#it's not on those sketch pages but it really took me like 8+ tries to figure out what i wanted to do with the wings hbfvshd

[keeps-ache]

break time on the grass :)

[here's the timelapse !]

[15-dogs]

resident healer |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x healer!artist!reader

summary: newt’s brother theseus hires you as his resident healer without newt’s knowledge. however, newt has little use for you so you put your other skills to the test as you spend each day falling a little harder for the man who won’t even speak to you. (super super fluffy! mutual pining, enemies(ish/mild dislike LMAO) to lovers, miscommunication, flustered newt!!)

warnings: extremely minimal swearing, injury, mention of blood

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 3.6K

a/n: it’s official y’all i’m in love with newt asjdhsj sorry sorry

Newt gasped in pain, jerking his hand away from the Occamy that bit harshly at his finger. He squatted down to meet its eyes, frowning as he scolded, “Don’t be rude.” 

The Occamy simply squawked back. Newt tutted, snatching a snack for the small thing beside its nest and tossing them up in the air. The Occamies in the nest all hopped up, hurrying to retrieve the treats before the others did. Newt shook his head with a chuckle as he moved away from the creatures and onto the next.

“Mr. Scamander,” Bunty called from the top of the stairs which led to his apartment, “Miss (Y/L/N) is here.”

Newt dried his hands off on his pants, brows furrowed in confusion. He’d never heard that name before and he knew he wasn’t expecting a guest, so who was at his door? Newt shrugged his vest back on as he made his way up the stairs, his eyes trained on the buttons he was doing up. He was so focused on the task at hand that he forgot he was in the landing of his apartment, his leg lifted in preparation to take another step which led him to tumble into the wall ahead.

“Mr. Scamander!” Bunty gasped. She ran to his side instantly, checking to see if he was injured. She held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes as he tried to pull away. “You really hit your head, didn’t you?”

Newt blinked in shock, finally wiggling free of her grasp and walking backwards into his den. “No, I’m fine, Bunty, thank you.”

In his efforts to move away from her, Newt bumped into another figure, nearly tipping him over. He steadied himself before turning around, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Scamander,” you said, warmly. You extended your hand for him to shake, which he did so hesitantly.

“Right, yes.” His eyes scoured the room as he gathered his words. “And you are?”

You looked over him with an involuntary cock of your head, your brows knit together. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Not really, no.”

You laughed humorlessly. “And I suppose you don’t know why I’m here, either.”

Newt cleared his throat and stood a little taller, still fiddling with his wand. “I’m sorry, should I?”

You knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, but you couldn’t help but be a little offended at his words. You were there for him. It was quite literally your job. You gave him a slight frown before straightening out your clothing to keep yourself busy.

“I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m your new resident Healer.”

Newt began to smile as if you had said something quite funny. He looked up at Bunty, nodding his head towards the door to his basement. She scrambled down as he continued to converse with you.

“My resident Healer?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Yes, I was hired.”

Those words were like a bucket of ice on Newt’s content mood. His smile had dropped from his face and he stopped fiddling with his wand. His eyes slowly drifted up to yours, asking the silent question of who? Who would’ve hired such a thing for him? 

You could tell from the irritation swimming in his eyes that he knew exactly who had hired you. From the second you saw Newt, you knew he wasn’t a scary person, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Theseus, your brother, did.”

Newt swallowed hard, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor as he thought. It seemed like forever that you sat in tense silence, hoping you hadn’t done something wrong by telling him. Finally, Newt shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth as he paced around the room, ending at the door and opening it.

“I don’t need a Healer. I’ve been fine on my own thus far.”

You took a step towards him, his eyes still focused on the cold street outside. “Mr. Scamander, I don’t think you understand. I’m a private Healer. I work for no affiliation. I have been hired here and I intend to keep this job.”

“My apologies, Miss (Y/L/N), but I feel your talents would be of better use elsewhere.”

Newt rested a hand on your upper back, pushing you closer towards the door until you were halfway out of it. He refused to meet your eyes as you protested, simply shutting the door in your face. His hand hovered over the doorknob for one minute more as he heard your sighs of exasperation from the other side, a sick feeling settling into his stomach. 

When silence finally dawned on the apartment, Newt began to walk away only to hear the distinct sound of ripped paper from outside. He paused and turned just in time to see a note slipped under the door, the sound of your shoes clicking down the stone steps as background noise. Newt squatted to pick up the note, scoffing at your indignant message.

I’ll be here tomorrow at 8 AM, Mr. Scamander.

Best,

(Y/N)

•••

You sat on Newt’s perfectly done up couch, picking at the quilt that sat beside you on the arm of it. Your leg was bouncing and your eyes scoured the room, begging it to give you something to do other than just wait around.

Newt popped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he ran up and down between his basement and the main floor. You would glance at him out of the corner of your eye every time he did so, wishing he would give you anything to do.

After the fifth time he arrived upstairs, he paused to look at you. You sat at attention, awaiting his useful instructions.

With a limp point towards the room across from him, he stated, “There’s food in the pantry. Help yourself.”

Your hands gripped onto the quilt, balling it up in your fists to contain your anger. You sent a vicious smile Newt’s way and he sent a wary one back before running downstairs.

You had considered yourself to be a person of immense patience, but Merlin was that man testing you. Every day after that you sat on his couch, examining the apartment, hoping that he would come up from his workshop and beg you to help him. 

At some point in your weeks of sitting, you stopped dressing the part of Healer. You stopped caring. He clearly didn’t need you but you clearly couldn’t leave, so you took the necessary steps to make that hellish limbo a bit more comfortable. You brought novels and notebooks, blankets and pillows, all so you could sit on Newt Scamander’s couch and pretend you were his star Healer.

Feeling entirely useless one day, you decided to pull out your notebook and sketch a few items around the apartment. If you couldn’t practice one talent, why not practice the other? You ended up drawing a plethora of strange items from where you sat; all of which you assumed to be objects used in his care for his creatures.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as the soft clang of a dinner plate was placed in front of you. You looked up and spotted Newt across the room at his kitchen table as he took a bite of his dinner with one hand and tucked his wand away with the other. You searched the room for a moment, wondering if that was some kind of trap— Newt had never eaten with you before, let alone make you dinner. You picked up the dish with severe caution, carefully taking a bite and smiling softly at how wonderful it tasted.

Your silent dinners became a regular occurrence. You didn’t bother talking to him and he didn’t bother talking to you. You would finish your meal and then pick up whatever you were doing prior until 8:00 when you left.

As you sat on his couch, curled up under a blanket with your sketchbook, you looked over the room to see if there was anything different to draw when your eyes landed on Newt, himself. He was reading a book, splaying the pages open as he chewed on the thumb of his opposite hand. Something about the way he sat was so poetic, and the next thing you knew you were drawing his portrait.

You began to draw his portrait every dinner, a sudden infatuation with the way he looked blossoming within you. After dinner one day, Newt came up to you to collect your plate rather than just charming it to fly to the sink.

“Do you draw?” he asked.

You, so alarmed by his presence, shouted, “No!” and slammed your sketchbook shut, praying to Merlin that he didn’t see his pictures.

“I just thought you were because…” Newt trailed off as he referenced the ink stains on your hands and shapes of objects that must’ve rubbed off on you. 

You flushed, finally nodding with a quiet, “Yes, I draw. Not very well, but I quite like it.”

He sunk into the spot next to you, his leg bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful artist. If you’d ever care to show me some time, I’m sure my opinion will be justified.”

Your cheeks turned pink and you ducked your head to avoid his stare. “Yes, maybe at some point.”

Newt let out a gratified sigh before stalking over to the kitchen, butterflies occupying your stomach. You knew then that you didn’t like drawing him because he was fun to draw. No, you realized that you were quite infatuated with the man who barely spoke a word to you but you had the feeling that you were going to change that.

•••

“Mr. Scamander-”

“Please,” he began, looking at you over his shoulder, “it’s Newt.”

“Right, yes, Newt.” You stood up from his couch with his book in hand, trailing after him as he paced around his apartment. “I’ve been reading your book. It’s quite fascinating, I have to say.”

His steps slowed to a stop and his eyes lit up. “You like it?”

You only looked up from his book when you rammed straight into him. You teetered backwards but his strong arms caught you, holding you flush against his chest. “I-I do.” You wiggled out of his grasp, fearing the increase in your heart rate. “I just, er, find it fascinating that you keep all those creatures in your basement, not more than a few meters below us.”

He shrugged, continuing his pacing until he stopped by the basement door. “Not all of them, but a great deal.” Newt averted his eyes towards the ground, a shy smile spreading across his lips. “I could show you if you like? You could take your sketchbook down and draw some up for me.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Bunty has the day off and I could use your company-” Newt cut himself off, his eyes wide and blush creeping up his cheeks. “The company, is what I meant. Just some company, is all. Well, that’s not to say I don’t like your company— I’m partial to it, actually— but-”

You chuckled, snatching your sketchbook from your bag on the couch. You passed by the man, stopping to look him once over. “I enjoy your company, too, Newt.”

You spent the rest of the day in the basement with Newt as he explained each creature to you  with the glee of a child. You smiled, wondering if he’d ever smile at you the way he smiled at his beasts, but quickly dismissed the thought.

You ended up drawing some of his creatures, particularly focused on the Murtlap that scurried around its cage. After you had finished a rough sketch of the creature, you had turned to show Newt when you were stopped in your tracks by the sight before you; Newt had a Bowtruckle perched on his finger, speaking to it like a friend, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a plethora of scars on his collarbone. Your mouth went dry and you knew then and there that you had to draw him.

You focused on every crinkle of his smile, the sharpness of his jaw, the pure adoration behind his eyes. Newt was encapsulating. Everything about him drove you wild. It was almost embarrassing how he made you feel so mad but you couldn’t help it— you were at the point past no return.

As the day came to a close, Newt cleaned up around his basement as his eyes flickered in between you and the broom he held. You had propped his book up on your leg so that you could draw in some more specific details about the creatures you had sketched, wanting it to look perfect if Newt was going to see. He let out a soft exhale in amusement at your contorted position, alerting you to his presence.

“May I see?” His eyes drifted towards your notebook, just grazing over your body.

You nodded and moved over for him to sit next to you. Fortunately, you had been practicing some charms and learned how to hide some of your drawings— specifically the ones of Newt.

To your surprise (and delight), Newt slid up next to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You let out a shaky breath and met his eyes with a weak smile as you shoved the sketchbook into his arms. His eyes fell downwards towards the drawings, a pit forming in your stomach as he scanned over them.

 Every time he would flip the page, he would mutter a compliment to you. It was always something specific, something targeted, as if to make you aware that he was truly fascinated by your drawings.

“You captured Molly’s tuft of white fur perfectly,” he murmured, running a rough finger across the drawing of the Niffler you did. He flipped to the next page, chuckling to himself. “And the Glow Bugs are just...lovely. That’s Poppy right there, I can tell.”

You beamed at him, unable to control how he made you feel. Newt carefully set the journal down behind him as he scanned your face.

“You’re quite...you have this...well, you…” he stammered as he fiddled with his fingers.

“What is it?” you prodded, your voice no more than a whisper.

“You’re...beautiful.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes involuntarily flickered down towards his lips. Your hand crept its way over his, tracing the scars on the back of it with your thumb as you leaned in closer towards him.

“Mr. Scamander!” a familiar voice called from the top of the stairs, causing the two of you to jump apart. You both looked up to find Bunty padding down the stairs, a wide smile on her face. “Mr. Scamander! I know you said I had the day off but I wasn’t doing much today and thought I could be of some use here!”

Newt glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a problem, Bunty, you can head home.”

“But I’m really not doing anything!”

“Well, I suppose you could help me do final bed checks and whatnot.”

Bunty nodded, scurrying around to do her tasks with an eager grin. Newt flashed you a shy smile as he stood up, his fingers still tangled in yours before he pulled away.

•••

Newt appeared out of his bedroom in the same fashion he did every morning: hurried. However, that time, he shrugged on a coat and walked towards the door of his apartment.

“Going somewhere?” you questioned.

“Yes, I’m off to the Ministry for the day. Bunty’s here if you need anything.”

And with that, Newt left.

Things had been strange since you had almost kissed no more than three days ago. Newt kept all your interactions strictly professional, meaning you were back to barely speaking again. It was frustrating, to say the least, and it made you question whether Newt really didn’t feel the same towards you, that you were coming on to him.

You had been stuck in that void of thinking for days. You would find yourself flipping through your sketchbook and landing on one of the many sketches you did of Newt, frowning as your mind began to spin expert lies to break your heart.

“(Y/N)!”

You could practically hear him calling your name.

“(Y/N)! Please!”

That was real. And it wasn’t Newt, either. It was Bunty.

You hopped off the couch, swapping your sketchbook for your Healer’s bag. You knew the voice of an injured person when you heard it and you weren’t about to take any chances that your instincts were wrong.

You made your way downstairs, finding Bunty by the Occamy nest holding her forearm, some blood seeping through her fingers. You ran up to her, wand drawn as you enchanted the necessary items to fly from your bag.

“Keep your breathing steady and your eyes on me, Bunty,” you said firmly. Bunty nodded, looking down at you with tears crowding her eyes. “Did the Occamy get you?”

“Y-yes. He got out of his nest and into another cage and grew quite a bit larger. I tried to take him back but he bit me.”

“Merlin, Bunty, that’s awful. But I can assure you that you’ll be perfectly fine. You don’t have any serious injuries that I can see.”

You poured a few droplets of an amber liquid from your bag, the skin stretching across her arm to heal the wound. She squealed in pain and you slipped your hand into hers, allowing her to squeeze it to deal with the pain.

“It’s almost over, I promise. We’ll get you to St. Mungo’s after just in case, too. You’re doing fantastic, Bunty. This potion, well, excuse my language but it hurts like a bitch.”

Bunty let out a strangled laugh, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. You patted her hand, flashing your signature Healer smile at her as you got to your feet. Your bag magically packed itself as you helped Bunty up beside you, wrapping an arm around her and apparating off to the hospital.

You had settled things with the Assistant Healer at St. Mungo’s and Bunty assured you that she didn’t need you there with her for her tests no matter how many times you protested. She simply thanked you, explained that she felt fine already, and squeezed your hand before shooing you off to apparate back to Newt’s apartment.

You arrived back in the basement, snatching your medical bag and making your way upstairs. Your footsteps slowed as you heard quiet murmurs of appraisal coming from the den, the flipping of used parchment scraping against itself.

Your sketchbook.

You darted out into the den, finding Newt back early from his trip to the Ministry with your sketchbook in hand, marveling at the pictures you drew of him. Your heart thundered inside your chest and you went light headed at the sight, your face overheating instantly.

“Did you draw these?” he asked. In an impossible sense, Newt’s tone was entirely neutral as was his expression. Nothing. You couldn’t read anything off of him.

“Give that back.” You dropped your bag and swung your wand out in an attempt to retrieve the book, only to have Newt throw a countercurse at you. You sucked in a sharp breath before trying again only for the same result to be repeated.

“You drew these,” he stated. He met your anxious eyes with furrowed brows, which only worsened the black hole growing inside you.

“There’s no point in denying it, Newt.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing your hands up and down as your own personal security blanket.

“I think that your drawings are lovely.” Your eyes snapped up to his and he cowered at his statement. “Not because it’s me, that’s not why they’re lovely. It’s because it’s you— obviously not you, it’s me— but you drew them and I’d love for you-”

Feeling rather emboldened by his rambling, you cut Newt off with a defiant statement.

“I like you.”

Newt was silent.

You continued.

“A lot, actually.” You ran a hand through your hair with a wry laugh. “A stupid amount, really. I can’t get you out of my head in a maddening sort of way. And I know that you’re saying you like the drawings but I understand if you’re lying. I think I’d be rather perturbed if I found a journal full of my face, too.”

“Don’t say that,” he muttered with a dismal shake of his head.

“It’s true! It’s odd!”

“No, please don’t say that. It’s not.” With every declaration, Newt’s voice got a little louder

“Why-”

“Because I fancy you!” he shouted, leaving you in a stunned silence. “Sorry.”

You blinked in confusion. Newt fancied you. Newt fancied you. You repeated it over and over again in your head, trying to make sense of his foreign words. You met his worried gaze and whispered to confirm your suspicions, “You fancy me?”

“I-I do.” He laughed to himself, scuffing his foot against the floor. “You’re beautiful and...and witty, and intelligent, and you have this intense gaze like a crow, and it’s just all beautiful. You’re beautiful.” His words tumbled from his mouth like he didn’t have enough time in the world to tell you how he truly felt.

If Newt was going to act like there was no time left, then you were, too. Your wand fell from your loosened grasp as you ran up to him, falling into a deep kiss. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before he embraced you, holding you as tight to his body as he could so his lips could still be connected to yours.

You pulled away, gasping for air as he rested his forehead against yours. He reached a calloused thumb up to rub over your bottom lip before venturing up to your cheekbone.

Seems as if he did need a Healer after all.

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

general taglist:  @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft @for-bebbanburg

[vicious-vixxxen]

Ugh. I’ll I’ve been able to think about for days is Kirishima.

Pro Hero Red Riot is always on the move. Always busy. Saving people, doing interviews, kissing babies, the whole nine yards.

When you and Kiri started dating fresh out of UA you knew what you were signing up for. Being part of the hero support course yourself, never afforded you much grandeur or fame, but that was okay. You were trusted with one of, if not the most important part of a hero’s identity- their suit. You were more than happy to tinker away at revisions, or sketching new styles for up and comers, than being out on the field.

You were the only one in the support class, even above Power Loader himself, who Kirishima took his costume and ideas to. You’d made the very first alterations to his hero costume when he first arrived at UA, after the USJ attack. From then on it was sort of a wonderfully professional relationship. As professional as someone like Kiri could be- all large toothy grins, bad jokes, and hands on communications. /Very/ hands on. Kirishima never thought twice about leaning over your shoulder to watch you sketch up the inner workings of other suits, breath ghosting the shell of your ear, always warm and sweet, like all he consumed was candy.

Or sitting next to you, thighs and sides flush as you grew frustrated over his helmet design. He’d snicker and lay one large hand over your own- because by his third year he was already towering over half the staff, let alone the students- to drag your pencil in a different direction, voice soft and secret, just for you.

You never spoke outside of the support class really, especially as the years progressed. Kiri was class 1A after all, and as your own talents started to blossom, the busier you were kept as well. Being consulted to help pros with their designs in just your second year.

But you treasured the hours after school you got to spend with Kirishima. He’d never struck you as particularly male leaning, so while you’d entertain the idea sometimes, in the privacy of your dorm room, of being Kirishima’s boyfriend, you didn’t allow it to mess up the relationship you’d built with the other boy. You chalked it up to your first real crush, and, having always been an overtly rational individual, knew you’d work through it sooner or later. Unwilling to entertain the idea of not even being friends with Kiri. Cuz being his friend would always be better than nothing at all.

But imagine your surprise, the day after graduation, when he arrived at your doorstep. Flowers and chocolates in hand, and a thick envelope nearly bursting at the seams, filled with letters he’d been writing to you over the course of your high school careers.

Apparently, Kirishima hadn’t wanted to trouble you with his feelings when you two were so focused on school, and absorbing as much as you could, and for good reason. But now, he’d stated so clearly- the hesitance behind his wavering grin made your chest tight- you were both adults, out in the world, and if you’d have him, he’d love to take you out.

The rest was sort of history.

Three years later, still going strong.

Though Red Riots newest ranking- from his wavering 7-8, all the way up to 4, had meant an influx in work the last 3 weeks. Kirishima been all over Japan, helping out on various reconnaissance missions, interviews of the rising hero variety, and just generally being kept busy by his agency.

Kiri popped in ever few days, when he could. A quick dinner and cuddle till he had to leave again. A nice long Skype session as he was flown to a new mission, if you were lucky. But the two of you always made things work. You loved each other too much to even entertain the idea of your professional loved interfering to the point of no return, in your personal lives.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t hard, but it did mean it was a manageable. Especially when the two of you tried so hard.

And your combined hard work paid off. Kirishima had been praised internationally, after a mission he was brought in for in Europe went fantastically. The Japanese Hero Commission splashing Red Riot on the front page of anything that consisted of pages, honestly. And awarding him privately with paid time off.

Paid. Time. Off.

That had been yesterday, Friday evening. You’d both returned home late, and despite how tired you both were, it didn’t stop you from fully christening some new sheets you’d bought, before passing out together.

The christening of which you recalled as you sat, sprawled out on the sofa in the living room- one leg thrown back over the back of the sofa, the other extended out towards the opposite end. A book in hand in front of you, free arm cradled behind your head. Trying to focus on the pages, as the bright, early morning sun splashed across them.

Which was hard, when all you could focus on was the blossoming bruises on your inner thighs, and pleasant ache in your ass, and the sting of the bite on your neck whenever you turned your neck even a fraction.

The night previous had been rushed, all teeth, and gnawing, and clawing, and racing towards the end together. It was wonderful, and you’d always loved the aftermath Kirishima would leave on your body. Ever the closet possessor he was.

He’d never been much of an early riser, so it was another two or so hours of trying and failing to read for you, before the familiar sounds of large, lumbering footsteps could be heard slowly making their way downstairs. You smiled, cheeks flushing, despite the many years you’d known the man, as you caught a glimpse of his wild, shoulder length red hair first. Soft at the tips, wild at the root. Kirishima yawned, ducking below the entryway into the living room, and just barely catching you staring, before you lifted your book higher to block his view of your face.

You could practically hear the grin behind his chuckling, as he stalked towards you with more purpose now. His legs in view under your book, and his hair a plum of red above the top as he crouched at the edge of the sofa. Two large hands cupping each of your feet- teasing your toes briefly, snickering at how you giggled behind your book.

Kirishima’s eyes raked over you slowly- noting what seemed to him, as miles of gorgeous, unblemished skin, ready to be marked up. Clad in just a pair of briefs you’d thrown on before coming downstairs, almost every inch of you was bare to your husband. Kirishima drinking it in slowly, as he crawled above you on the sofa. Hardening just one fingertip, and tracing it from your ankle, all the way up to your inner thigh, as he towered over you on the sofa finally. The prick of sharpness on the soft flesh of your thigh causing a hitch in your breath. Which you held, until Kiri’s finger turned smooth once more, and he took a handful of the meatiest part of your thigh into his hand, and /squeezed/.

((NSFW warning ahead, I can’t help myself so continue reading at your own risk ;3))

“Ei-Chan,” you breathed out finally, setting your book down on the floor beside you. Bright red eyes meeting yours, as one of your hands found it’s way into Kirishima’s thick locks, the other wrapping around his broad back, palm settled just between the mans shoulder blades.

“Marked you up good last night, huh pebble?” Kirishima snickered, and you huffed. Faux annoyed as you smacked the mans back, tensing once more as Kiri’s fingers danced along the bruises and bite marks littering your thigh. Tapping each one gently, causing you to flinch with pleasure each time, before he moved to your other thigh. Doing the same, as he dipped his face down into the crook of your neck, and just breathed.

The shaky sigh he let out afterwards was victory enough for you, you reasoned, as even the mans strong shoulders shook as he breathed you in.

“Missed me that much, huh?” Kirishima nodded quickly, nosing along your neck, huffing like a puppy as he went.

“I missed you too,” you reminded him, biting into the mans shoulder gently, as the hand on his back drifted down to Kirishima’s ass, and you shook it jokingly. Feeling the weight of the mans cheek jiggle in your palm, laughing despite yourself as Kiri growled at you.

“Don’t tease me, dude,” Kiri mock cried, pulling back to give you a pout, as the hand on your inner thigh drifted center again, where, unprompted, Kirishima cupped your cock through your underwear. Smirk tugging at his bitten lips- bad habit he’d always had, you’d long since stopped trying to get him to fix it- as he ground his palm against you, almost too rough, and you groaned. Eyes fluttering shit, lip between your own teeth as he bucked up, shifting your hips just right to grind your quickly stiffening cock against Kirishima’s hand.

“So eager,” Kirishima mused, balking suddenly as you moved your hand cupping his ass, into his boxers- palming at his cheek briefly, before two fingers delved into the hot cleft of his bubble butt, brushing just briefly against the tight pucker of his hole, causing the larger man to twitch, and fall flat against you. Tense for all of two seconds, before he propped his ass back up, and wiggled against your fingers.

“You’re one to talk,” you laughed, head tilted back, long enough for Kirishima to latch onto your Adam’s apple, and suck hungrily as he continued to stroke you through your underwear. Lasting all of two seconds, before shredding through them with a finger, and taking your cock in his hand.

“Those were my best Calvins, jackass,” you huffed, brushing Kiri’s hair back out of his eyes as he leaned up- holding your gaze as he let a long string of spit fall from his Mouth- letting it drip down the side of your cock, before he slicked you up, and began stroking you in earnest. Hot, and wet, calloused palm perfectly rough, and you were putty.

Mewling and fucking into Kiri’s fist with quiet, breathy ‘Ei-Chan’s’ rolling off your tongue. Clinging to enough sense, barely, to bring two fingers up to your mouth to wet, before shoving them back down and into Kiri’s ass, teasing his hole briefly, before sinking your middle finger to the hilt in his hole- both of you moaning out, Kiri at the intrusion, and you at the spasming heat of his tight hole, like a vice on your finger as you fucked the man on it slowly.

You both shifted, Kirishima up on his knees, bringing you into his lap to stroke the two of you together, constantly spitting down on your lengths, hot and filthy, to keep you wet, as the larger man began to pant into your face. Morning breath be damned, you finally, /finally/, kissed him. Reaching between the two of you to cup Kirishima’s heavy ball sac as you did, kneading them gently, and tugging on them whenever Kirishima began to breath a little too heavily.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you so much, so so much, love- love- ah, fuck- love,” Kirishima whined, vulnerable in a way no one else would ever get to see him as you took over for him- needing both hands to stroke both he and yours impressive lengths, Kiri’s hands at your back holding you up in his lap- his arms shook with the force it took, especially as he neared his orgasm.

“Cum for me, Ei,” you whispered against a Kirishima’s lips, eating up his whimpered pleas as they ghosted your lips. “Come on, big guy, cum. Cum all over me, Ei, Mark me up. I wanna feel it, on my cock. Come on.” And that was all it took. With a loud shout, Kirishima’s grip on you tightened, and he hun he’d over your shoulder, quiet all of the sudden, before making a sound like he’d been punched in the gut as he began to cum. Cock thickening up, before pump after pump of thick, hot cum burst from the top of it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight long ropes of cum shooting out all over your chest, and combined cocks, before slowing to a dribble every time Kirishima’s cock throbbed.

You overworked him though, his softening cock, and your own hard length making the filthiest squelching noises as you continued to overstimulate your husband- his cries into your shoulder sending you over the edge, as you leaned against his shoulder, and came undone yourself. Adding to the sticky, hot mess in your laps, before the both of you went quiet. Just the deep, heavy sighs as you caught your breath together filling your the surrounding space.

“My dick feels like it’s gonna fall off,” Kiri muttered finally, leaning you both back into the sofa- making a mental note to get it deep cleaned, as he snuggled you deep into the cushions- his spit wet hands skimming your sides, before they slid beneath you , and he settled comfortably on top. Careful of his weight, always too conscious of crushing you- unless you asked for it, that was, he thiight idly. Fondly.

“We’ve got the next eight days all to ourselves, so I’d maybe see if he can hold out till at least then. Though I’d accept an early leave- no earlier than Thursday, I suppose, if he can’t keep up,” you drawled, wiping your cum covered hands on your stomach as best you could, before wrapping your arms around Kirishima’s waist, and closing your eyes.

“Eight days,” Kirishima echoed, kissing your closed eyes, closing his own as he did so, and shifting to lay more comfortably, face in your neck as he felt sleep threatening to take him once again.

“Eight days,” you parroted back again, snickering, and yawning. Ignoring the tacky cum that was going to dry all crusty and gross between the two of you, in favor of hooking a leg around Kiri’s, and allowing sleep to take you.

But not before whispering one last “I love you” between the two of you, Kirishima mumbling contentedly back at you before falling back asleep as well.

[lloydskywalkers]

any port in a storm

Pixal and Lloyd and the evolving nature of friendship, as highlighted by the regular burning down of your city. 

(desperately trying to break through writer’s block and classes again, this was supposed to be under 2k and it is...very much not hdfjkgh but! i’ve been meaning to write for Pixal and Lloyd for a while so here are a whole bunch of feelings about the two of them and s8)

Pixal meets — truly meets — Lloyd Garmadon shortly after his brother’s been blown to pieces.

She says truly, because if you ask her, Pixal will tell you she met Lloyd Garmadon at exactly 8:48 in the evening outside his father’s monastery, moments before a horde of nindroids led there by Pixal herself descended upon them.

But Lloyd argues that since they said about two words total to each other, it doesn’t really count as meeting, and by the time Pixal’s spending the better part of her day with him running high and low around Ninjago City, she’s learned that it’s easier not to press the point.

Lloyd can be stubborn, like that.

She’d first learned that when she’d met him, just after they’d lost Zane. That loss hadn’t lasted long, especially for Pixal, but the immediate aftermath of it had been devastating. She’d watched with blank eyes as the team had fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise.

All of them had fled, save Lloyd. She hadn’t paid him much attention before that point, the surprisingly small bearer of the Golden Power. Of course, he wasn’t the bearer of that power anymore, but his eyes alone had shown the experience of it. There’d been a brief, lost look that had crossed his face as the others had mentioned leaving, before it had been swept under a mask of stubborn, determined blankness. He wouldn’t be leaving. Someone had to stay behind and watch out for things, he’d claimed, even as the loss had bled through his voice.

Pixal hadn’t quite grasped the concept of empathy at that point, but she’d felt something dangerously close to it.

At any rate, the only interaction they’d had alone was brief. In fact, the only one Pixal can truly remember — and her memory never fails — is the quick exchange they’d had in the hospital lobby directly after the battle. The hospital was for Mr. Borg, and for the ninja’s minor injuries.

There was nothing any hospital on earth could do for Zane.

Pixal had found herself next to Lloyd in the waiting room, trying to distract herself from those thoughts while Lloyd stared at the stark white tiling with dull eyes.

“They never mentioned what your power was,” she’d asked him, almost absently. Collecting data, processing information — anything she could do to distract from the crushing grief.

“Oh.” Lloyd had blinked, startling back into awareness. He’d suddenly looked painfully young. “It’s, ah, I guess it’s just green, now.”

It had been Pixal’s turn to blink. “Green.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd had bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, two habits he’ll never quite lose. “I mean — it’s more than that, but it’s like — energy, I guess, is the best way to put it?”

“Interesting,” Pixal had remarked.

“Yeah.”

They’d stared at each other in silence after that, before they’d both been called off to other errands — and then they were having Zane’s funeral and then Pixal was making realizations she never got to tell anyone, and that had been that in her early introductions to Lloyd Garmadon. Quiet, awkward, and possessing an incredible power he hardly even knew the name of.

Looking back, Pixal figures her introduction hadn’t gone much better.

They’d continued as passing acquaintances as time went on, separated by danger and the confines of Zane’s head, and Pixal had figured that’s all they’d ever be. But then their Sensei goes missing and, despite Pixal’s increasing disappearances on Zane as she rebuilds her own body, she’s been given the role of watching out for Ninjago city along with Lloyd.

She quickly learns that quiet is not a term fit for Lloyd Garmadon when you’re trapped alone with him.

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

“How is there not a single station playing actual music?” Lloyd seethes, flicking through the channels almost manically. “It’s two am, who’s gonna be listening to your stupid commercial for toothpaste now, are you kidding me?”

“Statistically speaking, this is the prime time for long-distance driving near Ninjago City,” Pixal supplies, her voice a hint scratchy where it comes through the his car’s radio speakers. “Or, if you factor in the construction in the east district, there could still be traffic from late-night bars.”

Lloyd groans, thunking his head against the steering wheel as another ad screeches through the small space. “Wonderful.”

“Your vocal tones suggest you find it otherwise.”

“Dont trust ‘em, my vocal tones are traitors.” As if to solidify his point, Lloyd’s voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, shooting up an octave higher. Lloyd goes bright red, and thunks his head against the steering wheel again.

Taking pity on him, Pixal aims for reassurance. “It is normal for your voice to break, Lloyd. It shouldn’t last too long.” She pauses, momentarily scanning through another article. “On second thought, this one suggests it could also take two to three years for your voice to stabilize.”

Lloyd gives a strangled moan. “End me.”

“Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of why I’m here in the first place.”

Lloyd tilts his head, cracking an eye open as he glances at the camera feed he knows she’s watching him from. “Unfortunately, huh,” he muses. “So you’re saying if Zane hadn’t made you promise to look out for me, you would end me?”

“That — no, that is not — of course I wouldn’t end you,” Pixal backtracks. An odd feeling flickers through her, almost as if she’s lost her place, floundering.

Or embarrassed might be more accurate, she thinks wryly. She briefly considers projecting a a glaring face at Lloyd from the monitor. This is his fault. She rarely stuttered before Lloyd started teasing her at all hours of the morning.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lloyd continues, conversationally. “And if we’re being honest, I’d definitely rather you be the one to off me, instead of like, random bad guy number eighty-five—”

“I know you think you are funny,” Pixal cuts over him. “But casually planning for your death is something Kai listed I was not to let you do. Also, it is not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Ouch,” Lloyd mutters, though he looks chastised. “Never mind, you just took me out in one sentence.”

Chastised might be the wrong term.

Pixal studies him through the monitor, then sighs. “I am, however, honored you think highly enough of me to offer the right to murder you,” she gives in.

She’s rewarded as Lloyd breaks into a bright grin.

He still looks painfully young these days, but it’s less obvious. His voice is pitching lower and he wears his hair different, and he’s gained a whip-like tendency to quip at people, as Pixal’s experienced firsthand. Kai calls it sass in grumbling but fond tones, and Nya calls it snark somewhere between the fourth book series she’s sent for Pixal to try.

The ninja have been kind like that, sharing the interests they have in an attempt to make her feel…well, more human, she supposes. Less confined to a voice in a computer. Of course, Pixal isn’t confined to a voice in a computer anymore, but they don’t know that yet. She’ll tell them someday soon, she promises herself. Any day now.

In the meantime, it’s easy enough to keep up with Lloyd by lurking in his car radio, as he spends half his time in there anyways.

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

“You’d think we’d have found their hideout by now,” Lloyd notes, as they wait in a darkened alleyway again. It gives them an excellent view of the major highways, so if the rumored biker gang does show up, they won’t miss it.

If they show up being the key point.

“Whoever their leader is, they certainly know how to keep a low profile,” Pixal answers, closing out another dead end police report in frustration.

“It’s weird,” Lloyd says, propping the notebook he’s sketching in on his knee as he squints at the paper. “Normally the boss types aren’t this quiet. They like to show off, y’know? Make a big scene, dramatic speeches and all.”

“Are you referring to the villains, or yourselves?”

“Touché,” Lloyd snorts. “But still, you gotta admit it’s weird they haven’t even made any demands. What’s their end game here, elaborate advertising for motorcycle design?”

“I would hope not,” Pixal says. “Their color coordination is lacking.”

Lloyd fights back a smile, his pencil scratching as he shifts his notebook again. “I don’t know, I kinda like the punk look.”

“I noticed that, when you tried to redecorate the car.”

“Hey, skulls are cool.”

“They are also conspicuous, especially when they come in acid green colors.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lloyd sighs, making a face as he scrubs the eraser across the paper. Pixal tries to tilt the camera further, to see what he’s drawing tonight, but the angle he’s holding it at remains just out of sight.

She could probably guess what he’s drawing, if she tried. The notebook is one they’ve been steadily working their way through on these late-night patrols, the pages filled with little hangman games and Lloyd’s sketches of animals and his teammates. He’s drawn her a few times from memory, and she’s been tempted to ask him to draw her in the new Samurai X armor more than once.

Soon, she tells herself.

“What are you drawing?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Lloyd’s cheeks tinge pink, and he quickly plasters the notebook to his chest, hiding it entirely from view. “Nothing.”

Pixal waits, letting the silence fill with her judgement. “Lloyd, I have seen your drawings before.”

He doesn’t reply, and Pixal tries again. “It gets boring, being stuck with the car monitors for eyes.”

“I know you can hack other cameras,” Lloyd mutters, but he sighs, relenting as he turns the notebook over. Pixal’s eyes rake over the detailed sketch — it’s a comical little thing of her and Lloyd, jammed together on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a darkening ocean. She can spot the smudges where he’s redrawn her head several times, and the numerous attempts he’s made at his own hair. Pixal studies Lloyd’s portrayal of himself, which is noticeably lacking in facial features. While Lloyd draws the others plenty, it’s a rare occasion that he draws himself, and she can’t help but be curious.

“I thought you were drawing the others again,” she admits.

“They’re on the ship,” Lloyd says, absently. “I’ll draw them when they remember to pull us back in.”

There’s nothing bitter in his tone to suggest it has any bearing on their actual lives, but the lost expressions Lloyd ends up giving their tiny caricatures feel familiar nonetheless.

“Zane has assured me they will be back as soon as they can,” Pixal speaks ups quietly.

Lloyd finally looks up fully, and flashes the monitor a smile. “I know,” he says. “So we better have this thing busted by the time they do, or they’ll never let us run a city on our own again.”

“If only we were truly running the city,” Pixal grumbles. “I could do a better job in two days than the current leaders could do in a year.”

“I’d vote for you,” Lloyd says, sincerely.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Pixal is unable to resist. “You don’t know how to vote.”

“Yes I do, it’s not hard!”

“Really? Then why are you not currently registered in the Ninjago voting system?”

Lloyd makes a strangled noise. “That’s a thing?”

She’s unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “I make my point.” Lloyd scowls, and scribbles a mustache on his drawing of her in revenge.

Pixal thinks it looks nice nonetheless.

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

She can’t really hold it against Lloyd for talking as much as he does, considering she does the same. It gets dull, sitting on patrol for hours on end, and there are only so many hours of light reading they can do before the silence begins to drive them both insane.

Pixal finds herself talking about more useless things with Lloyd than she has in her existence, pointless conversations in circles with each other. She also finds she doesn’t entirely mind. She’s become quite good at quipping back and forth with him, at least. It’s different than the kind of talk she has with Zane, lacking in the depth of feeling with the love they share. Her exchanges with Lloyd are lighter, though that’s not to say they’re less sincere.

For example, Zane hasn’t tried to teach her how to redesign a gi in poor lighting in the early hours of the morning because he’s bored out of his mind, that’s for sure.

“I’m teaching you how to sew,” Lloyd corrects, wincing as he accidentally stabs himself with the needle. “And I’m not redesigning the whole thing, I’m just adding some designs to spice it up.”

“I did not know you were allowed to wear colors other than green,” Pixal comments.

Lloyd pauses, squinting at the monitor. “You’re teasing me,” he finally says. “You’re making fun of how much green this gi has in it.”

“I would never,” Pixal replies, her tone flat and even. “The intricacies of your human humor evade me—”

“Human humor, nice—”

“—unlike the unusually bright shade of green you’ve chosen will fail to evade any eyes of your enemies.”

“I knew you were making fun of me!” Lloyd accuses, then flinches as he stabs his finger again trying to point at her. “And bright colors are our thing. Being subtle is, uh…not. Usually.”

Pixal is losing the battle to laugh at his expression by the minute. “I am shocked.”

Lloyd glares at the monitor, shifting his sewing to rest on his knees as he slouches in the car seat. “How’d you even get so good at sarcasm, anyways,” he mutters. “Zane still doesn’t get it half the time.”

“Perhaps it is part of my glowing personality,” Pixal says. Lloyd gives a huff of laughter, relenting.

“Fair enough,” he says, shifting in his seat again. “Fine, you win. The green is probably too bright, but that’s not the point. I’m gonna show you how to do a backstitch."

Pixal falls quiet, letting Lloyd gesture with the needle as he explains. There are a hundred, a thousand tutorials she could pull up online, digitized knowledge instantly learned on all the countless types of stitches she could use, sorted and categorized in neat columns of use and effectiveness. All of them more detailed, more easily understood than Lloyd’s absent rambling and unsteady hands as he struggles with the end of a knot.

Not one of them will care whether or not Pixal learns the odd way Zane likes to loop his stitches, or will quietly add which stitches knit skin back together quickest.

So Pixal ignores her programming, and does her best to follow Lloyd’s rambling instructions, watching as his scarred fingers tug another thread of dull gold through the green mess of fabric, the city quiet around them.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to sew,” Pixal says, as Lloyd starts up a new thread of black on the other side of the gi. “Was that something the others taught you in training?”

“They’d have to know how to be able to teach it,” Lloyd snickers. “And, uh, no. I taught myself to back at Darkley’s.”

“Oh,” Pixal falters. She’s heard about Darkley’s, both from Zane and the legal reports she’s read online. Neither gave a positive impression of the place. Her mind is suddenly filled with images of a younger Lloyd trying to give himself stitches, and her heart twists.

Lloyd starts, seemingly having picked up on her train of thought. “I mean, I did it for fun, mostly. I like sewing,” he explains. “It’s useful. You can pull things back together, and fix ‘em.”

Pixal is quiet, but she hopes Lloyd takes her silence as agreement with his motive. She likes to think he knows her well enough for that, by now.

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

Pixal finds, somewhere during their fourth month alone, that she’s glad the team elected to stick her and Lloyd together. Not because she doesn’t want to be with Zane — there’s never a moment she doesn’t miss him, and with every day that passes her resolve to keep her secret from him grows weaker, as the longing for actual connection grows stronger.

But there are conversations she can have with Lloyd that she can never have with Zane, and the dangerous thing about spending time with Lloyd, Pixal finds, is that they’re more similar than she’s realized.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous,” Lloyd whispers to her one night. It’s one of the bad ones, the ones where their enemies struck too sudden to stop, and the mission ends in the hospital. “I think I’m jealous of Zane, and I hate myself for it.”

Pixal is quiet, trying to pick apart the tone of his voice in the words he’s just spoken, and factors in the victims they’ve just left behind at the hospital. She finds herself no closer to an answer.

“Is it the metal skin part?” she finally asks, though she knows that’s wrong. “The, what was it, technical immortality?”

“No,” Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of dying,” he says emphatically, his fingers fluttering at over the steering wheel, tapping incessantly with unspent energy. “I don’t want to, but that’s — it’s not what I’m scared of. I’m more scared of how I go out.”

He swallows, and his fingers move to dance over the woven bracelet on his wrist instead, twisting at the tiny beads and tracing senseless designs in constant, steady movement. It’s a motion he does often, and it had puzzled Pixal at first. She’d decided to write it off as an odd tick, a way to spend excess energy.

Now, she recognizes the desperate kind of reassurance that movement gives. She understands too well the need to remind yourself that you can move — that your body will obey you and you alone.

Pixal thinks back to the other factors in tonight’s accident, of the way the drugged man’s eyes had cleared when they’d finally turned him over to the police, the way he’d sworn he’d never do such a thing in his right mind. She thinks of the way the first victim had thrown themselves over their companion.

That victim hadn’t made it to the hospital.

“Ah,” Pixal says, quietly.

She’s silent again, and she thinks back to when she’d met him, the very first time. She recalls the way her programming had rebelled against her in favor of the Overlord, corrupting her body and forcing it against her, twisting everything she was and wanted to be into something different.

She thinks back again, to the searing-hot anger, the terror, the despair as she was torn apart, piece by piece like a machine, burning out at the whims of another. Her end purposeless, her demise belonging to someone else, just like every other part of her.

She thinks of the last glimpse she’d caught of Zane, bright and beautiful as a supernova. Burning with the terrible brilliance of his own, determined choice. Terrible, because the death of something always is. Beautiful, because it was his own. Zane died, not a machine, not a weapon, not a tool of anyone or anything, but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves. Pixal could’ve died for spare parts.

Never again, she promises herself. If she goes out, she goes out on her own terms. This time, they choose the end of their own destiny themselves.

In hindsight, it’s the kind of promise they’re both too young to make, but neither of them have ever seen themselves as such, and promises like that are easy.

“Love can be terrible, sometimes,” Lloyd murmurs. Pixal watches him scrub at the blood on his uniform, and thinks how ironically well-timed it is that he finished the stitching on his new gi this morning. “Sometimes I forget how ugly it can be.”

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

The end of their nighttime stakeouts begins with a break-in at Mr. Borg’s tower. Lloyd argues that she should get to call it her father’s tower, if she wants, but the ninja aren’t the only ones Pixal’s hiding herself from.

And then Lloyd gets very tense at the thought of fathers very fast, and they never finish the conversation.

They stay at the edge of the bridge long after the parachute, emblazoned with the unmistakable visage of Lloyd’s father, disappears from sight. Pixal wonders if it’s burned into Lloyd’s eyes, like the way she’s read black spots linger in humans’ vision after they’ve looked at something too bright. The way Lloyd stares at the river, his shoulders tense and his teeth worrying at his lip, she thinks she might be right.

They’re waiting on the report from the commissioner —they’re waiting for anything, anyone who can offer them any explanation of what’s going on. Pixal’s reminded of how much she loathes this kind of waiting.

“It could be—” Lloyd begins, then breaks off, his voice wavering. He swallows, and Pixal can see the way his fists clench tightly from the cameras they’ve put in his car. There’s a fierce part of her that longs to reveal herself, to meet his eyes herself and offer some semblance of comfort. But there’s a time and place for things, and Pixal isn’t ready.

“It could be anything,” Lloyd finally continues, his voice small. “It could — it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean nothing, right?”

Pixal is silent, her mind racing. She’s run the calculations over and over in her head already, scouring the internet for anything related to the bikers. She’s been foolish, she realizes — they both have. Letting the gang go unnamed for so long, thinking nothing of it. Now, with the name flashing vibrant across Pixal’s vision, a part of her wants to let them go nameless just a bit longer.

Before she can answer, Lloyds phone goes off with a sharp ping, just as Pixal’s sensors alert her to the message from the commissioner. Lloyd snatches for his phone like it’s on fire, and Pixal’s already scanning the message frantically, as if she can salvage this if she’s fast enough, save Lloyd from this one pain.

Lloyd’s gotten much better at reading quickly though, these days.

She can pinpoint the moment he reaches the last paragraph, because his breath hitches. There’s a long, pressing pause of silence, Lloyd’s hands trembling as they clutch weakly at his phone. Then it’s punctured by a reedy, wheezing gasp, and Pixal’s suddenly wishing she’d revealed herself after all.

Instead, all she has is her voice as Lloyd crumples, crouching over in visible distress. Pixal’s mind races, recalling everything Zane’s ever told her about his team, the way their panic manifests in different shades. Lloyd’s is quiet but desperate, rapid breathes that stutter as his eyes slide more and more into a frightening kind of blankness.

“Lloyd, please, listen to my voice,” she begs, trying to reach him in the only way she can. “Please, you have to breathe—”

“He’s gone,” Lloyd rasps, unhearing of her words. “He’s s’posed to be gone, it’s supposed to be over, I’m supposed to be done—”

Pixal fights back the sense of overwhelming helplessness. She knows loss. She knows how to finish his sentence. He’s supposed to be done grieving, done mourning, done clinging to false scraps of hope that his father isn’t lost forever only to be met with heartbreak.

And now, to be met with the possibility of something so much worse.

“We’ll stop them,” she tells him, unflinching. “We won’t let it happen.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a vivid green where they stare at her through the monitor, almost ghostly in the misting light reflecting from the river.

He’s silent, but Pixal is, too.

Pixal remembers the way her head had spun when she’d first picked up the traces of Zane in the system, how the world had rushed then steadied, flooding with color as she’d realized he might not be lost after all. She remembers the surging, overwhelming flood of joy, that someone she’d thought she lost might live after all. She remembers being so happy, at even the smallest chance to get him back, because the voice was Zane’s, without a doubt.

She watches the color seep from Lloyd’s expression as his shoulders shudder, the words from the commissioner’s message almost echoing through the air. Watches the terror as the both of them fill the silence.

Will we?  

The radio scratches, as if echoing Pixal’s anxiety. Love can be terrible, sometimes. She’s underestimated how it also be so cruel.

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

She’s also, apparently, underestimated how the universe on the whole could be so cruel.

She should’ve revealed herself to them from day one. That way, when Harumi’s corrupted programming suddenly ravages through her like an electric shock, she could be reassured they’d at least be familiar with the person they were fighting.

Instead, she doesn’t even get to scream. Pixal’s only able to force out a desperate, broken warning before she’s lost again, drowning in her own body as she’s forced under. Furious panic grips her as she screams without lungs, bashing herself against the overwhelming helplessness that’s taken over her.

Not again, not again, not again—

Her limbs creak and jolt against her will, lashing out at the people she cares most about, and Pixal can’t even rage back in her own voice. She’s sworn, she’s promised herself she’d never let anyone do this to her again — she’s sworn she’d die before she let someone reach into her head and snatch control away, and yet here she is, frozen as her body’s used to target her friends.

If she could cry, she might.

There’s not much more to say than that. She breaks free, her body her own once again, but by then it’s too late.

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

If Pixal had the same gift of foresight that Zane did, maybe she would have seen it coming. Maybe she’d have remembered how similar her and Lloyd are, and that this kind of pained desperation always yields impulsiveness and mistakes.

She doesn’t, though. She barely even manages to do what she’s trying to, which is convincing Lloyd to join the others while they celebrate their victory. Their off-key singing is something he normally wouldn’t hesitate to join in on, she thinks, and she hates Harumi a little more.

Maybe she’ll try his mother next. The expression on Lloyd’s face screams unapproachable, and remains fixedly sullen.

Almost to her surprise, he meets her eyes as she draws near— it’s odd, being able to meet his back — and his own eyes are dark, from despair over Harumi or despair over his father, Pixal isn’t sure. She’s thinking it might be both, when his eyebrows crease, and a flicker of concern cuts through them instead.

“You good?”

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s asking, but the answer is obvious. Her head tilts downward, and she watches as her fingers curl and uncurl. Her movements, her choices. She lets out an even breath.

“As I can be,” she replies. Lloyd nods, and his eyes are understanding. His lips twist in a scowl.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. That was a low blow.”

Pixal’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “That it was. She’s rather good at those, isn’t she.”

Lloyd’s eyes shadow again, and he looks away, crossing his arms. “This isn’t supposed to be about me,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is,” Pixal counters. “It is why I came over here, in the first place. She hurt—”

“All of us, and who’s fault is that,” Lloyd snaps, his arms crossing tighter.

“I would hope you know it’s hers,” she says, holding firm.

Lloyd looks away again, biting his lip, and Pixal shifts anxiously, rolling her wrists. The sensation of control sliding away still haunts her, worse than it had the first time. She should be better than this, she tells herself hotly. She’s lived without a body long enough that losing it so briefly shouldn’t effect her this much.

Curse her programming, she thinks, tapping agitatedly at the banister. She knew she should have reinforce it sooner.

“Hey, um.” Lloyd is looking at her again, hesitant. He twists at his bracelet, and his eyes lose a fraction of that darkness. “Kai made this for me, after Morro,” he says. “I kept shredding the sleeves of my uniform, so he told me to mess with this instead, when I needed to remember that…that I was in control.”

He shrugs, hesitant. “We could make you one too, if you wanted. It helps, having something.”

Pixal lets out a steady breath, despite not actually needing to. The action is grounding, she’s found. “I would like that.”

Lloyd gives her a ghost of a smile in return. “Soon as this is over, then.”

There’s a heavy weight to his words, and Pixal’s eyes narrow.

“Lloyd,” she says. He looks at her, his eyes dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

He’s quiet, not meeting her eyes, and this is where Pixal should stop him. This is when she should see the end of the road they’ve been on since they started this, and force him to turn before it’s too late.

“I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t.

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

Lloyd is battered and bleeding by the time they drag him onto the ship, a gruesome portrait of cruelty. Pixal is frozen as she watches him writhe in Kai’s hold, his screams cracked and wet as he thrashes erratically like a broken thing.

Nya is already barking orders before they’ve even gotten Lloyd fully on the ship, and Zane is running scans with a horrified, wavering focus. Pixal follows Cole as he carries Lloyd to the medbay with a blank numbness, the rush of wind streaming past the Bounty sails thunderously loud in her ears.

This isn’t Lloyd, she thinks, staring at his crumpled form. Lloyd isn’t this battered, broken shell of a person. Lloyd isn’t hazy eyes that fail to recognize them and frantic murmuring through bloody lips. Lloyd is bright-eyed and gentle and would rather die before he screams the way he does when Cole moves him to the table.

Lloyd is her friend, and this is where that promise they made has led them. She knows why Lloyd set out for the prison, hot on the collapse of his own star. She also knows he wouldn’t have chosen to burn out like this.

Cole calls out for Zane, his voice ringing in panic as Lloyd screeches in pain again. Pixal thinks of quiet words in the safety of his car, and she feels sick. This is the ugliness of love, the terrible, hideous side of it.

And Lloyd would hate it, if he could see himself, if he were any semblance of lucid. He’d hate to know just how much better he was at breaking himself than Morro ever was.

Zane is gentle as he pushes past her, but Pixal can feel the tremble in his hands. He’s every bit as rattled as she is, if not more so — Zane’s heart is larger and softer than hers has ever been, and he cares about each and every one of them with a painful intensity. It’s a cruel thing, to have to pull those same people back together with your own hands.

Kai’s eyes are streaming as he clutches at Lloyd’s wrists, pinning him in place. Zane’s hands waver again over one of the jagged wounds near Lloyd’s ribcage, the green of his uniform already dyed dark in blood, soaking over the careful stitches Pixal watched him put in himself.

Pixal finally finds her footing, reminding herself of the solid wood beneath her feet. She recalls the steady, smooth stitch Lloyd’s scarred fingers traced out for her.

“Here.” She takes the needle from Zane’s hands, squeezing his briefly before letting go. “I can do it.”

She sets the needle against Lloyd’s skin and wonders what kind of stitch it’d take to pull your heart back together.  

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

Pixal cannot cry. It’s one of the features Mr. Borg spent hours debating, weighing the pros and cons of giving her the ability before he was truly sure how rust-proof she was. He’d never gotten the chance to, as the Overlord had interrupted him, then Pixal had lost any body to give the ability to cry to, which had eliminated the need entirely.

She cannot cry, but she can hurt, and the rain that streams through her hair, dripping down her forehead spotting raindrops on her cheeks, could be tears if she pretended.

She doesn’t, though, because tears are a waste of water and overall useless in the grand scheme of things. She doubts they’d have helped her fare any better in the battle with Colossi, either.

Tears won’t bring anyone back.

Lloyd cries anyways. She can’t see him, but she can hear it in his voice, the way it wavers and breaks over the radio, nasally tones pronounced.

He’s barely able to gasp a few coordinates to her before he cuts the radio off abruptly. Pixal’s spent enough time with him to envision his scarred fingers snapping it off with a particular desperation, green sparking from his hands in distress.

She reminds herself those sparks are gone, now, bled away into nothing like the vivid green of Lloyd’s eyes had. The thought makes her sadder than she’d expected. She had a joke, about his eyes, she had wanted to make. Now that she has a body, and her own set of glowing green eyes, she’d — there was something he would’ve laughed at, she thought —

It doesn’t matter, now. Neither of them are likely to laugh anytime soon.

The coordinates blink brightly in her vision, and she’s almost surprised she managed to key them in. She’s running on autopilot, she supposes. It could be ironic — she’s been so desperate for control, it’s been so important that she’s the one feeling. Now, she’d give anything not to feel at all.

She lets out a shaky breath, dispelling the mist in her vision left from the rain. She leans forward, just over the edge of the building she’s crouched on, and her loose hair falls forward, silvery and synthetic and horribly tangled. Irritated, she reaches for another hair tie, and her hands falter around her wrist.

Lloyd had promised her a bracelet there. But he’d promised Kai would make the bracelet, hadn’t he, and Kai couldn’t make the bracelet if he was dead, could he.

Pixal blinks, her breath hitching. She’s been so numb to the pain of Zane’s loss, it hasn’t yet occurred to her that she’s losing Kai, too. And Jay, and Cole, and—

She sucks in the same shuddery kind of breath she’s seen Lloyd do, and carefully fists her hand in the area of her uniform above her chest. Her fingers dig in tightly, clutching in a hopeless attempt to feel some sort of comfort she knows she’ll never find.

But perhaps, for these few seconds, she can pretend the action is holding her together.

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

“It was inevitable,” Pixal tells Lloyd blankly, as he rasps out his third apology in the dark cover of their small hideout. “That one of us would fall, eventually. It had nothing to do with you.”

Lloyd swallows thickly. “It could’ve — it should’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Pixal’s hand shoots out, clamping tightly around his wrist, and there’s a beat of gratitude that she doesn’t need to rely on her voice alone anymore.

“Don’t.” Her voice is strung tighter than the tension in their shoulders. “You cannot change anything. You can’t, Lloyd, and you should not wish to — to change it that way.”

Lloyd jerks his hand free, wiping miserably at his eyes. He sets it back down within her reach, though, and if Pixal were any different, she’d take it.

But Pixal isn’t that different from Lloyd at all in the end, and neither of them reach for the other’s hand, no matter how desperately they crave the contact. Fear is more familiar, and it’s easier to give into it than it is the clawing need for comfort in your chest, after all.

“Still,” Lloyd finally whispers. “Still.”

Pixal swallows. She doesn’t disagree. If one of them had to fall, she knows she gladly would have taken it upon herself. She knows the others care for her, certainly, but she also knows her place in the grand scheme of things. They were six before she came along, and even now she’s kept far too many secrets to be fully counted among them.

She listens to Lloyd’s quiet, cracked voice, and she wonders if he’s thinking that they were five before he came along, younger than Pixal got to know him as.

Now they’re three, hollow and heartbroken. Though counting herself as one whole feels like cheating, right now.

Pixal squeezes her eyes shut, and wonders what it’s like to cry. Perhaps it helps, though Lloyd doesn’t look any less miserable.

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

“I was thinking,” Lloyd tells her, during one of the precious few quiet moments they have while trying to overthrow Garmadon and Harumi. Pixal’s turning the tiny tea flower he’d given her over in her hands, a part of her mind already marking articles about flower-pressing, another part wondering if it’s already too late to save the blossom. “About that promise we made, before all this.”

Pixal finally tucks the flower into the pocket of her uniform, pressed close to her chest. If anything, it can be a reminder of the lives that are safe — the life that’s coming back to her, if she has to drag him back from another realm herself. “And?”

Lloyd’s hands twist together. “Maybe we should focus more on staying alive.”

Pixal coughs out a laugh, breathless and startled. Lloyd wrinkles his nose at her, but his eyes are amused, even with their light lost. “I mean, the emphasis would be on keeping everyone else alive, but it’s kinda hard to do that if we’re dead, so…yeah. Priorities.”

“Staying alive should always be a priority,” Pixal corrects him, but she tugs the edge of his armor out of place with a smile.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to graffiti?” she nods at the designs on the green leather. “Or was this another Darkley’s tradition.”

“This is a refined art, called whatever I had on me that showed up on dark green,” Lloyd grumbles, fixing his armor. “I’ll teach it to you when we get out of this.”

“Another reason why staying alive would be a more productive focus,” Pixal points out. “I’ve heard teaching is easier when you’re alive.”

“And I’ve heard you’re a real riot,” Lloyd mutters. “It’s a promise, okay? I promise to teach you how to do cool armor design if you promise not to disappear into another realm on me.”

Pixal nods, adjusting her own armor tighter as screams ring out from a street nearby. “A promise, then.”

She keeps both the promise and the flower, the tiny blossom dried and faded by the time she’s escaped from the prison, heart racing with leftover adrenaline as Zane sweeps her into his arms. She clutches back every bit as tight, listening to his breathless laughter as cheers rise from the streets behind them, the smoke drifting across the early morning sky above them pale against the lightening blue. Pixal buries her face in his shoulder and breathes, tucking the moment away in her heart where it won’t fade. There’s a future stretching out before her, and she’s got the limbs to walk her path on her own, but all she wants right now is the steady ground beneath her feet and the bright laughter of what she’s managed to keep.  

Lloyd meets them shortly after, his own promise kept as he tears his gaze from his father, handing him off to the authorities before sprinting for the others. Pixal barely snags a moment alone with him, and even then no one’s particularly keen on letting him out of their sights.

He meets her eyes as they pick their way through the wrecked streets, the city more alive around them than it’s been in weeks. In the dark of the early morning, Pixal’s eyes glow a bright green, reflecting oddly in the windows they pass. It’s always been her preferred color, in contrast to Zane’s bright blue. Lloyd glances at her, his own eerily green eyes glowing back. He bites his lip, but it’s to hold back real laughter this time.

“My eyes were green first,” she tells him.

“Sue me,” he shoots back, before Kai’s throwing an arm over his shoulders again, tucking Lloyd neatly in between him and Nya. Pixal smothers a laugh at the look on his face, and tightens her own arm further where it’s linked firmly in Zane’s.  

It’s going to be an easy promise to keep, she thinks.  

[meruz]

Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for? 

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha. 

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at isellhotdogs@gmail.com.

<33333333333333333333333333

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light Chapter 15: Translation

A/N: Another short one, but I’m at a bit of a crux here. Tess and Knox have their own adventures at Fablehaven, and technically their stories come next chronologically, but it might be fun to leave their stories a secret for y’all to try and guess at until the end and then have their stories be bonus chapters. I think I’ll do that unless you guys tell me that Kendra and Seth’s stories fall apart without their cousins. Have fun guessing!

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15

Chapter 15: Translation

Kendra made herself try to sleep, and woke up the next morning with the same question. Bracken or Ronodin. Who to believe? What did she owe the Kendra she had been? That girl hadn’t even kept a journal apparently, otherwise Ronodin would have offered it to her to help with her memory loss. Unless Ronodin was lying about everything, and purposefully keeping her from her past self.

What she needed was information. And a place to store it all. One that Ronodin couldn’t touch.

Locks. She had the power to create magical items, why not magical locks? Kendra hurried to the library and scoured her reference books. There was one chapter on creating seals, that would have to do. She read it and re-read it, then gathered together the thick paper Ronodin had gotten her for painting, and tore the plain back covers off two of the books she couldn’t read.

 “Sorry,” she apologized to the books. She used needle and thread from her sewing materials to bind everything together. As she cut and sewed, she followed the instructions from her books and focused on what she wanted protected and contained. No eyes to read it, only hers, and repel everyone else. Magic in her hands. Mendigo, Bracken, Ronodin, and Seth and the dragon people, everyone. This was for her eyes alone. They could not touch it and would be repelled back.

On the cover of her make-shift journal she painted the seal she wanted, as suggested by the book, in paint made with Sphinx blood. Sphinxes were protectors, and attacked any who couldn’t pass their riddles, hopefully the blood of those determined guardians would lend its strength to protecting her secrets.

And the final part of a seal: the sacrifice. Of all the suggested sacrifices, the only one she felt comfortable giving was a little bit of her own blood. Picking up a fresh needle from the pack, she stabbed her forearm over a vein, and squeezed out a couple of drops. The book seemed to glow for a second, then was back to being an unskilled crafts project.

“Mendigo, come here,” Kendra called. Mendigo entered and she placed the journal on the couch and stepped away. “Open that book, please.”

Mendigo strode forward and reached for the book, but his fingers hovers an inch from surface, just like she wanted. His wooden body leaned forward, and a second hand joined the first.

 “Perfect, you can stop now,” Kendra said, smiling, “Go back to guarding the door, please.”

Mendigo left. Kendra opened the book and immediately started writing the things she knew. Then came the list of things she doubted because they came from only one source or were contradicted by someone else. Then she listed out her goals.

1.      See the sunlight/outside/anywhere but here

2.      Learn more information herself/her family/her host/Ronodin/Bracken

It felt like she should have at least three goals, but those were pretty much the most important, and it took her a while to decide on the third one.

3.      Develop magical arts and crafts

Unlike the curse medallions, which she felt unsure about, she liked her new journal. It didn’t hurt anyone, but was still useful and something she made. It was something that was all hers. Kendra would learn everything she could, and make what she could, without picking a side for now.

She tried to list out plans for achieving the goals, but besides do more crafting, she was stuck.

What she really needed was more information, that one should have been first in terms of necessity instead of wants. And if her goal was to learn more, then the best place for that was the library.

Except she had skimmed through all nine books she could actually read in the library, and torn through all the reference books for her crafting that Ronodin had brought her, and read thoroughly two of the books already. She now knew a lot more about the Fair Folk and Shadow Charmers, but the rest of the books weren’t much help. Two were potions books, four were dictionaries used for translating languages of the books on the other shelves, and the final book she hadn’t read deeply was a magical creature encyclopedia, but only the P’s.

She could either educate herself on all magical creatures starting with P (even though she had already skimmed through for the interesting entries) dedicate herself to translating the foreign languages using the dictionary, or focus on finding information elsewhere. It’s not like she had google translate down here.

Kendra paused. No…she might not have google translate, but maybe she could make something that worked like a translator?

Kendera went through her craft references again, scouring for anything that give her clues for translation magic. There was a footnote that said it was common curtesy to leave multiple translations of the conditions of a curse at curse sites in order to make them stick better. Too many unknowns about a curse actually made it weaker, since you can’t have an unbreakable spell. Then she got caught up in the theory sections.

What made the symbols in the book powerful was the faith and belief that people had that those symbols did have power. Cultures long dead, cultures currently, practitioners of the magic arts didn’t like to acknowledge that their spell designs worked primarily because everyone involved believed that it worked, allowing it to be a conduit for magic, but that was a reality of their trade.

Which meant that it didn’t matter if Kendra didn’t have a symbol in Ronodin’s glossary. If she believed in the symbol herself, it would function similarly, if not better.

At least, that’s what she thought that it said. She didn’t know how well it would work, because with her past an absolute mystery, Kendra had no idea what to believe in, or if she had believed in anything, ever. But it was a start.

She knew things, she just didn’t know how she knew about them. Grabbing a clean piece of paper, she started listing things that she associated with translating, not letting herself question the associations. Eyes. Glasses. Crystals. Crystals were also connected to knowing for some reason. Dictionaries. Google. Owls.

Kendra stopped. What if she carved a monocle, kind of like how she would carve an amulet? No crystals around…though maybe there was something in the jewelry box she hadn’t touched? How do monocles stay on people’s faces anyway? No better something like a magnifying glass without the glass. Just a magic space that would change the words from the languages surrounding her into English. Papering the handle with pages from those dictionaries would help. From the first and last pages, so the eyeglass would know everything in between. That should work…

Kendra started sketching her designs and plans in her journal. She eventually fell asleep when her eyes started to blur, then woke up again. She showered, ate, then got back at her research, finally starting to carve. She hid her journal away, sideways behind some of the larger, more incomprehensible tomes. It felt good to have secrets, things only she knows, things only she can do. Ronodin certainly had plenty of secrets himself, and when he eventually came back, he would either let her keep her secrets, or she would believe Bracken by default.

It felt good to have plans.

[cakejots]

this is us trying, Chapter 7 - The Aid

In this AU, they don’t know each other outside of the suit. And in this AU, Ladybug and Chat Noir love each other. But in this AU, Chat doesn’t want their identities revealed.

Written for @ladynoirjuly 2021

notes: this is a coherent story based on all the prompts; each chapter contains at least 3 prompts

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10

Read on AO3

21. Roommates

The journey to Marinette’s house was a short one, it was no wonder she appeared so quickly earlier on. They went past the Dupain-Cheng Bakery and within a minute, they landed on her balcony.

Lady Rouge? Rena Bug? Rena bug sounded more consistent with her other unifications but he still didn’t know. Marinette slid open her balcony door and stepped in, but Chat didn’t follow. When she realised he had yet to come in, she went to the balcony door.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure?” He glimpsed at her. “I don’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I’m not okay with it,” she rolled her eyes. “And don’t worry, you’re not imposing at all!”

Chat still stood rooted at the balcony.

“You… We can treat it as though we’re roommates?” She tried. “You can sleep on the bed while I sleep on the mattress.”

“Actually, I should sleep on the mattress and you on the bed. I don’t want to intrude on the place where you need your beauty sleep.”

She sighed. “If I agree to that, will you come in?”

He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll sleep in my bed.”

Once he entered, they de-transformed, and Marinette’s stomach growled.

Her arms flew to her abdomen and her cheeks turned pink. “Aha, I haven’t had breakfast…”

“Let me make it for you!” Adrien jumped on the chance.

“Adrien, all I have to do is to spread the butter and jam on the bread,” she chuckled.

“I know. But please,” he activated his kitten eyes, “that’s the least I can do for you.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “Alright, alright.”

He beamed. “And for your drink?”

“Tea, please.”

“Coming right up!” He started to move, but stopped soon after. “Uhh, I might need you to show me the way to everything.”

Marinette laughed. Such a dork.

After they had fun making their breakfast together and feeding each other, Marinette went into her room to get something while Adrien stayed in the living room to browse his public social account. He understood that he couldn’t run from the scandal for long. He needed to know what the public was saying so that he could come up with a suitable statement to address it.

“Chaton, you need some time off from that.” He jumped when her voice appeared so suddenly beside his ear as she planted herself next to him. “So put that away and join me!”

“What are you doing?”

“Designing!” She held up her sketchbook. “What do you think?”

Adrien took the sketchbook from her and focused on the sketch she had drawn. It was a long and elegant A-Line dress with lace-patterned sleek long sleeves.

He smiled teasingly. “Is my lady aspiring to be a fashion designer?”

She nodded, anticipation for his opinion clear in her eyes.

“It’s really classy!” He raised an eyebrow, then wiggled both. “Are you making this for a future date with me?”

She flushed. “I-I know you have something to comment about the dress, tell me!”

He laughed. “Well, it’s perfect the way it is. But since you asked, you can always go sleeveless as well.”

Her eyes sparkled at his comment, a smirk growing on her lips. She flipped a page on the sketchbook still in his hands to show the same dress. But this time, the sleeves are gone, exactly what he had suggested just moments ago.

Adrien’s smile faltered for a second before coming back wider and prouder. “You sure you’re not a fashion designer yet?”

She scratched the back of her head. “I really wanted to intern at Gabriel…”

“Oh.”

“But no worries!” She clapped her hands to disperse the gloomy atmosphere. “Having the model of a fashion powerhouse compliment my designs? It’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“With skills like these, it won’t be long until someone picks you.” He held her hand and rubbed his thumb on the back of it. “Do you have a portfolio? Can you show them to me?”

Marinette’s eyes gleamed. “Can my day get any better?”

They spent the rest of the day admiring her impressive collection of designs.

The yawn that came from Marinette halted whatever they were doing.

“S-Sorry,” she covered her mouth, cheeks reddened. “I woke up earlier than usual today, so I think I’m turning in right now. D-Do you want to join me?”

“I would love to,” he smiled.

She stood to get the mattress but Adrien held her arm. “Actually, is… is it okay if w-we sleep together on your bed?”

Her eyes shone and she squatted down to his level to booped his nose. “Of course, mon Chaton.” She grabbed his hands and led him to the toilet before going to her room.

She jumped into her bed and moved in to give him space. Marinette looked at him expectantly as he stopped at her door. She raised her arms to entice him into her embrace, and it worked. Adrien walked towards her bed and snaked his arms around her waist as he got on, pulling her body flush against his.

“Ahhh,” she melted into him. “Your heat is very welcome right now”

“Did you invite me just to be your personal heater?”

“Maaaybe,” she smirked.

He pulled away and gaped at her, mock-offended. “How dare you.”

She cackled and chased after his heat. “Adrieeen! Don’t do this to meee, come back here!”

Marinette managed to pull him back, her arms caged his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, effectively trapping him.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, arms encircling her once again and he kissed her nose. “Goodnight, Marinette.”

Her cheeks burn at the sweet gesture. “Goodnight, Adrien.”

22. Heal

Adrien awoke from his slumber, alarmed that he’s in an unfamiliar room, until he recalled that he was staying over at Marinette’s. He checked his side, and there she was still sleeping as soundly as he remembered just a few days prior.

Marinette wasn’t clinging onto him as tightly as she was last night, but she’s still snuggled up in his personal space. He doesn’t mind that all at, he had his arm wrapped around her shoulders pulling her towards him. Her hand and leg were draped lazily across his waist and leg, and her head was on his chest, rising and falling in accordance to his breathing.

It wasn’t a dream.

She’s by his side.

And he still has the scandal to deal with.

Adrien ran his hand down his face to wipe away any sleepiness before he grabbed his phone from the shelves above him, and concluded Marinette is a pretty heavy sleeper. He shifted quite a bit searching for his phone but she didn’t stir at all. After finding a comfortable position, he went online and browsed through.

There’s the side that’s all rainbowy, sparkles, and flowers. The side that supports his decisions, saying how adorable they are as a couple and calls for the media and harassers to stop their digging and let him be happy.

And then there’s the mob and haters, holding their pitchforks and axes and spreading false rumours, negativity, and hate about their relationship. Demanding them to break up, else they’d boycott him.

He has been in the eyes of the media all his life, he has learnt how to filter out the noises pretty well. He can’t please everyone. They’re all unique with their own taste and preferences. He understood that much. Which was why he really didn’t care if people boycotted him. If they really supported him, they would’ve wished him happiness.

What he really couldn’t stand were the nasty remarks they'd made of Marinette. He knew it was going to come, but to read about them with his own eyes made his blood boil.

How dare they call her these abhorrent names. They are just vomiting words that didn’t describe Marinette at all. Golddigger? Slut? Whore? He was so disgusted that people could scope to that level. She’s the sweetest person he’s ever met and was pretty sure no one could come close to her level. She’s Ladybug! Protector of Paris and people love her. And as soon as she shows up in a different form, she gets hated on? He was never one to be bothered by haters’ opinions, but they are directed at Marinette, the love of his life. He can’t let this slide! This shouldn’t even be happening. Why are humans so ugly? What—

“Adrien?”

Her groggy voice snapped him out of his onslaught of the haters, and he directed his attention to her on his chest.

Those blue eyes were staring at him so intently, and it made him self-conscious. But it also made him finally realise that his heart rate was accelerating and he was inhaling quick and shallow breaths. He was also gripping her shoulder stiffly.

He released his hold immediately.

Shit. Were those what disturbed her beauty sleep?

“Good morning, my lady!” He tried his best to sound as cheery as possible, to hide the fact that he was doing something she had disapproved of earlier on.

“What are you checking on your phone?” Fuck.

“Uhh—”

He wasn’t able to explain because Marinette had pushed herself from his chest to stop beside his head to have a better look.

Adrien could hear his own pulse in his head, and it was amplified by the silence that nestled itself within the room. She must be furious.

“Adrien,” her voice sounded deafening. “I would prefer it if you step back from social media and heal from what you experienced just yesterday.” She frowned and turned towards him. “Is there a reason why you refuse to stop browsing it?”

He let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Adrien didn’t know why he was so afraid of Marinette finding out, maybe he was scared of disappointing her, but her reactions showed that he has nothing to worry about. He supposed he did owe her an explanation for it.

“I… I hoped to get a general understanding of the public’s view on the matter,” his hand reached for hers and his thumb shyly caressed the back of her hand. “So that the statement that I eventually have to release can address them accordingly.”

“Okay, fair enough,” she still didn’t like the idea though. “But could you take more time off first? Or at least, we view them together?”

As much as Adrien admires Marinette’s commitment to solving issues, he truly didn’t want her to be reading those revolting comments about herself. “You really don’t want to see how distasteful they can be.”

“Haters gonna hate,” she shrugged. “I’ve dealt with that in school before. Besides, I don’t believe in liars. ”

Adrien’s eyes widened like saucers. “There were people who hated you?”

“Of course. I’m pretty sure they still do. I know I can’t please everyone,” she petted his head. “So don’t worry your pretty head about how I’ll take them. It’s us against the world, remember?”

“As always.” He smiled teasingly and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her cheek. “And you think I’m pretty.”

“Hush.”

23. Guilt

It’s been a few days since Adrien arrived at her home.

A few days since he had a taste of the potential life he might have with Marinette in the future.

A few days since pictures of them were invasively taken on the night of their reveal and sold to the biggest gossip magazine in Paris.

Adrien still has yet to do anything to address the issue. He had taken Marinette’s wishes to heart and took time off of social media to properly rejuvenate from the traumatic experience he went through in the Agreste mansion. She was right, he himself went through the intense rage he didn’t know he was capable of after reading about the offensive things some members of the public had said about her.

Marinette’s presence was very warm and welcoming. She had made the healing process much faster than if he had been dealing with it all alone.

But it still didn’t ease the guilt that has been eating at him ever since. Adrien knew he had to deal with the media when Shadowmoth’s identity became public knowledge. It was one of the reasons why he didn’t want the reveal to happen right after the final battle. He didn’t want his lady to be caught up in the mess. And to think that all her waiting had been for naught just because he slipped up on the night of their reveal.

He felt like utter shit.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

She was taken aback by the sudden apology. They were currently snuggling on her sofa, Marinette toying with his hair and Adrien lying on top of her chest, arms around her waist, listening to her heartbeat and enjoying the sensation her fingers brought. Nothing about the current situation they were in warranted a need for an apology from his end.

“Adrien, what do you mean?”

He looked at her. “I know how much you value your privacy. I practically put your face out for the world to see.”

Marinette frowned at this. “No, no you didn’t. Why would you say that? You took extra precautions for us to meet up, remember? Who walks in empty parks at 3 am in the morning? Literally no one! So—“

“But think about it, Marinette,” he cut her. “If I didn’t insist on walking you home in our civilian forms, if I had just chosen another date for the reve—”

“Are you saying you regret the way the reveal went?”

“No!” Adrien was flabbergasted that she even came to that conclusion. “Of course not! I would never! It has brought me so much joy to finally know who you are.”

He squeezed her waist. “But I can’t help but think all this mess could’ve been avoided if only I was more careful.”

When Marinette didn’t reply, he took it as she was waiting for him to elaborate further.

“I was so blinded by what I wanted at that moment that I created this mess. I caused you to be in harm's way.” He averted his gaze as tears started to form in his eyes. “The media was one of the reasons why I held off the reveal. I didn’t want the media’s eyes on you. And now, all the time you’ve spent patiently waiting for the reveal has been for nothing, all because of what I did. I was so selfish in my approach. I’m so sorry.”

Marinette held his face in her hands and wiped away the tears. “But you made it right straight away, didn’t you?”

Adrien snapped back to her. “H-Huh?”

“You asked me to transform and leave the area as soon as you realised something was wrong, didn’t you?” She smiled gently and caressed his cheeks.

He said nothing to reject her deduction. She shouldn’t be giving him those looks when he had ruined her life.

His eyes widened as she planted a kiss on his forehead. “You’re selfish, Adrien. But not in the way you think you are. The fact that you're guilty of your actions makes you aware and sensitive to the ones around you.”

She moved to stroke his hair. “You’re empathetic towards others, that’s far from being selfish.”

Her actions were so simple. Yet, her eyes, voice, and touch all soothed him to no end.

Marinette held his cheeks again and pressed her lips to his nose. “Have you actually forgotten that you’re Chat Noir, Protector of Paris? You're the reason why Paris is safe now.”

She pecked his left cheek. “It's not selfish to want something you desire, when giving is all you’ve been doing all this while.”

And then the other. “So Adrien, you don’t need to apologise for exposing me to the media. I don’t blame you for that. At all. Because you’ve done nothing wrong. But I do hope you forgive yourself for being selfish.”

He leaned towards her hand and rubbed his face against them. Her assurance means everything to him.

Marinette regarded him, and added one last sentence to solidify her speech. “I would say I’m selfish too, I refused to let you go when you clearly needed some time and space to yourself.”

“You're not selfish, my lady” he immediately jumped to deny any allegations she made against herself. “Your presence really helped me.”

“Then apply these to yourself too, Chaton. You being selfish made me really happy,” she flashed a pleasant and tender smile to him. Her hand travelled into his hair again and played with them. “I finally got to know who the love of my life is. It's what I’ve wanted for 6 years. So your selfishness has made me really blissful. I think I would’ve been more offended if you weren’t selfish,” she giggled.

Adrien was about to melt into a puddle of goo if she continued throwing those looks at him. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, hoping to convey his gratitude through his eyes and gesture. “I was heading towards a negative headspace, and I apologise for that. Thanks for pulling me back.”

She smiled, and he knew that it had. “I forgive you, and you're welcome. Treat yourself nicer, Adrien. It's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

Adrien lifted himself off of her and moved to rub his nose on hers admiringly before his lips landed on hers, pouring all of his love and adoration for her into that kiss.

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

**

You parked on the side of an empty back road, careful not to stop in any spot that might be muddy. It hadn’t rained for a few days, but with the weather lately, you couldn’t be too careful. The last thing you needed was to have to call Erik and confess to him that you did indeed go out to the woods to take pictures and were now stuck in the mud and needed his help.

A small part of you felt guilty. His concern wasn’t completely unfounded. If he’d had gotten hurt working on a backdrop by himself, whether by falling off a ladder or being hit by a light, you would be hesitant about him doing it again. But each of you were your own person, right? Independent not codependent?

Okay, it was probably time to lay of the self-help books for a while. You took one modern philosophy class and it had been a downward spiral from there. Perhaps it was time to give the supernatural genre a try.

The trees smelled intoxicating. Mixed with the humidity in the air, it was the kind of scent that could outperform even the most expensive of perfumes. It was an aroma that surrounded you, engulfed you in its arms the further into the woods you went. The peaceful smile that pulled on the corners of your lips were automatic, involuntary. Not that you would fight if you could. Despite the rumors of wolves running around, you were comfortable here.

Deep within the forest, a wide, oval clearing full of browned wildflowers rested. Bits of green here and there tried to break through the foliage that had died during the harsh winter. Their odds of making it through might not have been great, but you admired their tenacity.

These clearings were common in the woods and yet, they were your favorite places to capture. From one angle, it could seem like you were lost in a fast labyrinth of Mother Nature. Another, a prairie that belonged to another region entirely. The possibilities were endless if you really thought about it. And each clearing, you’d discovered, was unique within itself. Its shape, the plants it held, the thickness of the grass. You knew you hadn’t found every one yet, but you were determined to someday. For now, though, you would have stick with this particular clearing that you had visited before, as it was close to the road for a quick getaway, should you need it.

Sliding the bags off your shoulder, you crouched down and dug through until you found your notebook. The pages were unlined, which allowed you to right down your thoughts and ideas at odd angles. To you, it gave the otherwise somewhat boring inside a more artistic aesthetic. The plain leather cover was soft in your hands, worn from the amount of use and abuse you’d put it through. It wasn’t exactly common for photographers to write out their ideas before shooting. Some drew out the scene they wanted to capture, trying out different angles in their imagination. Most didn’t do any sort of prep like this at all. But you preferred to write it out, especially since most of your ideas tended to come at the most inconvenient times. Scribbling down half-coherent words tended to be quicker than a sketch.

After a quick review of your latest ideas, you tossed the notebook down and turned on your camera. You took several test shots, adjusting each settling until you came to the look you were searching for. Long shots and close ups, you photographed nearly every square foot of that clearing in order to get that one picture. That one picture that took everyone’s breath away, that made them stop and tilt their head every which way in order to take the scene in at all possible viewpoints. You wanted to them to see the world the way you did.

So in tuned to what you were doing, you hadn’t noticed the pair of eyes watching you from the shadows. They gave off the faintest glow filled with curiosity as they hovered in the air. You snapped a few photos in their direction, still unaware of their presence, and then lowered the camera to look back on the shots. At first, when you clicked through the pictures, you didn’t notice the tiny amber dots that blended in with the foliage. But by the fourth picture, you stopped.

Never before had you been scared by this place. Then again, the only animals you’d ever encountered before were rabbits and deer and other mostly harmless critters. These did not look like the eyes of a friendly Disney sidekick. Ice ran down your spine. You couldn’t run. If it was a predator, that would only encourage it. So, you tried to remain as still as possible while lifting your eyes to the spot that the animal was hiding. Perhaps there was a chance that it wouldn’t sense your fear and would take your stare down as a reason to walk away.

No such luck.

The leaves under its paws rustled as it stepped forward into the sun.

A tannish wolf with a long black strip down its back revealed itself. But it didn’t look menacing. In fact, though you might have been fooling yourself, it seemed almost… curious? Confused? It was hard to read the expression since you couldn’t fully compare it to a human. With slow, thoughtful steps, it came closer. You tried to remain still, tried not to move. The strain was causing your legs to tremble slightly. Now, you felt tremendously stupid for not listening to Willa’s warning about wolves. Was this considered an ironic moment? You weren’t entirely sure since language arts had never been your strong suit.

Unable to keep you upright anymore, your legs gave out. At least you landed on your butt with your camera hanging safely around your neck. Your fingernails dug into the dirt next to you as the wolf came closer, still at that same cautious pace. Harder and harder, your heart pounded in your ears. The wolf paused for a few seconds before continuing on. Could it hear your terrified pulse? Silently, you said your goodbyes as the wolf erased all space between you. Its muzzle nudged your cheek, coming to a stop near your ear. It sniffed deeply, then jumped back.

Your eyes widened, somewhat relieved that it hadn’t pounced, but also confused. Why wasn’t it attacking? Why did it look spooked?

The wolf sat back, head tilting back and forth as it studied you. It made no threatening moves or sounds. The tips of its ears perked up and it let out a sound that was eerily similar to a scoff.

“I guess you’re not hungry then?” An odd thing to say out loud to an animal that couldn’t talk, but you blamed it on the shock of the whole situation.

The wolf responded with a short puff of air before lowering itself down to its stomach.

This was… surreal. All the other animals you’d ever encountered had either kept their distance or ran away at the slightest sound. And yet, here was this wolf, laying in front of you, not vicious or aggressive. It was almost… cute, in a way.

“You’re a strange creature,” you said out loud. The wolf apparently took that as a sign to come closer. Crawling on its stomach, it took came to the point where it was almost able to rest its head in your lap-

The shrill sound of your current favorite song ripped through the air. You gasped, jumping up to your feet and running to your bag where you desperately searched through the pockets until you found your phone. It was Willa.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?”

“I, um,” you glanced at the wolf who had jumped up to its feet. “I got bored so I’m just out driving around. Why?”

“Jiyoung called and asked last second to switch shifts at the coffee shop and so I’m free for the evening. And I’m hungry.”

You laughed a little at her not-so-subtle hint. “Alright. Give me twenty minutes to get back to the dorm. How does brick oven pizza sound?”

“Like heaven.”

“Okay, then. See you soon.” You ended the call and looked up, meeting eyes with the wolf. It never broke contact and in turn, gave you a bit more bravery. Lifting up the camera, you snapped a single shot of the wolf. “I’ll be back.” A strange promise to make, but you said it anyway. You wanted another encounter with this mysterious creature. Gathering up your things, you hurried out of the clearing and back through the trees to your car, still sitting on the side of the road.

It took less than twenty minutes to make it back to the university. Back at the dorm, Willa was lying on her bed, scrolling through her phone mindlessly. She sat up as soon as you came through the door.

“Fun drive?” she asked.

You shrugged. “It was fine.”

“No exciting scenes to snap?”

Her tease made you roll your eyes. “No, not really. Now, come on. I thought you said you wanted to eat?”

Not missing a beat, Willa jumped up from the bed, snatched up her purse, and pulled you out of the room, contemplating out loud which signature pizza sounded good.

**

Minseok growled as he ran through the forest. How he could have possibly lost those three was beyond him. Being unable to find them now was even more stupefying. They were loud, how could he not know which direction to take? He had to be careful. This part of the forest was close to the back roads and Junmyeon was worried they were being spotted too often. If the three them weren’t paying attention-

Click. Click. Click.

Minseok brought himself to a halt at the strange sound. There wasn’t any sort of pattern to it, but there was an underlying shuttering that seemed vaguely familiar. Too curious to just ignore it, Minseok headed in the direction e suspected it came from. Once he found the answer, he’d go back to finding the others.

The sound led him to one of the many clearings in the woods. A person wandering around the area taking pictures seemed to be the source, a camera in their hands. You appeared to be alone. Odd since not many ventured out in the forest by themselves. The isolation didn’t seem to bother you, though as you carelessly went about your task.

Staying in the shadows, Minseok watched your back as you continued to photograph the nature around you. Something… something strange was tingling in his shoulders, like the muscle beneath the skin had fallen asleep. Without prompt from him, his paw moved forward. He should be leaving. Be gone before you spotted him. But he couldn’t do it. Something told him to wait.

That’s when you turned around. By the way you kept taking pictures, you hadn’t seen him. It wasn’t until you lowered the camera to review the film did you freeze. And you weren’t the only one.

Something in Minseok’s world snapped when he saw your face. His muscles contracted, shivered and ached.

Go! an inner voice urged. He tried to turn his body in the opposite direction of you, but failed. Not that way! He had no choice but to obey. So he stepped closer to you. Your eyes snapped up, meeting his own. In his chest, his heart accelerated. What was this? What was going on?

Slightly fighting each movement, Minseok broke out from the tree line and into the clearing. It was obvious you were frightened. And he was breaking all the rules by revealing himself. Logic could not win, however. He kept walking. Even after you fell backwards, he was only able to pause for a brief second. Your rapidly beating heart was loud in his own sensitive ears. But he wasn’t so sure that it was completely out of fear. He needed to be closer. So closer he went. The whiskers of his muzzle brushed against your cheek, sending a lightning bolt through his body. He took in your scent and reeled back. 

You smelled human. You were human. But… there’s something different about you and he couldn’t fathom what it might be. 

“I guess you’re not hungry then?” you said oddly. 

Minseok laughed. Well, as much as he could with this ribcage and these vocal cords. Overwhelmed, he adjusted to a more comfortable position. The feeling in his chest was almost all consuming and it weighed him down. He’d seen plenty of humans on his runs, but this had never happened before. Was this something that would only happen because he was in his wolf form? Or would he still feel like this if he saw you on two legs?

With a glimmer in your eye, you sighed, “You’re a strange creature.” 

Taking that as sign, he tested the waters and pulled himself across the grass with his front paws, closing the gap between you. 

A song suddenly cut through the air and forced him to a stop before he could rest his head in your lap - an action that he was itching to try out. You jumped up with a gasp and ran to the bags resting at the bottom of a tree. Frantically, you searched the pockets until you found the source of the noise, answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?” asked a female voice on the other end. 

“I, um,” you glanced over him, making him jump to his feet. Will you tell your friend the truth?  “I got bored so I’m just out driving around. Why?”

He almost let out a sigh from relief. Talk of an overly friendly wolf would be bad, especially if it spread through town and more people ventured into the woods to try and encounter him. 

“Jiyoung called and asked last second to switch shifts at the coffee shop and so I’m free for the evening. And I’m hungry.”

You laughed. “Alright. Give me twenty minutes to get back to the dorm. How does brick oven pizza sound?”

“Like heaven.”

“Okay, then. See you soon.” You hung up the call and met his eyes again. Impulsively, you took one last picture of him, which he didn’t shy away from. “I’ll be back,” you promised softly. 

Minseok could no longer feel the ground beneath him. He just stood there, watching as you ran through the trees in the direction of the road. When his senses came back to him, he noticed a small brown square hidden among the tan grass. He went closer to inspect what the object was. It was a notebook. 

It must be yours. 

Scooping the leather-bound book in his mouth, he took off after you. Following your scent through the forest was easy – it stood out like a pink flower in a sea of green grass. But he wasn’t quick enough. He caught the sight of your tail lights far down the road. He would have to keep a hold of the notebook until he saw you again. You did say that you would be back. 

Or you could track her down? 

Minseok shook that thought away. How would he ever explain that without giving away his true nature?

Giving up for the time being, he turned around and decided to head back to the house. There was no way he could find the others now. And with you gone, the elated feeling disappeared, leaving him weighted as if he were being dragged down into the earth. Each step was anchored down. It took him much longer to get back to the farm house. 

Several other members were scattered about the house, either working on their studies or clowning around. Your notebook tucked between his clothes and held close to his chest, he headed up to his room. After a quick shower, he got dressed once again and sat on the end of his bed. In his hands, he flipped the notebook over and over. He contemplated opening it. But that would be invading, wouldn’t it? But he wanted to find out about you. 

So he pulled open the cover. 

Inside, in the top right hand corner of the first page was your name. He smiled, saying it softly over and over. It felt… right on his lips. Your face hovered in his mind. It fit you so well, like a jacket tailored with perfection. 

The nature of wolves was an odd kind. There was a constant urge to belong. To belong to a pack and then… to belong to a person. 

Ever since he was young, he was told about how someday he find that special person whose soul was connected to his. Fate predetermined who that person would be and no one could ever fill the void that existed until that person came along. Ordinary humans would never experience that kind of feeling, that kind of love. The type of love for the wolf that could only be given by one person. 

A mate. 

Was that what you were? None of his brothers were mated. They were all free – some taking more advantage of the situation than others. Occasionally, they would joke about who would be first. Some thought it might be Yixing, given his soft heart and the genuine warmth he radiated. Others liked to joke that it would be Baekhyun or Jongin, the big serial daters of the pack. Minseok, though, had his money set on Jongdae. That wolf had barely been able to give in to the call of the pack when he first joined them all. He was verbally against the idea of mating, more so than anyone else. Opening up to people was not a strong suit of the younger wolf and Minseok couldn’t wait to see what kind of journey that would be once he was forced to. 

Minseok would have been the last person on everyone’s mind for the mated list. Not for any malicious reasons, just because he didn’t venture out very much beyond school so the odds of meeting someone new were low. Or so he thought. He liked being out at the house, being home. He was the very definition of “homebody”. Ironic that he ended up meeting you out here. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

He looked up and quickly hid the notebook beneath his pillows, just in time before Junmyeon, the alpha, peaked his head in. “Minseok?”

“Yeah?”

Junmyeon looked back towards the hallway. “Yeah, he’s in here!” he yelled. “Tell Jongdae to stop worrying!” 

Minseok laughed. Naturally, they leave him behind but then they get worried. He was the eldest, always looking after the others. And yet, oftentimes, it didn’t feel like that. 

Where he thought that might be the end of the checkup, Junmyeon, instead, closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed beside him. 

“Everything okay?” he asked. 

Minseok nodded. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“I saw the look on your face when you came in,” Junmyeon explained. “You looked troubled.”

The two of them weren’t the closet out of the whole pack. In fact, there were times where it was awkward between them, the role of the alpha and the role of eldest clashing at times. But other times, he was the best one to turn to. 

“What do you know about the mating aspect of us?” 

Junmyeon pursed his lips, thinking. “The mating aspect? Only the basics, really. That when you meet that one person, that’s it. And you’re supposed to live happily ever after.” He laughed at the cheesy line, releasing some of the tension. 

Minseok couldn’t help but laugh along. It died out soon, though, as his mind went back to his current dilemma. “They always say you just know after one look. Do you think that’s right?”

“Yes, I do,” the alpha confirmed. “That’s all it takes. You feel it in here.” He tapped his chest, right about his heart. “Minseok? Why are you asking about this?”

He weighed his options. If this wasn’t what he thought it was and the others found out, he would never hear the end of it from them. But having someone validate his theory would ease some of the strain. 

“I think I found her.”

[seokiloquy]

Lost In- What Word? Pt 1 - Akaashi Keiji

AU: Single Parent

Requested

Word Count: 4.5k+

Disclaimer: Fem! Reader, Time skip spoilers, Udai being a meta Furudate insert, just fluff

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Akaashi wasn’t sure if Udai was naturally forgetful, or just held so much anticipation in his smaller form that he glossed over details and didn't realize it. Udai was an excellent author despite not having reached the major public yet. His first published work was short and eerie which most of the shonen reading population didn’t greedily rip off the shelves. Although, those that did read it gave him overwhelming support, maybe the rest of the world wasn’t ready for that kind of psychological horror just yet.

When Akaashi originally applied for a position at the publishing company he intended to work in the literature department, editing lengthy novels and picking out grammatical errors, not reading conversations via text bubbles and looking for continuity errors between images. He never did pick out the exact moment he went from editor to fact-checker and archivist. Akaashi also never knew how many different ways there were to translate a single word until he met you. And once he did, he realized that his eyes would follow you across the office as you ran around and spoke to other editors, helping them furnish their translations so that they flowed properly.

“Tenma, isn’t he meant to be out of the rotation for this panel?” Akaashi couldn’t help but grimace when faced with the utter despair that had pulled on Udai’s typically eased expression. The panel itself was masterfully drawn, taking up two pages and showing off Udai’s immense talent in drawing expressions and anatomy.

“I spent 8 hours on that, only to find out that it needs to be scrapped. What has my life come to?”

The yellow office lights made both of the men’s hair give off a green tinge and made their faces look sickly. Udai frowned as he pushed his chair back and let his chin sit on the table of the small meeting room. His hair curled around his fingers as they gently tugged on the ends of the wavy black stands, straightening them only to let them go and have them bounce back into place.

Akaashi flipped through the printed out pages of the chapter, letting the loose papers lay flat on the table. He pointed to the next pages. “These are fine though. They’re in the right rotation here, so not all is lost at least.”

Udai sighed, as he threw his weight back into the chair, making it spin with his momentum. “That’s all well and good, but I was really proud of that panel. It was going to be the attention grabber.”

Akaashi pursed his lips gently, flipping through the pages once more before tucking them into the pale yellow folder and closing it. Udai’s new story was in its beginning stages, only having a sample chapter that would be published in the following week’s magazine, that is if they got it done in time. 

“It needs to be perfect. I can’t have this not work and starve for the rest of my life.”

Akaashi opened his mouth slightly, taking in a deep breath, ready to spout out his words of encouragement for his colleague when there was a knock on the door followed by the soft creaking of the hinges as it opened.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to ask Udai about some of the uh… what’s the word? Dang, I’m supposed to know Japanese, it’s my job. The— I give up. Help?”

Udai chuckled and waved you over to take the seat opposite him, you shook your head and bowed slightly as your hand raised, saying you were alright, not needing the chair. Leaning down slightly you pointed at the ruff sketch copy in your hand where your current author’s handwriting seemed to over the edges of the text bubble slightly.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but how in the hell am I supposed to translate ‘paisen’?”

The innocent question seemed to brighten Udai’s mood much more than Akaashi’s monotone words of support would have. The older man launched backwards, nearly flinging himself off the chair, in a fit of laughter. His hands gripped the shirt he wore above his stomach and chest as they tried to ease the laughing pains.

Akaashi chuckled at the sight before looking at your somewhat regretful expression, you were probably too used to your co-workers laughing at your in-fluency at Japanese. “You can probably substitute a familiar nickname or a joking reference of respect.”

You sighed and brushed your hand over the back of your neck, “I swear, Himari had the intent to torture me with this last chapter. Thank you, Akaashi.”

Finally calmed from his fit of giggles, Udai sat straight in his chair and sent you a gracious smile. “Well, at least when you join our team I won’t torture you as much.”

You gave Udai and Akaashi a teasing smirk as you reached for the door handle. “I’m not so sure about that,” you said. “Besides, you need to get the attention of the readers before I join your team. No point in translating a comic that doesn’t even get off the ground right?”

You sent them a wink and the door closed behind you with a quiet click.

“Was that a challenge?”

“I believe so,” Akaashi said, handing Udai a blank sheet of paper. “Looks like we have some work to do.”

The office was, as it was the day before, and the day before that, calm. Udai sat in a small isolated office on his own with a naturally coloured lamp hanging over his hunched figure. The rest of his team, including Akaashi and now you as well, sat outside his door in a row of cubicles that led up to a large window that took up the entirety of the wall. In the corner cubicle, pressed against the window and directly across from him, you sat, typing away on your computer as you translated the Japanese text into Wild Words fonted English. 

“Akaashi, is the end of chapter ready to translate?” Your head peeked over the frosted cubicle wall, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips and the corner of your eyes pinching together. Akaashi’s gaze fluttered around.

“Ah, Ya the edits are done so you can finish translating it now.”

The smile you wore only seemed to grow, making Akaashi want to turn away and stare at the same time. The sun’s light contrasted with the dull rectangular lights in the office, making your skin glow. Your fingers tightened on the top of the glass and your shoulders rose to your ears, you narrowly missed knocking over an owl keychain that hung on his side of the wall.

“Perfect,” you said. “I’ll get them done now.”

The day continued like this, everyone working and occasionally calling out to each other through their cubed walls, possibly getting a twirling pen in the forehead followed by a meek apology (coming from you). Every time you spoke to someone you would rise out of your seat to make eye contact with them, refusing to continue speaking otherwise, and even though he wasn’t the person you always spoke to, each time your head began to poke out of your squared corner Akaashi couldn’t help but turn his attention your way, watching as the sun's light danced around you. It didn’t come to a surprise when, like every instance before, Akaashi looked up when you shot up from your seat. Only this time there was a frantic look plastered unevenly on your face, one that the warm light didn’t compliment.

“Please tell me my clock is wrong and that it’s not 4 pm.”

Chiyo leaned back in her chair, setting down her Cintiq’s pen and flipped the watch on her wrist so that the face faced her. “Yup, it’s actually 4:15.”

Akaashi was surprised to hear a not so work friendly English curse leave your lips as you rushed to save files on your computer while simultaneously packing your purse. You continued to swear as you ran out of your cubicle and toward the elevators with a quick “goodbye” being thrown over your shoulder. The office was quiet.

“Does that happen often?” Ena asked as he pulled off his glasses.

The group of artists and their editor sat in stunned silence for a few moments, minds racing over where the young translator had scurried off to. In their collaborative confusion, the team slowly went back to their respective jobs.

Himari came around the corner of the office, coffee in hand, as she chatted with her editor, who was nursing his own mug. The writer looked up for her conversation to see Udai’s team and gave them a polite nod. They were going to meekly return to their work when Himari paused her steps and looked at the empty plush chair that sat rotated and untucked in your cubicle.

“Oh, did (Y/N) leave?” to Akaashi’s surprise, Himari was not.

“Does she do that often?” he asked, setting down his pen on the counter of his desk.

Himari nodded, smiling, “Oh ya, sometimes she gets lucky and her friend can handle it but a lot of the time she has to run out of here by 3.” Akaashi’s brow furrowed slightly as Himari took a sip of her coffee before continuing waving her hand by her head, “Don’t worry too much about it though, she always comes in early to get her work done.”

Before they could question further, Himari was off with her editor sending them a knowing smile.

When the end of the workday rolled around, only 45 minutes after your quick departure, Akaashi found his eyes trailing back to his phone that sat at the corner of his desk on top of a stack of papers. Keeping watch on his phone, he swung his bag over his shoulder and shut off his computer. The device remained silent as the team began to pile out of their seats, toward the elevators and in a fit of contemplation, he reached for the phone.

Your response was quick and vague; Family thing, happens often. I’ll tell you later. See you tomorrow!

After the sample comic was released, Udai was thrown when he received an immense amount of interest for his characters and story, and he was even more excited when he received word from the magazine’s publishers that they wanted him to continue with the path he was on. The months building up to this moment were filled with constant plot revisions, reference excursions, and interviews until they came to a conclusive framework of the story, and continued introductions as new members were added to their original duo to make the workload less hefty. 

Today though was the day that the story’s first chapter would finally be released to the public. 

Akaashi tracked into the office, heading to the lounge to grab a coffee before coming up to his cubicle against the window and setting his bag down, immediately heading to the lounge. 8:40 in the morning, 20 minutes before the expected time of arrival, Akaashi, back at his desk, was just about to take a sip of coffee when a small snore overlapped the sound of the air conditioners, creating a dishonest harmony. 

On the other side of the frosted glass wall of the cubicle was you, head resting on the black mouse pad that had a small plush cushion for your wrist. Akaashi quickly rounded the desks, coming to our side to gently rouse you from your slumber before your co-workers arrived. He was to wake you up gently with a hand on your shoulder, that was the plan. The plan changed when he noticed the small picture frame on your desk, surrounded by various action figures and Funko pops.

With one hand on your shoulder and the other holding the fame, he studied the photo with a kind gaze. He was so enthralled with the image that he forgot that below his other hand, was you.

“He’s cute ain’t he?” you asked, startling the editor back to his current reality as you stretched, arching your back like a cat. Akaashi’s attention was brought back to the current situation as you reached out for another frame in the opposite corner of your desk. “His name is Naoko. Here, this photo is newer.”

The young boy in the new photo looked like you a lot, more so than the previous one where he was just an infant that carried more resemblance to a potato than a human. Akaashi, without taking his eyes off the pictures, pulled the chair out from under Ena’s desk and sat next to you. He didn’t say anything, deciding just to admire the photos he held and letting you decide whether or not he should have the pleasure of hearing a story.

You sighed and yawned, leaning over the armrest of your chair so you would see them too. “He’s six, really quiet. I moved here when I found out. Hardly even out of university, and I was already pregnant with some strangers kid,” you laughed, making Akaashi stare at your features for a moment, wanting to point out which ones could be found on the boy.

“Is he the reason you moved to Japan?” Akaashi was a little taken aback by your willingness to talk, but in hindsight, you didn’t seem like the person to keep secrets, often rattling with your co-workers about your interests. Thinking back, maybe he should have expected something like this, Himari seemed to have known after working with you for several years, happily dancing around the topic of your personal life with your new coworkers when your sudden departure was questioned.

You shrugged, “not entirely, but he sure was a good excuse. I had plans to move to Japan for years before I even got into university. When I found out, I was sort of… uh. English…. Fuck, I need a job. So I applied to be an intern here, moved in with a friend I met online and prepared to have a baby.” Your arms flew about as you talked.

“You act as though it was easy,” Akaashi laughed, placing the frames back onto the table.

You let out a happy chuckle and spun your chair to face Akaashi head-on, eyes not leaving his, “I wouldn’t say it was easy, per se, but I’m happy with how things turned out.” you yawned a bit, “I should also apologize for running out of the office early sometimes, I have to pick Naoko up from school so —”

“You don’t have to apologize for that.” The gentle smile he wore was contagious.

It was 8:50 when the rest of the team came in. Immediately catching sight of Ena, Akaashi pulled away from your side, rolling the chair back to its respective location. He heard a breathy laugh escape you as he scurried around the desks to return to his designated spot across from you, cardigan flailing about.

The rest of your team piled into their seats sending the two of you waves and morning greetings. Ena nearly dropped his ‘don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’ mug as he tripped over his rubber slides just before reaching his desk next to yours.

Sending your friends a smile you quickly slid back into your cubicle to re-adjust the frames on your desk with a yawn. Akaashi gave you a nod when you looked up to his stiff, still standing, form. You made his heart feel much weaker than he’d like to admit and without saying another word, he picked up the forgotten mug filled with brown liquid and handed it over the glass, into your hands.

Naoko was much more reserved than Akaashi expected, definitely a contrast to your more hyper personality. He spent most of the day sitting in the corner behind your cubicle where a table was set up next to a row of cabinets. What the boy was doing, Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure, but there was a small tickle at that back of his brain that made him want to find out.

When you had come in that morning, the group was surprised to see the small boy trailing behind you, holding onto your hand tightly with the both of his. “PD day,” you said. Udai spent the first few minutes of the day gushing over the boy’s cheeks instead of working, only to end up being backtracked and having to cram into his lunch break. Akaashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for that though.

“What do you have there?” he asked, taking a seat next to the boy and setting down his lunch next to the younger’s bento box.

Naoko curled in on himself, bringing the phone (that was most definitely yours) to his chest. The boy’s knees had pulled up to his shoulders as his feet pushed on the edge of the chair. Akaashi sent the young boy a kind smile and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see your chair turn around as you took in the sight of your son and co-worker. He watched as you began making large swinging motions with your arms. Akaashi tried not to laugh.

Whatever had been playing on the phone hadn’t been paused in the short time given to do so, making the familiar sound ring quietly around the two of them. 

Akaashi looked back your way for a moment, only to see you tilt your head up in a supporting nudge and turn back around.

“Are you watching a volleyball game?” he asked, rousing a more positive reaction from the boy.

Naoko’s shoulders lowered and he slowly placed the phone down between them. As Akaashi had concluded, a volleyball game played on the small screen. He put forward another question.

“Do you like to play?”

The six-year-old shrugged but nodded before scooting his chair in closer and reaching for his food. Akaashi mirrored him, slipping off his collared cardigan and pulling his lunch closer, still watching the game.

“I used to play volleyball.” This caught the boy’s attention, who turned his head to look at Akaashi, brows raised and lips pursed. “I was a setter.”

Naoko swallowed his food and for the first time, Akaashi got to hear him speak.

“I like playing setter too.”

His voice was rather meek and had a sort of authority to it, but the biggest thing he noticed made him stifle a laugh.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called gently, making you spin your chair around in question. “Why is Naoko better at Japanese then you?”

“Hey! That’s mean!”

Naoko began to wiggle in his seat, desperately trying not to laugh at his mother’s, your, irritation. You shot a look at your son and gasped.

“Don’t you start laughing at me. I speak English better than you do.”

“You don’t need to speak English in Japan, mom.”

Kaashi continued to choke on his laugher as you pushed the palm of your hand into your forehead. “I’m being teased by my own son,” you cried quietly, turning your chair back around to face the unedited pages.

Naoko giggled and looked back Akaashi’s way. “Can you teach me?”

Akaashi didn’t see you still in your chair, listening.

“Of course I can.”

“Udai, seriously? You promised that you weren’t going to use weird industry term slang stuff on me.”

With a wide-eyed look and hair messily tied back, the man in question rotated his chair around childishly. “I never promised. I just said I'd go easier on you.” It was infuriating really. 

With a pitiful whine, you shook the rough script in your hand making an angry fluttering sound. “You’re so mean Tenma. You know that I have trouble with slang.”

Udai only laughed and waved you off, “It’s a good way to learn is it not?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, giving a wave and closing the door. Once at your seat Akaashi poked his head out, eyes visible over the top of his square-framed glasses.

“He did it again?”

“Ya,” you huffed. “I can’t blame him though. It’s just frustrating that I can’t remember what a lot of the words mean. I should buy a dictionary.” Akaashi watched as you turned your monitor on. “Oh, um, Naoko was asking about you the other day.”

“Really?”

Your hands came together behind your neck, pulling your head down bashfully. “Ya, he’s been wanting to show you how he’s doing and maybe get the chance to learn a bit from you.”

Akaashi gave you a kind smile, so small that it didn’t even crease his cheeks, and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Your cheeks warmed as you beamed up at him before turning your head down towards your computer screen. Akaashi took a second to appreciate how the cool light from the overcast sky made you look. It was silent in the office for a moment. Just a moment.

“Udai! Another one?!”

In theory, so long as you have space above your head, you can play volleyball anywhere. Your apartment wasn’t ‘anywhere’.

The three-bedroom living space was built as housing and not an Olympic arena, and after breaking one too many of your glasses playing around, it was made clear to you, Naoko, and your sport junky roommate, that volleyball shouldn’t be allowed in the house.

“You guys can go play volleyball with Akaashi at the park, no?” Yukie asked, grabbing an onigiri of the large plate on your kitchen counter and stuffing it in her face. You made a large dinner that day, only to have your friend eat most of it, instead of leaving leftovers for Naoko’s lunch. Not that he complained about it, you sure did though.

Taking Yukie’s words to heart, when the weekend rolled around and Naoko was becoming more anxious, you invited Akaashi to your neighbourhood park to play volleyball.

“Open your elbows a bit more, make a triangle with your hand, and when the ball comes just cushion it with your fingertips before sending it out, okay?”

Naoko nodded, staring at his hands that were being moved around by the older player. Akaashi’s form was kneeled by the boy’s side, his head nearly resting on the younger's shoulder as he tried to make sure he was in the right position.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing the smaller than average volleyball off of the grass. “I’m gonna toss this to you, do you think you can get it to hit my hand right up here?”

Naoko nodded again, eagerly waiting for the blue and yellow ball to come flying his way. You watched silently from the park bench as Naoko tried (and often failed) to get the ball to touch Akaashi’s hand accurately. 

“Almost there, you got this Naoko!” Akaashi encouraged.

Earnestly waiting to see the next move, you sat forward in your seat, watching as that ball made a tall arch towards Naoko’s waiting palms. As the ball made contact with his fingertips, he bent his elbows and wrists before shooting them out into a straight line, sending into the palm of Akaashi’s hand before dropping back onto the grassy field.

Your son, as most six-year-olds do when accomplishing something, shrieked. He shrieked very loudly before sprinting directly into Akaashi’s stomach to give him a (breath-stealing) hug. Akaashi coughed as he tried to get air back into his depleted lungs. From the side you giggled, watching as Naoko’s smile grew, head buried into Akaashi’s stomach.

It became standard, going out to the park during your off days. And this day, like the weekends that have come before, the routine of going to the park, ball in hand, continued. But after spending an hour or so watching the familiar movement of the yellow and blue ball fly through the air, Naoko interrupted the serene setting with a loud request.

“Mama! Mom! Can we go get onigiri?”

Looking up from resting your neck on the back of the bench to turn your gaze onto the energetic boy that was hopping around on the grass. “I’m okay with that, but you should probably ask Akaashi along. We don't want to leave him at the park do we?” you teased, picking up your bag and walking toward the two.

Naoko spun again to look at Akaashi, whose hands were now tucked into his jeans pockets. “Please!” he wailed. “Come with us! Please, please, please, please, please!”

Akaashi let out a hearty laugh. “Calm down, I’ll join you.” without saying another word, Akaashi offered his hand out, letting Naoko clutch it eagerly.

“Udai are you sure it’s okay to bring Naoko along? This is meant to be a work trip and I’d hate for him to dis… dic… get in the way,” you gave up at the end, sighing over your tripping words.

Udai gave Naoko, who had been clinging to Akaashi’s arm since all of you had met outside the city gymnasium, a pat on the head. “It’s alright. Besides, he’ll probably be a great resource.” 

You nodded and watched as Naoko rattled to Akaashi about his school team and new things they had been practicing. You pouted. Upon their arrival, Ena, Chiyo and the others immediately began teasing you for effectively losing your son’s favour, which didn’t make your whining any less audible. On top of that, the group of artists found your sullen look to be a perfect reference, taking their cameras out.

“Keiji,” you cried, following behind the rest of the group as they waltzed through the gym entrance along with the crowd. “You’ve stolen my son.”

Akaashi paused for a moment, taking in a calm breath before looking over his shoulder. “He’s your son, I can’t steal that from you.”

Naoko threw a large smile over his shoulder, making your dragging steps falter.

When did it change? The expression on his face. When did it become so happy? Did he not smile before?

You picked up your pace, brows furrowed as you watched your son chatter happily.

When did he start speaking so much? Since when did he have so much to say? Was it something new in his diet? Or maybe the new friends on his volleyball team?

You found your gaze shifting to the hand that held his. Without thinking about it too hard, you quickened your steps to come up to Naoko’s other side. Your heart pounded as you held your closest hand out for him to grab hold of. When he finally did, immediately looking forward to dragging the two adults with him, the smile you gave Akaashi was the largest he’s ever seen coming from you. 

You looked back at all of your interconnecting hands fondly.

When did he become another person’s son?

I tried going a bit of a different direction with this one in comparison to most Single Parent aus. I’ll admit it could have more meat to it, but oh well, things to improve on. 

Question:

Do you prefer weekly one-shots that are shorter in length (like we’re doing) or longer ones with bigger plots and inconsistent updates (Sort of like “Catch Me If You Can” and “Ready Aim FIre” but longer)? 

- Bacon

Posted: 31/07/2020

[starshine583]

Le Paon Part 8

(Hey, guys! Here’s another chapter of the Le Paon AU. I’m going to try to update this every two weeks now- since weekly updates were a mess for me. Please tell me what you think, and if you want to keep reading!)

Part 1 / Part 7 / Part 9

“‘Change tactics’? What do you mean?” Felix asked, sparing Nathalie a glance. She seemed to be in a bitter mood that evening, more so than usual. 

“Just that.” Gabriel said, regaining his attention. “Ladybug is too cunning to challenge her head on. We must come up with another strategy. One that under-goes her suspicions and exploits her weaknesses.”

Felix frowned. Does Ladybug even have a weakness?

“What do you suggest?”

His Father smiled, and he resisted the urge to flinch. 

“I’m glad you asked.” Gabriel all but purred. “Ladybug, should she activate her Lucky Charm, has a five minute time span before she detransforms. Normally she runs off to hide before that happens, but if you were to follow her long enough..”

“I could discover her identity.” Felix finished.

“Exactly. Knowing Ladybug’s identity would surely give us the advantage.” 

Felix nodded. They could practically waltz into Ladybug’s house and take her miraculous if they knew who she was, and once Ladybug was defeated, Chat Noir wouldn’t be far behind. 

Speaking of the Alley Cat..

“How do we get past Chat Noir? I imagine he won’t just let me run off after Ladybug.” He questioned.

Gabriel hummed. “You’ll just have to be subtle, then, won’t you?” 

Felix held back a scoff. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for. Obviously, Father hadn’t thought through this plan completely. 

Nevertheless, Chat Noir would merely act as a bump in the road. He was certain he could find a way around that furball.

“Yes, sir.” Felix said. “I’ll find out her identity as soon as I can.” 

“The sooner the better.” Gabriel remarked, before gesturing for him to leave.

Felix moved to exit the room, but Gabriel spoke again as he opened the door. Something about his tone sent a chill through Felix’s bones, and whether the words were meant to be supportive or not, Felix found himself speed-walking to his room after the door closed.

“I know you won’t disappoint me.” 

~~~~~~

Marinette held her breath, trying to keep steady. Still, the needle trembled between her fingers. She tisked in annoyance. One would think that keeping their hands steady during sowing would get easier after years of practice.

Easy.. She told herself, her tongue slowly slipping past her lips as she tried to concentrate. Just a bit more to the left and-

“Ugh!” 

Marinette flinched, causing the needle to poke through the fabric and prick her finger. She hissed, pulling the needle away from her dress and sticking her injured finger into her mouth. 

“Oh, sorry Marinette.” Allegra apologized, sparing her a guilty glance. “I just can’t believe I missed that epic ice fight yesterday! It would have put my blog’s ratings through the roof!” 

“But your ratings are already booming.” Marinette pointed out, wiping her finger on a handkerchief. “Didn’t you get a picture of Ladybug saving Le Paon?”

“Yeah, through frosted glass.” Allegra sighed. “People could easily call it a hoax.. And you’re sure you didn’t get any pictures either?” 

Marinette shook her head. “We got stuck in the ice rink when the frost hit.” 

Allegra rose a brow. “‘We’?”

“Oh, yeah. Alya and I went together, and she invited the Agrestes.” Marinette replied, not thinking much of it. 

She didn’t notice the coy smile that curled onto Allegra’s lips. 

“Felix was there?” 

Marinette nodded, feeling a bit of heat come to her cheeks at the thought of him. By the time they finished ice skating yesterday, Felix and Marinette had practically been hugging each other. It wasn’t until Alya started taking pictures that she actually let go. The fact that she didn’t want to step away from him only worried Marinette more. What if she really did have feelings for Felix? He seemed to enjoy spending time with her, but did she honestly have a chance when it came to love? Marinette was a baker girl, and Felix was the heir to an enormous fashion company. He probably had girls lining up for his affections just like Adrien did, girls who were far prettier than her and a much better fit for someone like him. No, she and Felix could never be together in a romantic sense. Despite what Alya thought, some people just worked better as friends than lovers. This was obviously one of those times.

“Mari, I’ve been thinking..” Allegra spoke again, pulling Marinette from her thoughts. “Why don’t we plan a study date together? I know this really good cafe that serves the best lattes-”

Marinette perked up at the mention of lattes. She loved those heavenly drinks.

“-and it’ll help me be a little more productive while we talk about ‘Birds of a Feather’.”

“I don’t see why not.” She shrugged, sticking her needle into her pin cushion. “Would Saturday work for you?”

Allegra smiled. “Perfect! We can meet at the Laduree cafe around noon for lunch?” 

Marinette stood up. “Can you do four? I need to help out in the bakery first.”

“Four’s good.”

“Great! I need to get going now, if you don’t mind. The suns going down, and I was hoping I could get some sketching in today.”

“Oh, sure, but why do you need to go outside to sketch?” Allegra asked, slipping her purse over her shoulder.

“It helps keep my inspiration flowing.” Marinette shrugged. She then scooped her sketch pencils and erasure into her “art bag” and shook her bag around so she could fit her sketchbook inside as well.

“Huh.. that makes sense. I’ll see you tomorrow at school then!” Allegra said with a wave before flipping open the trap door.

Marinette returned her wave with a smile and took a few extra minutes getting the last of her things together before following her friend down the ladder. 

“Maman, I’m going out to sketch!” She called over her shoulder as she passed the cash register.

“Alright, sweetie! Be back in time for supper!” Sabine called back from the kitchen.

Another wave to Allegra, and she was out the door, strolling down the sidewalk and thinking up a few designs to start when she got to her favorite sketching spot. Hopefully it would take her mind off of the whole Felix business.

~~~~~~

“Alright, a little to left!” 

Adrien moved to the left as told, trying to hold his pose while doing so.

The cameraman frowned and shook his head. “No, no, show me a smile! A smile! Surely you can do better than that, Monsieur Agreste.”

Felix rolled his eyes as Adrien’s smile widened. He was trying too hard to look happy. Of course, Felix wouldn’t be happy either if he had to do multiple photo shoots two days in a row. Maybe he should look up some of the child labor laws in France. This much work on a fourteen year old couldn’t possibly be legal. 

The photographer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, something is still missing! Let’s change the scenery. Maybe that will get your sparkle back.” 

As soon as the camera was off of him, Adrien’s shoulders sagged. He looked exhausted.

“You know, I could always have Father rearrange your schedule for rest.” Felix offered, extending his cup of coffee to him.

Adrien refused the drink, but gave a half smile at the thought of an easier schedule. “Thanks, but you know he’d never agree to that. If I start complaining, he might pull me out of school.” 

“It’s not complaining. It’s called ‘Mental health’.” Felix replied, taking a sip of the coffee himself.

“He’ll still pull me out of school.” 

“Come! Come!” The photographer interrupted, gesturing for the boys to follow him. “We must hurry if we are going to finish!” 

Reluctantly, Felix and Adrien climbed into their car, where they were driven to another park across town. 

-

The Trocadero Gardens. Felix had seen it before in passing, but he’d never visited the park for some reason. Maybe he’d just been too preoccupied with his books.

The car rolled to a stop, and the boys barely had time to unbuckle before being ushered out of the car.

“No time to waste!” The photographer stressed as he set up his camera again.

Felix sent the photographer a glare. This guy was literally getting paid by the hour. What was he rushing for?

Adrien- good little doormat that he was -walked over to stand in front of the fountain as the photographer instructed. 

Felix opted to wander around the park instead. Why watch your little brother waste away in the model industry when you can enjoy a nice afternoon at a new park? It seemed like a waste to stay put, if you asked him.

The park wasn’t all that large, but he found it refreshing anyway. There was a mother taking her baby for a walk in a stroller, a man taking his dog for a walk, and another man who appeared to be feeding pigeons. Felix didn’t recall that being allowed there.

Oh, there’s even an artist here. He thought, seeing a young girl on the concrete steps across from the fountain. She held a pink notebook in her lap, and appeared to be very engrossed in what she was doing as she scribbled across the page. Her tongue was sticking out and everything. The only other person he knew that did that was..

Wait.

“..Marinette?” He said, a bit hesitant at first. When she looked up, though, Felix had no trouble walking over to her.

“Felix? What are you doing here?” She asked, eyes wide with surprise.

Felix smirked. This girl was too adorable.

“Adrien is having a photo shoot.” He answered, gesturing behind him to the cameraman. “You look busy. Should I leave you to your work?” 

“Oh, no, no. It’s- um -I’m just working on some sketches, so..” Marinette stuttered, fiddling with the edges of her notebook.

Felix nodded and mouthed an “ah”.

“Do you mind if I..” He trailed off, motioning towards the spot on the stairs next to her.

Marinette straightened. “Oh! No, of course not. Please.” 

“So what are you working on? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” Felix asked as he sat down.

A smile graced her lips. “Not at all. I wasn’t working on anything specific. Just a few things that popped into my head.”

She tilted the notebook, and Felix leaned closer so he could get a proper view. The first sketch on the left was what looked to be a thin, transparent dress clipped around a solid sheath dress. The picture was only half-way colored, but he could tell she was aiming for a colorful creation. The transparent fabric would be a brilliant rainbow color lined with silver, and the sheath dress would be a deep shade of red to compliment it. The second sketch on the right looked just as promising, though it wasn’t colored yet. It was a casual outfit: Jeans, high-heeled ankle boots, and a blouse with vertical stripes and bell sleeves. 

“They look wonderful.” He commented, lightly touching the edge of the page. “I can’t wait to see them in a fashion show.” 

Marinette pulled the notebook away. “Oh, I don’t know about a show. I mean, I love designing, but these are just doodles, really.”

Felix couldn’t help giving a soft smile. Sometimes it was hard to tell if Marinette was just too humble or too insecure. Maybe a little bit of both. 

“You should come over again sometime.” He hadn’t meant to say out loud, in all honesty, but he certainly wasn’t going to take it back now that he had. Felix rather enjoyed her last visit, more so than he would ever admit out loud.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it.” He added, suddenly getting the urge to look at the ground instead of her. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to talk with him personally, but I’m sure Father would love to see more of your work.”

Marinette smiled bashfully. “That sounds great. Thank you.” 

Felix let out a breath, relieved. “You don’t have to thank me. With talent like that, you were bound to be noticed eventually, whether I introduced you to Father or not.”

An adorable blush bloomed across her freckled cheeks as she turned back to her notebook. How can something so small make him feel so light? 

“Woah, Marinette! You’re here too?” 

The moment was interrupted by none other than Adrien, who either just finished his shoot or convinced the photographer to let him take a break. Judging by his outfit- the usual black shirt and white jacket with jeans -Felix was going to guess the former.

“Oh, hi, Adrien!” Marinette greeted brightly. “I just came here to get some sketching done. How was your shoot?” 

“It was fine.” Adrien replied, leaning over her to get a glimpse of the pages. “Those drawings look awesome! I wish I was that talented.” 

Marinette flushed again and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “T-Thanks, but it’s really just practice..” 

Adrien chuckled. “Believe me, Mari, I could practice for years and not be able to come up with those designs.” 

“I can’t say I disagree.” Felix spoke up. 

He learned too late that that was a mistake.

Adrien turned his gaze to Felix, a predatory-like smile coming to his lips. “No, I’m sure you can’t. How did you two run into each other, again?”

Felix held back a glare. Barely. “If you must know, I stumbled upon her by chance while roaming the park” 

Adrien hummed. “‘By chance while roaming the park’.. I guess that’s convincing enough.” 

Felix scoffed, but Marinette giggled.

“Marinette, it was nice seeing you, but we should probably get going. If the shoot is over, Gorilla should be in the car waiting for us.” Felix said, getting to his feet. Better to leave now than let Adrien keep babbling nonsense.

“You’re not going to try to stall to see her longer?” Adrien asked, thankfully in a lower tone this time. Felix nudged him in the side in retaliation. That boy was just begging to be locked out of the mansion later.

The two waved goodbye to Marinette, and Felix made sure to hold Adrien with an iron grip as they made their way back to the car.

“Have you no shame? She’s going to think that we’re complete idiots. At the most, you’ll make her extremely uncomfortable.” Felix scolded.

Adrien laughed. “Relax, Fe. Marinette obviously doesn’t mind. She even laughed!”

Felix tisked, though he couldn’t deny it. Marinette did laugh.. But that didn’t necessarily mean she enjoyed his implications. He wasn’t sure what it meant. Did she like him back? Was this her way of hinting that Adrien was right? Or was she just being polite as usual?

He shook his head. What was he thinking! He didn’t even feel that way towards Marinette! Or.. he wasn’t supposed to. Argh! Adrien’s teasing is starting to get into his head.

“Hey, look on the bright side.” Adrien said, noticing his brother’s annoyance. “I’m sure she thinks you look cute when you’re angry.”

“Shut up.”

~~~~~~

Claude hummed a little tune as he walked into the classroom. It wasn’t everyday that he got to class early, but this was a special request via Allegra. And when Allegra asks you to do something, you do it. 

He sat down at his assigned desk, paying no mind to the classmate or two that walked in after him, and took his tablet out of his bag. After turning it on, he pulled out another textbook, placing it neatly next to the tablet. A simple set-up, but it should do. Now all Claude had to do was play the part.

The bell rang through the halls, prompting more students to file into the classrooms. Felix came stalking in not a minute later, the exact time Allegra said he would.

Showtime.

Claude groaned as loud as he could and dramatically flopped onto the desk. “Oh, it’s hopeless! It’s all just hopeless!” 

He heard Felix sigh.

“What’s your problem now?” The blonde asked tiredly, moving Claude’s arm to the side as he sat down. Not as much sympathy as he was hoping for, but- hey -it was Felix. What did he expect?

Claude rolled to the side, letting his head fall on Felix’s shoulder and throwing his arm over his face. “It’s Chemistry. I just can’t understand any of it! No matter how hard I try, or how much I study, the formulas make no sense! I’m going to fail this class.”

Felix tisked towards his wailing and moved over, causing Claude to fall back onto the bench. “Maybe you should try paying attention in class.”

Claude rubbed the back of his head with a pout. This guy really was heartless. How did Marinette get him to be so nice?

“I do pay attention. It doesn’t help. You’re a straight-A student. How do you do it?” He continued as he sat back up.

Felix rolled his eyes. “It’s not hard. Just listen, take notes, and do the reading. Simple.” 

“Felix~.” Claude whined, falling back onto him again. 

As Felix started pushing him off, Claude noticed Allegra and Allan walking in. Allegra caught his eye briefly and gave him a subtle yet satisfied smirk.

Claude gasped, abruptly straightening in his seat. He needed to finish this soon or class was going to start.

“Hey, I know! You can tutor me!” He exclaimed, as if he’d just been given an epiphany.

“Absolutely not.” Felix replied flatly.

“Aw, come on, Fe.” Claude pleaded, even batting his eyelashes. “It’ll just be one little study session! All you have to do is check my work and tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

Felix glared. “I said no. Why don’t you have Allegra help you?”

Allegra tilted her head back to look at them from her assigned seat. “Can’t. I’m busy tomorrow.”

“Who said anything about tomorrow? Study with him another day.” Felix said, pulling his tablet out of his bag.

“Oh, don’t be so cold.” Claude frowned. “What if I take you to your favorite coffee shop?”

Felix paused. “The Laduree cafe?”

Claude perked up. “Yep! You can get anything you want, and all you have to do is explain a few simple terms to me.”

“Or I could just go by myself.” 

Claude scoffed. “Just take the deal, please.”

Felix gave him a skeptical look. That was a good sign, right?

“Fine.” He finally relented. “When do you want to study?” 

Yes! 

“Tomorrow’s good. Say around..” He trailed off, glancing at Allegra. “Noon?”

Allegra shook her head and held up four fingers.

“Er- four. I meant four. Let’s meet up at four tomorrow.” 

“Mhm. Sure. Just don’t be late.” Felix replied, already going back to his books.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Claude assured as the last bell rang. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

Felix didn’t respond, but if he would’ve bothered to look up, he would have caught Claude and Allegra giving each other a quiet high five.

Mission accomplished.

This was going to be fun.

~~~~~~

Marinette slid into the booth and set her backpack against the wall. She then brushed off the bits of flour sticking to her sleeve. Even after changing, the powdery substance still managed to infect her second outfit. At least it was one of the smaller bags that she dropped this time. How can she save an entire city as Ladybug, but not be able to make a simple batch of cookies without wrecking the kitchen as Marinette? Sometimes she wondered why her parents had her help in the bakery at all, if you can call that helping.

“Thanks for meeting with me today, Marinette.” Allegra said, putting one of her textbooks on the table.

Marinette smiled. “Of course. A study date is definitely something I need, and I always enjoy our time together.”

Allegra put a hand to her chest. “Aw, so do I! What do you want to do first? Study or talk about ‘Birds of a Feather’?”

Marinette glanced down at her backpack in thought. They had a test coming up next week, so they definitely needed to study at some point. If they did, though, she’d want it to be fresh in her mind. 

“Mm, let’s talk about the blog first.” She decided. 

“Perfect!” Allegra beamed, pulling the app up on her phone. “There hasn’t been an akuma for three days. That means that one is bound to show up soon, since Hawkmoth doesn’t normally wait a whole month for akumas.”

Marinette nodded, genuinely impressed. Allegra’s reports were always so detailed. It didn’t surprise her that Alya was threatened by the competition. 

“Like I expected, people are claiming fraud on my pictures. I think the few pics Alya got for her blog are the only reason I’m not being swarmed by haters. We need to get a lot of good pictures during this next battle or I’m going to start losing followers.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” 

Allegra pressed a few buttons on her phone, before flipping the device for Marinette to see the screen. Multiple videos were splayed across the screen, each showing a different area of the city.

“We’re always having trouble getting the footage because we have to run around the city, right? Well, the way I see it is: why bother racing around to get one, blurry photo when we have all the cameras we need already?”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. “Are those.. Security cameras? How did you get access to these?”

Allegra pulled the phone back, a smug expression making its way onto her features. “Let’s just say I borrowed the little tech genius from your class.”

“Max?” Why would he agree to help with something like that? Tampering with the camera systems was illegal!

“Allegra, I’m not sure about this.” Marinette said. Not only could they get in serious, legal trouble for this, giving Allegra access to the city’s security cameras could also jeopardize her identity. What if she landed in the wrong alleyway, and Allegra caught her detransforming on tape? What if she already had?

“But it’s such a good idea!” Allegra tried to persuade her. “With these, we’ll be able to catch tons of video footage for Le Paon without lifting a finger!” 

Marinette sighed. “This isn’t right. What if the government found out? Mayor Bourgeois would be furious. How long have you been doing this?”

Disappointment flicked across Allegra’s expression, but she turned the cameras off. “Only since this morning. I thought it was a good idea, too.”

Marinette slumped back into her booth seat, feeling the rush of relief. 

“So, no on the security cameras.” Allegra concluded, setting her phone on the table dejectedly. “I guess we’ll just have to keep getting as many pictures of him as we can.” 

Marinette hummed. Security Cameras definitely weren't an option, but they couldn’t run around Paris like they had been, either. Something needed to change..

“What if we made a tag.” She suggested. “Like an akuma or Le Paon tag. That way, when someone saw Le Paon or an akuma, they would tag us.”

And Ladybug and Chat Noir will get more warnings before an attack.

Allegra brightened. “Oh yeah! That’s pretty close to security cameras. Maybe other people can get pictures for us too.” 

Marinette nodded and started typing out the ideas on a memo from her phone. She didn’t want to forget what the tag names would be. 

They started brainstorming what names to use, but the two only got a few names in when a gasp interrupted them.

“Woah! What are you guys doing here?”

It was Claude, and he seemed extremely enthusiastic about seeing them for some reason. 

“Are you guys studying? What a coincidence! We are too!”  He exclaimed as he reached behind him and pulled someone else forward. 

Marinette’s eyes widened, recognizing them immediately.

Felix glowered at Claude, until his eyes landed on Marinette. She felt her heart rate pick up as they stared at each other. First, the park, and now, the cafe? Why was she suddenly seeing him everywhere? It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but..

“Wow! What are the odds?” Allegra said, bringing Marinette from her thoughts. “Since we’re all here, why don’t you guys study with us?”

“Wha-?” 

“Oh no, we couldn’t.” Claude replied, though he was already sitting down next to her. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course we’re sure! Aren’t we, Marinette?” 

Marinette faltered at the sudden question. They both looked so expectant and eager. It was a bit unnerving, to be honest. She glanced at Felix, who seemed equally astonished- and a little annoyed, but she was told that he always looked that way.

“Uh.. sure. You guys can sit with us.” She finally answered.

“Thanks, Mari, you’re the best.” Claude remarked as he reached for one of the menus. 

Felix remained standing, apparently indecisive about what to do.

“Take a seat, Felix.” Allegra prompted, flashing him a sharp smile. “It’s rude to linger.”

His lips twitched in a scowl, but he sat down as he was told. Why was he so upset? It wasn’t because of her, was it?

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to sit with us.” Marinette assured, trying to sound as understanding as possible.

Felix met her eyes again at the comment, and his expression softened.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll stay.”

“Great!” Claude grinned. “Now we can all study together.” 

Marinette smiled for Claude’s sake, even though she still felt nervous on Felix’s behalf.

Everyone got out their respective books- Chemistry, History, and English -and started studying. Felix grumbled a few pointers to Claude, who wrote them down with an all-too-pleased expression. Allegra would occasionally ask Marinette to check her work, and, in turn, Marinette would ask Allegra to quiz her on a few terms. A waiter came by with their drinks not long after. Marinette made sure to set a sweet aside for Tikki.

“So how’d you guys end up here?” Marinette asked as she sipped on her latte, simply making polite conversation. 

Claude, of course, was the first to answer. “I bribed Felix into tutoring me by bringing him to his favorite coffee shop.” 

“Oh, this is your favorite coffee shop?”

Felix nodded. “It’s close to the library that I fancy. The Cappuccinos aren’t bad either.”

Marinette hummed. “I wouldn’t know. I prefer lattes, myself.” 

“Would you like to try it?” He offered, gently pushing the cup towards her.

Marinette took the cup with a “thanks” and carefully brought the hot drink to her lips. The boldness of the coffee taste threw her at first, though she couldn’t say that she disliked it. A hint of sweetness caught her attention too, despite the liquid being mostly bitter. It’s not something she would usually order, but overall..

“Not bad.” She decided, pushing the cup back over to Felix.

Felix gave a small smile as he pulled it back. “Told you it wouldn’t be.”

Marinette giggled. “I’ll have to get one next time I come.” 

“Well, maybe I’ll see you here. Then I can get your latte.” He replied lightheartedly.

Marinette smiled, fighting down another blush. At least she knew that she wasn’t the reason for his discomfort. 

“I’d like that.”

~~~~~~

Felix slipped his books into his bag and tucked his pen and pencil into their respective pockets on the side. The fact that he stayed here for three whole hours with those hooligans should be considered an accomplishment. He swung his bag over his shoulder, looking out the window for his car as he did. With all of the street lights, it was almost hard to tell that the sun had already set. The slim line of dark blue above the building across the street was his only confirmation of the night’s presence. 

He glanced down at Marinette, who was now curled up on her booth seat, head tucked in her arms on the table, fast asleep. She’d lulled off around ten minutes ago, which is why they decided it was time to leave in the first place. 

“Don’t stare too hard.” Claude smirked. 

“I can take a picture for you if you want.” Allegra teased.

Felix shot them a glare, his irritation from earlier resurfacing in his mind. “Don’t patronize me. What the heck was this, anyway?”

Allegra smiled innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t act like you two didn’t set this whole thing up!” Felix snapped.

“Now, now, let’s not get riled up. We wouldn’t want to wake sweet Marinette.” Claude said in a hushed tone.

As if on queue, the ravenette let out a yawn, before cuddling back into her crossed arms.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Allegra commented as she picked up her book bag. “You two had a good time.”

“You even got an indirect kiss.” Claude remarked.

Felix flushed. “Wha-”

“And you got a second date.” Allegra added.

His blush deepened. “Date? Second? What are you two even talking about?” 

The pair snickered.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know.” Claude sang as he nudged Felix in the shoulder.

Felix scoffed and went to retort when Allegra spoke again.

“Welp! We’d better get going. Be a dear and make sure Marinette gets home safe, will you?” 

How she wormed her way around him, he’ll never know, but Allegra and Claude were out the door before he could even refuse the request. It’s not that he minded taking Marinette home. It’s more of that he’d just about had enough of those two meddling in his personal affairs. Didn’t they have anything better to do with their lives? 

Probably not. He thought, moving to Marinette’s side so he could wake her up. She heaved a sigh, blowing a bit of her bangs to the side as she did. She looked so peaceful. So delicate. It made him want to let her sleep forever. 

Felix brushed a strand of her hair to the side, lightly tucking it behind her ear so it didn’t bother her. Round, black earrings gleamed under the cafe’s lights. They were a bit plain for a fashion designer. Maybe they were special to her somehow.

“Mari.” He said softly, giving her shoulder a small push. “It’s time to wake up. I need to take you home.” 

Marinette hummed and shifted on the booth. “Mm.. yes, Le Paon, you should go home.. Come back tomorrow, though”

Felix reeled back, heat rushing to his cheeks. Did he hear that right? Was she.. was she dreaming about him? (Or, dreaming about Le Paon.) Either way, it sounded like she wanted his alter ego to come visit again.

He shook his head, and nudged her a second time. Now was not the time for bashfulness.

After a few tries, she finally woke up enough for him to walk her outside. By then, Gorilla was already out there and waiting for him in the car. He opened the car door for Marinette, then walked around to his side once she was settled in.

“Take us to the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, please.” 

Gorilla nodded and pulled onto the street. Felix leaned back in his seat, still thinking about what Marinette had said. Granted, she’d said it in a dream-induced state, but that just meant she dreamt about him, right? To dream about something, you’d have to think about it often. How much does she think about Le Paon? About him?

A light weight sunk into his shoulder, effectively cutting off his thoughts and seizing his heart. He didn’t have to look down to know what it was. Marinette. She was sleeping. On his shoulder. She must have forgotten to fasten her seat belt. When did she move so close to him? Should he wake her up? That would be the polite thing to do..

Felix shook her shoulder slightly, but she only snuggled further into his arm. He was about to shake her again, when he paused. She looked so cute, and the way she leaned on him felt.. Nice. He didn’t want to wake her up. He.. he liked it. 

Oh gosh, he liked it. 

Felix sucked in a breath. 

Calm down. It’s not like you haven’t been this close before. He told himself. They’d practically hugged each other at the ice rink the other day, though he didn’t feel the way that he did now. 

His thoughts flicked back to that time when he first went to her house as Le Paon, when she held his hand and looked at him with a quiet understanding. He’d felt something then. It was..anxiety..and excitement. An odd eagerness that yearned to be explored. Moments like these- in the quiet of the night and the vulnerability of their hearts -were the ones that resonated within him the most. He couldn’t help wondering if he would feel it now. If he just moved his hand a little closer.. Would he be able to..?

Felix ripped his hand away and took another deep breath. Marinette was asleep right now. He couldn’t go around touching people like that while they were unconscious, even if it was a simple hold of the hand. 

He pushed her back onto her side of the car- careful not to wake her up too much -and buckled her in so she wouldn’t fall again. They dropped her off a few minutes later. She was a bit disoriented, but thanked them nonetheless and got out like nothing had happened. Felix wondered if he would be able to act the same way when he saw her again. 

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[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 7

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.5k

warnings: mentions of mental disorders, foul language, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of alcohol

description: from jisung’s psychoanalysis to the crime investigation, nothing seems to be adding up. jisung and hyunjin have an unpleasant first encounter, and a conversation with hyunjin’s grandmother leaves you with more questions than answers. hwang hyunjin wanders the streets like a ghost, and the police are hot on jisung’s trail.

watch the trailer here!

07| seeing ghosts

You unlocked the door to your apartment and stepped in, the space as dark and cool as a tomb. 

You made a beeline for your room and chucked your bag onto the desk, rummaging through your closet for a comfortable hoodie. With a relieved sigh, you flicked on your table lamp and let the warm glow soften the darkness. The sun had gone down during your walk home, the busy sounds of the city hushed by the chirping of crickets and the rustle of the evening breeze. Jisung had held your hand the whole time -- two or three of his fingers gently hooked around yours and lightly swinging back and forth as you walked.

He had waved you goodbye from the stairwell -- heart-shaped smile and all -- but even as you propped open your laptop and shuffled through your notes, the feeling of his fingers lingered on your skin. You felt the blood rush to your face as Jisung’s voice -- soft and achingly vulnerable -- echoed in your ears.

Promise...you’ll never leave me?

You slammed your notebook down with unnecessary force, violently shaking your head as if trying to fling the thoughts away. Damn it, y/n. Focus! The notes you had scribbled looked as if they were falling off the lines of the paper. With a deep breath and a light slap to your own cheek, you began typing them up.

Patient: Han Jisung

Age: 20

Memories and short bits of dialogue flashed in your mind as you read over the papers. 

Session One. 

Patient has undergone mandatory psychological evaluations in the past, in educational institutions. 

Mentions racing thoughts, rapid heartbeat, and possibly palpitations when in the presence of the therapist. **(May simply be conversational and therefore unreliable). 

Suffering from nightmares as of late; sleep problems. Appears uneasy when speaking about said problems. 

End of session.

You frowned. Straightforward enough. Slightly strange, if read out of context -- but nothing that stuck out in particular. Biting your lip and shrugging, you flipped to the notes from today.

Session Two.

Questions were focused on family and childhood. Patient looked 

Your fingers stalled on the keyboard, Jisung’s expression from earlier flooding your memory. How his eyes had widened like a deer in headlights’ when you’d asked about his family. And -- had you been imagining it? -- they way his voice had wavered when he finally answered. Frowning, you shook your head -- no, no. You were probably just overanalyzing things, right? 

Still, you found yourself typing out the one detail that had always been nagging at the back of your mind --

Patient looks upset at any mentions of family and childhood

At this, you hesitated again. You had barely known the boy for two weeks. There were things that Jisung wasn’t telling you about his childhood, that was for sure -- but wasn’t it normal not to know everything about each other yet? And it’s not like Jisung comes from a broken family or something, you thought. After all, he did say that his mother loved --

You froze.

Slowly, as if like a ghost was whispering in your ear, you felt an icy cold chill trickle down your spine, Jisung’s hollow voice echoing in your mind.

“My mother...like I said, she loved unconditionally. Patient, nurturing, kind...everything, well, you could ever want from a mother.”

Loved?

Past tense?

Your hand shot for your notebook and you practically ripped through the pages, looking for any other quotes you had written down.

“I don’t think my family was like everyone else’s.”

“My mother’s eyes were always so...loving and caring.”

Your eyes widened, a horrible sinking feeling in your gut.

“It sounds like your mother loves you a lot, then, huh? That’s so cute.”

“Y-yeah, she did.”

“Your father?”

“I wasn’t close with him. He was never...never around, so…”

What the hell had happened to Jisung’s parents? 

You barely suppressed the urge to bang your head against the table. Am I stupid? How had you not noticed what he’d been saying? What else had you glazed over and swept to the back of your mind?

You reached into your bag and pulled out your textbook, mumbling under your breath as you scanned the glossary. Mood swings. Nightmares. Anxiety. You’d read about this combination of symptoms before, hadn’t you? Sure enough, your fingers landed on the page you had been searching for.

POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER

The words glared coldly back at you as you read aloud, “Patients who suffer from PTSD are those who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event in the past. Any mentions or reminders of this event can trigger the patient and send them into a distressed state. Symptoms include…” you felt a lump in your throat and swallowed thickly. “Nightmares, inability to concentrate, and an exaggerated startle response at any mention of the traumatic event.”

Your thoughts immediately wandered to Jisung’s sudden flashes between moods -- his bright, blinding smiles, easily swept away by the cold, stormy look in his eyes. How he sometimes seemed so far away, expression glazed and unfocused. And now, with what he had mentioned about his family…

Jotting this down with an increasingly uneasy feeling in your gut, you continued flipping through the textbook, skimming through familiar case studies and theories. Words leapt out at you from the pages and made your stomach turn: Abusive childhood. Case study: Jeffrey Dahmer. Psychopathy. Case study: Ted Bundy. 

You held your head, groaning, and slammed the textbook shut. Were you really looking at serial killer cases to compare your boyfriend with right now? If Jisung could see you, he’d probably think you were being intrusive and paranoid -- trying to diagnose someone just because a couple of symptoms matched up. You’d been lectured in class over and over again that it wasn’t your job to speculate and form baseless assumptions -- rather, that was exactly what made an irrational therapist, but...it almost felt like you were trapped neck-deep in quicksand. The more you tried to stop thinking about the secrets Han Jisung seemed to be hiding behind his dark eyes, the deeper you found yourself sinking.

It was nearly midnight by the time you finished the outline of your report, cicadas languidly chirping outside your window as you leaned back in your chair and yawned. In the end, you had included a bit of everything -- from the most harmless theories to the darkest case studies. Skimming over your notes warily, you shut your laptop and rolled into bed, completely drained. Speculations. That’s all they were -- it couldn’t hurt to write down all the possibilities, right? 

You shook your head before finally drifting off to sleep, a relaxed smile on your face.

What were the chances that Jisung was hiding anything serious, anyways?

────────

Bang Chan threw another shot of espresso down his throat, not tearing his eyes from his papers. His fingers were vibrating slightly from the amount of caffeine coursing through his veins, and he swore he could feel his heartbeat all the way to his toes -- but frankly, he couldn’t care less.

He’d received the crime scene files an hour earlier -- sketches, photographs, coroner’s report, witness statements. He’d spent the better part of the night arranging and rearranging them like a madman doing a Sudoku puzzle. Everything was fanned out now, his desk looking like a filing cabinet had exploded all over it. Cold cases, his own theories, even research he’d done on the side…

And yet not a single damn thing was adding up.

Every lead Chan had gotten had steered him into nothing but dead ends. He’d never seen anything like it -- the same type of killings, occurring within the walls of what was supposed to be the safest school in the country. They had occurred at irregular intervals at first -- a handful in one month, followed by a four month period of uneasy quiet before the killer had struck again. He could count the cases off of his fingers by now; Chan had read them so many times, raking through the files for even the slightest of clues.

First, it had been an arson in one of the health sciences laboratories -- one male student pronounced dead at the scene, ghastly chemical burns having melted away most of his facial features.

Then there was the body found hanging from the rooftop of one of the dorms, skull practically crushed from blunt force trauma.

The list went on and on, small details linking what had otherwise seemed like a spattering of anonymous murders. The killer was a pyromaniac, for sure -- more than half of the deaths were fire-related -- and might as well have been related to the Hulk or something, because the rest of the victims had been killed -- seemingly -- by bare hands.

Even Minho seemed reluctant to answer his questions, and Chan couldn’t blame him -- the sheer lack of evidence found at each crime scene was embarrassing. He could hear the coroner’s exasperated voice in his head:

“No fingerprints -- the killer probably wore gloves. No murder weapon, so no DNA to sample off of, either. Heck, there isn’t even that much blood spattering to analyze, Detective.”

That ruled out the usual causes of murders taking place in Miroh Heights -- drunkards who took a bar fight too far, crimes of passion, domestic violence. No, Chan shook his head, his brain feeling like mush slopping around in his skull and making him wince. They were dealing with someone much, much more complex.

Chan had a fistful of blond hair in one hand and a cup of nearly-empty coffee in the other. What was this killer’s M.O.? Serial killers almost always had a motive, and their victims usually had some things in common. Chan flipped through the victims’ profiles, gears in his head beginning to turn again despite his drooping eyes.

Na Jangmin, Victim #1. Cause of death: Smoke inhalation and respiratory burns. Chan remembered interviewing his classmates, and being surprised at how indifferent they had been about the supposed tragedy.

“He never saw us as his classmates, you know. He’d pick on the first-years like fresh meat. They say half of the new med students dropped out because of him.”

Interesting. He flipped to the next file, tapping his pen against his lip.

Park Beomsoo, Victim #2. Cause of death: cervical fracture and asphyxiation from hanging. Found nearly decapitated and swinging from the rooftop balcony of a dorm building. What had been interesting about this case, however, was the sheer amount of date rape drugs found in the man’s system during the autopsy.

“Rohypnol, mostly,” Minho had informed him. “Along with traces of GHB -- enough to cause brain damage for life. The man was likely already knocked out for good by the time he was hanged.”

This had been baffling until Chan had investigated further, and found out about the man’s reputation.

“He’d slip pills into girls’ drinks at the club,” one of his friends had told Chan, “and was proud of it, too. All he’d brag about was how many half-conscious girls he’s taken advantage of.”

Chan exhaled with a low whistle. That couldn’t be a coincidence -- the killer had to have known about Park’s disgusting habits. So the victims did have something in common -- although it wasn’t like any case he’d ever seen before.

None of the victims had been, per se, good people. They were, interestingly -- and revoltingly -- enough, monsters of another kind. They were people who wouldn’t be missed, simply because they were hated so much already.

Huh. A killer targeting killers. Interesting. But how? And why? Did the killer have some sort of fucked-up sense of justice?

He tapped his fingers anxiously. All his hopes lay on the evidence they had collected from the Yellow Wood attacks -- but the crime lab had yet to hand it over to his team. He grimaced at the memory of the body, whose head had caved in completely and rendered the victim practically unrecognisable. How could there not be a single trace of incriminating DNA from something so...brutal? And then there was Yang Jeongin, who, as far as he knew, was still in critical condition at the hospital. If only he would wake up, maybe Chan would finally get a lead…

Chan didn’t even notice the sun beginning to rise outside of his window until the first ray of morning light pricked at his eyes, making him blink in disoriented confusion. His burning pupils flickered to the clock. 6:25 A.M. Damn it.

He kicked his chair back and threw on a wrinkled suit jacket, stuffing all his notes into his briefcase before promptly stepping out of his office. Work never ended for Detective Bang.

Chan glimpsed his reflection in the shop windows as he made his way back onto Miroh Heights’ campus, running his hands through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame his bedhead (was it even a bedhead if he hadn’t touched a bed in 48 hours?). His eyes caught the familiar storefront of Glow Cafe and he immediately steered himself towards it. Wouldn’t hurt to grab himself a fresh cup of coffee, and maybe he could look at the crime scene again with fresh eyes.

The barista -- Hyunjin, was it? -- was scrawling something on the chalkboard sign propped outside, stumbling to his feet and brushing the chalk dust off his hands when he saw Chan approaching.

“All right, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin gave a small smile that looked more like a grimace, his tired eyes wandering behind Chan. The detective didn’t have to turn to know he was staring at the spot Jeongin had been found -- the barista looked like he was seeing ghosts. Chan took a deep breath before plastering a reassuring smile on his face, throwing an arm around the younger boy’s hunched shoulders and steering him into his cafe.

“I’m gonna need you to make me a cold drip, kid, because I feel like dea--” he caught himself, clearing his throat awkwardly. No death. No death. “Like shit. I’m feeling like shit.”

But Hyunjin didn’t even seem to hear him, wordlessly making his way behind the counter and starting the coffee machine.

Chan watched him and sighed, pulling out a chair and collapsing over a table. Seconds later, the diner door swung open, the windchimes ringing brightly as two familiar faces walked in.

“Good morning, Chan. How’s--bloody hell, you look like death.” Woojin’s eyebrows shot up when he joined Chan at the table, looking the sleep-deprived detective up and down. Behind him was Han Jisung, backpack slung over his shoulder.

Chan grimaced and checked his reflection in one of the empty glasses. Sure enough, his eyes were puffy and ringed with layer upon layer of dark circles, and his mop of dandelion hair was at the point of no return. “To hell with it. What brings you two here this early in the morning?”

Jisung and Woojin exchanged a look before Jisung spoke up, grinning his usual sheepish grin. “I set my alarm way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went out for a morning walk. We bumped into each other, and were both in need of some coffee.”

Woojin nodded, pulling out a chair for the younger student. “I take it you’re here for the same reason, Detective?”

Chan grinned. “Guilty as charged, Captain. How--”

A sudden crash rang through the empty cafe, cutting him off. All three heads snapped up to see Hyunjin standing over a broken pot of coffee, glass shards splaying all over the floor tiles and the dark, bitter liquid seeping into the crevices. 

Chan jumped to his feet, holding his hands out. “Hey, you okay? Don’t move, I’ll get a mop. Uh, where do you keep your mops?” The detective’s voice trailed off when his eyes landed on Hyunjin’s face. The barista’s hands were still frozen in place, but his eyes were livid and staring straight at Han Jisung.

“Why the hell are you here?” Hyunjin was speaking through gritted teeth.

Jisung blinked. “Is...is it too early? Sorry, dude, I can leave if--”

“Why are you always interfering with the investigation? You were at the crime scene for no particular reason, and now you’re here again.” Hyunjin’s voice was getting louder and louder. “It’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me--”

“You seem to be more of an interference than me,” Jisung replied, standing up abruptly. All childlike humour had vanished from his expression. “Rushing the investigation, hanging around the crime scenes despite not having an ounce of experience.”

“My friend is in the hospital, and nobody fucking knows why--”

“Jisung!”

All four men turned towards the direction of the voice, and saw you waving cheerfully through the window. Unbeknownst to the situation, you pushed open the glass doors and ran up to a bewildered Jisung, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “What brings you here?” You turned to Hyunjin. “Hey, ‘jinnie, I just thought I’d come early today, since I’ve been arriving late for the last couple of shifts. You know Jisung? He’s the blind date!”

You smiled at Chan and Woojin, who both nodded back but seemed at a loss for words, their gazes flickering between the two boys and you. Hyunjin’s face of confused shock mirrored Jisung’s, words finally spilling out of both boys’ mouths at the exact same time.

“This is your boyfriend?” “This is your friend?”

You blinked, taken aback at their raised voices. “I--yes? B-but--”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes at Jisung. “So you’re the one y/n’s been talking nonstop about? Is this a joke?”

Your stared at him. “Hyunjin!” Your eyes fell on the shattered coffeepot at his feet and you yelped. “Holy frick, what happened? Hold on, I’ll get th--”

You were interrupted by Jisung shoving his chair aside with a loud bang. His expression wasn’t exactly angry, but you could see his fists and jaw were clenched so tightly they were shaking violently. “Fine. I’ll get going, then.” He looked to you, sighing. “See you later.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Hyunjin cut you off. “No, you won’t.” 

Giving Hyunjin one last long, wordless look, Jisung strode out of Glow Cafe.

When he had gone, you turned on Hyunjin, fuming. “Hwang Hyunjin, what the fuck--”

“Do you really have to date him? Him?” Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Why on earth are you so worked up about who I date?” 

“The guy’s suspicious as hell, y/n! I have a bad feeling about him. And I don’t fucking like it.”

You sighed, reaching behind the counter for a dustpan and rag. Woojin took them from your hands and handed the rag to Chan to clean the spill, and you turned back towards Hyunjin. “Look, I know you’ve been shaken up lately. We’re all on edge, Hyunjin. Lashing out isn’t going to help.” You rubbed his back gently, and, despite his expression softening slightly, his brow remained furrowed. Exhaling slowly, you tried to change the subject. “Is your grandma awake? We should make sure she takes her medicine.”

After making Chan and Woojin a new pot of coffee, you and Hyunjin headed upstairs to the studio apartment where him and his grandmother lived. Here, the walls were made of old red brick, foggy panelled windows letting in weak strains of sunlight. Still, Hyunjin insisted it was cozy, the wooden frame bed his legs were too long for shoved against the windows, his architecture sketches and designs hanging from the walls. Down the hallway was his grandmother’s room, which Hyunjin paid much more attention to than his own -- keeping it as clean and comfortable as possible.

Hyunjin’s parents lived and worked abroad, leaving Hyunjin in the custody of his grandparents. The moment he’d gotten into Miroh Heights, he’d moved into the shop his grandmother had started, and had eventually also taken up the responsibility of storeowner once her dementia had worsened and his grandfather had passed away. Nowadays, she seldom got out of bed, Hyunjin being the only one taking care of her and keeping her company.

When you entered her room, Grandma Hwang was sitting up in bed, a newspaper in her hands. Upon closer inspection, you saw that it was the morning paper from two days ago: MURDER AT MIROH HEIGHTS, with the burnt-down flat on the cover.

Hyunjin quickly pulled the newspaper from her hands, tucking it away under his arm. “Don’t let her read the newspaper,” you remembered him telling you once, “I don’t want it to upset her. I don’t know why, but she’s started saying these strange things ever since the murders began. I don’t want her dementia to get worse.”

“Good morning, Grandma Hwang,” you smiled at her, patting her hand. She turned to you, looking as if she were staring straight through you. Hyunjin reached into her bedside cabinet for her medications. “Have you taken your medicine today?”

Slowly, the old woman shook her head, her eyes landing on the newspaper under Hyunjin’s arm. “Familiar…”

You frowned. “What’s familiar?”

She lifted a crooked finger, pointing straight at the burnt-down flat. “The old Han house...from years ago. So familiar. So...so long ago…”

Hyunjin and you exchanged a look. Are you sure she’s just rambling? You mouthed at Hyunjin, who nodded, but his expression was unsure. I’m gonna get her some water, he mouthed back, and disappeared from the room.

A few moments of silence passed as you watched the old woman, the soft morning glow smoothing out her wrinkles. Not being able to suppress your burning curiosity, you blurted, “Why--why is it so familiar?”

Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration but her eyes were blank slates, hands gesticulating meaninglessly. “Pastries...the pastries, need to deliver the pastries to all the houses. All the houses except the Hans’--” she shook her head wildly now, voice trembling. “No, no, not the Han house!”

You could feel your heart leap to your throat, a cold sweat beginning to form on the inside of your palms. Even if she was just rambling, like Hyunjin claimed, it made you extremely uneasy. “Why not the Han house?” You pressed, your own voice quavering slightly.

“Nowhere to go, my dear, nowhere, nowhere, went up in flames--” she gasped, hands clutching her face as she babbled. “So much burning, Lord help me...and...and everyone...burned to ashes...except for that tiny, little boy. Crawlin’ out--”

You heard Hyunjin clear his throat from the doorway, and the old woman’s voice faltered. He was holding a tall glass of water in one hand and shot you a look as he reached for his grandmother’s box of medications. You turned back, hoping she would continue, but her eyes were already glazed over with the fog of forgetfulness. 

As she swallowed her medicine, you turned to Hyunjin. “She was talking about...about delivering pastries.”

“Mm. Back in the day, when she still used to run the store, we did pastry deliveries,” Hyunjin explained, stroking his grandmother’s hand absently as she finished the glass of water. “She used to go door to door, around the neighbourhood, handing out baskets of them.”

You nodded slowly. “Was...was there ever a fire in Miroh Heights? A really big one, like -- like a house burning down.”

Hyunjin gave you a weird look. “A fire? The deliveries stopped around 13 years ago. I wasn’t there, you know. Whatever she told you, don’t listen to her. Her memories get all mixed up.” He saw your expression and frowned. “What? Did she say something weird?”

You bit your lip, but shook your head. “No. Nothing at all.”

────────

Jisung tore down the darkening backstreets, not knowing where he was going and feeling like the ground beneath him was spinning wildly out of control. Fucking hell. He had barely sat through his classes without losing it, the paranoia eating him from the inside out like a parasite. The air was cool and damp, the sky crammed with grey storm clouds knitting together ominously.

They didn’t suspect him, right? There was no way they knew it was him.

Imagine his barely concealed panic when he’d run into police captain Kim Woojin first thing in the morning. They’d talked about his major, the weather, everything but the investigation. And Chan -- the detective had greeted him just like he always had.

It was just that damn Hwang Hyunjin.

“You were at the crime scene for no particular reason...it’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me.”

Bloody hell.

No, no, no. He couldn’t let them find out. Everyone knew Hwang Hyunjin had been showing the early signs of post-traumatic stress disorder from finding the delivery boy half-dead in a pool of blood. There was no way they’d take him seriously. 

He began limping as he wove through the alleyways, the foot he’d dropped the rock on still throbbing from the impact. He turned a corner briskly -- and slammed headfirst into a stout middle-aged man.

“I’m sor--”

“Look where you’re fucking going, punk,” the man screamed, the foul stench of liquor hitting Jisung’s nostrils and making him stumble backwards. The man was clearly homeless, judging from the state of his clothes and his matted hair. He must have wandered onto campus while the gates were still open. His milky eyes were squinty and he was swaying, an empty beer bottle swinging precariously in one hand.

Jisung lunged forward, ripping the bottle from his hands, and in one savage motion broke it over the man’s nose. The man howled in pain and Jisung raised the jagged glass again, ready to plunge it straight through the man’s open mouth -- he knew this motion well, he’d done it so many times he’d lost count--

But when he stared into the man’s bleeding eyes again, he saw a flash of your face. And he felt his entire body seize up, his arm stopping dead in its tracks.

You smiling at something he’d said. The way you’d hide your face behind your notebook when you were flustered. The smell of your hair when you hugged him tightly. The warm, familiar feeling of your skin brushing his when you ran your fingers through his hair--

The broken bottle slipped from Jisung’s hands, crashing onto the cobblestones. The man was whimpering, nose still spurting bright red blood. Jisung’s gaze flickered from one of his milky pupils to the other. Blind. He let go of the man’s tattered shirt collar, breathing hard as he turned around and did the only thing he seemed to know how to do.

Jisung ran.

Above him, the sky rumbled with deafening thunder before the clouds split open, sheets of rain pouring down on him as he stumbled down the streets. Blood was welling in his hands, crimson and sticky, and he wasn’t even sure whose blood it was anymore. All Jisung knew was that he needed to find you. He needed you by his side, to tell him it was okay, to say you would listen. To make him feel sane again.

He made it onto the main road and spotted a figure in the distance. Squinting through the rain, Jisung made out the shape of a taller man stumbling towards him. Before he could muster up the energy to turn away, the man had already reached him, hands shooting out to grab Jisung’s shoulders in a vicelike grip. Blood roaring in his ears, heart leaping to his throat, Jisung forced himself to look up.

It was Hwang Hyunjin.

Jisung immediately shoved his blood-soaked hands into his pockets, forcing himself not to yell when shards of broken glass dug and sliced into his palms. His mind was racing, running over a million possible things he could say. But Hyunjin didn’t even look down -- his gaze stayed on Jisung’s face, eyes glassy but narrowed.

Jisung realised with a start that the barista had been drinking. 

Hyunjin’s face was twisted into an expression of raw, tormented grief -- the kind of sadness that could only be felt when one was heavily intoxicated. “I s-see him ev’ry time I close m-my eyes,” he suddenly choked out, and Jisung didn’t have to ask to know he was talking about Jeongin. “His c-cold hands, the pool of b-blood, the poor kid--”

Jisung tried to wrench himself from Hyunjin’s grasp, but the barista didn’t budge. This was bad. He had to get out, had to get away, before Hyunjin sobered up and recognized him--

As if he could hear Jisung’s thoughts, Hyunjin’s grip on him tightened, the barista’s voice barely a whisper. “Who are you, Han Jisung? What are you hiding?”

Jisung felt his heart stop. “There’s nothing--I’m not hiding anything!” He stammered, feeling Hyunjin’s dark gaze bore into his own. The blood on his hands were beginning to seep through his pants, and it took all of his willpower not to cry out in pain. There was blood on Jisung’s face, too; he could taste it trickling into his mouth with the rainwater, but he could only hope it was too dark -- and that Hyunjin was too far gone -- to see.

Just as abruptly as he had grabbed Jisung, Hyunjin let go of his shoulders, looking like he was either about to cry or throw up. The taller boy pushed past Jisung, shambling down the street and disappearing into the thick veils of rain. Jisung watched him go, a sick, hollow feeling in his gut.

Above him, the rain began to fall harder.

────────

You woke with a start to a crack of thunder, eyes snapping open and your chest heaving. Your clothes were soaked through with a cold sweat. You’d had a nightmare after going to bed early, but any recollection of it was already beginning to fade away.

There had been a killer in your dream, covered in hot, crimson blood and surrounded by endless fire. Screams and children wailing echoed in your ears, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember the killer’s face.

On your bedside table, your phone buzzed, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. Calm down. It was a dream -- just a dream. Shaking, you reached for your phone, reading the notification that had startled you. And just like that, you blood ran cold again.

DANGER

ACTIVE SERIAL KILLER AT LARGE

10:44 P.M. AN ATTACK HAS OCCURRED ON CAMPUS. POLICE BELIEVE THE PRIME SUSPECT IS THE PERPETRATOR OF THE MIROH HEIGHTS MURDERS. THE KILLER IS STILL ON CAMPUS.

MIROH HEIGHTS IS ENTERING LOCKDOWN.

REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS PERSONS TO MHPD IMMEDIATELY. 

RESIDENTS STAY INDOORS.

You nearly dropped your phone, fumbling with it to check the time. 10:46 P.M. This was real. This was happening. Bits of your nightmare came back to you in hot flashes. A sudden burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder sent you burrowing underneath the covers, terrified tears beginning to form in your eyes. Pulling the comforter close, you pressed the Phone app and called the first person you could think of.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Be--

“Hello?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as soon as Jisung’s familiar voice filled your ears. “I-I’m sorry,” you gasped, voice trembling uncontrollably, “did I wake you?” 

There was a long pause before Jisung finally answered. “No, of course not. Is everything alright?”

“I--I’m scared,” you mumbled, chewing on your lip. The sound of Jisung’s voice, and even his breathing, was already beginning to calm you down. “Did you -- did you get the alert too? There’s a s-serial killer on campus right now.”

Jisung’s legs had threatened to give way the moment he heard your voice, pressing his phone to his ear like a lifeline. Despite your voice sounding small and shaky, he felt his erratic heartbeat beginning to steady. He quickly skimmed over the lockdown notification, cursing underneath his breath. Shit. Breathing hard away from the receiver, he tried to sound as calm as possible when he brought it back towards his mouth. “Yeah, I just got it.”

Your ears strained, and you frowned -- you swore you could hear something that sounded like heavy rain coming from the other end of the line. “Are you...outside right now? Get home as soon as possible--”

“I’m home,” Jisung interrupted you, a small smile in his voice. “Bad service, yeah -- a lot of static. Probably the storm outside.” The lie tasted bittersweet on his tongue. His hair was drenched in water, dripping onto his face as he spoke. Even through the tinny phone, he felt a rush of warmth fill his hollow chest, the corners of his parched lips tugging upwards. He could almost see you curled up in blankets in your bed, hiding from the storm outside. 

No, he corrected himself with a pang, you weren’t hiding from the storm.

You were hiding from him.

Jisung unclenched his fists, broken glass falling from his palms and leaving half-moon shaped cuts in his skin. You’d called him the moment you felt scared. You had trusted him. Jisung felt the water droplets sting at his wounds, his hand feeling as though it were burning away. 

Who am I?

Was he the boy you loved, the one who made you laugh, the one who made you feel safe?

Or was he the depraved serial killer that sent everyone he loved running?

You heard Jisung clear his throat on the other line. “Listen, don’t be scared, okay? The killer, he -- he won’t hurt you.”

You laughed, just the sound making Jisung’s breath catch in his throat. “How do you know?”

Jisung tilted his head back, face to the sky, feeling the torrents of rain wash away the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes. With the hands of a wanted murderer, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, he pressed the receiver closer to his mouth, lips curling into a sad smile.

“I just do.”

[liliesoftherain]

My Hero Academia Main 3 Boys x Reader

Ch.11 Let’s Get Ready to Rumble!

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

A/N: I’m sorry I can’t really write battle scenes I SUUCK, but I do have a cute DadJeanist moment that makes me smile cause I wish Jeanist was my dad ;( (jk dad i love you but c’mon you’d want him to be your dad) I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist, or if I missed anyone! 

TAGLIST:  @rizamendoza808 !(: @iris-suoh !(: @quicksilverfangirl​ !(: @shortperson202 !(: @noodlenerd101 !(: @matchamidoriya​ !(: @thorsbtch-captainnoobmaster69me​ !(: @pastel-prynce​ !(: @sunkissedneptune​ @monetfatalia​ !(: @legit-fandom-trash​ !(: @lovethewitchofendor​ !(:

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The arena was finally cleaned up after a while, as it was left a mess after Todoroki and Sero’s fight. Next up to battle, you watched as Denki took his place followed by the girl from class 1-B. You cheered him on along with the crowds who cheered for another match, but your cheers along with everyone else's were short lived. Denki had let out a large amount of electricity, only to have it blocked by the girl, the vines that made up her hair had grown and trapped him. Even if he wasn’t trapped, the poor boy used too much and had short circuited himself. You heard a laugh come from Jiro behind you, before a voice drowned it out.

“That match was over in what, two seconds?” 

You turned your head to face the person, and to your annoyance it was one person you really didn’t want to see.

“Oh great, it’s you again.” You sighed.

“Oh hello again mutt, I take no surprise in your classmates loss. I knew it was just all talk when everyone said class 1-A was supposed to be so much better than us-” Monama was cut off as he was dragged down from the wall divider that separates the classes, another face taking his place.

“Sorry about him!” She said apologetically before taking her leave. 

No one said anything but you could feel the annoyance, surprisingly, coming off of everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

Izuku was so distracted by talking to himself he didn’t notice the little interruption that had transpired, too busy writing down strategies. You looked at Ochaco as she glanced back at you with a shrug, unsure of what to make of the boy and his antics.

“Uh, maybe you shouldn’t try to plan too far ahead, it’s not good to worry over nothing.” You spoke out softy, trying not to scare him by being too loud.

That didn’t work as well as you thought it would, since he jumped in his seat, turning to you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Sorry!” He squeaked, “I didn’t realize I was talking out loud.. I just don’t get to see quirks from people outside of our class. This is an amazing opportunity and I want to make sure I can get all the information I can!” 

“Oh? You write everything down, don’t tell me you have info on everyone here too?”

“I do actually! Do you want to see? Here’s yours!” He flipped a couple pages back of the burnt notebook and stretched over the two boys in between you both to hand it off.

You grabbed it and looked at the page gently, you could feel Kirishima hovering over your shoulder to check it out as well. Izuku had a really neat sketch of you in your hero costume drawn out on the left side, taking up the entire page. While on the right side he had a bunch of information on you, including all your stats, strategies if he ever had to go up against you, and even some special moves he thought you could do.

“Wow Deku, should I be scared knowing you have all of this info on me? What, do you have my blood type too?” You teased.

“You drew her curves so good Midoriya! I knew you had it in you.” A nasty voice spoke up and you turned to look at him with annoyance.

“Give it a rest dude, that’s not cool to talk about a woman like that you know? Super unmanly.” Kirishima frowned, unimpressed at how pervy the kid could be.

Mineta just shrugged as you quickly closed the notebook so he wouldn’t stare at your drawing anymore.

“A woman's curves need to be appreciated.”

“Shut the hell up already, you fuckers are distracting!” Bakugou hissed out, shoving Mineta away from him and back to his place in the row behind him. 

He was already annoyed at the way you and Deku were talking so chummy, how you kept brushing shoulders with Kirishima. Because all he wanted to do was watch these losers fight in peace. Not hear your laugh, or worse, hear you praise Deku of all people. Now he had to deal with the little grape shit stain talking about you out loud? Why did all the attention have to be on you? Why were you always brought up around him? Why were you on his mind, especially when he should be thinking about his upcoming battle, even if he knew he was going to win. That smile you were giving him wasn’t helping either, why the hell were you smiling at him like that!? 

He thought back to when you brushed noses and with that thought he turned his head away from you in a hurry, feeling heat creep along his face as he remembered how close you two were. 

You gave him a smile of appreciation, one he outright ignored as he turned away abruptly. So you turned to Kirishima and smiled shyly for the same reason.

“He’s such a pervert, thanks.” You whispered.

“It’s my duty as a man and as a hero to protect the innocent from dangerous leeches.” He winked, speaking as softly as you were.

You giggled and looked back at Izuku who was still giving Mineta a look, you’ve never seen Midoriya glare so hard, it was a little weird. You didn’t like him without a smile on his face, so you grabbed his attention and attempted to put a smile there instead.

“Anyways Izuku, this is really cool. I always knew you were determined but this really takes it to a whole other level.”

It seemed to work, because as soon as he heard your voice a sweet and nervous smile was back on his face.

“Th-thanks!”

Izuku felt the blood rush to his face as he brushed hands with you as you gave him his notebook back. Your hands were so warm and your smile was so kind, he couldn’t help it. He felt annoyance at Mineta for saying those things about you, and it caused him to remember how Shinsou was talking about you like that too. No one had the right to talk about you, or anyone like that. Yeah you were pretty, really pretty, but that doesn’t mean they were allowed to talk about you like you were a piece of meat! 

His eyes widened a tad as he thought back to how he looked at you when you walked out with the other girls in your cheer uniform. Oh God, he did the same thing didn’t he? He was a pervert too wasn’t he! What a vulgar word! He didn’t want to be anything of the sort.

You watched as he shook his head frantically and laughed, not knowing the internal struggle he was going through. 

Your laugh broke him out of his daze and he couldn’t help the dopey grin that spread along his face. What was wrong with him?

“Let’s get ready to watch two new players duke it out! He’s the kid with engines in his legs, Tenya Iida from the Hero Course! Versus a fully equipped gadget dinamo from the support course, Mei Hatsume!”

“So it’s hero vs support huh?” Jirou muttered.

“I have no idea what this fight could look like!” Tsuyu said.

“Uh, what’s up with Iida’s outfit?” Sato questioned.

“Is he wearing gear?” You squinted.

Down below, Iida was putting on the equipment given to him from Hatsume herself. And after some reluctance and asking on iida’s part, Midnight had allowed it.

Even though the speech he made sounded like it was something Hatsume was using to make the playing field fair, she was doing anything but. Iida was being played like a fiddle and you looked on in pity. However, you didn’t stay to watch the end of the match, knowing your turn was up next. It seems Mina was already gone, probably in one of the waiting rooms available for the participants. You got up and went to leave as well, waving to those who wished you luck before making your way to one of the hallways that lead to the entrance. 

You took a deep breath tried to calm your nerves,  someone calling out to you while you did so. Your eyes went wide at the familiar voice and spun on you heel to see them walk up to you.

“Dad?” You grinned, attacking him in a hug.

“Hello sweetheart, you’re doing amazing.” He returned the hug.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You mumbled, enjoying the familiar denim the rubbed on your face from his hero suit.

“So am I sweetheart, it’s been surreal watching you perform out there. Although I am concerned on how reckless you were, is you arm alright?” He pulled away to look and touch your shoulder gently. Trying to analyze it for himself. 

“Yes dad I’m fine. I barely feel it now, and ‘sides, a little pain is nothing for this gal.” You laughed, pointing a thumb to your chest.

“Hm yes, I suppose so. A little setback has never stopped you.” He smoothed your hair down in an attempt to neaten it.

“I was also a little perplexed, to say the least, to see you and that Bakugou boy-”

“AH no!” You cut him off, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, “It was an accident, there’s nothing going on there at all.”

He looked at you with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrow.

“I swear!”

He only hummed in response, accepting your answer for now. But you knew you definitely weren’t off the hook, the thought making you groan on the inside.

With the silence that stretched in the corridor, you felt your fears creep in once more.

“Dad?” Your voice timid.

“Yes?” 

“I’m.. I’m a bit nervous. What if I don’t win?”

“(y/n), the moments you feel like this is exactly why you remain focused and have an unwavering determination. This will lead you into victory no matter the outcome. Even if you do not happen to win, your victory will be in your perseverance and growth. Let your fear turn into your driving factor, give yourself a reason to fight. There is no reason to doubt yourself, you’ll always make me proud.” The corners of his eyes crinkled, indicating he smiled even if it was hidden behind his costume.

“Thanks dad, you’re right as always. I love you.” You smiled.

“I love you too sweetheart,” The announcement for you to make your way to the arena was heard overhead, “now go and make your mark on the world.”

“Right!” You gave him one last hug before walking away from him, and onto the field. The crowd was a blur, faces unidentifiable from here, but you spotted all your classmates and felt your determination harden. If they could be brave, so would you.

“Let’s jump right along to the fifth match! Is there some reason she has those things sticking out of her head? From class 1-A, Mina Ashido! Versus, our quick-witted miss who definitely has got the skills and potential, also from 1-A, (y/n) Hakamata!”

“I have this in the bag bestie!” An unshaken smile on her face, “sorry to say you’ll be losing!”

“We’ll have to see about that now won't we?” Your own steely grin present.

“Well let’s get started! Let the fifth match, BEGIN!”

You attacked first, sending off a blast off light that she immediately dodged with ease. 

“HA, you’ll have to be quicker than that!” She called out.

She was using her quirk like skates, her acid granting her a slippery path to glide along, making it easier to dodge your long ranged attacks. She had always seen you use long range attacks, and you wanted to use that to your advantage. She probably assumed you weren’t as skilled in close combat, but that’s where her downfall would be.

She rushed at you and you quickly bent the light to wrap around your fists and upper arms, hardening while retaining its heat. You braced yourself as she threw a punch, counter attacking as she pulled her hand back quickly due to what you assumed was the burning. You brought your own arm up and tried to catch her off guard, but she managed to dodge the first swing, but she failed to notice your left jab coming straight after your right hook. 

She cried out as she was thrown back, catching herself before she flew out of bounds.

“Ye-ouch! That’s hot!”

You lunged again but this time she knew better than to let you get close, she skated away from you, keeping her distance. She flung her acid in your direction, but missed. Several times. So you kept up the charade of dodge and attack while trying to figure out why she wasn’t aiming for you. A crack alerted you and that’s when you knew, she was trying to make the whole area fall apart and give you no time to collect yourself, making you fall out of bounds. What a great idea.

Forming a plan, you got to work. Assaulting her with beam after beam from both hands, not giving her time to rest as she had to stay on her toes to make sure she wasn’t hit.You made your way closer to the edge, giving Mina the impression she could trap you there.

“I’ve got you now!” She shouted.

“You sure?” You asked.

She looked confused and you knew it had worked. While she was inching her way closer to you in hopes to knock you off, she failed to notice that now she was standing very close to the area that had been damaged with acid earlier.

You sent a large beam of solid light straight next to her feet, the most unstable part of the arena. She thought she dodged your attack, but instead landed on now crumbling cement with a yelp. You used this distraction to your advantage, crouching low and kicking the air as you did. Solid, yet cooled, light shot out from your outstretched foot. The momentum knocking into Mina’s back and sent her tumbling to the right and face first out of the boundary. 

“Ashido is out of bounds! Hakamata shall move on to the next round!” Midnight announced, the crowd going wild.

“Well you saw it here folks, finally we got our first real action packed battle! Thanks girls!” 

You walked to Mina and extended your hand to help her up, which she gladly took. 

“Well I guess I spoke too soon didn’t I?” She snickered, pulling herself up with your help.

“Maybe just a bit, but you were a worthy opponent nonetheless.”

“Oh you know it!”

You both laughed as you walked off the field together, no hard feelings present. You did feel an overwhelming amount of relief and happiness though, even though you knew there was more battles, you let yourself enjoy this win.

Walking into the long halls you saw the next participant walking towards you both.

“Oh hey Momo!” Mina yelled out with a wave.

“Hello girls, good fight from the both of you! And congratulations Hakamata, I’ll be looking forward to our fight once I win.” Momo smiled.

“Well I’ll look forward to it!” 

“Who are you fighting Momo?” Mina wondered.

“Tokoyami. He has a pretty impressive quirk, so I’m going to have to be cautious and execute a phenomenal plan.”

“Well I have no doubts you’ll do great.”

“Thank you Hakamata-”

“C’mon Momo, call me (y/n)! Don’t worry, I’ll still let you call me it if you beat me. If you can.” You joked.

“Alright, you better be careful what you say (y/n), karma may favor me after your boasting.”

“Me? Boast? Never!”

You all giggled, wishing Momo good luck before parting ways, her heading towards the arena while you two continued your journey to the balcony. Once you arrive, you notice Izuku sitting alone in the front row by himself, so you took a seat directly to his right. As soon as he felt your presence he grinned, eyes wide in wonder and happiness.

“(y/n)! That match was really incredible! Like, the way you were able to maneuver Ashido by the unstable part of the arena without her noticing? It’s such a smart tactic to think of on the spot!”

“Way to rub it in Midoriya!” Mina huffed, crossing her arms with a pout.

“Sorry! You did really well Ashido, I knew this was going to be an amazing match! But (y/n) you’re power is so incredible to see in action! I mean, I already knew that it was and I told you it before when I wanted you on my team earlier, but I just didn’t realize there was so much you could do? Is there a limit on how far you can make the light stretch? Or how hard you can manipulate it? We’ve already seen you use it like bracers or gloves and as beams but like, is there a way to-”

“Shut the hell up shitty nerd! Quit fangirling and rambling like an idiot!” Bakugou rolled his eyes and stood up.

He walked away from the seats, deciding to wait in one of the training rooms to get some peace and quiet before his match. What was Deku’s problem, looking at you like some puppy dog? He acted as if your win was a surprise to him, which was just stupid because he was praising you and your quirk to the tail man before you went on, so what gives? Bakugou knew you were going to win, while raccoon eyes didn’t seem that bad of a fighter, you were the one on his team after all. Which was something that made him smirk, knowing you chose his team over Deku’s. Ha, he knew it. He knew he was better than that loser, and it seemed you knew it too. So why the hell were you always talking to him?

Your eyes followed Bakugou’s form as he stalked off, before turning back to comfort Izuku whose face had gone bright red from being called out.

“Thanks Deku! But, I do have to keep some things a secret you know. Can’t have you knowing all of my tricks now can I?” You winked.

“Uh yeah of course not!” 

“So Midoriya, who do you think is going to win this one? Since your prediction for Hakamata’s match was right?” Oijiro asked as he leaned forward, his arms crossed and on top of the seat to Deku’s left.

As he trailed off answering Oijiro’s questions, you felt yourself blush. He had gotten the last prediction right? Meaning he thought you were going to win, did he have that much faith in you?

“Now lets not let this hot-streak cool! Time to move onto the 6th round! This guy is offense and defense in one, the dark samurai and his darker shadow! From Class 1-A hero course, Fumikage Tokoyami! Versus, the great creator! She was admitted on recommendations and we could see why from the previous matches! It’s Momo Yaoyorozu who is also a Class 1-A student! So let’s get going, 6th match, BEGIN!”

You watched closely, knowing whoever won this was going to be your opponent for your next match. While you had faith in Momo, knowing her quirk was incredible all on its own, Tokoyami was also someone with a powerful quirk.

As if to prove your thoughts, Tokoyami wasted no time by having dark shadow ram into Momo’s shield relentlessly. She could barely react and it was apparent that she was flustered, seeing as she was pushed out of bounds in under thirty seconds.

Your eyebrows drew together while crossing your arms at the fact you would have to go up against him. It was a little troublesome, since you weren’t sure how dark shadow fared in physical attacks. He took a direct hit from on of Bakugou’s explosions, but as far as you could tell there was no damage done while he blocked it.

“Tokoyami is way too powerful!” Deku’s mouth dropped, and all you could do was hum in agreement.

You hoped you could figure out some type of plan to win, you came this far and there was no way you were backing down now.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 23 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Paul and Gene watch T.V. and continue to delay the inevitable.

          They went home after that, stopping only to pick up some more takeout for dinner. Paul was bemoaning it a bit, and offering to make them both sandwiches instead, even when he was pulling up to the restaurant.

         “I’ve gained three pounds just this past week.”

         “You’ve been weighing yourself?”

         Paul looked at him weirdly.

         “Well, yeah. Every day.”

         “Even since this happened?” Gene was a little bewildered to think that even getting cursed hadn’t been enough to distract Paul out of that particular concern.

         “Yeah. I think I’m still gaining it all in the abdomen.” Paul took a disgusted glance down at himself, assuming he could even see his stomach past his chest. Gene was beginning to wonder. “We can’t keep eating like we’re on the road.”

         “Can’t we?”

         “Fuck, no.” Paul grimaced, shaking his head as he parked the car and turned off the engine. “I spent the entire break trying to get my weight down.”

         “You look fine. Why are you so worried?”

         “The costume girls’ll have a fit.”

         It was the first time either of them had mentioned anything related to the tour all day. It cut through the Central Park fantasy like an Exacto knife. Gene wasn’t going to have some cute girl—this cute girl—hanging on his arm for much longer. Maybe no more than a few hours.

         Gene rubbed his elbow uncomfortably. Paul, gazing at his own reflection in the car mirror and pushing his hair in front of his shoulders, didn’t seem to notice, so Gene pushed the rest of his thoughts aside. They got out of the car together; Gene paid for the food, and they returned to Paul’s place soon after. Half the takeout was gone before they’d even gotten home with it. They finished off the rest at the kitchen island, then laid around on the couch awhile, T.V. running in the background while Gene read and Paul doodled.

         It was kind of funny, really. Occasionally it felt like nothing had really shifted. Still watching T.V. together like they used to in the hotels, back when getting laid after the show was a distant hope and not an inevitability. Eating out of Styrofoam boxes. Joking around and shooting the shit.

         The rest of the time, Gene was painfully aware of how much had shifted. There was the sex, sure, even if they hadn’t gone all the way, but that wasn’t the whole of it. He’d still have his gloomy spells, sure, but overall, Paul seemed so happy. So open. So—maybe Gene was giving himself too much credit, but Paul seemed—taken with him. He’d never been aware of anything like that out of Paul before. If those big, dark eyes had ever looked Gene’s way with half the warmth and attention he was getting now, then—well, then, Gene hadn’t noticed.

         He’d thought Paul didn’t like him a bit when they’d first met, in fact. He’d been high on his own bravado, and Paul had just hung in the periphery of his circles. Somebody had introduced them, and Gene had popped off immediately, something like oh, you write songs?, and Paul—well, he’d been Stan, and Stanley if you wanted to piss him off, back then; he hadn’t gone by Paul until a year or two later—had snapped right back with an affirmative.

         He remembered asking him to play one for him, and Paul had. The song was a lousy, incoherent mash-up of the Stones, Bowie, and the Beatles at their most soused, and his playing was worse. But somehow after, they’d just… Gene didn’t know. He couldn’t remember a definitive point where they’d clicked. Paul had still been in the process of nearly flunking out of high school, while Gene was a sophomore, or maybe a junior in college. But he remembered starting to call him up after classes, inviting him to parties and jams. He remembered thinking Paul was standoffish and nervous, not cut out at all for the rockstar career he was so desperate for. But he didn’t remember ever getting the feeling Paul dug him. More that he was just lonely.

         He didn’t want to delve into it too deeply. Rethink nearly ten years of interactions. It wouldn’t do any good, and it wouldn’t change any of the way things were right now. He watched Paul kick up his ankles against the arm of the couch, and finally spoke.

         “What did you take us out for, anyway?”

         Paul glanced up from his drawing. It was something weird and abstract, not the eerily-accurate dick sketches Gene was accustomed to out of him. Hatchmarks, parallel lines, and weird, elongated shapes were well on their way to completely covering the sketchpad.

         “To pay you back. I told you.” The pencil resumed its scratch across the page.

         “No, why did you really do it?”

         “Because we’d never get to again.”

         That was all he said for awhile. The words hung like streamers. Gene sort of wanted to argue him down, even though he wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know exactly what Paul meant.

         “You can take me out anytime.”

         “Not like that.”  Paul shifted abruptly. “I’m gonna go shower.”

         Gene raised his head, half at the words, half at the slight thump of Paul’s sketchpad next to him on the couch.

         “Want some company? I hear there’s a water shortage.”

         Paul shook his head. Gene felt guilty at his own weird relief. For whatever reason, Paul wasn’t ready yet. They could keep on pretending for awhile longer.

         “Maybe later tonight.”

         Gene nodded. Paul’s expression seemed a little bit strained, but he turned and headed for the bedroom, not closing the door behind him. A minute or two later, Gene could hear the sound of the water running.

         Then he got up, looking through the living room’s bookshelf as if he hadn’t done it prior. Paul didn’t really read for pleasure. He had stuff like  The Power of Positive Thinking,  Games People Play, I’m OK – You’re OK, and a ragged copy of  How to Win Friends and Influence People, the last of which was highlighted like a book of scripture. Gene had been flipping through it while Paul drew.

         Then he had magazines with his face or KISS’ picture on the front cover. No intellectual reading material at all, though that wasn’t what he was looking for. At the bottom of one shelf were Paul’s junior and senior annuals and a small line of photo albums. Gene pulled one of the older-looking albums out at random.

         It was green and typical, with thick black pages. Probably one Paul’s parents had started of him. The initial contents weren’t surprising. A faded birth announcement. A taped-in lock of baby hair dated August 2, 1952—Paul’s parents hadn’t bothered with upsherin, so maybe it was no wonder he’d never had his bar mitzvah. Sepia infant photos—Gene swallowed a bit when he realized that even in the pictures where Paul was barely able to sit up on his own, the photographer had him posed with his head turned to the right, to hide the microtia. Some pictures from birthdays. A picture of him along with the rest of his second grade class. They were lined up by height, and Paul was standing towards the back, easily recognizable just from the eyes and expression. By that point, he’d apparently figured out the pose on his own; he was almost aggressively facing right, while everyone else was looking the camera head-on.

         All that misery and insecurity over two square inches of missing cartilage.

         Gene shook his head. He flipped past most of the rest of the pictures of Paul as a kid, past even the awkward handful from when he was a teenager, before finally coming up on photos slightly closer to current. He’d apparently kept a few Polaroids from Wicked Lester and the earliest days of KISS, before they’d even had the makeup. Then, as he turned the pages, he found a scattering of random, more recent shots. Paul goofing off in hotel rooms. Paul lounging in swim trunks by the pool. Paul in a tux sucking cake frosting off his fingers at Ace’s wedding.

         He was trying to hammer in his head that this was how Paul really was and really looked. He was trying to figure out if he’d still be attracted to him once he was back to normal. If he’d feel something while he looked at the pictures. Start getting hot under the collar, maybe, the way he did with Playboy centerfolds. But—well, Paul only tried provocative poses when he had on the greasepaint, and most everything in the album was barefaced and fairly candid. Gene wasn’t sure he was feeling anything beyond some fondness while looking over pictures of Paul in front of the Eiffel Tower or eating poi in Hawaii.

         That bothered him. Not that he was planning on jacking off to a stupid picture of Paul sitting shirtless on the hood of his car, but—he’d—he’d wanted something definite out of this. Arousal or repulsion. He needed to know. Whether Paul had wanted him for four days or four years, Gene owed him that much.

         The dull white noise of the shower cut off. Gene put the photo album and the book back on the shelf and waited for Paul’s returning footsteps. Maybe later tonight, he’d said. Maybe later than that.

--

         Paul spent longer than he meant to in there. Cleaned himself up, washed his hair and shaved. He’d gotten into the habit of shaving almost everything but his chest and sometimes his underarms because of the tours. Now that he was basically down to only having to worry about his underarms and legs, the effort took two minutes or less, leaving him just standing useless for awhile under the spray.

         He knew what his next move ought to be, just as well as Gene did. Invite him in, get rid of the whole virginity problem, and get back to normal. There was no reason to keep delaying it. He’d had his time with Gene. More of it than he probably deserved, the way that they’d already wormed themselves out of the curse’s terms of consummation, like wily lawyers with contracts.

         He wasn’t scared. Well. He wasn’t just scared. He knew it was probably going to hurt. He hadn’t tried to penetrate himself since that second night with Gene, and even Gene’s fingering had pretty much been rubbing. If he couldn’t tolerate a finger inside him, a dick would be even worse. Paul was tempted to blame it on Carol, but if one less-sexy Playboy article was anything to go by, it was really just his nerves. He’d have no bulwark against them, either, no drugs or alcohol, when he slept with Gene. When he really slept with Gene.

         That wasn’t his real problem, anyway. His real problem was the same as ever. Knowing it would all be over as soon as he let it happen.

         He skimmed a hand over one newly-smooth thigh, fingers sliding across his wet skin. Up to his stomach, then his breasts, idly pushing them together. Considering. Wondering how it must’ve felt for Pinocchio once he got everything he ever wanted, once he was flesh instead of wood. Funny how that was Gene’s takeaway from that movie. Work hard, get your wish. Input-output. But he wasn’t going to get his wish here. Paul couldn’t be a real girl for him. No part of him ought to have ever wanted to try.

         He’d just have to steel himself up for the end, that was all. Delaying it too long was only going to make it worse. It was—it was abysmal, not having taken care of it already, when he’d been so desperate to do it only the day before. But he couldn’t bring himself to commit just yet. Whether out of cowardice or longing, he didn’t know. He wanted to keep messing around with Gene as long as he could. Have Gene keep looking at him, keep touching him. Keep being with him. 

         He swallowed thickly, stepped out of the shower, and dried his hair off a bit with a towel, pulling on a bathrobe before heading back out to the living room. Gene was still on that same couch,  Hawaii Five-O playing in the background. Jack Lord was really starting to look craggy now.

         “You wanna go to bed?”

         “This early?” Gene looked a little amused, but Paul thought there might be something else there. Something on the border of disappointment.

         “There’s nothing on T.V.”

         “Did I play my cards right?”

         “You didn’t play them wrong. We can fool around some more. I’ll keep my top off.”

         It was a lousy offer for a guy who had girls chomping at the bit to sleep with him, and Paul knew it. But the grin he got in response was enough to make some of his guilt, some of his self-disgust, ease off, if only briefly.

         “C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”

--

         Gene followed him to the bedroom affably, taking off his borrowed t-shirt and tossing it on the floor. He didn’t start on his pants, but Paul did for him, unzipping and tugging them down. Gene’s mouth crooked up, uncertain but pleased.

         “You’ve got an awfully wide berth for fooling around, Paul.”

         “I’ve got an awful lot of practice.” Paul untied his bathrobe but didn’t take it off yet. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing beneath it. His hair was still pretty wet, skin pink from the shower. The musky scent of him was almost gone, rinsed away by the shower and soaps, only readily apparent again when Gene’s hand moved between his thighs. It was kind of a thrill to find that earlier hadn’t been a fluke. Paul just kept getting wet for him easier than even a groupie.

         Kissing down his neck as he kept stroking, getting a couple soft grunts in response, Gene wondered what Paul was up to. He was positioned a little awkwardly, legs spread wide, with Gene kneeling in the space between them. Paul kept shifting on the bed, posture a little stiff. Not like yesterday; he just seemed like he was deliberating, anticipating. Gene didn’t think Paul was comfortable enough to pull out any toys or handcuffs. Even light bondage seemed like a little much. Possibly—

         “Did you want to 69?”

         “Nah, I hate that shit. Give me your hand.”

         “Paul, if you’re going to tie me up, I want a striptease first.”

         Paul shrugged off the bathrobe and tossed it at him with a grin.

         “I’m not gonna tie you up, Jesus. Just give me your hand.”

         Impishly, Gene offered the right one, already soaked in Paul’s fluids. He was surprised when Paul took it, grabbing his wrist and pressing Gene’s palm into his cleavage, guiding it up and down. Gene felt a shiver run up his back, dick stiffening to full attention when Paul let go of his hand. The thin streaks of clear fluid left behind were their own promise, one that only got more definite as Paul lowered himself onto the bed, gesturing for Gene to come forward. He did, straddling him carefully, cock resting between his slightly-slick breasts. Paul squeezed them together experimentally, the brief pressure enough to make Gene twitch. Fuck. He hadn’t even fantasized about this one. Fucking Paul against the wall, eating him out--sure, sure. Paul letting him go for a titfuck had been way too far out of the realm of possibility for him to picture.

         “It’s enough, right?” Paul’s voice was soft, vaguely pleased. Gene grunted an assent. They were definitely enough. Another squeeze, though Gene hadn’t tried to thrust yet, Paul watching for his reaction. “Figured we could put them to some use.”

         “What’re you getting out of this?”

         “The same thing you got out of me getting off on your leg. A good view.” Paul reached a hand up, stroking along Gene’s arm. “Now c’mon, I don’t wanna have to put K-Y on my tits.”

[swordarkeereon]

Tech Review for Writers: reMarkable2

I got myself a piece of interesting tech this year in hopes it would get me from out in front of a computer screen more often. Meet the reMarkable2, a distraction free (i.e. it’s not connected to the entirety of the internet) e-ink tablet workhorse that’s easy on the eyes.

The reMarkable2 Tablet

First things first. The reMarkable2 tablet is not for everyone and your average person probably won’t find it the least bit useful. So let’s talk about why you don’t want this tablet first.

reMarkable 2 is not for you if: 

– You want an eReader.  eReaders have a VERY DIFFERENT function than the reMarkable2. Yes, you can read PDFs on a reMarkable, but it’s more for *marking up* a PDF and commenting in the margins of a PDF. Not just reading. eReaders like Kindles and Nooks often have built in dictionaries, ways to bookmark pages or passages of text, etc…  that the reMarkable2 doesn’t have. You can search your documents for specific phrases and words and also highlight things in a light gray, but if you’re just looking for an eReader, I suggest a Kindle.

– You want a full functioning tablet that you can put apps on and surf the web with- If you’re looking for a full functioning tablet, you’ve missed the whole point of the reMarkable2. The main point behind reMarkable2 is so you can go to your creative place (wherever that may be) and brainstorm, free from ALL distractions. You can’t stop to surf FB or your Twitter feed on a reMarkable2, thus making it more likely you’ll stay on task and get more done.

– You want something with color so you can highlight because what you really want is a fully functioning ebook reader or tablet. This tablet is really more of a no frills brainstorming and note-taking tool for entrepreneurs, professionals, academics, and creatives (including engineers, writers, musicians, possibly artists if they like to sketch in black and white) who use a lot of black pens and plain paper.

I bought the tablet for the following reasons (which I wrote down BEFORE I received the device):

– I wanted an electronic notebook (not a tablet). I’m one of those people who goes through 3 packs of sticky notes every month, and countless notebooks every year. I am constantly jotting stuff down to keep myself focused and on track while running my own business and helping out at the family business.  My notes can be anything from putting together presentations, classes, and meetings, to extensive to-do lists for the day. Sometimes it’s just me keeping track of sales figures. As a result, my desk is always filled with papers and notebooks and I’m constantly searching for shit. The electronic notebook cleans up all this clutter and helps me organize my brain. (Have you seen my brain!? It’s a mess in there.)

– I  like to write freehand, especially when I’m plotting the next book or writing a blurb, or even writing a chapter – and it must be distraction free. This is something only fellow authors will understand. The fact that the reMarkable2 can convert handwritten notes to text sent via email has me excited because, if I’m lucky and it works, I won’t have to go through and transcribe all my handwritten notes. It basically saves me time by eliminating a step. I can copy/paste the note from my email into the appropriate file on my laptop. This will also save me the clutter and weight of carrying countless notebooks.

– I am involved with projects that require me to sketch out ideas for marketing and/or artwork. I do have tablets that can do this, but nothing that does it *well*. The closest is my Surface tablet, which can do a lot of things, but it still doesn’t feel like paper or allow me the fine detail paper allows. I’m hoping this tablet is a bit more responsive in this area. – I am forever printing out rough drafts of manuscripts for markup – wasting a ton of paper and toner in the process. All because I can’t edit on a backlit screen. My eyes get tired and I miss too many errors. If I can transfer my PDF drafts to the reMarkable and mark them up there with minimal errors left over, I could save some $$. I am actually estimating that I could easily save the cost of the reMarkable2 in 6 months to 1 year’s time by not having to purchase the paper, pens, and toner I usually go through in that time frame.  Plus, these marked up manuscripts often end up in a stack on my office floor for 6 months to a year after publication. 

– I am forever having to read PDFs of laws and regulations for the family business, and while I usually use them on the computer, I sit in front of a computer 8-13 hours a day. I need a non-backlit screen for reading in the evenings just to give my eyes a break.  Yes, I imagine I could do the same with a Kindle paperwhite, but I may just want to jot some notes in the same way I’d mark up a paper copy. I’m still a pen and paper girl. I’m really hoping the reMarkable is my replacement for that (most of the time anyway).

reMarkable2 test to sample the pen styles.

Some considerations I took into account before purchasing:

A lot of customers complained that it took too long to receive the reMarkable or to get support. From all of the research I did, and in reading their website, it’s clear to me that this company caters to academia and businesses. I ordered my reMarkable2 on January 16, 2021, and had it in my hands by January 25, 2021. 9 days. I also ordered it and paid for it through my business. I don’t know if that’s actually why I got mine so fast, but I wouldn’t be surprised. That said, I do think the company should work a little harder to increase their customer service efficiency. 

With regard to customer support – the website clearly states it can take up to 10 business days for support to get back to you. And a lot of the things people seem to be complaining about have troubleshooting instructions on the website. Clearly people weren’t going to the website to try to look up their issue through the support FAQs, which likely would have helped them out sooner.  They were just contacting support immediately, and angry when they weren’t getting a response after 3 days, when it’s clearly stated on the website that it can take up to 10 days due to the fact that reMarkable is a small company. But like I said earlier – they would be smart to increase their customer service team.

reMarkable’s folios are a custom fit and really pretty, but a bit pricey. I made the tablet more affordable by skipping the upgrade on the pen, because a friend of mine got the eraser feature and she wasn’t digging it initially (she loves it now), and I purchased a relatively nice folio from Amazon for under $30 (with no magnets – research told me magnets can cause dead spots in the screen of the reMarkable2). You can also just buy a 10″-11″ tablet sleeve and it would work much the same. There are also universal tablet folios that will fit 10″-11″ tablets that are free of magnets and will likely work just fine. All for under $20 bucks — even a few in faux leather. Remember that a case should protect your investment, not just make it *look* sharp. 

Right out of the Box.

Right out of the box I set the reMarkable up and started using it for brainstorming. Here were my first impressions:

1. It really is pretty damn close to writing on paper.

2. You can rest your damn hand on the screen and it won’t fuck things up or make it wobble as with traditional tablets.

3. My handwriting actually looks like my handwriting and you have almost the same control with this as you would with real pen and paper.

4. The interface is simple and intuitive and anyone who uses computers and tablets day and in day out will have no issues figuring this out.

Now some thoughts on the features:

Handwriting to Text: As an author who likes to occasionally spend time writing the old fashioned way, one of the things that attracted me to this tablet was its ability to translate handwriting to text. No writer wants to have to transcribe their written notes and waste all of that time. So of course I tested it with my horrific handwriting, vs purposefully trying to be neat, and the reMarkable2 was able to convert my chicken scratch into actual text that I could read. I was able to turn the handwritten notes into a PDF, but I was also able to send the handwriting converted to typed text as the body of an email, where I was able to cut and paste it into any program I wanted. I took it further and wrote 1000 words (about 8.2 pages) longhand. It converted all the pages to text in one swoop and I was able to copy/paste it into my manuscript. While there was a little formatting and editing involved — it was a lot faster than retyping handwritten notes. WIN! 

Handwriting for conversion test.

Conversion successful

PDF Transfer, Markup, and Signature: Transferring PDFs to the reMarkable is easy. You simply download the app on your phone and your desktop, and you can take any pdf from either device and import it onto your reMarkable, which you can then markup. I sent myself a slew of PDFs that I had to read and markup. It’s amazing how much more focused I am on a screen like this. I really got the same experience with editing on a digital PDF as I did with editing on a paper copy. My only caveat is that I don’t have more space to make notes since the margins are a bit small on the screen and there’s no “back of the page” to carry notes over to. I can likely manage. Despite that – what a great experience. Goodbye manuscripts all over my office floor!  Hello being able to drag editing work with me wherever I go!    

You can also transfer your PDFs that don’t have an electronic signature option to the device, sign them, and send them back. Talk about HANDY since I do that a few times a month by default. This just eliminates the print/sign/scan. Now I just have to transfer it to the device, sign the document, and email it straight back to whoever sent it. 

Digital Planners may be something I look into for 2022 because reMarkable actually makes them feasible. I tried a tester digital planner, courtesy a friend, on my reMarkable and I have to say – it offers just as much satisfaction as a paper planner. Plus, you can SEARCH large pdfs. It won’t find search terms in your handwriting, but it will find it in your PDF. That’s definitely a handy feature when you’re working with 500 page PDFs. That said, the tablet saves your place (last page you visited) as you’re navigating a PDF, so no need to search for the place you left off. However, there is no way to bookmark multiple pages.

ePub Reading: suppose I could sideload books as ePubs, but I really have no use for this feature. If I want to read ebooks, I use my kindle or the Kindle App on my tablet or phone. Unless I start doing editing of ePubs or want to check out an ePub format for something?  I didn’t buy this as an eReader, and it is terribly lacking as an eReader. Where the reMarkable excels is as a tool for marking up documents. So my guess is it would be great for that if you have a lot of files in ePub format that you have to go over. You also can’t change font sizes for easier reading. You can zoom in and zoom back out to regular size. That’s it. (And this is another reason this is not an eReader.)

Storage: Storage is a little over 6GB (you do not pay for the reMarkable website cloud-sync). But even with about 15 PDFs (some of them really long) on my reMarkable at any given time, I was only at .38 GB. 

reMarkable2 Storage

File System: Like I said earlier – the system is highly intuitive and easy to use. I made folders for my most common notebook uses, then I moved the appropriate PDFs to those folders, and created any notebooks I needed for those folders.

Exporting: You can export as .PNG, .SVG, and PDF.  Handwriting to text can only be sent as text via the body of an email. This is actually great for writing because then you just have to copy/paste from your email into your Word Doc, Google Doc, or Scrivener.

Importing: Imports PDFs and ePubs.

Templates: The templates are great. I generally only use graph paper, plain, and lined paper myself. But I could see how a lot of these would be useful to people. The to-do list is a crappy template just because it requires you to hide your menu to use it (you can’t tick the the checkboxes until you do this). To hide the menu tap the circle in the upper left top of the menu bar. So if you want a partial page to-do list, you can easily make your own checkbox lists using the graph paper option. There are also dot pages for the folks into bullet journaling.

A small sampling of reMarkable2 Templates

Search Feature: You can search within a PDF, but not through your own handwritten text. You must be in the PDF to search it, otherwise you can only search for file names. You can not search across documents for a phrase or word. So if you’re looking for something with the same search capabilities as a laptop or possibly a tablet, you won’t find it here.

Zooming: You can zoom in on PDF documents and write on them while zoomed. However, you cannot change font sizes to make reading easier.

Battery Life:  On days where I used it heavily (about 4-5 hours), I was using around 15% power in a day because I didn’t put it in airplane mode. Three days of 4-5 hours a day use drained my battery to 50%. So me, as a heavy user, not in airplane mode, will likely get 6-7 days out of a single charge. Possibly more since clearly not every day will be a heavy use day. The device does go to sleep after 10 minutes of inactivity.

Pen:The pens are a bit pricey. I did not buy the expensive pen with the eraser and I’m okay with that. But $60 for a pen is still a bit — ouch. 

Pen Nib: I am expecting I will be one of those poor unfortunate souls who will be replacing pen tips every 3-4 weeks during heavy use. Luckily the pen itself doesn’t use batteries. The pen nibs seem reasonable in price, just be sure to order a new pack with your device and when you start that pack, order another as shipping times on those can take a week or two depending where you are and how efficient your mail service is. You don’t want to accidently run out and find yourself without a pen. Yikes.

Security: You can add a password to your reMarkable to keep prying eyes out. But if you’re like me and self-employed, that’s not really an issue. Your remarkable has Wi-Fi, yes, but you can put it in airplane mode to cut the connection. Plus, it only syncs to your cloud storage. There really aren’t any entry points for viruses or people hacking into your device. But then I’m also not a tech person. Let’s just say I highly doubt security will be a huge issue on this thing. Besides, anyone who wants to take a peek at my tablet would likely find themselves bored stiff, unless they like reading really rough first drafts of speculative fiction.  LOL

Backup/Download: You can easily transfer your files back to your computer by opening the app and simply exporting your finished documents, etc… to your computer, backup drive or cloud drive. You can also just email yourself a copy to make it super easy.

My Wishlist:

1. I wish I could add or append new, handwritten pages to an existing PDF. That would definitely solve the space issue. Now, I just make notes in a different file and jog back and forth between the PDF and the notes, which is a little annoying, but doable. One way to solve this issue would be to save all your PDFs to double spaced. It might make markup a little easier. I’ll try that with the next books to go under the editorial knife.

2. I wish there were cheaper alternative covers. My $17 cover looks great and protects my tablet. reMarkable could easily come up with a few additional low-cost choices here. The ultra professionals are still going to buy nice leather folios. 

(I may add to this list in the coming weeks, but right now these are the two main things jumping out at me.)

Overall Review Summary

For writers, reMarkable2 truly is a remarkable distraction free device that can help improve your concentration and organization, give you the freedom to write out longhand and convert it to text without the tedious re-typing, and help you mark up drafts with ease. This would probably serve prolific and professional writers more liberally than the writer who takes a few years to pen a book. Plus, it will probably save you a lot of printer paper, toner, pens and notebooks. For business owners/users – reMarkable will likely save you pounds of sticky notes and legal pads, and hours of time transcribing your notes. Plus, it’s a great on-the-go working tool for content creators and people who review a lot of PDFs. 

Have some thoughts on the reMarkable2? Feel free to leave a comment below!

[dakotacrisis]

Deal’s End (8)

I'll always love you and make you happy If you will only say the same But if you leave me and love another You'll regret it all some day

-You Are My Sunshine by Jimmie Davis

(Read on AO3)

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Marinette didn’t see Felix again before she went to bed. Her confusing thoughts from earlier only grew with his absence. Before when the thought of him leaving had felt bittersweet the idea that she wouldn’t be able to talk to him again hurt deep in her chest now. She liked Felix. She liked being around him and having fun with him. She liked talking with him and walking home with him.

Perhaps this was a form of Stockholm Syndrome. Wanting your demonic roommate to stay with you because you now see them as a friend. She doubted that anyone else could relate to her though. And she couldn’t talk to anyone about this since no one knew of Felix’s true nature. She was stuck alone in a dark room with her racing thoughts and heavy heart.

Maybe...maybe he could visit after he left. She hadn’t heard Felix mention that he was confined to Hell unless he was summoned. Maybe he would be able to pop up once in a while to say hi. They could grab lunch...play a game of Mecha Strike.

“UGH!” She buried her face in her pillow. Why was she getting so worked up about this now? Yeah she kinda saw Felix as her friend but there was no use worrying about life after he was gone when he was still very much in her life.

But for how much longer though? Once she was Adrien’s girlfriend Felix would be gone.

She forced the thoughts out of her head. This was not the night to worry about this. She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

The next day was a lazy day spent inside. The weather had taken a bad turn and a torrential downpour soaked the city. Marinette spent it in her room catching up on work and reorganizing. Pretty much anything to keep her mind busy and off of the looming worries for the future. Felix had reappeared in the morning though he was far quieter than usual. He mainly kept off to the side scribbling stuff down in his notebook. Randomly he would tear a page out and burn the paper instantaneously in his hand before starting again.

Marinette had asked what he was doing to which he gave a vague answer of ‘stuff.’ She tried to peek over his shoulder but he hid the page from view. “Nosy girl.”

“Why won’t you let me see what you’re doing?” Marinette asked.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Will you show me if I get you eclairs?” she smiled as the bribe hit its mark.

He looked up at her, his eyes widened at the promise of chocolatey foods. “How many eclairs?”

“As many as it takes for you to show me what’s on that paper.”

“I want ten eclairs and one of those red velvet cupcakes from the bakery.”

“Okay.” Marinette started heading downstairs. “It better not be something stupid!”

She grabbed the snacks from the bakery and went back up for the trade. She held out the box to Felix who reluctantly swapped it with his notebook. On the page was the start of a rough sketch hunched over a table. “You draw?” Marinette smiled as she took in the new information. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“It helps pass the time.” He shrugged as he downed another eclair.

She looked closer at the figure trying to figure out what he was going for from the rough outline. Then she saw the pigtails to the back of the hunched figure’s head. The box on top of the table...it was a sewing machine. Felix had been drawing her work.

She wanted desperately to ask why but figured it was for the best she not let on she knew it was her he was drawing and handed the notebook back. “It’s very good.”

“I’ve barely started.”

“Yeah but I can tell.” She plucked the half eaten eclair out of his hand. “That being said try not to get crumbs all over my chaise.”

“That was mine!” He made a pathetic grab for the bite of eclair she held.

“Not anymore.” She popped it into her mouth. “That was a nice break but I need to get back to work.” She sat down at her machine and picked up where she had left off. She wanted to talk to him about what happened last night but thought it better for another day. Or maybe she was too scared of what answer he would give to ask.

The rest of the day passed by without incident and with it their weekend off came to a close. Monday was upon them and so was Felix’s vigor to throw Marinette head first into situations with Adrien. She had gotten better at handling the sudden interactions. Maybe spending more time together had finally neutralized her utter terror of being alone with him cause now she could talk to him almost normally. Heck, she was even cracking jokes!

“So did you want to hang out after school?” Marinette asked Adrien.

“I’d like to but I got a photoshoot today.” Adrien sighed, “Maybe next time.”

“Oh okay.” Marinette smiled despite her disappointment. She went to Felix with a small shake of her head. “He said he has a photoshoot and can’t hang out. His dad must have penned it in last minute because I had no idea.”

“That sucks.” Felix paced the back of the classroom. “But you look really good today and you have confidence in talking to him. I don’t want to waste either of those.”

“But he’s going to be working and there’s no way his dad is going to let him out of it. Let’s just go home and try again tomorrow.” Marinette stared down at her toes. “This is kinda fortuitous cause I wanted to talk to you about the other night--”

“Wait! I got it!” Felix grabbed her and pulled her out into the hall. Everyone was filtering out of the school building including Adrien. “Do you know where the photoshoot is?”

“Uh, the weather is nice and summer is on the way so they’re probably doing a summer shoot in the park. Why?”

“Cause we can still work with this. Follow me!” Felix dashed out of the school with Marinette shortly behind. Sure enough they got to the park and the shoot was being set up.

“Okay, we’re here.” Marinette panted as she caught her breath. “What now? You’re just going to walk onto the set?”

“That was the plan.” Felix started walking towards the workers. Adrien’s security guard stopped them from getting closer to the set.

“Excuse me sir,” Felix said, “Could you move aside? We’re here for the photoshoot.”

The bodyguard remained in place. “You see, I am one of the models working today so I kinda need in.”

The bodyguard nodded and moved out of the way. Felix pulled Marinette through. “Felix, you’re not a model.” She whispered.

“Harsh, I think I’m pretty good looking.”

“That’s not what I meant. You are literally not a model employed by Gabriel Agreste. How long do you expect that excuse to work?”

“As long as possible. Demon powers, remember?”

“Right!” Marinette had almost forgotten. “So we’re okay?”

“We are golden.” They celebrated their little infiltration before Adrien noticed they were there.

“Hey guys,” He greeted them, “What are you two doing here?”

“I got called in last minute to fill in for a sick model.” Felix lied smoothly.

“Oh, I had no idea you were a model too.” Adrien breamed instantly taken in by the lie.

“Minor. It helps pay the bills.” Felix shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought Marinette. Seeing as how she loves fashion so much.”

“Not at all.” Adrien waved to her, “Guess we get to hang out after all.”

“You two have fun I need to find wardrobe.” Felix wandered off. Wait, was he actually going to do the shoot?

“Did you know Felix was a model?” Adrien asked Marinette.

“I didn’t have a clue until he dragged me over here.” She said. She looked over Adrien’s outfit. White tee shirt with blue pants and tan shoes. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that this is part of the ready made summer collection you’re dad’s putting out this summer?”

“That it is. What do you think?”

“I would kill to be able to work with grade A material like this all the time.” Marinette sighed as she felt the cottony texture of his sleeve. “I just blew all my money buying organza for a dress I’m making.”

“Oh really? Were you commissioned or is it just for yourself?”

“For myself. It’s a sheer overlay that is supposed to sorta party wear with a low-key formal vibe.”

“How far have you gotten?”

“Pretty far actually. I started pinning it together on my dress form not too long ago. I’m using strips of silver ribbon to sew onto the hem and make a little criss cross pattern across the bust. The most nerve wracking part was that I decided to make it a high-low silhouette and I knew I only had one shot to cut it correctly so I am so relieved it’s turned out okay.”

“I hope to see it one day.”

“Hello, I am back,” Felix joined the once more. “Now, I know I look amazing but neither of you swoon in my presence.”

“Oh yeah, you look so good.” Marinette rolled her eyes before she finally actually looked at him. The sarcastic remark turning bitter as she realized that he did in fact look pretty darn good in the outfit they had put him in. It wasn’t anything special, a blue button up shirt with white pants and brown shoes. What struck Marinette was that the whole time she’d known Felix all she had ever seen him wear was primarily reds and blacks. This was the first time she had seen him in something so light.

“Something on your mind, love?” Felix smirked at her when he caught her staring.

“Shut it.” she tweaked his nose. “But I will say you do look...what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Devilishly handsome?” Felix suggested.

“I was gonna say, angelic.” Marinette smirked right back at him.

“Oh really?” Felix gaped at her with an open smile, “Alright, if that’s how you want to play this.”

“Is this an inside joke I’m not understanding?” Adrien asked clearly confused as to why Marinette’s compliment had been met with such good natured disdain.

“Yeah.” Marinette laughed. “I won’t bother trying to explain. It’s a long story and you’d really have to be there to understand it.”

One of the assistants ran past the three teenagers and pulled the photographer away. That was weird. A minute later the photographer came back with a pained expression. “Something wrong, Giuseppe?” Adrien asked.

“The female model for the shoot is sick and can’t make it. We will have to reschedule the entire shoot if we cannot find another model to take her place.” The photographer rubbed his temples.

“I have a suggestion,” Felix spoke up. He cast a wicked sideways glance towards Marinette. Oh he had better not! “Our friend Marinette here isn’t half bad looking. Could she fill in?”

“Felix!” She warned, “I’m not a model. I couldn’t possibly--”

“Oh please, mademoiselle,” The photographer begged. “It is a small shoot after all. Could you fill in just this once?”

“I don’t--”

“You should do it.” Adrien encouraged. “I think you’d make a great model.”

“Well…” She looked back at the manic photographer and sighed. “Okay.”

“Perfecto! Ladies!” He shouted for the stylists. “Get this girl through make up and wardrobe now!”

Marinette was carted off and put into a small tent area to change. She sat in a chair as the stylists quickly but masterfully did her hair and make up before kicking her out onto the set. Unlike the boys were sporting white and blue, Marinette was dressed in a soft yellow sundress that floated around her gently in the breeze.

“There she is!” The photographer pushed her out to where the two boys were already staged. “Now, the look for this shoot is that you two boys are the sky and clouds and our pretty girl here is the bright sun between you. Dewy smiles, relaxed positions, I want you three to move around naturally so we can get some natural shots.”

The boys seemed to understand immediately what they were supposed to do but Marinette stood in the middle stiff as a board. Why had she let them talk her into this? It was probably Felix influencing them with his powers to let them agree to this.

“Darling,” The photographer locked eyes with her, “Can you please move around and give us a smile, hm?”

“Oh right,” She put on a smile and tried to copy what the boys were doing but she just felt ridiculous. The boys noticed her struggling and suddenly she was being spun around really fast by Felix.

“Whoa!” She almost stumbled but was caught by Adrien. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay. Loosen up,” Adrien gave her a slower spin, “This is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun.” Marinette took a deep breath, “I can do that.”

After that things went smoother. It didn’t feel so much like posing but messing around with two friends. At one point both of the boys picked her up so she was sitting in the air with arms around either of them. The photographer really liked that shot.

“Alright,” The photographer set the camera down, “Signore Adrien, you are done for the day.”

“This was a lot of fun.” Adrien turned to Marinette and Felix. “These shoots can be pretty boring but having you guys here was so much better. Hopefully I’ll get to work with you again sometime.”

“It was fun after I got used to it.” Marinette said, “But I gotta say I think I prefer making clothes instead of modeling them.”

“Darling, Signore,” The photographer waved to the teenagers, “If you two could come back to set. I wanted to get some shots of just the two of you.”

“Who? Us?” Marinette pointed to her and Felix.

“Yes, it is time for Signore Adrien to head home but you two have such good chemistry. That is if you do not have anywhere to be.” The photographer said.

Good chemistry…

“I don’t have anywhere else to be.” Felix looped an arm around Marinette, “And I know you don’t. How about it?”

“Uh sure.” Marinette said bye to Adrien before joining Felix back on the set.

“The model lie work a little too well?” Marinette asked under her breath so only Felix could hear.

“I can’t help it that we look good.” Felix responded. “Also, you’re now going to grace magazines and media dressed like a ray of sunshine and sandwiched between two extremely attractive fellas. Do you have any idea how envious people are gonna be of you?”

“I don’t want people to envy me. I just wanted to have a fun time with my friends.” Marinette sighed. “But a little exposure in any way can help down the line.”

“Friends?” Felix paused his posing for a second to stare at her.

“Yeah.” Marinette grabbed his hand and stretched to twirl him. “We are friends...aren’t we?”

Felix smiled once more and picked Marinette up and spun her around. A surprised laugh leapt out of her throat as she spun the air in his arms. “Felix!”

“And to think you wanted to get rid of me!” He laughed too. “No take backs either, love.”

“Put me down!” Marinette playfully swatted him on top of his head. He set her back on her feet as she tried to slow the spinning of her head. “You are so dramatic.”

“Well I’m sorry. You don’t get a whole lot of friends where I’m from.” He held Marinette straight so she didn’t sway. “I got a little excited.”

“Obviously.” She ruffled his hair. “Which means you’ll need to come visit after you leave.”

“Leave?” Felix looked confused for a moment before the understanding parted the clouds in his mind. “Oh yes, of course.”

“You will be able to come back and visit, won’t you?” Marinette pressed. Felix gave her a sad look.

“Marinette…”

“I think we have it!” The photographer stepped forth waving his camera excitedly. “Your pictures were perfection, darlings! The expressions so sincere! The poses and body language between you so natural! These will grace magazines and billboards all across Paris!”

“Oh great,” Felix nodded. “Does that mean we are free to go now?”

“Yes,” The photographer stepped aside to let them go get changed. “And if either of you want to make a career out of modelling I know a wonderful agency that would take the both of you in a heartbeat.”

“Thank you, sir.” Marinette stayed to look at a couple of the photos he had taken before going to change.

She was in the middle of pulling her pants back on when Felix popped his head in. “Hey are you--” he noticed her stooped over with her pants around her ankles and snorted. “Are those dumplings on your underwear?”

“GET OUT!” Marinette hiked her pants up and chased him out of the dressing room forgetting her shoes and bag behind her. She chased Felix around the park in her bare feet. “You are so dead!”

“This isn’t very friendly behaviour!” he shrieked as he ran from her.

“Neither is what’s gonna happen when I catch you!” Marinette let out a hysterical laugh as they played their game. Questions she had and answers she feared still sat in her mind but she let them alone for now. She didn’t know how much longer she was gonna have this with Felix and she wanted to make it last while it did.

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(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (9)

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(tagged)

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[limewrites-archive]

Kiss & Late | Bruno Bucciarati x Leone Abbacchio ( Bruabba )

Warnings: N/A-  Kissing, lipstick prints/smears. Word Count:  1542 Also available to read on Archive of Our Own! (Kudos and comments appreciated <3)

Leone Abbacchio was new to the magazine industry. He'd only had his job for about 6 months and he still felt very intimidated. His Boss was Bruno Bucciarati, CEO of a world-renowned fashion magazine. Leone has been his assistant and its a lot of work. He knew what being an assistant meant, managing all of the things he needed done, calls, emails, errands, all of it since he's been an assistant for other professions, but this really was something new and always kept you on your feet. Compared to some of his other bosses, Bruno was on the more relaxed side. But there was no way that Leone couldn't be intimidated by him. That was his boss, CEO, who make all the women in the building swoon and exactly knew who in the office wasn't pulling their weight and had fired people in a heartbeat. Bruno didn't mind Leone, and quite enjoyed his company even though he was quiet and closed off. Leone being a bit taller than him helped with not only getting file boxes up in the storage closet that were way too high for him but also with warding off the women. A big scary, muscular goth was definitely intimidating. Once there had been a rumor that Leone wasn't Bruno's assistant, but his bodyguard. Of course, Bruno shut down that assumption to those confident enough to ask him about the situation. When they didn't have a lot to do or get done, Leone would put on his headphones while he worked or was on break, and there was a light in his eyes that would come around when he listened to music. Bruno didn't mind, it was nice to see that someone in this building had a soul still.

Abbacchio would come in, always with a cup of coffee for Bruno, even when he didn't ask for it. Bruno of course still drank it, since it was a nice gesture and he didn't mind. Their day varied of course, and sometimes Bruno would have to do and do his own thing. When he would spend his days in the office, he'd go visit the planning offices to see what was being put into the magazines. Fashion clearly was something he enjoyed to look at, and from time to time he would write his own little reviews into the articles even if the public didn't know it. When he'd come back, he'd see Leone at his desk, drawing with his headphones on. Leone had a sketchbook full of his own designs, but drawing and designing is more of a hobby at this stage in life for him. Bruno would only catch glimpses of what Leone would work on before the lavender haired assistant would shut the sketchbook closed in a rush and quickly hide it in his desk drawer. Bruno acted oblivious of course, but he wondered why Leone had gone into the business part of fashion and not the hands-on designing. 'We all have our reasons..' Bruno would tell himself. For a while, Bruno tried to do work without Leone, more so making connections with new designers.

From then on, a few more months passed, the two became only slightly closer but Leone was starting to feel comfortable at work and especially after he got comfortable with how high he was on the social food chain. His work attire was more comfortable and changed a lot; some days he would wear a hoodie and others he would come in knee-high boots and a low cut holographic shirt. It all depended on how confident Leone was feeling for the day. Bruno wore the same outfit, but just different colors once in a while, keeping his look simplistic and clean. Bruno thought of their relationship as a silent friendship, but at times he couldn't take his mind off of Leone. In fact, where was Leone today? The time was 8:10 and Leone was usually already at work early. It wasn't Bruno's place, but he couldn't help wonder if Leone took the sketchbook home with him last night. He took a seat in the chair and opened the drawer he had seen Abbacchio put the book before. Sure enough, it was there. He was feeling terribly guilty for snooping, but he needed to see something. Pages and pages of various designs and colors, material ideas already planned out in just one sketchbook. He had seen enough. He waited for Leone in his office and when Leone finally came in 30 minutes late to work, fear was spread across his face. In all his time here, Leone had never been late to work, but looking at how late it was, he was nervous that he would get fired right off the bat. Bruno turned in his chair, Leone's boots was a sound he was very familiar with by now. "Abbacchio, come with me." Abbacchio didn't say anything but followed. Bruno had led him to the old storage closet, with tossed out designs, magazines, and legal work. "Now, get those two boxes, and then the one labeled 'Originals' for me," Bruno told him, and he did as such, taking down those boxes while Bruno took out a few of his own. Dust was everywhere, not many people visited this room anymore. All more recent storage boxes were taken to another storage room since this one was filled up. "Mr. Bucciarati, why do you need these boxes?" Leone asked. Bruno placed his last box down, "I've been making a few adjustments of my own and I need these to complete it. Open that one up," Bruno had pointed to the one labeled  'Originals' once again. Leone opened it, taking out just one file and taking out its contents. It was beautifully sketched original designs just on regular printer paper. Bruno continued, "Before I was CEO, we had someone in this office who was always planning and working on designs for a section of our magazine. My boss, the CEO at the time, had fired her for being late. These are all of the boxes of her work that didn't get to be put into the magazine due to editing, and some unfinished plans. These other boxes are the magazines that feature her work, but clearly, there's the section that was discontinued when she was fired." Leone looked up from the magnificent designs. "Why are you showing me this?" Leone questioned. "Because I saw potential in you, just like her. Work like yours, you're not made to be an assistant. You need to be a designer, Leone." Abbacchio acted like he didn't know what Bruno was talking about, "Sir, I don't have the talent-" Bruno pointed a finger at him, "Leone Abbacchio, you have the talent. I saw your sketchbook, and the world needs to see it too. So, I called a few connections, and I've got you a working team and a studio under this company's name. I want your work to flourish. I want to see originality in our magazines, something new and exciting that other magazines don't have and I want you to be in charge of it. I want to not only have a magazine, but I want a catalog of your designs in it." Leone didn't know to feel honored or embarrassed. "Bucciarati- I- thank you...so much." Bruno smiled, "Please, it's Bruno. Leone, respectfully, I want to fire you. You are no longer my assistant. But, I am hiring you, making you the first Chief designer of Passione Magazine. I think you'll be much happier with the work you do as well as they pay." For the first time ever, Leone smiled wide enough to where he was tearing up in front of someone. "Thank you, thank you so much. I- I could do so much- I could kiss you! Thank you I don't even know how to repay you." Bruno could have sworn there was a tear of happiness in Leone's eyes, despite the darkness of the storage room. "Well, then kiss me, that's all I ask in return." There was no hesitation in Leone's actions, he cupped Bruno's face with his hands and pulled the brunette into a passionate kiss. Bruno wanted it for so long, and so did Leone. The two never could confess the attraction for each other, it wasn't the right time or place. Here and now, Leone wasn't sure what made him say it, but he was glad he did. It wasn't long before the two went in for another kiss, the room completely empty besides each other. They kissed and kissed, till Leone's cell phone rang. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and the bright screen read 'Fugo, Pannacotta (Work)'. "You know how Fugo is, I've gotta go tell him I was fired as your assistant," Leone smiled. Bruno's hair was a bit disheveled, and there were very clear black lipstick prints around his face. Leone applied more of his own lipstick and said: "You might want to take a stop to the restroom, there's some lipstick on your lips." It took Bruno a minute to process why they had stopped but all he could do was nod and ask, "Uh...do you wanna get coffee sometime?" Leone nodded, "Yes."