stay, right, Lilith?” She asked, automatically reaching down to help Diana.

Inclining her head, Lilith leveraged herself up as well. “Of course, I need to hear more of this potion you’ve allegedly perfected.” She offered a hand to Zelda, which she took with some surprise. “Besides,” she helped Zelda to her feet and smiled when their eyes drew level. “I do enjoy my time with the Spellman clan.” Her brow arched as she released Zelda’s hand and took a step toward the house.

Before Zelda could process the implications of that statement and all the physical contact, Ambrose and the girls joined them, having quit their game when they noticed everyone moving inside.

As they made their way to the porch, Morgan instantly fell into step between Zelda and Lilith, taking one of their hands in each of her own and walking happily between them.

Though touched by her daughter’s sweet behavior, Zelda glanced at Lilith to ensure she was okay—Morgan often expressed more affection than the witch was comfortable with, even with Lilith becoming more open to it—only to find the Demoness smiling softly at her daughter.

And, as if sensing Zelda’s gaze, Lilith brought her eyes up, expression now carefully blank except a minute hint of panic in her eyes, worried she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Certain any type of fondness was considered weakness in Hell, Zelda smiled at the brunette, wanting her to know her treatment of Morgan was not only okay, but encouraged. It would devastate Mo if Lilith were to withdraw because she thought her actions toward the girl would be used against her.

Clearly still unsure of herself, Lilith gave a wavering smile in return then dropped her eyes back to Morgan who had started to chatter away while the two witches had their silent conversation.

Refocusing back on her daughter, Zelda’s smile remained on her face as they followed the others inside and settled in the kitchen for tea and snacks.

[aloysiavirgata]

Xenia

Title: Xenia By: Aloysia Virgata Rating: PG Category: MSR Timeline: X Cops Summary: Brunch in WIllow Park Notes: For @perplexistan​, who came up with this amazing idea.

***

He’s staring out the window into the grungy hotel courtyard when he hears the knock at the door. Mulder frowns and, against all recommendation, tucks his gun into the waistband of his boxers. He approaches the door as though it may be on fire. “Hello?” he calls.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

He puts his gun on top of the microwave, unfastens the three locks to admit Scully. “What’s up, buttercup?”

She’s snapping a pink card against her palm, scowling as she passes beneath his arm. “Brunch,” she says.

Mulder shuts the door before following her to the bed. She’s hunched there like a tiny storm cell, glowering, gathering steam. He decides against a romantic overture, though it’s been a week since she last spent the night and he wants to...to lick her.

“Brunch?” he repeats.

She holds the card out. “Sergeant Duthie has accepted an invitation on our behalf.”

Mulder, baffled, takes it from her. The card is flamingo pink, ornamented with two palm trees and two gold-rimmed champagne glasses. In careful gold calligraphy, it invites them to join Steve and Edy for BRUNCH AND BUBBLY! at 10:30.

His jaw drops. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

She snatches it back from him. “Serious as hantavirus. I hope you brought something in a nice madras.”

He sits next to her on the bed, stunned. “Why has Sergeant Duthie done this to us? We were helpful, Scully. You rendered medical aid. You did a late night autopsy out of the goodness of your heart.”

Scully, prim, tucks the card into her jacket pocket. “I did a late night autopsy because you’re bossy and demanding, but that isn’t the point.”

“Do we have to go?” he asks, like she’s his mother.

Scully glares at him. “’Do we have to go?’” she mimics in a falsetto. “Of course we have to go, we’ll look awful if we don’t. The tabloid headlines will practically write themselves. FBI SNUBS LOCAL NEIGHBORHOOD COUPLE. You wanted to go charging around on camera talking about fear monsters for the noble cause of cryptozoology and look where it got us.”

He sighs. “Well, of everyone we encountered on that little goose chase, they’re not awful. I wouldn’t want to have brunch at the crack house.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, stewing. “I can’t believe this.”

Mulder thumps her back in a comradely manner.  “The food will probably be decent, right? Probably good coffee, too. Not to mention the bubbly!”

Scully scrunches her nose, pressing her hand to her eyes. “Mulder, I swear to God…”

The event begins to take shape in his mind, Steve and Edy’s tidy home with little morsels on trays. He tries to remember the campy snacks his mother ordered for her bridge club. Lots of puff pastry and ornamental parsley.

Scully gets to her feet. “Well, shower and iron your seersucker suit,” she says gloomily. “I’ll call a cab.”

“It’ll be fun,” he says, excited as always by any novel experience. He considers too that Scully needs to be socialized more often, and it’s not like he takes her on real dates. This will be good for her. He will make her enjoy herself, he decides.

“Oh, I can’t wait for you to get halfway through your third mimosa and start dispensing relationship advice,” Scully says. “Between Edy and Hollman, maybe you should quit the FBI and start a romance column.”

“I get no kick from champaaaaaagne,” he croons.

“Mulder.”

“Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all…”

“MULDER.”

“So tell me why should it be true, that I get a kick out of you?”

His gun falls off the microwave when she slams the door.

***

The driver takes them to a decrepit looking stucco building to procure a hostess gift from what he assures them is the best bakery within 20 miles. Dubious, Mulder and Scully follow him inside. Behind the ancient formica counter, a withered old woman brandishing an immense wooden spoon speaks loudly with the cabbie for several moments in an unknown tongue. He points at his fares, gesturing broadly.

Mulder tries to look respectable, the kind of person who deserves only the finest. He nudges Scully, who offers a vague wave at the proprietress.

The old woman considers them for a moment, then chooses several items from her display case. She secures them in a tidy parcel, which she passes to Scully, who accepts it like an IED.

The woman beckons Mulder down to her and when he obliges, bent nearly double, she pinches his cheek and whacks his arm in a loving manner with the spoon.

Scully, delighted, pays and tips her generously before they get back on their way.

***

The cab stops in front of Steve and Edy’s house. Mulder, who feels this is all becoming a splendid adventure, praises the cabbie for his excellent service. He leaves an extra five on the front seat before they get out.

Scully holds the bakery box with a mournful air. “Well,” she says. “Here we are.”

Mulder opens the gate in the chain link fence, striding along the walkway to the house. He is already on the porch, examining the empty birdcage, when she trudges up.

He chucks her under the chin. “Smile pretty.”

Her nostrils flare, but there is no other response.

Mulder knocks at the door, and is greeted almost immediately by Edy. She is wearing tropical print harem pants, a purple tunic, and a white turban ornamented with a tremendous topaz brooch and a single peacock feather. She squeals delightedly and flings her arms around him.

“AY-gent Mulder,” Edy gushes. “Well don’t you look mighty handsome. And Agent Scully, child, you did NOT have to bring a GIFT.”

Mulder extricates himself from Edy’s grasp. “Thanks, uh, for having us. It wasn’t necessary.”

“No,” Scully pipes up. “It really wasn’t.”

Edy waves her elegant hand. “It is absolutely our pleasure. Now come on in.” She swans into the kitchen, leaving them stranded in the living room. The house smells gloriously of food.

Scully shuts the door with her hip. “Um,” she says.

Mulder directs his attention to a collection of ceramic animals on a shelf. A little seal balances a ball on its snout, so shiny it looks like hard candy.

Steve emerges from the hallway, dapper in a crisp button down. “I heard her fussing from the bathroom,” he says. “She changed her outfit five times.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to feel wanted,” Mulder observes. He looks at the vase of flowers on the table, the bright cloth beneath it. The sweet domesticity tugs at him.

“We brought this,” Scully says, nearly shoving the box into Steve’s hands.

Steve takes it, smiling. “Well, isn’t that mighty nice of you? You went to Sofia, that place is real good. Bulgarian.” He places the box on the table. “Go on and take a seat, just going to help out in the kitchen.”

They sit across from one another at the table after he disappears from view. Mulder rubs his arm. “I think the bakery lady left a mark.”

“You’re probably betrothed now.” Scully toys with a crystal salt shaker. “Some old Bulgarian custom.”

“Jealous?”

She offers a moue of disdain.

Edy emerges from the kitchen with a bar cart. As predicted, there are flutes of mimosas on the top of it, and a whole pitcher besides. The rest is loaded with food. “TaDAAAAA!” Edy sings, with a grand flourish.

“Edy, this is too much,” Mulder says, rubbing his hands together. Even Scully looks impressed.

“She’s been busy all morning,” Steve says proudly, hands on her shoulders.

Edy beams, hands them each a plate of Eggs Benedict. “I make that Hollandaise myself,” she says, taking her seat as the peacock feather sways. “Grow the lemons out back, too. All this out back.” She surveys her table, a presiding empress. 

Steve unloads the rest of the cart, plates of fruit and tiny tomato sandwiches and cheese straws. A mound of home fries glossy with butter and fragrant with browned onions.

“Don’t forget the bubbly,” Edy says, scandalized. “We need a toast.”

Steve dutifully passes them each a mimosa before sitting down. 

Edy lifts her glass. “Well, I will just say thank you to our new friends from the FBI who are doing their best to keep us safe even with a bunch of skanky-ass crackheads running around, may they rest in peace. Amen.”

Scully is staring at the table, chewing hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Mulder doesn’t dare try to catch her eye. “Uh, amen,” he says, and takes a sip of his drink. He blinks; Edy has a heavy pour.

“I squeezed that juice myself too,” Edy says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You sound like the Little Red Hen, you gonna let us eat or what?”

“I told you he disrespects me,” she mutters into her glass.

Scully has recovered herself and is cutting into her egg, which spills golden yolk onto her plate. She removes a wedge of the sandwich with surgical precision and puts it into her mouth, wary. Her face brightens as she chews. “Edy, this is delicious.”

Mulder is proud of Edy.

“My Granny Minerva taught me to cook,” she says. “I grew up with her mostly, in the Lowcountry.”

Mulder perks up. “Oh, did you? My grandparents had a place in Hilton Head.”

Edy snorts. “Mmmhmmm, I bet they did. I bet you’re a trust fund baby to the cradle, you have pretty hands.”

Scully laughs around a chunk of watermelon, sputters and coughs. She presses a cloth napkin to her mouth, blushing pink as the fruit.

“You okay?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed. “You need a drink?”

Scully, still magenta, shakes her head and gulps half of her mimosa. “I’m fine,” she manages. Mouths “pretty hands” to Mulder.

Mulder scowls at her. 

“ANNNyway,” Edy continues. “I lived with Granny and I learned all her secrets.” She gestures at the tomato sandwich on Mulder’s plate. “The trick is you pat the tomatoes dry first, did you know that, Hilton Head?”

Steve refills his glass. “She lived with Granny Minerva because her mama was a runaround.”

Edy whips her head around. “I have TOLD you not to disrespect my mama.”

Steve purses his lips but says no more. 

Mulder applies himself to his Eggs Benedict, which is rich and delicious and speaks highly of Granny Minerva. Scully is nibbling a cheese straw with interest.

Edy props her chin in her palm, tapping her cheek with her fingers. “The FBI, now what is that like to do? It seems real scary to me.” She looks at Mulder through her extravagant lashes.”Real daaaangerous,” she purrs.

Scully’s lower lip is back between her teeth.

Mulder chases a potato around his plate with his fork. “Well, uh, it depends, I guess. I mean sometimes, sure, it’s pretty dangerous I guess, depending, but we have a lot of training and all and there’s paperwork mostly too, which is only dangerous if you get the math wrong and there’s an audit, haha, so…” he trails off.

“Agent Mulder just doesn’t want you to feel concerned,” Scully interjects smoothly. “Situations like the one you experienced are exactly what we’ve been trained to do, so there’s no need to be worried. We go through a pretty extensive program in the Academy.” She spears a slice of kiwi and pops it into her mouth.

Mulder could kiss her, right in front of Steve and Edy and God and everybody. Haul the camera crew back for all he cares. But he knows better. She’ll get there on her own.

Edy fans herself. “I just can’t imagine.  We are too glad you were here.”

“Baby, they brought dessert from Sofia,” Steve says. “Wasn’t that nice?”

She claps her hands happily. “Ooohhh, that little old Bulgarian lady runs that place.”

“She hit me with a spoon,” Mulder says, pointing at his arm. “About took my cheek off too.”

“That means she likes you,” Steve tells him. 

“Giiirrrl, you better watch out,” Edy warns Scully, with a knowing expression. “She’ll snap him right up.”

Scully looks alarmed. “Pardon?”

Edy smirks. “You may have trained at the A-cad-emy, but I studied theater and I can read all kinds of things in people.”

Scully’s face has gone from alarm to panic, and Mulder knows she is trying to recall every word, every movement the cameramen may have captured.

“Theater?” he asks, to divert her. “You’re an actress, Edy?”

Steve puts his head in his hands. “Lord help us.”

She gets to her feet, arms held out like a goddess on a Grecian urn. “My sister Veronica and I did this double act and my husband, Charlie, traveled around with us. Now for the last number - “

“Chicago!” Mulder exclaims, then is embarrassed.

They all look at him in surprise. 

“You like musicals, Agent Mulder?” Edy asks, practically glowing. “What’s your favorite?”

“Yes, Agent Mulder, what’s your favorite?” Scully asks, eyes dancing.

He draws little squiggles in the remains of his Hollandaise sauce. “Oh, just, my mom used to take us to shows, you know, when I was a kid.”

“But your favorite,” Scully insists, because she is mean.

“Chicago’s good,” he mumbles. He will never tell her the real answer, which is My Fair Lady.

“Honey, Chicago is the BEST.” Edy goes to a bookshelf and removes a large album.

“Ohhhh, no!” Steve asserts. “Didn’t I already tell you nobody wants to see your ass? Now go on and put that back.”

Edy glides back haughtily, places the book on the table, oriented towards Mulder. She opens it to a page with a glossy 8x10 of her as Velma Kelly, in all her black sequined bodysuited glory.

“Wow,” Mulder says, feeling sympathetic pain as he looks at the bodysuit.

“Virgin Indian hair on that wig,” Edy says, tapping the photo. She stares at Scully.

Scully leans forward to examine the photo. “You look really nice.”

Edy turns a few pages to another picture. She is luxuriating in a claw foot tub, one leg draped over the edge. The bubbly water is at a strategic depth between her legs. Mulder feels as though he should avert his eyes, but gazes on.

“Now these,” Edy says, “are from some modeling I did for a boudoir photographer.”

Steve groans. “Baby, why?”

“It is called art,” she snaps. “Now Agent Scully, girl to girl, you understand this. Sometimes you just want a record of you at your best, you want to share that with your man.” 

Scully smiles blankly. “Mm.”

Mulder studies the picture with renewed interest. “A boudoir photographer?” he asks.

Edy favors Scully with a sly glance. “See that’s what I thought.  It’s very tasteful, isn’t it?” She turns the page, displaying herself in a ruffled white corset, heeled white ankle boots, and a lace parasol. “It’s very elegant.”

It is, strangely enough. Mulder assumes there must be boudoir photographers in DC. He can import one, if necessary. From the edge of his peripheral vision, he sees Scully studiously peeling a grape.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” Steve says. “Honey, go put those pictures back so they don’t get ruined.”

Edy, looking triumphant, gives Mulder a saucy wink before sashaying back to the bookshelf.

“Lord,” Steve mumbles. He opens the bakery box, then smiles. “You tell her you were coming here?” he asks. “You got all my favorites.”

“I think the cabbie must have,” Scully says, abandoning her grape. “They were talking for a bit, but we didn’t know what they were saying. We never even mentioned your names, I guess he knew the address.”

“Musta been Anzhelo,” Edy says, settling on Steve’s lap. “That’s her grandson, he helps me with my garden a little bit. That boy is always hustling.”

Steve puts a golden pastry oozing honey onto his plate. He cuts off a morsel with his fork and feeds it to his lady, who giggles. 

Mulder smiles at them. “This, uh, this has been really wonderful, but we have to go get our stuff together for the flight home.”

Edy pouts. “Well, that’s a shame. You oughtta stay another day or so, we could show you around town. We know everybody.”

Steve moves on to a dense wedge of chocolate cake. “Lots of walnuts in this, you got any allergies?”

Scully holds up a hand. “No, thank you, I’m qui-“

“She’s gotta keep her cute figure for that boudoir photographer,” Edy says. She licks honey off of her fingers.

“Can we help you tidy up?” Scully asks, as though Edy hasn’t spoken.

“I got it,” Steve says. “That’s our system. You go on back to your hotel, I’ll call Anzhelo.” He pats Edy on the side, and she gets up so he can head to the phone.

“Where’s the restroom, please?” Scully asks.

Steve sprawls on the red velvet sofa, pointing her down the hall. He picks up the receiver and starts dialing.

Mulder watches Scully disappear around the corner, wondering if he would like to thank Edy or strangle her.

“He'll be here in just a few,” Steve says from the couch. “I called him on his cell phone, how times change.”

“You tell her not to worry,” Edy says with a wink, resting her hand on Mulder’s shoulder. “The cameras don’t get everything.”

Mulder adopts what he hopes is a confused expression and shrugs. He busies himself stacking plates, pausing to take a swipe of chocolate frosting with his finger. He downs the rest of his second mimosa, considers a third.

Scully emerges then, her hair smoothed and her lipstick freshened. “Again, thank you both for the hospitality.”

“You better call us when you’re in town again,” Edy says, wagging a stern finger. “I will hold you to that, Agents.”

There is a honk outside. “Oh, that’s our cue,” Mulder says, rising. He reaches for the small of Scully’s back but it feels conspicuous now. He converts the motion to a wave.

Edy follows them to the door, blowing kisses all the way.

They climb into the waiting cab. “You like my grandmother's baking?” Anzhelo asks, peeling away from the curb.

“Phenomenal,” Scully says, because she is kind. “We’re stuffed.”

Anzhelo smiles proudly in the rear view.

Mulder slumps against the door. “I feel like one of those big snakes after it eats a whole wildebeest. I need to sleep off all that food.”

“I was a little ambitious myself,” Scully says. She sits up straighter, eyes wide. “Oh, Mulder. Oh shit. You know Bill watches Cops?”

Of course he does, of course. Mulder makes a noise of dismay, unable to address this news on so full a stomach and so heavy a head.

“Mulder, he’s going to see every terrible minute and just snap,” she moans. “Werewolves!”

Mulder, buzzy, imagines Bill and Tara on the couch, eating Corn Nuts, when his sister appears onscreen. He imagines Bill leaping to his feet in outrage, scattering a plate of Li’l Smokies cooked in grape jelly. He starts laughing.

Scully punches him in the arm. “It’s not funny, Mulder!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, holding up his hands in defense. He is still laughing.

“Oh my god, the Wasp Man! Mulder did you say anything awful when you were unattended?”

Tears are running down his face at this point. It’s all so ridiculous. Bill in his base housing, finding out that his sister was two hours away chasing invisible monsters and crackheads without even calling. Mulder thinks he may, if suitably provoked, let him know what else his sister has been doing.

He smiles darkly to himself.

Scully punches his arm again, harder, and he stops laughing. 

“Ow,” he says, sulky. “It’s nothing he doesn’t know.”

She hides her face in her hands. “I could just die.”

Mulder draws her onto her side, curled with her glossy head in his lap. He strokes her smooth pixie cap of hair, the color of autumn in New England.

“I hate you,” she mumbles into his thigh.

He traces her ear. “I know,” he soothes. 

“So much.”

“Yes.”

“And you can stop thinking about boudoir photographers, because it’s not happening.” She traces little shapes on his knees.

“Mmm,” he says, non-committal. Mulder pets her until they pull up at the hotel, and he has to get to his wallet. He pays Anzhelo and sends regards to his grandmother, to Steve and Edy.

They clamber out, Scully blinking in the vivid sunlight. Anzhelo waves from the window as he drives off.

“You ready to go home?” Mulder asks.

She looks up at him. “No photographer,” she says again. “But.”

He’s intrigued. “But?”

“My room has a corner tub. It’s not, uh, a claw foot or anything, but it’s pretty roomy.” Scully looks shy as she takes his hand. “This is still weird,” she confesses.

“Yeah. But it’s, I think it’s good weird, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, squeezes his fingers.

He kisses her in the bright LA sunshine, in front of the bellhop and the taxis and God and everybody. She doesn’t pull away, puts her arms around him in fact, and still the world turns and turns and turns.

[sylibane]

How about the Wright Anything Agency and the Heist AU for the au thing?

Edgeworth showed up here too whoops

“Talk to me, Cykes.”

“Everyone’s in position,” Athena’s voice said over the comms. “In about a minute, Widget will shut down the security systems and Trucy has a clear shot at the vault.”

Phoenix kept his eyes on the people mingling through the building’s lobby. “Will you have access to the cameras during the blackout?”

“Afraid not, boss.”

“So we won’t know if anyone’s coming up on the vault,” Apollo said. “I knew I should have stayed closer to Trucy…”

“Relax, Polly!” Trucy chimed in. “I’ll be in and out so quick that they won’t even notice! This isn’t even the worst vault I’ve cracked!”

There was a crackle of static on Athena’s comm. “System’s down. Trucy, go!”

“I’m in! Geez…who last used this keypad? It’s all sticky!”

Phoenix couldn’t help but smile, only to tense when he saw a familiar magenta coat in the crowd. “We may have been followed,” he muttered, keeping his hand to his ear as he hurried to the stairs leading into the lower lobby. “Get those documents and get out as fast as possible. Forget them and get yourselves out if you have to.”

“Boss, what’s wrong?” Athena said.

“Focus on the job. I have things under control here.” Phoenix was certain he could feel those gray eyes on him as he walked down the stairs, trying to look like just another businessman on his way out to lunch.

“Like hell you do — I’m coming to you.”

“No, you’re not, Apollo,” Phoenix said through gritted teeth. “Protect Trucy. I’ll be fine.” Where had he…

“I thought I might find you here, Wright.”

Phoenix froze, then straightened his tie. “This is just an office building,” he said, not looking back at Miles. “Maybe I’ve turned my life around and now work here.”

“I doubt you’d work for a company with such a reputation for blackmail,” Edgeworth said, “especially not with such an easily cracked vault.”

Phoenix whipped around to face him. “Okay, fine! I admit it, Edgeworth, I’m casing this place! But it’s just me this time. Nobody else is on this job.”

The corner of Mile’s mouth twitched. “You say with the tone that says that the rest of your team is definitely in this building.”

Phoenix grabbed for his jacket, but Miles caught his wrist. “Don’t act so rashly, Wright. I’m not here to alert security or anything. Quite frankly, the people here deserve whatever your ridiculous crew has inflicted. But have you ever thought of turning your talents onto much worse targets?”

“Are you saying you have a job for me?”’

“Are you willing to listen what I have to say?”

Somewhere on the upper levels, there were several pops, followed by shouting. Through the corner of his eye, Phoenix could see a little of the confetti from the poppers set for distraction drifting towards them. Office drones around them stopped and looked up towards the commotion, not noticing the three young adults in suits, the one in yellow with a stolen IT department badge and the one in light blue with dust from the vents still in her hair, heading for the doors. Apollo stopped and turned towards Phoenix, who locked eyes with him and tried to nod as subtly as he could.

If he couldn’t trust Miles about this, he at least had to keep him away from the kids.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

[ihaveafandom-problem554]

Hamiltots 2

"Honey! you've met Alexander, right?" Washington shouts from the reading center. "Yes, he's adorable.. and troublesome. He made a lot of friends on his first day.." Martha says while cleaning the tables over at the crafting table. "He helps Lafayette a lot- What!" George glared at his wife from across the room. "I said one thing about him."

"And that will be it."

"Oh please... Why'd you mention him?"

"He....He almost started a fight with Jefferson. He also called Lafayette 'Laffy' "

" Reason one, of why I called him troublesome... We really have to keep an eye on him. I don't want any fights between the thre- two" Martha says quickly trying to cover her mistake by coughing. "Three?"

"I said two George, did you sleep well?" Martha questions while walking over to her husband, placing a kiss on his forehead. "I should be asking you that question. But yes your right, I don't want him to get hurt.."

A couple hours later...

Hercules and Madison were the first to enter, greeting the two adults. Madison went over to his little spot in the reading center as Hercules goes over to the play center where all the toys were.

A couple minutes passed before Mrs. Martha heard a small knock on the door.

"Oh Alex!" Says the startled woman. "Where's Mom?.."

"Work." Alex blankly stares at Mrs. Martha. "Ok... Um come in.." Alex rushes in hoping to see Jefferson, but had a rush of disappointment when he only saw a book hiding someone's face. Another rush of disappointment when the hair wasn't large and poofy.

"ALEX!" Alexander turns his head around to see Hercules inviting him to the play with him.

JAMES MADISON'S POV yaay!!!

I slowly look up from my book to see the new kid run off to Mulligan. I sigh in relief, I don't want to meet anyone I don't recognize without Angelica first. She's better at meeting people than me.. I just get really shaky, and I forget how to speak.

"You ok honey?" I jump in fear. " Oh dear, sorry I didn't mean to startle you.." I look to see Mrs. Martha putting her hand on my head to calm me. "Yeah, I'm ok... Thank you for asking."

She smiles in awe. "Of course honey." She goes back to replace a some of the books.

I'm really surprised she doesn't have any kids... She's so nice and gentle. Always looking after  everyone, maybe that's why she owns the daycare.

I grabbed my blankie and put it over my head, letting the warmth hug around me. No matter how hot or cold it was, I will have my blankie with me. I don't know what I'll do without it.

40 minutes later

"Tu vas devoir lui dire les règles. S'il ne les suit pas, je le ferai-" I listen to the sound of a boy speaking french. "Ouais ouais peu importe. Je vais lui expliquer." Someone sassed back.

I'm taking the guess it was Lafayette, judging by Hercules and the new kid's reaction when he got closer to them.

Sugar.. If he's here, then...

I feel a shadow above me. I'm praying its Angelica, I'd do anything if it's her.

I take a peek. Poofy hair.. ok 50% chance..

It's not done.. 20% chance..

I look down.. It's not her favorite shoe's she said she'd wear today... -20% chance..

Fancy magenta shirt... -80%...

Hands are crossed and their foot is tapping... -99%- oh what's the point. Ladies and Gentleman, here we are, a pink loving, poofy hair southerner, troublemaker... please, you simply must meet Thomas, THOMAS-

He knocks on my book "Thomas Jefferson's home~ Now open up!" He takes the book out of my hands and places it on the floor, then looks back at me with a smug look, waiting for his 'good morning'.

"Good morning Jefferson...." I whisper, not wanting to be loud. "Louder" He demands. "Good morning Jefferson..." I say a little louder. " Come on louder than that.."

"Good morning Jefferson."

"If there was a scale on how loud people spoke, you would be at -10,000" he says removing my blankie out of my face as it falls. I look down, not knowing what to do, I smile.

"Why are you smiling?" He questions. "O-oh uhh, I-I... I don't know... I-I didn't know what to do.."

"Yeah, your pretty sad.." he says sitting next to me.

This is like a routine for us. If Angelica doesn't come first, I have to say Good morning to Jefferson, 'loudly' then read him a book 'loudly' until Angelica comes. When she does, we walk around the classroom and greet everyone, but if Angelica comes first, I have to recite the alphabet 2 times, loud enough for her to hear, then read on of the level two books out loud to her until Jefferson comes. When he comes we go around the classroom to help the adults, but I have to ask. Luckily he gets carried away and he does most of the talking.  

They claim it's to help me out of my shyness, I don't think I'm shy... I just... don't like to talk to people a lot..or be around people a lot... or look them in the eyes... sometimes they look really scary...Sometimes I feel like crying.... I just want to hide under a blanket and read with my blankie. I like that. Ooo! with Ice cream too! Sometimes with Apple pie with a bit of whip cream on it!-

"I don't know why your smiling, but I wanna know!" Jefferson jumps. "Oh I-I was just thinking about reading under a blanket- et w-w-ith Ic-Ice cream"

He looks at me, with this huge smile. His eyes are also lighting up. "Oh I love to do that with Laffy! When it's the summer we hide in under the loft bed I told you about, and-and we take all the ice cream or-or Macaroni and cheese Right? and-and we play all types of games in there. It's so fun" He says throwing his hands in the air then falling back in the bean bag giggling loudly. I giggle too. I love to see him in a giggly fit or excited for the littlest things, it's so cute.

"Ooo what do you do?" He says sitting himself up. "Oh! well um- I- When I'm alone I g-go to the Kitchen-en t-to find-" I try my best to look him in the eye, but when I do, he.. looks so interested... I never really looked him in the eyes while I'm talking to him. Has he always looked like that? "I try to f-find the best t-type of Ic-Ice cream, then I rush over to the bedroom and hide under my blanket and start reading the book I-I was reading for a while now..."

"The book where the girl saves the pig and the pig becomes really famous for some reason." He says cocking his head to the side. " Oh I also started reading it yesterday."

I don't know what I'm feeling but I think I'm doing the thing Hercules does when he's happy.. "Wait really!" I spoke a little louder than usual. "D-Do you like it!? Cause I do! I really hope you like it!-"

Third POV

Mrs. Martha is star struck at how "Loud" James was speaking, she didn't even notice Maria tugging on the ends of her dress. "Oh! Maria deary, what's- James apologize to her now!" Her voice switching quickly from a kitten to a lion in a split second scared both Maria and James.

"H-huh?"

"Not you Madison, I'm talking to Reynolds"

"O-oh ok" ending with a harsh cough, he turns back to Jefferson to who was bouncing in the bean bag for some reason.

"I didn't do anything to her. She's just a baby." he says playing with scissors. Mrs. Martha leans down to Maria. "What did he do now, sweetheart.."

Maria was on the verge of tears " Whe-When I was picking up m-my paper he dropped, I turned around and saw him go-going to cut my Hair!"

"No. I. Wasn't." He protested from across the room.

"Yes-Yes he did. Yesterday he-he said m-my h-air w-was t-too-"

"Calm down honey.." Mrs. Martha picks up Maria who was now crying out of fear. "Reynolds go over to the corner." He makes this inhumanly noise before getting up to the corner. " And put those scissors down now!"

Maria tugs on Mrs. Martha's necklace trying to grab her attention. "yes sweetheart?"

Maria leans in her and whispers.. " d-don't t-tell him I-I said t-th-this b-b-ut" Maria looks up to see if James was looking. "h-he sai-d h-he would cut m-y li-lips i-if I-I t-attled o-on him a-again" Maria trying her best not to cry out loud covers her mouth immediately.

Mrs. Martha almost freaked out but quickly gained posture to calm down Maria. She gave her husband the 'we need to talk' look. Washington noded strenly, then turned around sharply to rethink his actions this morning wondering if he did something wrong.

A little later more kids came in

" Mr. Washington... you need help with anything?" George looked down at his desk to see Jefferson trying to peek at his work. "You didn't need help yesterday, so what about today?" Washington smiles and pats Jefferson on the head. " We have new books, I think I might need help putting the 'Level 1' stickers on them."  

Jefferson immediately lights up. " Yeah! I can do that! Where are they?"

"The back room.." Jefferson ran over to the back room in insinat. "Don't start any fights!" he hears Washington shout at him. What does he mean by that?.. I mean if jammy is in there I won't start a fight with him... Or Laffy.. Angie.. she's a different story..

As opens the door slowly opens the door, thoughts still going to his head....That is... until he looks up.....

Alexander and Laurens stare at the poofy haired kid for a bit until Alex breaks the silence. "Ew, Get out."

"No! you get out! your not supposed to be here!!" Jefferson points at them, Laurens hides behind Alex as he does the talking. "Nuh-uh your not supposed to be here, annoying babies aren't allowed-"

"Alex! we don't say that to friends." Mr. Washington walked in with a large handful of books and labled stickers. How did he open the door- no idea.

"He's not my friend.."

"Alexander!" Jefferson goes up to hug Mr. Washington's leg. "He-He called me a stupid, poofy idiot."

"DID NOT-"

"YEAH HE DIDN'T SAY THAT-" Laurens finally pitches in. Jefferson glares at both of them. "Yes he did Mr. Washington-n-n...." He whines with a very dramatic pouty expression with large puppy eyes.  " I don't know if he actually said that, but you still need to apologize for calling him a-"

"But I don't want to..." Alex whines. "It not the matter if you want to or not, it's a must Alexander-"

"But why???" He complains once more.

"Alexander.." He says more sternly. Alex whimpers before turning Jefferson who had a fat smug smile on his face. "I'm sorry ...I guess"

"That's better, now I'm gonna leave you guys here for a bit, I will come back I just need to finish some paperwork." Washington says putting the books and stickers on the table. "All you have to do is to put the sticker on bottom right corner, right next to the opening." He shows them an example and tells them to do the same. "Good! Now Don't start any fights or you will stop helping me." He warns.

The three boys nod and smile until he leaves. "Why are you two here!" Jefferson spoke first. "I asked Mr. Washington if me, Laurens, Hercules, and Laffy can help him." ( A/N: I swear he's playing with fire...) "So Herc and-"

"Call him Laffy one more time, I will give you a paper cut" Jefferson threatens holding up a book.

Alexander mouth got closed by Laurens who shook his head and whispered. "He's done it before, it was big too. He once did it to Mr. Washington when he told him no." Alexander gave Laurens an annoyed look before staring back at Jefferson who sat down and grabbed a couple books and stickers.

...

"Where's Laffy?"

"What?" Laurens picks his head up from the book he was trying to read. "You said Laffy asked to help too, Where is he?" Jefferson says, sounding more like a demand than a question. Alexander rolls his eyes. " yeah he's with Herc and Mrs. Mar-"

"IT'S YOUR FAVORITE SCHUYLAR!-"

"Don't have one." Jefferson smirked. Angelica playfully tackled Jefferson on to the floor. " OW! GELICA!" Angelica flipped her puffy hair and looked down at Jefferson with sass. " First, You didn't greet me today. Now your helping without me!"

"I thought you were with Jemmy!"

"We finish greeting people in about two to three minutes and you know that Mr." Jefferson sticks his tongue out at Angelica before laughing it off.

"Oh that's Angelica, Peggy's older sister. We like to call her Angie but Jefferson's different so he calls her Gelica." Laurens whispers. Alex nods, he remembers her from the reading center incident. She's pretty... and scary

Angelica looks up. "Oh! I didn't know you two where here. You boys had a nice morning?" she smiles.

"Yep! Are you helping us?" Laurens jumps. "Yeah! I was trying to convince Jammy to come but he said he wanted to stay in the Reading center with his blankie..." Angelica sits down in between Alexander and Jefferson.

Alexander thought it would be nice to start a conversation with her but Laurens wanted to talk to him.

"Lexi, HamHam, Hammy, Ham, Alex, exy-"

"Laurens, what are you doing?" Laurens smiles when he finally got his attention. He also has one of the stickers on his forehead-

"I just wanted to name all the nicknames I have for you." Alex smiles wide. "You forgot dunce." Ok Alex's smiles fades into a scowl.

"Jeffy! That's mean!" Angelica protested. "That's the point.." He boops Angelica's nose, making it difficult to keep her scowl.

"Well I think, one of his nicknames should be cutie~" She says booping Alex's nose. Causing the short boy to have a small hint of blush creep across his face.

"Ew, Gelica I thought you had a good nickname for him. Not a lie."

"Jeffy, what is wrong with you." Angelica's hair whipped Alex's face as she scolds Jefferson who only smiled brightly.

"He did nothing wrong, you mother-" "Call that again you bit-" "Oh you wanna fuc-"

"Jefferson hunny! Come here now!" They hear Mrs. Martha call. Jefferson got out of his seat to see what was wrong. The other three got nosey and followed.

As they walked out of the back room Jefferson fell backward due to someone running into him. "OW WH- Oh Jam-"

When Jefferson picked up James' head, he saw tears coming down his cheeks. Jefferson starts to worry. "Hey Jemmy." Jefferson hugs him hoping it'll slow his hard crying. "He started crying when I came back inside. I tried asking him what happened but he just started to cry harder." Mrs. Martha kneels down trying to help both the boys up.

"Jemmy..." Jefferson cups Madison's face and squishes it a little as he does a pouty face. He does this with Lafayette when he's sad. A small smile appears on his face but it doesn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Wha happen?" He finally asks. Madison leans in for a hug as he cries harder.

"I-I can't find my Blankie!"

[saijspellhart]

Oh noes! They're snowed in! And it's SOOOOO cold, they even have to share a bed! 😱😱😱

“Avalanchemon!” was the last thing Ladybug heard before she—and subsequently half of Paris—was buried under a mountain of snow.

She expected the cascade of snow to hit harder, to feel more crushing, feel colder, and even braced herself for it. But… something hard and warm had barreled into her chest at the last second, painfully knocking the wind from her lungs and sending them tumbling through the door of a nearby house. A wall of snow followed them inside, spilling harmlessly over their legs, but woefully sealing their exit.

“I take it that akuma was a digimon fan…” grumbled a very familiar voice. “I bet the new reboot really pissed him off.”

Ladybug coughed out a mouthful of snow, and managed to chortle, “He’s certainly raising hail.”

Her partner’s sweet timbre returned a chuckle next to her ear and added, “You’d think all this snow would help him chill out.” It was enough to send shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with blanket of snow covering them both.

For a moment it felt like home, like old times and security. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes to blink up at him that the sleek black leather and warm chartreuse of her memory melted and she was left staring up at pale ivory and sinister magenta.

An awkward silence settled between them, like someone driving a wedge between hearts that had, for the briefest moment, locked fingers. His pupils narrowed into nothing more than slits, as realization seemed to dawn on him. That once soft expression hardening until it was just as cold as the snow around them.

Chat Blanc pushed himself off of her, dislodging some of the ice, and shook himself free from the rest of it. Her breath held when he crawled away from her, slinking low. The temptation to laugh scraped the back of her throat because those Floofy ears of his were stained pink on the tips, and his usually luxurious tail fur was caked with clumps of snow.

“We can’t get out,” he stated flatly.

“What?” Ladybug kicked free of the snow mound and turned towards him, brushing it off her suit.

Chat shoved at a window, but it wouldn’t budge against the wall of white outside. She watched him stalk across the room to the other side, and attempt the other windows, all yielding the same results.

“We should try a higher floor,” she suggested, “maybe something up there will open?”

Chat Blanc started for the stairwell before she even finished the sentence, all too eager to find some sort of escape. No doubt, dreading the thought of being confined so near the spotted heroine; the only person capable of taking away his akumas. Ladybug followed after him, her heart holding out hope that they weren’t trapped inside this building while a snow akuma plunged France into an early ice age.

“No!” Chat bellowed, his voice echoing down the stairwell. “No no no no!”

Ladybug arrived on the top floor only to witness Blanc acting like a caged animal; he scratched against blocked windows, pushing at panes that hardly budged. His claws gouged paint chips from the frames and splintered wood. In one room he ripped the widow from its frame, and began digging wildly into the snow. His hands shoveling desperately at the wall of packed ice until his breaths came out as ragged wheezing.

And still he never reached the top.

About five feet up his tunnel of desperation, the snow collapsed.

If she had not been there to dig him out he might’ve been stuck, might’ve frozen to death. That close shave seemed to finally bring the realization of their predicament down upon Chat Blanc.

We’re trapped in here, together.

Him and Ladybug, snowed in together, until one of the other heroes defeated the akuma and dug them out. It was Blanc’s worst nightmare made a reality, while on the other hand it was Noir’s dream come true.

Chat felt all sorts of conflicted.

Ladybug on the other hand was weighing her options. There were at least five other heroes, and Carapace was more than capable of bestowing a new miraculous if the situation called for it, being the new Guardian of the Miracle box. Statistically someone had to be able to fight this akuma.

She gave her lucky charm a shot, but only managed to conjure up a blanket. It seemed to be a sign that even their miraculous thought they should just wait this one out.

“This is your fault,” Chat snarled, curling his lip at her.

“Excuse me!?” Ladybug retaliated, planting a hand on her hip. “I didn’t cause that akuma!”

“You almost got yourself trapped under that avalanche. If I didn’t have to save you we wouldn’t even be stuck in here now!”

“You never had to save me! That was a decision you made all your own, Chat.”

He opened his mouth to object, but shut it again, pressing his lips in a tight line.

Their argument interrupted when her miraculous beeped its warning. 

To her absolute surprise, Chat Blanc offered her privacy while she slipped away to the seclusion of a closet to feed her Kwami and recharge her powers. He muttered something about having no interest in her miraculous, and that he wasn’t like other akumas. Despite his earlier unfounded accusations Marinette couldn’t help but feel a sting of fondness for his more gentlemanly side.

It was Noir. Chat Noir would never take her miraculous. Just like it was probably Noir that tackled her, to protect her from the avalanche. Before he’d turned white she’d trusted him implicitly. It seemed that trust was not misplaced, because even as an akuma he was trying to protect her.

“What did you see when you conjured the Lucky Charm?” asked Tikki between nibbles of a macaron.

“The uhhh… the magic highlighted… Chat.” Marientte played with one of her pigtails, and tried to will the blush out of her cheeks.

“Nothing else?” the kwami pressed, “What part of Chat was highlighted?”

“All p-parts of Chat,” she stuttered out, “and nothing else… just Chat. I didn’t tell him that though,” she quickly amended. “He thinks the Lucky Charm didn’t work.”

“Seems to me the Lucky Charm wants you to stay warm… together?” Tikki winked and took another mouthful of cookie.

“Oh god… I can’t be trapped in here with him!” Marinette hissed in protest. “He kissed me last week!”

“Well technically he kissed Marinette, and you’re trapped with him as Ladybug. Besides he’s been trying to pretend like it never happened anyway. Or at the very least that it didn’t mean anything. As long as you suit up before he smells you, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Tikki had a point. Luckily the Miraculous’s magic rendered Ladybug’s scent unrecognizable. Unique only to the hero when transformed, and masking all her civilian smells.

“And didn’t you say you liked that kiss?” added the Kwami with a sly smile. “Seems to me like this would be the perfect opportunity for it to happen again. Chat stills likes Ladybug after all~”

“Tikki no! Spots on!”

Ladybug found Chat Blanc sulking near his collapsed tunnel, flexing his claws like he was contemplating a cataclysm.

“Don’t you dare, you could bring this whole house down on us, or worse.”

Chat flicked an ear in her direction and snorted. But he retracted his hand anyway, folding it over his knees. The clumps of snow on his tail had melted off now, and when he whipped said tail indignantly it made a soggy slapping noise against the wood floor.

Ladybug found herself getting lost in thought, watching the way his suit molded over his shoulders like a second skin. She noted the contours of his shoulder blades, and the muscles in the back of his neck, the way they subtly flexed every time he shifted, made even more apparent by the sheen of water coating the suit material.

“I’ve sent a message to all the other heroes, letting them know of our predicament,” she informed him, peeling her eyes from his back and attempting to find some other place to stick her gaze. “So long as I can keep my transformation up, they’ll be able to track our location.”

He flicked his tail again as some sort of acknowledgement, and it made the sad wet-mop noise once more.

“Did you want to help me find some towels so we can dry off?” The suggestion was more for his benefit than hers, as her detransformation and retransformation had resulted in a new dry Ladybug suit.

“No.”

Despite the sketchy electricity that continued to hold for now, the temperature in the building continued to plunge. Chat was sopping wet, and if she watched close enough she could see him shiver. In spite of his declination, she had a feeling he was going to want those towels sooner or later.

He’s being stubborn because he doesn’t want to be trapped with me, she reminded herself. The one person who could potentially steal all his akumas away and purify him.

“Fine, I’ll get them myself.”

He didn’t so much as react when she stalked away.

She wasn’t sure whose house this was, but it was fortunate that no one was home. Her Miraculous cure would put things back to normal before anyone realized Ladybug and Chat Blanc had raided their home.

And curled up in their bed.

That was another conundrum. There were two bedrooms in this house, but only one had a bed. She supposed someone could take the couch—should it come to that—but that would be in the same room that the avalanche had chased them in. And the floor in there was looking to be a bit flooded at the moment.

The other bedroom had been an office of sorts, and Chat had collapsed his tunnel in there.

Really the only rooms that weren’t a mess were the kitchen, laundry room, and main bedroom.

She briefly contemplated making Chat sleep on the dryer like the cat he was.

Ladybug made quick work changing the sheets on the bed with fresh linens, collecting clean comforters, and raiding the towels. She was on her way back with a stack of towels when she peeked in on Chat.

The office-like room was vacant, he wasn’t where she’d left him. But rather she found him curled up on the bed in the bedroom. Drooping ears, curled back in contempt, with eyes closed, and soggy tail wrapped around his soggy leather clad body.

“Get off that bed!”

“No.” Chat nestled deeper into the nest of blankets he had made.

“You’re getting the bed all wet!”

“Guess it’s all mine then.” Like a spiteful man child, Chat Blanc proceeded to rub his hair all over the blankets.

*Crack*

Ladybug stalked to the end of the bed, and snapped the towel tight between her fists. It was enough to make the akuma still, eyes narrowing. She noted the way his tail arced just slightly and the fur bristled.

“If you don’t get out of that bed and dry off, I will do it for you.”

“Such big talk from the weaker Miraculous holder,” he sneered up at her. “But, you’re welcome to try, Bug.” The inflection he put in that nickname dripped with challenge.

Don’t play this game with me, Blanc.

Ladybug lunged for him, but Chat was prepared and met her in a grapple, sending the two tumbling back, rolling around atop the blankets. He made a snatch for the towel, and she twisted it from his reach, taking swipes to mop the moisture from his suit and hair.

Amidst the power struggle, she purposefully knocked her yo-yo loose, and let it fall from her hip to the mattress, the twine anchored to her left hand. Chat didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he wasn’t concerned with her yo-yo. This gave her the chance to kick it beneath him, before using her other foot to kick it once more, looping it around one of his legs.

For next five minutes they continued to wrestle, and it was clear Chat had the advantage. His superior strength never giving her an inch, all the while she began to fatigue, her own muscles trembling to match him and keep from getting pinned, or thrown off. It was her own flexibility that saved her, managing to slip his holds and wiggle out of his grasp, keeping her yo-yo moving with precise kicks, taps, and flicks. Even taking note that he was being incredibly careful with his claws.

She wasn’t oblivious. All it would have taken were those cruel fish hooks to dig in, and he would have had her. His hellish claws able to pierce her suit, and cause all kinds of damage to her otherwise impenetrable Ladybug exoskeleton. And yet, through their entire brawl, he kept those claws retracted, relying solely on his own strength and agility to keep her at bay.

This was play. Despite his insistence that Ladybug was his enemy and his continued frosty attitude towards her, right here and now, she recognized that he was having fun. Their entire physical engagement nothing more than a game to him.

And something about that realization sparked hope, and the cozy embers of warmth in her chest. Every restrained swipe and every half hearted hold, only stoking her endearment, and although she fought with everything she had, exhausting herself to keep up with him, it felt more cathartic than perilous.

One of her trembling arms gave out, and Ladybug collapsed to her side, losing a grapple with the white cat.

Chat twisted and pounced, pushing her into the bed, face first, finally managing to pin her to the mattress. Futilely Ladybug slammed her foot into the mattress, seemingly one last attempt squirm free, but Chat kept firm his hold, failing to notice that the impact of her foot bounced her yo-yo one last time, where it landed just inches from her hand.

His palm applied pressure on her shoulder, making her bones creak, and he leaned down to growl next to her ear.

“I win.”

Yeah, you go ahead and relish that victory, Kitty.

She responded by tugging on her yo-yo sharply, causing the weapon to retract its twine. The string suddenly drawing tight, as all the looping and weaving she’d done during their scuffle came to a head.

“Whaaaaaaahhh!” Chat made an inhuman screech as twine tightened around him and he came down, crashing into her back, writhing like an animal. The struggling causing her yo-yo to pull tighter.

She released a breathe of triumph and rolled over to face her prey.

“I win,” she jeered back, a devilish smirk etching her face. Snatching up the towel, Ladybug shoved it into his stricken face, mopping his wet hair while she relished his immobile state.

Chat had no words, just made angry huffing sounds through his nose.

Slowly and methodically, Ladybug ran the towel over him. Though most of the water had been rubbed off onto the bed, she wanted to relish this and take her time drying him off. One floofy ear, then the next. She paused when her hands brushed his earrings. Maybe he noticed her open admiration, the way she ran her thumb over the simple gold hoops.

When she snuck a glance at his face, his gaze was turned pointedly away, frowning so hard his fangs dug into his bottom lip.

This was a familiar scene. Outside the mask, Chat often treated Marinette with this sort of indifference. Never wanting to make eye contact even whilst he pushed his head into her lap, demanding to be petted.

The temptation to stroke his ears was too much, and Ladybug chanced it.

But Chat Blanc must’ve had a lock down on his vulnerable side, because the only noise she got out of him was an annoyed growl. A stark contrast to the ease of which he would purr under Marinette’s fingers.

You would have enjoyed this if I wasn’t in the mask.

She cast a look at the trussed up and quite helpless cat, and proceeded to run the towel over him. Starting with his shoulders and working her way down his chest, then over his stomach, stopping just above his belts.

Chat made another huff, testing the binding, before letting his muscles go lax again.

“Roll, over so I can get your back and tail.”

A feral hiss spilled from his throat, and Chat barred his fangs at her.

“Don’t be a pill. I wouldn’t have had to tie you up, had you simply let me dry you off to begin with.”

Too petulant to use his words, he opted to snap at her when she attempted to touch him again. Teeth narrowing missing her wrist. Rather than be intimidated, she sharply yanked on his shoulder, forcing him onto his belly.

And that’s when she discovered the source of his foul temper.

“Oh, shit.”

Somehow, amid all their wrestling and her careful weaving of the yo-yo twine, she’d managed to catch his tail in it all. But Instead of pinned securely against his leg, it was caught between several loops, and kinked at an odd angle; no doubt incredibly painful for him.

“I am so sorry.”

Ladybug reached to free his abused tail, but the moment she touched the fur he loosed a viscous snarl and fought the bindings. I was enough to make her withdrawal.

“Do you want me to help you or not?” she snapped, pressing her hands against her thighs and leveling him with a hard look.

“You did this to me,” he spat, still barring teeth.

“You didn’t leave me with much choice,” she countered, and the lights in the apartment flickered as if responding to her ire. “And I seem to recall you welcoming me to try. That’s a challenge if I ever heard one.”

Chat looked like he was about to respond when the lights flickered again, then went out completely, plunging the room into darkness.

Oh sweet mother of mercy… Not only was she trapped with Chat, but now she couldn’t see anything.

Not that Chat will be overly affected by it, she lamented to herself. Kitty night vision and all that noise.

The excessive snow had finally managed to knock out the power in their building, and no doubt the rest of the surrounding neighborhood. Which meant no heat, and no lights. And the absence of the latter was going to make untying Chat a real chore.

“So about that tail…” Ladybug reached a hand out to his side, and placed it on his ribs.

“You know,” he rasped, sounding much less combative than before, “staying tied up until the turtle and foxy dig us out doesn’t sound so bad.”

“—I think I can get it free.” Feeling confident she knew where to touch, she moved her hands farther down, reaching out for where she thought the start of his tail might be.

“I’d rather you noAaaaa—,” Chat broke off in a strangled noise.

“That's—” Ladybug stilled her hand, and had to will herself not to squeeze. “Oh. That’s uh, nice—I mean—did I hurt you?”

“This is harassment.”

She bit down on her lip to keep from snickering. Reminding herself to focus, she slid her hand over the one cheek until she found the top of his tail. “You can sue me later,” she replied, surprised at the amount of control she had over her voice.

“I will,” he groused, “I can file sexual assault. You’ll be receiving a strongly worded letter from my—aiiiiittt!” Chat suddenly bucked beneath her hands, and she felt all his muscles go tight, even the ones in his glutes. “You do NOT need to put your fingers there!”

“Would you calm down?” she rebuked. “I’m not trying to finger you, I needed to get my hand under your tail.”

“You need to get your hands OFF my tail.”

Ladybug heaved a sigh through her nose and ignored him, following the direction of the fur until she came across the first loop of twine. Taking a moment to feel it out, she attempted to pull his tail through it.

“Stop! P-please stop!”

Immediately her hands stilled.

“Did I hurt you?”

Chat let out a shuddering breath, “…yes.”

She sucked in her own breath, and tried to calm her nerves. “Ok. Let me find my yo-yo. It’ll probably be safer if I untangle all of you, than trying to manipulate your tail from the twine.

There was a moment of two of silence as she patted around the mattress for the mechanism of the yo-yo, her hands bumping into him on occasion.

When Chat Blanc finally did speak again it was to ask, “I take it this means you’re going to be feeling up the rest of me.”

Her hands located the yo-yo next to his chest, and followed the twine along his defined shoulder blades before it disappeared below his rib cage.

“Why, Chat,” she teased, “before you were akumatized you would have loved that.”

His response was a snort that she could have sworn sounded amused, before arching his body so she could reach below his chest. “Just, tell me how I need to move, my La—uh… Bug.”

~0000~

This part one of a two part uh…. drabble? Oneshot? This got a lot longer than I expected. There’s another part coming. 

Part of my Floofy-eared Chat Blanc AU. 

If you guys like what I do and want to help support me, consider buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/z8z299sh

[wizardessheart-sideb]

Since I was up so early in the morning, it was hard waking up. Part of me wanted to ask Isabelle to just drag me out of bed, but somehow, I managed to get up and ready. When I got to class, I took my usual spot next to Tsukasa.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“Do I look that bad?”

He waited a second too long to answer.

“You look tired.” So it was bad, wasn’t it?

“Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep this morning,” I admitted as I pulled my notebook out. He gave me a sympathetic look, patting my arm. I gave him a soft smile.

“Hopefully you can take a nap after classes,” he suggested.

“I plan on it.” I glanced to the side to see Viggo and Fandamilia’s places empty. Even if Isabelle didn’t like her, she was nice to me and I would give her the benefit of the doubt for now. “Where’s Millie?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since last night” Tsukasa shrugged. “Maybe she’ll come in later.”

“She probably will,” Clive spoke up from my right. “If she drinks too much, she’ll miss our classes before lunch.” Was… Was this something normal with her? I gave Clive a quizzical look and he deflated a bit. “Fandamilia likes partying. I’m sure she just had too much to drink and she’ll be here by lunch.”

But she didn’t show. I kept waiting for her to come in late. I waited for her to come in after lunch. But she didn’t show up. Normally, I wouldn’t be worried and Clive kept trying to convince me it was fine, that she was probably just nursing a hangover, but it didn’t sit right with me. She’d been so upset last night. Was she okay?

The bell rang, dismissing us. I shoved my things into my bag and hurried back to the dorms, trying to find Fandamilia’s room. As I got to the top floor, there was only one suite that had the door shut. I opened it and immediately heard muffled sobbing. Viggo sat on the ground outside a door, arms folded over his chest. For a moment, he perked up, but then he went back to looking sour.

“Oh. It’s just you,” he said.

“Uh, hi?” I looked at the door behind him. The nameplate read “Fandamilia and Catrina.” So the crying was coming from her room. “Is… Is Fandamilia crying?”

“Yeah,” he answered, rolling his eyes. I moved to knock on the door, but Viggo grabbed my leg. “Hold on. She’s not going to let you in.”

“How do you know?”

“She didn’t let me in.” Again, that awful attitude. What is it with men here?!

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re different people,” I couldn’t help but snap back. “Maybe she’ll let me in.”

“Aw, you’re being sassy with other men? I’m heartbroken.”

“Huh?!” I turned around to see Zett standing in the doorway, dramatically pretending to faint. “Zett?! What’re you doing here?!” Seriously?! We’re doing this AGAIN?!

“Viggo asked me to bring him some things.” He gave me a smile as he moved towards Viggo, who stood up. “You know, I was going to call you out for having a party without me when you told me what you wanted, but…” His eyes flicked over to Fandamilia’s door.

“You got it though, right?” Viggo asked.

“Of course I did.” Zett reached into his peram and pulled out a couple of bottles of wine. It suddenly clicked.

“Viggo, do you really think this is the right time to give Fandamilia alcohol?” I demanded.

“What else am I supposed to give her?”

“Money to go to therapy?” Zett suggested, folding his arms. “What happened?”

“She got into a fight with her crush and she’s been crying ever since,” Viggo told him. I knew she wasn’t doing that great last night when she stood up for us, but I had no idea she’d be this distraught over what happened.

“Oh, so you’re just going to give her wine until she forgives you?” Zett asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It was someone else,” I told him. He looked like he wanted to die.

“Oh. Uh, still, do you think this is the right thing to do? She’s the one with the drinking problem, right?” Zett said, although he still looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Look, I’d love to do something else for her, but I can’t. She can’t go to therapy and this is the only thing besides books that I can give her to make her feel better and make her stop crying,” Viggo argued.

“You’re loaded. Just help her pay for sessions,” Zett suggested.

“No, it’s – ugh. I don’t want to air out her trauma, but therapy triggers her,” Viggo said. My heart broke for her. Zett frowned, eyes cast down onto the floor.

“That sucks that she can’t get help,” he said. Viggo sighed and folded his arms against his chest.

“Believe or not, she is. She’s better here than in the Day Class. The Prefects there are so incompetent. Noir and Blanc can help her better than they could,” Viggo told us. They could help? They were more helpful than the Day Class Prefects? Why would the Day Class even be involved with us? “This is just a security blanket for her. She’ll be fine as long as I’m close by,” Viggo said. Zett’s eyes slid over to Fandamilia’s door and he cringed.

“Are you sure about that?” Viggo glared at him and even though it wasn’t directed at me, a shiver ran down my back. Nope. You know what? This wasn’t my problem. I felt bad for Fandamilia but she wasn’t going to be coming out anytime soon and this atmosphere was getting stressful. I slipped out of the room and headed to Tsukasa’s suite. He’d probably want to know what was happening with Fandamilia.

I wandered the halls for a while before finding the suite. Tsukasa was in his kitchen, a plate of cinnamon-sugar toast in front of him. He perked up when our eyes met and he gave me a small wave.

“So, uh, I found Fandamilia. She’s doing bad,” I said, sitting down across from him. He sighed, face scrunching up.

“I was worried about that,” he said.

“Did stuff happen at the Night Cafe after I left with Zeus, or…?” I asked. Tsukasa put his piece of toast down and nodded.

“Yeah. Fandamilia started crying after you two left and she tried to order more drinks and I guess you can guess where it went from there,” he told me. So this has been going on for a while now…

“Is she really that upset over talking back to Zeus? Does she like him that much?”

“I guess. I don’t really know her,” Tsukasa shrugged. “Did you see her?”

“No. I went to her dorm and Viggo was sitting outside it and I could hear her crying from out in the hallway,” I informed him. Tsukasa sadly shook his head as he listened. We stayed and chatted for a bit, both of us resolving to go see Fandamilia later and check on her. I know Viggo was doing what he thought was best, but letting her get drunk wasn’t going to do her any favors.

It was getting late and I headed back to my own suite for dinner. As I approached it, I noticed the door was shut. Huh. I hadn’t seen a closed suite door at all and for some reason, it made me feel apprehensive. But I opened the door and as soon as I did, I could hear yelling coming from the kitchen. It was Isabelle. I didn’t exactly want to eavesdrop, but she made it hard to avoid it.

“You are such a fucking idiot sometimes, I swear!” she shouted at someone. Was she fighting with Aika? Or Dorian? Or someone else?

“I know, I know, Izzy, lay off.” My heart pounded at that voice. He really was just popping up everywhere in my life, wasn’t he? Something possessed me and I peeked into the kitchen. Isabelle was at the stove, hands on her hips, and Zett was at the table, looking sheepish of all things. Isabelle’s magenta eyes met mine and her face softened a bit.

“Ugh. How much did you hear?” she asked.

“Um, just that’s Zett’s an idiot and he knows this,” I replied. Her shoulders slumped a bit, as if a weight was off them. Zett laughed.

“Isabelle’s right to be mad at me, don’t worry about it,” he told me. “But we all make mistakes, right?” Isabelle’s eyes widened and the look on her face was… Well, she looked like she was about to snap.

“Bitch, you tried to sell drugs to a COP. That’s… ugh!” She turned back to the stove, working on something in a bowl. I looked back to Zett, incredulous.

“You did what?”I demanded. Again, he looked sheepish.

“I made a bad business decision and now Viggo’s letting me stay with him until things die down a bit in town,” he said.

“Really? He’s letting you stay with him? He looked pretty mad earlier,” I said.

“Oh yeah, he’s mad, but I asked for a favor instead of him paying me for the errand, so…” He grinned at me, resting his chin on top of his hand. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from here on out.”

“I can’t believe you’re acting so nonchalant about this,” Isabelle spoke up harshly, whipping around to face him. “You’re acting like this is some joke to you.”

“I mean, it is kind of funny I almost sold magic cocaine to a cop,” Zett said. I didn’t know what part of that sentence to address first.

“You’re going to end up getting killed someday if you keep this up,” she said, pointing a batter-covered spatula at him. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I have a retirement plan, but I’m nowhere near where I want to be,” he said.

“Why have a retirement plan? Do you really think you’re going to live to see thirtyat this rate? It’s a miracle you haven’t already been killed,” Isabelle said.

“Don’t underestimate me, I have-”

“Your ways, I know. To be honest, I don’t think you’re as clever as you think you are, but really, this is more about others. No one in town likes you except maybe that one girl you keep talking about, the one in the cult. Do you really you can keep going on like this here?” she demanded.

“Look, I get it, Isabelle. Can you please lay off me?” Zett’s eyes narrowed and there was a harsh edge to his voice. On one hand, I understood Isabelle’s frustration but on the other hand, she was being a little harsh. But she was right. Zett could easily get himself killed. And it was only because of a favor that he would be safe for however long he was hiding out here.

Jeez. The last couple of days have thrown curve balls at me. Not only was school hard (which I knew), but it felt like everyone was tied to Zett. And I had no idea if that was a good thing or not.