#mocking a post on my dash by making my own instead of responding to it

[toytulini]

envisioning a story that doesnt have love triangles or cheating. this is the most boring possible story. these are the only interesting things that could ever happen to a person, and the only interesting and complex and messy relationship dynamics that exist and are worth exploring (????????)

[writeroutoftime]

undercover feelings

pairing: jack thompson x reader (requested by: @rubesque)

summary: you and jack don't like each other in the slightest. but when an undercover mission throws the two of you together, what will become of your relationship? (aka - undercover enemies to lovers)

warnings: minor violence

words: 3.4k (not even sorry)

a/n: let me just start by saying, I know my action sequences aren’t the best, but I'm trying to get better. that said, I absolutely adored writing this story, and I hope everyone enjoys it! a lot of thought went into it, so please please let me know what you think!

oOoOo

As you strode towards Chief Dooley’s office, you noticed Jack coming up behind you out of the corner of your eye. Rolling your shoulders back, you tried to ignore his presence even as he was merely steps behind you, almost purposefully trying to catch the back of your heel. Right as you raised your hand to wrap your knuckles against the Chief’s office door, you let out a frustrated sigh.

“Is there something I can help you with?” you spit out, spinning around to face Jack, wishing you could wipe that smug smirk off his face.

“Never in a thousand years, y/l/n. It seems you’re in my way.” he said, trying to step around you and knock on the door himself.

Rolling your eyes, you blocked the door with your body. “Look, I know you think your daily suck-up sessions with the Chief will get you a promotion, but I was personally asked by Chief Dooley to meet with him, so move along.” you told Jack proudly, ready to see his anger bubble over.

To your surprise, Jack’s grin simply widened as he leaned in. “Me too, sweetheart.” he whispered, leaving you speechless, and pushing past you to knock on the door.

Collecting yourself, you quickly entered the office first, standing in front of the Chief’s desk with your hands behind your back. Every so often, your eyes flitted over to Jack, wondering what the Chief could possibly want with the both of you. It was no secret to any agent in the SSR that you and Jack had a strained relationship to say the least. From your first day, Jack had mistaken you as a secretary, thus beginning a long hate-hate relationship. Even to this day, Jack was one of the most pig-headed men you had the displeasure of knowing.

“Alright, I’ll get straight to the point. I’m sending the two of you on an undercover mission to retrieve sensitive, government information.” Chief Dooley explained. “The most opportune time to retrieve it will be during the American Gala in Washington D.C. hosted by a Mr. Mark Williams. The two of you will pose as husband and wife –“

“That’s a real funny joke, Chief.” Jack interrupted, looking shocked at the prospect of going undercover with you.

“Oh, please, Thompson. You’d be lucky if you could ever convince me to marry you.” you shot back.

“I’d rather go undercover as husband and wife with Krzeminski.”

Before you could move to smack Jack’s arm or throw another insult his way, Chief Dooley stood up, slamming his hands on his desk. “Enough! It’s like dealing with a couple of damn toddlers.” he scolded, instantly causing a wave of shame to wash over you and Jack. “Now, can the two of you act like the federal agents you are, or do I need to find two other agents?” he asked, staring both of you down.

“No, sir.” you mumbled, hearing a similar sentiment leave Jack’s lips.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Chief Dooley sat back down. “Now, as I was saying. The two of you are scheduled to leave in two days, and here are files with all you need to know on the target and your responsibilities.” he continued.

The moment you were dismissed, you stormed out of the Chief’s office and made your way back to your desk. Picking up the nearest piece of paperwork, you stared at the words for a moment before shoving it to the side, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Everything all right?” Peggy asked, coming up behind you and setting a mug of coffee down on your desk.

“Chief Dooley is sending me on an undercover mission – with Thompson.” you explained, running your hands down your face.

Peggy looked amused by your so-called bad news and shook her head at your oblivious nature. “Perhaps, it will give you the opportunity to recognize your feelings for Agent Thompson.” she suggested casually.

“Feelings?” you nearly shrieked. “The only feeling I have for Agent Thompson is the feeling of dread every time I see him.” you argued.

“If you say so, dear.” Peggy placated as she walked away.

oOoOo

The entire plane ride to D.C. was filled with tense silence as you poured over the case file the entire time. The only noise that came from Jack was the tapping of his foot against the floor and his pen against the table.

“Do you have to do that?” you finally snapped, reaching forward to snatch the pen out of his hand.

Holding his up in mock surrender, Jack chuckled. “Woah, sweetheart, you might want to be a bit nicer considering we are married and all.” he teased.

“Listen,” you started, voice low and serious. “I know that you joke around and don’t always take everything seriously, but this mission is important to me. You have no idea how hard it is working in that office as a woman, and this mission is my chance to prove myself. I will not have it be ruined by the likes of you.”

For once, Jack had no quick remark to offer, instead he was simply stunned by your speech. Silently admitting defeat, Jack conceded to your wishes. “Alright, I’m sorry, y/l/n.”

You were slightly taken aback by how easy that had been. Perhaps you didn’t give Jack enough credit. “Thank you.” you responded, turning back to your files.

The rest of the flight followed in relative silence, Jack or you only speaking when you had questions or needed clarification from the files. It didn’t pass your mind the subtle looks Jack threw your way, but you ignored them, focused on the task at hand. If he had something to say, he could say it. However, the moment the plane landed, you were whisked away to your separate hotel rooms to prepare for the gala, watching Jack walk away.

oOoOo

It was only when Jack heard the clack of your heels against the marble stairs that he turned around and froze, watching your descent. The y/f/c dress you had donned flattered your figure in every sense, and Jack swore you were an angel in that moment. He suddenly felt aware of the way his breath had quickened, and the way his hands shook the tiniest bit from the nerves. So lost in his own mind, Jack didn’t even notice he had yet to take his eyes off of you.

“Is there something on me?” you asked, suddenly feeling very bashful from Jack’s gaze.

“No, no it’s just – uh – I mean,” Jack stuttered, running a hand through his perfectly gelled hair. “you clean up nice, y/l/n.”

“Not too bad yourself there either, Thompson.” you teased, flashing Jack a dazzling smile.

It was true that Jack looked absolutely dashing in his suit, making your knees just a bit week as you had walked down to meet him. His compliment sent a flutter through your chest, and you were brought back to Peggy’s comment about feelings. Perhaps, deep down, all the back-and-forth bickering had simply been a disguise for something else. But you couldn’t let yourself think about that now, not when you had a mission to complete.

Right as you were about to walk into the ballroom, Jack grabbed your wrist gently, stopping you in your tracks. Before you could question his action, he held up his hand and wiggled his finger, a metal band gleaming in the low light. “Now what kind of husband would I be if didn’t give you a ring?” he asked before pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket and producing a beautiful, sparkling engagement ring.

Carefully, Jack lifted your left hand and slid the cool metal over your ring finger until the diamond rested perfectly against your skin. It was difficult to fight the spark of energy when Jack grabbed your hand and the way he gently rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.

“There.” he whispered, staring into your y/e/c eyes, a soft smile replacing that smirk that typically resided on his lips.

The two of you stood in the foyer for a moment, lost in the other’s gaze until other couples around you laughed and chatted on their way into the ballroom, breaking the spell. Ever the gentleman, Jack offered his arm, which you accepted, leading you both into the belly of the beast. Walking into said ballroom was breathtaking, the entire room being decorated from floor to ceiling with gold accents; however, you forced yourself to stay focused on the mission at hand.

A quick scan of the room showed you multiple entry/exit points, as well as a good estimate of the security posted throughout the room. Beside you, Jack was doing the same before his eyes widened slightly. Following his line of sight, you noticed your target for the evening, Mark Williams, surrounded by a group of people. While your first instinct was to go straight to the source, you knew that would raise alarms and potentially jeopardize the mission.

“Care for a dance?” Jack asked, having the same idea as you when he noticed Williams leading his wife to the dance floor.

Wordlessly, you allowed Jack to lead you towards the dance floor where he rested a warm, gentle hand on the small of your back while his other hand intertwined with your fingers. A small gasp left your lips from the proximity between you and Jack, and it was difficult to not become intoxicated by his cologne. For a moment, you allowed yourself to admire Jack’s strong jaw, piercing eyes, and the few hairs that had fallen out of place under the golden light the room provided.

The music began to pick up, and you let out a surprised cry of delight as Jack spun you around the floor, selling every bit of the perfectly happy couple. After one such spin, Jack brought you closer and whispered that you had caught the attention of Williams. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the man staring in your direction.

“Trust me.” you told Jack under your breath before you took the lead and danced the two of you straight into your target. “Oh golly, I am so sorry, sir.” you apologized, feigning innocence. “I’m such a clutz, I don’t know why you bring me to these events, dear.” you said, aiming the second half of your sentence to Jack.

“Lord knows why, sweetie.” Jack responded, quickly catching onto your act. “Sorry again, sir. My wife said it herself – she can be a real clutz.”

Mark Williams flashed a quick smirk, looking your body up and down, seemingly sizing the two of you up. “No harm done, pretty lady. I’m Mark Williams. Mind making it up to me with a dance? That is, if your husband doesn’t mind.” he asked, though both you and Jack knew it was more a command.

“It’s the least I can do.” you giggled, accepting Williams’ hand, and letting him pull you away from Jack just like you thought he would.

Immediately, the band in the corner struck up a slower tune, and Williams placed a hand on your waist and began to awkwardly sway off beat. Unlike Jack’s soft, warm hands, this felt cold and unforgiving, and you forced yourself to swallow back the nausea.

“So, you must be used to all the glamor of these events, huh? Being a powerful man and whatnot.” you flirted, batting your eyelashes to help sell your act.

“You could say that, though they get pretty boring after a while. But having someone like you here helps to pass the time.” Williams said, slipping his hand further down your back.

Humming in response, you used the distraction to subtly reach your hand into Williams’ jacket pocket where you silently cheered when your hand touched a key – which you assumed unlocked his office. Carefully, you slipped it into your own pocket before squeezing William’s bicep with a smile to keep his suspicions down. Before he could slip his hand down any further, you pushed back gently and flashed an apologetic smile.

“Excuse me for a moment.” you purred, slipping away to the nearest hallway, keeping an eye out for Jack. Suddenly, an arm shot out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you further down the hallway. You nearly let out a shout of surprise before you saw that it was Jack.

“Are you done flirting or what?” he hissed, eyes narrowed, and chest puffed out.

Rolling your eyes, you flashed him the key you had slipped into the pocket of your dress. “Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Thompson.” you teased, scanning the doors for Williams’ office.

Once you reached the door, you quickly unlocked his office and ushered Jack in, quietly closing the door behind you and locking it. The office itself was spotless, leaving you no clue as to where the files could be hidden. Wordlessly, you and Jack split up, searching through every nook and cranny in order to complete your mission.

It wasn’t long before a soft “found it” came from Jack’s side of the room. Rushing over, you peered at the document in front of him to confirm that it was the correct document. Joy filled your body when you saw that your mission was a success.

Placing a hand on Jack’s bicep, you beamed at him. “Jack this is amazing, we did it!” you celebrated.

Jack let out a small chuckle, enjoying the way you were so excited. He glanced down at your hand on his arm, then back towards you where he locked his eyes with yours. Some unknown force took over you, causing the two of you to lean in towards each other, lips inching closer. Just as you could feel his warm breath on your face and almost touch his lips, loud rattling and banging came from the two, pulling the two of you apart instantly.

“Williams.” you both whispered, looking for a way out.

An open window caught your eye, and you ripped the file out of Jack’s hand as you pushed him towards said window. “Go, or neither of us are going to make it out of here.” you said through clenched teeth.

Jack hesitated a moment before he ran to climb out of the window, instantly turning around to offer you a helping hand. Right as you jumped out, the office door burst open, and Williams appeared with a half dozen bodyguards. He caught a flash of your dress and noticed the torn apart file cabinet, quickly putting two and two together.

“Shit! Get those two, dead or alive, and bring me back that file!” he shouted, pointing in the direction of your escape

It wasn’t long before bullets whizzed past your head as you and Jack ran through the garden towards the getaway car. Adrenaline pumped through your veins, minimizing the dull ache on the side of your arm you eventually felt. All you could think about was getting yourself and Jack out of there in one piece.

The moment the car came into view, you pushed yourself further and faster, sliding into the passenger seat as Jack started the engine and drove off with a squeal. There were still bullets that banged against the car, but once Jack stepped on the gas and swerved off the beaten road, you finally allowed yourself a breath of relief.

“Please tell me after all that, you still have the damn file.” Jack said, glancing to his side at your crumpled figure.

Slamming a, albeit slightly bent, manilla file folder onto the dashboard, you let out a dry chuckle. “You’re welcome. Maybe, for once, Thompson, you can just admit that I actually know what I’m – shit!” you suddenly groaned, clutching the side of your arm, and pulling away to reveal red, sticky fingers.

Jack looked over once more at your groan of pain and slammed on the breaks the moment he saw blood. “You got shot?” he all but shouted, turning your body so he could see where a bullet had lodged itself into the side of your arm.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” you breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut as Jack poked and prodded the area. “You’re gonna need to dig it out.” you told him after he continued to sit in silence.

“I know!” Jack snapped, before sighing upon seeing your reaction and approaching the situation softer. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” he said before stepping out of the car and grabbing the first aid box from the trunk.

Jack quickly opened the passenger side of the door and knelt down so he could reach your wound. “This is gonna sting.” Jack whispered before he began to clean the wound with some of the alcohol from the kit, wincing along with you.

Jack felt his heart clench as you gripped his shoulder in pain, biting your lip. It became even worse when he started to remove the bullet from your arm, though there was nothing that he could do. There was silence between you and Jack, leaving Jack to his own devices. Seeing the blood on your hands and having to dig a bullet out of you made Jack feel as though he had been the one to be shot. In fact, he wished he had been to avoid you going through this pain.

“Got it.” Jack finally announced, throwing the bullet to the side and wrapping your arm in gauze.

“Thank you.” you said, letting out one more hiss of pain.

Instead of responding, Jack let his hand linger on your arm as he poured over every inch of your body, trying to determine if you had been injured anywhere else. There was such an intensity in his eyes that you couldn’t believe this was the same man you bickered with on an almost hourly basis. It had to be some kind of trick your eyes were playing on you from the pain.

“There you go, you’ll be alright.” Jack reassured you, tying the final strip of bandage around your arm, his hands lingered gently. “I gotta say, you really know how to give a fella a heart attack, y/n.”

“Oh please, I’m sure you would’ve forgotten all about me and reveled in all the attention you’d receive from the Chief.” you shot back, deflecting any emotions that could make you look weak and vulnerable.

Jack’s face morphed into one of hurt, and you felt guilty at the way his titled head and soft eyes made him look like a lost puppy. “Is that what you really think of me? That I wouldn’t care if you didn’t make it out of this mission?”

“You don’t like me, Jack. And I don’t like you. That’s how we’ve always operated, what else could I have possibly interpreted from that?” you argued, frustrated that he seemed to be dragging this conversation on.

“That’s not true, and you know it, y/n.” Jack countered, taking both of your hands in his grasp. “Both of us know deep down that this enemies act is self-defense, but I know that after tonight, I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want to either.”

For the second time that night, Jack cupped your cheeks in his hand, and leaned in. His lips hovered over yours for just a moment, giving you the chance to change your mind, but you launched yourself forward and finally kissed Jack Thompson. The kiss was sweet, but passionate, years of pent-up feelings bubbling over the surface. Jack pulled you close to his body while your fingers played with the hair and the nape of his neck. You had never allowed yourself to imagine this moment, but in that moment you knew you could get used to be kissed by Jack for the rest of your life.

Eventually, the two of you pulled away, foreheads leaning against each other, and your breath the only thing that could be heard in the night air. Jack’s thumb brushed against your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, now unable to reject his touch.

“Wow,” you breathed out. “maybe we should bottle our feelings like that again.” you teased.

“No, I don’t want to not be able to kiss you again.” Jack whispered, before he pulled you back in for another kiss, grateful you were safe in his arms, giving him the rest of his life to spend with you, and making Peggy five dollars richer.

oOoOo

tagging: @sarcasm-n-insomnia @bde-break-down-energy

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 32

Happy Halloween to everyone! I hope that you enjoy this treat. Sorry this took so long to write out. This one took a few rewrites to get it where I wanted it to be.

Plus, Real life stuff got in the way So hopefully this will be a nice little treat for you all.

(Master Post)

__________________________________________________________________

Marinette watched in horror as she watched her best friend struggle on the floor.

She dashed to her side, and tried to help Alya get that weird mask off her face.

“By all means go right ahead. Its already too late.” Masquerade laughed as she watched Marinette struggle. “Soon enough she will be helping me take you down.”

The designer pushed the words of the psychotic akuma out of her mind. She refused to let her friend get turned into a mindless drone like before.

“It wont come off!” Marinette grunted as she tried so hard to remove it.

Masquerade watched her bracelet, waiting for a change to occur.

Alya’s muffled screams and frantic movements stopped.

“Alya?”

Marinette jumped up as she watched her friend transform, her casual clothes transformed into a familiar black and white costume. The Wi-Fi symbol on her chest. Lady Wifi has returned.

Masquerade’s bracelet gained a new charm, one looking reminiscent of a cell phone.

“And now she is my friend.” The villain stated as she watched Marinette start stepping away from the enslaved akuma.

“Alya… you need to fight it. You can’t let her control you.”

“Sorry Marinette, but Alya is unable to answer.” Masquerade mocked. “But I can take a message for you.”

Lady wifi stood silent, like an inactive robot, awaiting orders from its master. The inner machinations of the mind are not shown with the emotionless white mask covering her face.

Marinette turned her eyes toward the mask themed akuma, anger burning in her pupils.

“Let her go Lila. Let them all go before things get serious. Your plan will fail, Ladybug and Chat noir will arrive and beat the akuma out of you. Then you will have to answer for this too.”

Masquerade’s smile faded when she saw the fierce look. Marinette was not a sniveling mess, she actually looked even more defiant then before!

“Acting all high and mighty. I think I will enjoy turning you into my helpless puppet next.”

Masquerade lifted her hand towards Marinette, waiting to unmask her deepest secrets, and break her down.

“When I get a peek at what is hiding behind all of that fake courage, it will all come crashing down. Now let’s see your greatest secrets.”

Marinette looked around, trying to think of something. If Lila figured out her big secret, it was over. Ladybug would be exposed. She needed a way out, until she noticed something. Masquerade wasn’t doing anything.

“Huh?”

Marinette was perplexed by the akuma simply standing there.

“Ummm... are you going to do it now or...”

“Why can’t I see your secrets? My powers should allow me to see what you’re hiding and allow me to exploit it. It worked on everyone else I used it on, why not you?”

“Maybe I just don’t have any secrets to hide.” Marinette commented, watching with a bit of satisfaction as the akuma’s smug look shift.

Masquerade felt her frustration and anger boil at the comment. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Hawkmoth!” She cried out in rage.

A purple butterfly outline popped out.

“What is it?” The dark voice connected in her head.

“Why can’t I read Marinette’s secrets?” Masquerade angrily questioned.

“What?”

“Her secrets! I was able to zero in on everyone else I’ve used the ability on. Why does it not work on her!? Of all people I want this power to work on!”

Marinette felt both concerned and a bit flattered that she was the one Lila wanted to defeat the most. It was sort of mutual.

“Your power works on anyone I’ve akumatized, regardless of who it is.” The butterfly villain communicated. 

“So… your saying you didn’t akumatize her before? How is that possible?”

“I haven’t gotten to every single person in Paris.”

“You’ve akumatized that stupid pigeon man 26 times! How have you not gotten everyone!?”

“Paris is a big city, even if I akumatized someone every day, I doubt I would have hit 1/10th of the population. Besides, it takes strong negative emotions for me to send out an akuma. And that man seems to just be the easiest target for it. “ Hawkmoth defended himself. “Its not like I WANT to akumatize him every other day.”

“Unbelievable!”

“Just get the miraculous. That is your focus, the girl can wait for later.”

Masquerade’s butterfly outline dispelled as hawkmoth was finished with that conversation.

“Well that sucks. I guess I can just go back to plan A. Having you watch as I turn everyone against you... aren't here. What!”

Masquerade frantically looked around for the teen she had been antagonizing and found that she was no longer in the same spot. In fact, she was no longer in the office!

Marinette had decided to slip away from the akuma while she was having her little tantrum to the evil butterfly man.

“Why didn't you do something!” She shouted at Lady Wifi.

“You did not give me an order.” Lady Wifi answered robotically. 

Masquerade glared at the akuma servant. She would almost think it was rebelling against her.

“Even as a mindless servant you still find a way to ruin things.”

She looked around and noticed the other akuma in the room that was still on the floor.

“Dark Owl get up!”

The owl themed akuma got up from the floor. Removing parts of the broken pot from his costume.

Masquerade snapped her fingers. Catching the attention of Dark Owl and Lady Wifi. 

“Both of you, I want Marinette brought back to me right now! I want to make sure she stays quiet and sees everything we have set up. I don’t need her causing trouble.”

______________________________________________________________________

“…and that is everything.” A young woman said with a mixture of relief and excitement. She had finally finished setting everything up in the school infirmary. She had organized the files, restocked the bandages, changed the sheets on the resting cots, and put her personal decals on the desk. She was starting her first day as the school nurse, and things have been going up.

She put herself back out there and started dating Curtis, the sweet guy she met last week despite what would’ve normally been a deal breaking misunderstanding, she got into the med school program she wanted to get into and will be attending part time, and she managed to get a job at the school she went to when she went to Lycee.

She heard a ding from the front of the nurse’s office just as she was about to sit down.

“First student of the day. I better see what they need.”

She exited the small office area in the infirmary to see a blonde student who was clearly impatient

“What is taking so long!?” The teen shouted.

“Hello there. How can I help you?”

The blonde looked up a bit to see the nurses smile, she rolled her eyes.

“Who the hell are you? Isnt there supposed to be a different woman here?”

“If you are referring to the previous school nurse, she retired officially last week. I am the new school nurse. You can call me Nurse Angela.”

Angela never really liked using her last name, it made her sound old. So, she would be fine with the kids calling by her first name. It also helps with psychology, allowing more for a social dynamic based on mutual respect rather than authority.

“Whatever.”

Angela felt a twinge of frustration at the girl’s dismissal. But she kept her smile.

“And you are?”

The teen smirked.

“Chloé Bourgeous. And before you ask, yes, the daughter of the mayor.”

Angela felt a shiver go down her spine. She remembered from what the previous nurse told her. That Chloé was the mayor’s bratty daughter who would use her father’s influence to get anyone fired if she got angry enough.

‘That at least explains her rude attitude. She is a spoiled Brat.’

Angela was not going to let this bother her. She was going to take it in stride. She would be kind and courteous as she planned to be with any student at the Dupont.

“So, Chloé. What brings you here?”

Chloé walks in.

“My chair broke because someone sabotaged my chair. I ended up bruising my… anyway I need some ice, and anything to numb the pain.”

“My goodness! That sounds terrible. Who would do such a thing?”

“It was probably Marinette, that nasty little rat. Adding insult to injury now that she is dating Adrien.”

Nurse Angela moved to get some ice from the freezer for the bruised bottom of the Mayor’s daughter, listening to the girl vent. She was sure that whoever this Marinette girl was, probably didn’t do it. And if somehow, she did, it was likely because the annoying blonde deserved it. But that was not something Angela felt was worth mentioning. She kept that bit to herself.

“She is probably blackmailing my adrikins with something. There is no way he would be dating her without some sort of reason.”

“Is it possible that maybe he just likes her?” Angela inquired as she presented the bag of ice to Chloé.

Chloé looked at the nurse as if she had just told her that she had 3 eyes and a scorpion tail.

“Adrien liking Marinette?! That is ridiculous, Utterly ridiculous! There is no way that Adrien would…”

Chloé felt her mind flash through moments. Adrien and Marinette about to kiss for that movie, Adrien and Marinette dancing at her party? The photos she found of them running from fans, that kiss at the picnic during heroes’ day. Adrien taking Marinette to that interview instead of her… The stubborn blonde felt as if everything clicked into place.

“Chloé? Is everything okay?” The nurse called out, trying to get the spaced-out teen’s attention.

“He might actually LIKE her!”

Chloé felt her own skin crawl as she made her realization.

Angela didn’t know how to respond to this situation.

“I am going to straighten Adrien out right now! I am not going to let him make such a foolish mistake!”

The nurse could tell this could be bad if the mayor’s daughter was so heated, what if she got this innocent girl expelled? If she stood by and did nothing then her time at the school would be internally marked with the regret of not stopping such a potential disaster.

“Wait, Miss Bourgeois.”

Chloé stopped.

“What is it?”

“I… I just noticed that you’re limping. The injury might be more serious than you think. Let me have a look at it closer before you leave.”

The mayor’s daughter would simply have left without a second thought. But having a limp would make her walk much less dignified and lacking the power she needs to intimidate, but mainly that she would look lame with a limp.

“Alright, just make it quick.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“I don’t get why you felt the need to leave.” The cat kwami rolled his eyes. “If you want to be rebellious Adrien, we could leave the school and head to the movies. Though if we do, you should invite your girlfriend.”

“Plagg, this isn’t about rebellion or future date ideas. Something isn’t right with this whole situation. I just want to sneak a peek in the office, make sure Marinette and Alya get their story out, and then I am headed right back to class. No problem.” Adrien summarized as they kept walking.

Plagg noticed someone headed their way and went to hide in Adrien’s pocket.

Adrien took notice that it was his homeroom teacher. Perhaps he could ask her.

“Hey Ms.Bustier. Can I ask you a quick question?”

The red headed teacher walked past the teen without acknowledging his question. Her eyes focused on what was ahead.

“That’s weird… She would always stop to help a student.”

Adrien could feel that his favorite teacher may have been affected by something sinister.

“Ms.Bustier, can you hear me out for a second?” He asked as he touched her shoulder to try and get her attention.

The mirage of her appearance shifted from the homeroom teacher to the stylized patchwork costume of a familiar akuma enemy.

Adrien was surprised to see the true form of the imposter. The kiss zombie maker, Zombizou.

The akuma turned to show the face mask that hid her face. Her attention was now firmly on the boy, whether he wanted it or not.

Adrien backed away, nervously keeping his eyes on the teacher as he carefully backed up.

“You know, I think I will just ask someone else.”

Adrien took down the next hall running.

______________________________________________________________________

Masquerade reclined in her chair, her frustration was growing as she wondered what was taking those two minions she sent out to capture Marinette so long.

“They shouldn’t be having that much difficulty. She is just one person!”

She heard a ring, and knew her sentimonster was trying to contact her.

“What is it Simulare?”

“The illusion I had on Zombizou was broken. Someone is on to us, and the minion is in pursuit.”

Masquerade felt a headache forming. She didn’t have time for a wild goose chase. She needed to move on to phase two of her plan, making her army of akuma.

“Track down Marinette and this other  person that found out about Zombizou, keep them busy as long as possible. I am going to move on to phase two. Make sure no one is on to us.”

“Understood. I’ll get them back in the office and make sure neither of them escape.”

“Good”

Masquerade ended the call and felt her head ease a bit. The sentimonster she was given was obedient and competent. It was based on her mindset, so it would make sense that it would be capable of handling this problem.

“Now, let’s get that army.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Give me a break.” Marinette muttered to herself.

She thought she would have time to transform once she escaped the office, but the two akuma were right out of the office before she had time to make sure everything was clear.

In her rush she cut a corner down a hallway and ended up colliding with another person.

“Ouch.” They cry out in unison, both looking to realize who they bumped into. Their faces turned to relief.

“Marinette!” “Adrien!”

The two called out in unison.

“Why are you running?” “Why are you running?”

“An akuma!” “An akuma!”

“An akuma?” “An akuma?”

They both look behind the other to notice the incoming akumas approaching them.

“As cute as this is, we need to go.”

Adrien Grabs Marinette’s Hand and they both head to the open area and try to get to the main entrance.

‘I need to get Adrien somewhere safe, then I can go transform into Ladybug.’ Marinette thought to herself, unaware that Adrien was thinking the same thing.

They make quick movements down hallway, moving up and down staircases to confuse their pursuers. They managed to give them the slip as the controlled akuma seemed to not be able of basic reasoning and quick fake outs and movements.

The two make their way down to what appeared to be the front of the school.

“The entrance!” Marinette called out. “Okay, we split up at the entrance and try to get help. They can’t catch us both.”

The run to the entrance only for them to stop short, colliding with some invisible wall.

It was only after making contact did the front entrance of the school shift back into a wall. The layout of the entire school seemed to shift instantly. The school had been put under an illusion to trick them into thinking they were escaping.

“It’s an illusion. Which means Lila must be involved with that group of akumas.” Adrien exclaimed.

“More like she is the cause. She is the one controlling the akumatized mask wearers. She got the Principal and Alya.”

“Wait, does this mean that Lila’s power is to make akuma!?”

“From what I saw, she can only akumatize people that have been akumatized before using her face masks. You haven’t been akumatized right?” Marinette questioned.

“No, and since she didn't get you, you haven't either right?”

“Yea, though I have had a few close calls.”

“So, if Lila’s power is akumatizing people, what akuma made this illusion on the school?”

“That would be me.” A third voice calls out.

The two turned to look and see a familiar fox themed villain smiling confidently.

“Volpina!”

“Not exactly.”

The Volpina impersonator looked around to see if the other akumatized servents were going to arrive.

“Seems you both are quite clever when it comes to annoying Mistress Masquerade.”

“Masquerade?”

“That’s what Lila’s calling herself.”

“Oh... cause of the masks.”

The villain rolls her eyes, encapsulating the personality of the arrogant volpina that it was pretending to be.

“Masquerade realizes that you two are both quite difficult to snag with mindless servants, so she requested I handle this.”

“No, you won’t.” Marinette grabs Adrien’s Hand and tries to run away only for the Faux Fox to flip in front of them

“Yea, I am not letting you out of my sight. Now be good and come along peacefully.”

Adrien moves in front of Marinette.

“Go, I’ll hold her off.”

“But…”

“Go. I trust you.” Adrien smiles as he looks to her for a moment.

Marinette wanted to stay and fight with him, but she knew that she needed to go and transform. Ladybug will be needed before this blows up.

“I’ll get help.”

Marinette runs away from the two as fast as she can. Adrien making sure to block the way should their foe get any ideas.

“She won’t get far, she will get captured before she even gets a chance.”

Adrien shook his head.

“You would be surprised with how just how amazing Marinette is.”

Marinette rushed out of sight and into the closest bathroom, quickly making sure it was a safe place to transform.

“Coast is clear. Time for Ladybug to step in.”

“Let’s hope we can get to Adrien in time before things get worse.” Tikki commented.

“Don't worry, I trust he’ll be okay. Tikki! Spots on!”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Can you believe it Juleka?” The peppy perfume enthusiast squealed. “Marinette and Adrien are finally an item.”

“Yes, I was there rose.” Juleka commented with an eye roll and a smile.

“I know! I am just so happy for them both.” Rose calms herself a bit. “Though… how will your brother take it?”

The purple haired teen reflected on the comment.

“It will be an adjustment, but I am sure Lulu will be fine once he gets a couple songs out of it.”

“I’ll be sure to be supportive.”

Juleka patted Rose’s head, smiling sweetly at the blonde’s caring attitude. She decided now would be a good time to spring that surprise on her. She was planning on showing her during lunch, but since Ms.Bustier wasn’t in class. Now would be the perfect time to show Rose the earrings she got her.

She casually reached into her bag, sliding her hand into her lunch bag, trying to find the earring box, only to notice it not there. Her hand moved frantically searching.

“Is something wrong?” Rose inquired, a bit of concern on her face.

“No, nothing. Nothing is wrong, just…” Juleka dismissed as she kept searching only to know for certain that her gift was not in there.

“Are you sure?”

“I just need do something really quick.”

She quickly grabbed her phone and calmly while hoping that her brother would see her text.

In her quick movement, she failed to notice the door of the classroom opening.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Psst, Luka. Luka!” A dark-haired teen whispered, trying to get the attention of the teal-tipped hair guitarist that was hiding his sleeping face with an open science book.”

“Hmm?” The tired teen responded with his eyes still closed. He was barely awake. He had been up all night working on that new song that was stuck in his head. He could still hear it playing in his thoughts as he tried to shake himself awake.

“Your phone vibrated, seemed important.”

“Oh, thanks Theo.” He moved his hand to take a look at his phone.

The science teacher was rambling on about molecules or something, clearly unaware of how disinterested everyone in the class was with his boring lecture.

Luka looked through to see a few text messages from his sister.

‘Hey, can you check your lunch to see if there is a jewelry box in there? Rose’s gift is in there.’

‘If you find it, can you swing by around your free period to bring it to me?’

Luka quickly snuck his hand into his backpack and sure enough he felt the small box. He was about to text a response. But stopped when he read the last two texts.

‘Sh*t there is an akuma in the class!’

Luka’s eyes shot open, his sister was in danger. Which also meant his band was also in danger. He needed to get there.

He shot up from his chair. And started making his way to the door.

“Mr.Couffaine, where do you think you’re going?”

“Family emergency.”

The science teacher was about to tell the young boy to wait until his parent calls, but he remembered who is mother was and what she did the last time he held up her kid when Anarke wanted to pick him up early. The teacher proceeded to held back his response.

“Proceed. Just be sure to get the notes from today’s lesson.”

Luka was out the door before the teacher could finish.

______________________________________________________________________

A car speeds down the road, the driver cursing to herself as she tries to move faster.

‘Get in, get Adrien, and get out before everything hits the fan.’

Nathalie mentally repeated to herself. She knows that pushing herself too hard was also dangerous. She couldn't risk feeling weak right now.

The driver slammed the break as she arrived at the school. She needed to hurry. She parked the car and opened the door.

“Lets hope that this akuma hasn't gotten to Adrien yet.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Ms. Bustier’s class had diverted all their attention to the costumed individual in the front of the classroom. The eerie masks that adorned her costume seemed to unsettle everyone.

Juleka put her phone away and joined in on what everyone was staring at

Alix was the one to say what was on everyone’s mind.

“Who the f*** are you?”

The akuma smirked.

“Excellent, a volunteer.”

Raising her hand and pointing towards Alix, her charm bracelet began to glow.

“Interesting, seems that you have quite a soft spot for cute things.”

The class turned to look at Alix with confusion.

Alix kept her cool.

“And? Is there a point?” Alix rolled her eyes, ignoring the akuma’s attempt to get under her skin. It would take more than that to actually do anything to her.

“You pretend you have this ‘Devil may care’ attitude, that you are too cool to care about what people think, but really you are more obsessed with how people perceive you than anyone else in here.”

Alix felt her smirk falter for a second.

“You are really sensitive about your height and anytime someone brings it up you are in a bad mood for the rest of the day. But what really gets to you is your ‘Family’. You hate how your brother is a laughing stock because of his crackpot theories and your greatest fear is that no matter how much you try to be this punk rebel, you will always be cast as ‘The Conspiracy nut’s sister’.”

“Shut up! You don’t know my life!” Alix yelled.

“Not so fun getting exposed, is it?”

The class realized immediately who this mysterious akuma was.

Masquerade smiled as she flung a mask right at the pink haired teen. Causing her to fall down. And struggle to get the mask off, but before anyone could help her. It was too late.

The class could only watch in horror as their classmate transformed into their Akuma persona. Before standing up.

The class tried to make a break for it. They knew full well the dangers of this new akuma.

“Timebreaker, guard the door.”

The akuma skated to the door and everyone jumped back. They knew that touching Timebreaker was not a good idea.

“Lila, this isn’t cool. Let Alix go.” Nino called out.

The Mask akuma shook her head.

“Lila is not a thing anymore. She was unmasked and dismissed. But now I have a new mask, I’m Masquerade. Soon enough, you will all be unmasked and given a new mask that better suits you. Alya knows that very well.”

Nino’s his eyes flared at the statement.

“What did you do to my girl?”

Masquerade pointed her hand at him just as her charm bracelet glowed, now with a rollerblade charm added to it.

“The same thing I am about to do to all of you.”

______________________________________________________________________

Will the rest of the class fall victim to Masquerade’s evil plan? Will Ladybug be able to save Adrien from the Sentimonster? Will Nathalie get to Adrien before its too late? Will I ever update consistently?

Fine out all these questions and more in the next part.

Thank you all for reading the most recent addition to Soulmate Survey.

Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter and if you really liked it. Reblog it. (Sharing is the only way my story actually gets out.) Plus, tagging has been kind of glitchy for me, so until that gets straightened out, I can't tag people for the story at the moment.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja Vecu

Hello, its been a while!! Please accept this release of the unpublished scene from Chapter Two of Deja Vu. Its basically 4k of Remus being gay for a stranger he keeps seeing die, and ain’t that a mood? :)

Summary: The Missing Scene in chapter 2 of Deja Vu, in which Remus agrees to help a stranger rob a casino.

Words: 4397

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

At twenty-one years old, Remus finds out that robbing a casino is a lot less fun than Ocean’s Eleven led him to believe. It’s almost ridiculous the amount of security that went into protecting the chips and the cash on hand: following the path of the cash box from earlier, there’s two hired security guards framing the employee’s entrance, neither of whom like being touched nor can be persuaded to leave their posts together. There’s a card reader locking the door which despite looking like walnut wood, is actually steel with a clever paint job. And that’s just the first level.

“Predictable,” Dee says from where he had made himself comfortable on Remus’s bed with the complimentary note pad the hotel had supplied him. He had left his suit jacket on the desk to avoid the wrinkles but lounged on the foot of the bed without taking off his shoes. Remus had tossed himself down next to him, stretching out to gather all the pillows and built a throne for himself like he was eight instead of twenty-one.

Dee had watched him, back to wearing the face of the man who had approached him in the casino. Remus thinks he looks nice like that: hansom enough to please anyone who looked his way and charming enough to disarm anyone who might have seen him as out of place and forgettable enough that Remus couldn’t remember if they had gambled together previously.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Remus had pointed out. “I know what the real you looks like.”

Dee’s pen digs into the paper a little harder than necessary and Remus pretends he hadn’t noticed. The smile he receives is light and joking but it doesn’t meet his eyes at all. “I happened to like this appearance.”

Remus hums, “Lame. The scales are cool.” But he had let it drop in favor of twisting the purple casino chip between his fingers.

Dee taps his pen on the comforter in thought, his borrowed blue eyes distant as he mulled over Remus’s reports from futures that won’t happen. “What else did you notice?”

“Tessa isn’t your wife anymore, Danny.”

Dee snorts, which, by all means, should not be as graceful and elegant as he makes it seem. There’s a fluidity to the way he dips his head and scribbled on the pad of paper that makes him looks dignified. Or maybe that’s just the angle that Remus is looking at him with. A lock of his dark hair slips into his eyes and he brushes it back with two gloved fingers.

Remus falls back against the stack of pillows he had built around himself, breathing deeply and settling himself. The air smells like the lemon cleaner that the hotel staff had used to clean his room earlier when Remus had been out and about, but there’s hints of something else—something sweet and spicy with an undertone of wood.

--Dee blinks at the question, shifting so that he’s lying on his stomach, his head resting on his palm. “I wonder,” He says, with eyes so bright and blue and innocent that Remus feels like he’s stuck in them, “if you mean the Cardamom scent from my aftershave.” And Remus’s heart beats just a little faster, a little harder, a little more.—

“When I ask what else you notice,” Dee says, drawing Remus back to the present, “I meant your other senses. You’ve told me about what you’ve seen. What about sounds? The smells? You said you experience this as a first-person thing, correct?”

Remus waves a hand. “Its both. I’m there in person but I’m also having an out of body experience, too.”

Dee squints. “Doesn’t that…get confusing? How can you interpret all the stimuli at once?”

“Stimuli! What, are you a scientist in your free time?” Remus mocks, but Dee’s shoulders tense at the insinuation.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He says, “I was just curious.” He’s not, though. Remus isn’t quite sure how he knows, but Dee’s curiosity is more than just a simple question. It feels like it’s more, like he’s gathering information and sorting it away for later, like he’s making decisions based on Remus’s answers that have nothing to do with the how they are going to get into a Vault protected by a six digit code that only three people have and then get back out with more money than they can physically carry.

“Shame,” Remus says, feeling the shift in the bed as Dee’s shoulders unwind. “If you were a scientist you could dissect me for all the goodies inside! Of course, you can do that without being a scientist, too, but it’s not as fun.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

Remus flips the coin in the air and catches it with the same hand. It comes up heads. “Why, does that scare you?”

Dee watches him, the pen absently twirling in the air between them. Remus can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, pressing on his chest and making him self conscious of exactly how many breathes he’s been taking. The cotton comforter has a square pattern on it that he hadn’t noticed before, but he can count only three squares between the two of them. For some reason that information feels important.

“No,” Dee says after another moment passes and the air simmers. “I supposed it concerns me.”

Remus swallows the urge to laugh at his face.

“You just seem to be a useful person,” Dee continues, defensively. “I would hate to see that usefulness be squandered.”

This time Remus does laugh and it’s a bumbling bubbling burst of noise in their quiet world. His lungs shake and his heart hurts, but he laughs and something about it makes Dee’s smile softly too. The air is light, but there’s an underlying tension there, lurking in the shadows and reminding Remus that for all the dashing good looks and the semi honest expressions, the man before him is a stranger wearing a borrowed face and absolutely no one would miss him if he disappeared.

He flips the coin again, watching it roll over itself too many times to count, bounce off his hand and then flop to a stop direction between the two of them. Dee pokes it with the butt of his pen, like he was expecting it to get up and walk away.

“To answer your question,” Remus says, breathing in deeply enough to smell his cardamom aftershave and wondering why no one else in his twenty-one years of living had thought to ask him. “Seeing the future does get confusing. But it’s whatever. It never causes anything worse than a nosebleed.”

Dee hums and scribbles something down on his notepad. If Remus sat up just slightly, he would be able to see it, but he finds he likes the mystery more. Was it notes to use against him? Or was it things to think about in the future? Or was it still the colossal list of numbers they weren’t even a fraction of the way through?

--They manage to draw the guard’s attention away with a faked emergency: Remus never put stock in his own acting skills so he stumbles and falls on another patron and lets his head crack against the corner of the a craps table just far enough away that the guards are drawn the few steps over to check on both of them. Remus doesn’t bother responding to any of their prompts until Dee with the face of Tim the dealer swipes his borrowed card and lets the door behind him close. They had radios from the same place where Dee had procured the keycard from, and Remus thinks he could fall asleep listening to Dee’s breaths.

“Left, right, or center?” Dee asks.

“Left,” Remus hums, watching the casino patrons around him. A woman in her thirties just won at a baccarat table and tried to kiss the dealer. “There’s a camera at around the corner, but it roves. Your future self said to wait five seconds then go.”

Remus waves down a waitress and orders a mojito while he waits. Dee gives soft laugh at the concept and Remus tries to calm his nerves.

“You’re so uptight,” He says softly, almost to the point where Remus can’t hear him over the chattering of other people. “Relax a little, Remus. It’s just my life.”

“The Elevator code is 7-1-3-2,” Remus tells him. “And you’re going to want change your pretty little face to someone of a higher ranking on the casino hierarchy unless you want Terry Benedict to know what we’re up to.”

Remus holds his breath as the elevator dings, and then as Dee repeats the code as he types it in, and then as the doors rumble closed. He twists the glass of his drink when it comes as he listens for the subtle clues on how far Dee is inside the belly of the beast. It takes him a moment to realize that Dee is humming softly, and his lips twist into a smile without his permission.

There’s some garbled conversation on Dee’s end, pleasantries and greetings and nice things that Remus never bothered to memorize. Dee glides through the conversations with ease, deceiving and grifting like he had been born to do it. And who knows? Maybe he had been. Polite conversation gets them through another three doors, including a hall wracked the cameras and the final elevator that can only be opened with two keys and a pin code graciously provided by an aware high-level friend that followed them in and was still chatting about their Perfect Child’s first steps.

Remus sips his mojito and watches the girl at the nearest roulette table eye the betting board. She’s still going to lose so Remus finds himself more entertained by trying to extract the lime from his drink than from watching her pout yet again when the ball lands on the red 36.

“Ah yes, the vault code,” Dee’s voice says, dragging Remus back to the mission at hand. He’s casual, loose, and ready, and Remus doesn’t understand how he does it. He glances down at the piece of paper in his hand and reads off the six-digit combination that was next on their list.

“5-1-3-2-7-6,” Remus presses a hand to his earpiece, listening as closely as he can. His breath shortens with each second, crafting infinities out of each passing tick. He can hear Dee’s laugh and his he listens closer he can make out the guard that’s next to him still chattering away. Each button bings when Dee presses it in, soft and charming and not at all like a guillotine that’s cut their mission off a hundred-some times before.

“Hey man you, okay?” The person with Dee asks, less out of curiosity and more out of suspicion.

“Yes sorry my finger slipped,” Dee says quickly and punches in the next number in ascending order out of blind hope that it might be the correct one but it isn’t and Remus knows it because that’s when the person next to Dee asks him to back away and demands to know who he is and Dee’s placating answers are never enough so he tries to shift but bullets are faster than he is and Remus rips out his ear piece right before the gun goes—

“Another bust,” Dee sighs, drawing a snake on the corner of his paper. “Somehow I feel like we could win more playing on the casino floor than doing this….” He trails, off eyes distant again, thinking more about money than about the number of deaths Remus has witnessed.

It seems strange, that Remus would care so much more about that then he does, but in a way that doesn’t surprise him. Its Death with a capital ‘D’ and in Remus’s twenty-one years of experience, the only people who feared death were those who were aware of how close it was. Remus was practically best friends with Death, with the taste of the asphalt on the highway, with the feeling of a free fall, with the awkward fit of a hotel bathtub. He’s familiar with the cold silver of fear, but it doesn’t make him any less afraid.

Dee knows he keeps dying, though. Dying alone, deep inside a labyrinth of a building and Remus wonders if he should stop this while he’s ahead. He knows once that half hour mark hits in the future there’s no more Dee to be waiting for, no pay out. Just the pain of seeing a swarm of S.W.A.T. officers covertly weave between the patrons and leave with a human sized black bag. But Remus still waits and watches, holding dutiful vigil over a fruitless endeavor and letting hope build just for it to shatter with reality.

“Why does this mean so much to you?” Remus asks, somewhere between the fifteenth and the hundred fiftieth casino themed wake procession. His eyes burn a little, and he tries to tell himself it’s just the brightness of lights.

“Money is everything,” Dee marks the next two number off his list on his notebook and talks without listening to his own words. Its not fair that he sounds so convinced it’s true, when his mouth moves like he’s practiced this in the mirror. “What about you? Why do you continue to watch?”

Remus sinks back on his pillows, holding on to that faint scent of wood and spice and the feeling in his gut that comes from every time Dee listens to his advice from the future, from every time Dee listens and adheres, from every times Dee just believes.

Remus wonders how so much trust could be from this stranger who’s known him for an hour or two, and yet Roman had never been able to just accept what he said without an argument. He sounds crazy when he talks about what will happen, but Dee just nods and lets his lips twitch into a smile when handing him a roll of toilet paper.

Remus rips off another length the cheap paper and folds its in half before shoving it on his face. There’s blood in his mustache, which is frustrating and tastes just as gross as all the other times he’s had blood dripping down his chin.

“Remus,” Dee says, without looking up from his notepad.

“Yes, dearest stranger taking up half my bed?” He inhales hard.

“This is a fourth, at most.”

“Tomayto-tomahto.”

Dee shoots him a look that he can just barely make out around the clomps of flimsy paper he’s holding to his face. He looks like he’s trying not to be amused. Which is funny! Because, well, Remus can’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t related to him was in his company long enough to find him amusing.

“Why are you doing this?” Dee asks. “Other than the money, which we agreed would be a fifty-fifty split, regardless of how much we manage to walk out of here with….but somehow I don’t see money being enough for you to watch me die over and over again. Otherwise you wouldn’t have stopped me from lunging for that cash box.”

Remus is twenty-one when he shrugs and says, “It’s something to do.”

Dee huffs another dazzling laugh and for a moment Remus thinks he can see a flash of sharpened teeth in that smile, fangs like a vampire come to life, but it’s too fast for him to be sure. “Ah, I see we’re both liars tonight. Ready for the next attempt?”

Remus wonders if it’s still lying when its technically the truth. He’s doing this because its time spent with this shapeshifting sham, this enlightening enigma, this confusing con artist who lies as easily as breathing. Remus has a hard time believing anything personal he says is true, and yet he finds himself eyeing the three squared spaces on the comforter again wondering if it would be too much to make it two, one, none.

For someone who trusts Remus to see the future seven billions times as they try to figure out the vault code, who follows every direction Remus gives without hesitation, who continues to act as if Death is not something that can happen to him, he is extraordinarily hard to trust in return. Words are meaningless because he flaunts them, and Remus grew up watching Roman practice lines enough to know when someone was acting. Dee probably isn’t even his real name.

But Remus…Remus hasn’t been seen the way that Dee sees him before. Isn’t that enough for him to want to spend as long as he can with this stranger? Regardless of the danger Dee is running straight into? Regardless of the slight thrill that he gets from the prospect that they might get away with this?

-- There’s some garbled conversation on Dee’s end, pleasantries and greetings and nice things that Remus never bothered to memorize. Dee glides through the conversations with ease, deceiving and grifting like he had been born to do it. And who knows? Maybe he had been. Polite conversation gets them through another three doors, including a hall wracked the cameras and the final elevator that can only be opened with two keys and a pin code graciously provided by an aware high-level friend that followed them in and was still chatting about their Perfect Child’s first steps.

Remus sips his chocolate martini and watches the girl at the nearest roulette table eye the betting board. He knows from all the other times he’s watched that she loses, although as he peaks over at the numbers she’s never far off. It must be that excitement of the near win that keeps her there.

“Ah yes, the vault code,” Dee’s voice says, dragging Remus back to the mission at hand. He’s casual, loose, and ready, and Remus doesn’t still understand how he does it.

“5-1-3-3-4-1.”

He can hear Dee’s laugh and his he listens closer he can make out the guard that’s next to him still chattering away. Each button bings when Dee presses it in, soft and charming and not at all like the bells of victory when the code is right, holy shit. The Code was right. Dee’s breath catches in his throat, and Remus nearly drops his martini on the floor. His heart races in his chest with an emotion that he can’t quiet put a name too.

They did it.

They…won. Remus makes his way towards the doors where they were set to meet back up, and Dee continues a casual conversation with the armed guard about children as he fills both his briefcases with as much money as he can fit. By the breathless excitement in his voice, Remus can guess there’s more money in front of him than he expected to be able to get. He invites the guard over for family dinner next night because he’s an asshole and Remus finds that quality admirable.

He waves down a waitress to get a second drink, Dee’s celebratory drink, because as soon as he got past the doors they were home free-

“Hey! Hey! Stop him!” A voice yells in Dee’s ear and the shapeshifter curses.

“Remus!” He yells, “The executive is in the halls! He-!”

There’s a gunshot and a thud and Remus rips out his earpiece and screams loud enough to make all the nearest games freeze in their tracks—

“Let me guess,” Dee says, rolling over, “Another bust? The next numbers ar—”

“No,” Remus throws himself into a sitting position, and blindly grabbing for more toilet paper. The back of his throat is slick with a metallic taste and his head spins a bit when he tries to stand up. “No, Dee!”

“No?”

“Dee, we did it! That’s the code,” Remus says, pretending like his knees don’t buckle when the floor rolls under his feet. Dee is there in a moment, hands under his arms and holding him up completely. Its almost like a hug, Remus thinks distantly. He’s twenty-one and he can’t remember the last time someone hugged him even as a joke. His skin itches at the contact, blistering and burning at the warmth of someone else being so close to him. The cardamom scent is so strong, but Remus thinks he might be okay if that was the only thing he smelled for the rest of his life.

“Are you…okay?” Dee asks. “Why are you…?”

Remus uses the back of his hand to wipe away the stream of blood from his nose and inhales hard. “You died again. The executive you choose to impersonate is in the building and you run into him right before getting out with the cash.”

“Who was it? I can change into someone else.”

Remus shakes his head. “Oh no. I’ve got no clue, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s get someone’s attention.”

Dee grins, “You certainly got mine. What are you going to do?”

Remus slides his weight back and manages to stand on his own legs. Remus’s heart does a dance routine in his chest, moving like if it slows for even a second Dee will lunge forward and rip it from his body.

Remus tells him, “I’m going to go make a girl win at roulette so much they think she’s cheating. With a hundred thousand dollars on the line that should have their attentions, right?”

It’s not really a question. Remus knows from experience that the more games in a row that you win during a game involving so much luck, the more interest people start to take in it and you. He just needs to convince the girl to bet only where he tells her to, and then bet as much as she can.

He knows how to do it, too: simply walk up to her and offer her a free Barney if she bets on the square he tells her too. Once she wins, he tells her the next one, and maybe she puts a nickel down, or a quarter, just in case he’s wrong. When she wins again, he’ll tell her the next number, and she’ll put more on it. Then more. Then more. She doesn’t even need to believe that he can see the future. She just has to reap the rewards.

“Oh,” Dee says staring at him. “Oh.”

Remus isn’t sure what he’s looking at. He just knows that Dee’s eyes are as blue as the ocean and deeper than anything he’s ever drowned in. He’s looking at Remus again, like this is the first time he’s seeing him in this lighting, and when he smiles, his teeth are definitely sharper than before.

“I do believe,” Dee says, “we could make the best team of thieves there is out here.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Remus asks. “Come on. I didn’t listen to you die nine hundred times just for you to chicken out now.”

He grabs his jacket, and buttons it. With a swipe of his hands he’s hair sets back in the position before, like some type of magic act. If Dee’s the magician, Remus thinks he would be honored to be in the front row every time he performs.

“So, you’d be up to doing this again, correct?” Dee asks, with his hand on the doorknob.

“They won’t fall for the same trick twice,” Remus says, “And what makes you think that this is something I enjoy?”

“I didn’t ask if you enjoyed it. I asked if you’d do this again. Not here, but somewhere else.” Dee glances at him, side eyeing him in a way that makes the hair on the back of Remus’s neck stand on end. “You still owe me.”

“What?” Remus turns to face him, and if there’s a spark in his chest, a nudge of excitement, well who can blame him? People don’t usually want him to stay around.

Another step in the hall. “We made a deal, unless you’ve forgotten. You said that if I could figure out how you were cheating, you’d do one thing that I want you to do.”

Remus snorted and motioned between them, “What do you call this? What we’ve been doing for the past hour?”

“This?” The man gives him a shark-like smile, “You did this of your own volition!”

“I seem to recall you asking,” Remus challenges.

Dee shakes his head too innocently. “Not in this timeline.” He pulls out his pale-yellow handkerchief and offers it to him, “You still have blood on your face by the way.”

There’s something nice about the way that this man is looking at him, the way he’s still looking at him, like Remus is something more than a nuisance, more than a distraction, more than an unwanted, frustrating intrusion. It makes his knees weak and the back of his throat taste like blood again and he so desperately wants to look to the future but won’t let himself do it.

“What do you want?” Remus says, because the uncharacteristic fear in his chest is slowly turning all his organs to butterflies and he never goes back on a promise.

“Well, you did say anything I wanted right? Anything at all?”

Remus nods, rolling his finger over the snake design on the stolen poker chip. Suddenly there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the world, and he’s afraid if he inhales too deeply trying to get more, the whole reality will shatter.

Dee’s form shimmers, shivers, and dissolves into Tim the dealer as they wait for the elevator to take them back to the casino floor. It’s an entirely different person but when he looks at Remus all he can see is Dee’s expression.

“Well, Remus,” He says, “After we finish up here, I want you to come with me. Work with me a bit. Let me help you amass a bit of a fortune. Strictly professional, of course. I won’t ask about your past and you don’t ask about mine. We don’t even need to be friends! Just…”

Dee offers out a gloved hand to him. “Business partners?”

Remus is twenty-one and he thinks there might be a timeline out there where he says no, but he doesn’t even entertain that thought.

“Business Partners,” He says and shakes on it.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: All My Memories Gather 'Round Her

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

He ruffled her hair.

Again.

It was a mistake letting her hair grow back out, now clocking back in at impressive two inches Jane was growing used to the platinum blonde locks. Sure, there were some off-handed comments, but a stern attitude dissuaded most of the direct jokes. Well, for most, it did. Roy was always an exception when it came to her.

Annoying geezer.

But was it a sense of direction or trust that guided her to follow through his every command? It was true Jane had been wary at first- she had seen first hand what the power of being made a defacto leader could do to someone. Abuse, rape, and murder. Here, at least for the time being, Roy kept his head. Even begrudged the position. Not that he shared it pubically, only mentioning it in passing to her, but she understood the burden all the same. Jane had lived it: rejected it. It was a strange sense of comfort to follow, better that the man leading was becoming a dear...

She couldn't; she had to reject that notion.

"I know you're there."

The whir of the door a dead giveaway when it came to being followed. Jane's hypervigilance had only increased with her time spent outside active combat. Sure, she still found herself battling at least on a biweekly routine, but it was nothing compared to her time on the Normandy. That person spent more time in cover than under covers.

The mousy-haired girl stared up at her, brown eyes hard and unyielding. Hell, this kid was scary.

"Do you need something, Evelyn?"

The girl harrumphed, "what are you doing?"

Leave it to the lady carrying a dying plant around to be the most suspicious thing going on in the compound, "Spectre business."

Evelyn's, not Eva's, glare worsened. Her cheeks and nostrils flaring.

"What are you doing?" Jane replied in the same smarmy tone.

"My job," she returned matter-of-factly, "even if I don't like it, and even if Papa says you are sick."

"What, are you like, three? You don't have a job."

"Seven. And yes I do! Pater gave me one," the kid smirked, sticking out her tongue.

"And what's that? Being precocious?"

"Pre- what?" Evelyn stammered.

"Being a shit," the swear already escaped before it could be altered. Thus, reinstating the belief that children did not belong around her in any capacity.

Her furrowed brow gave way to a secretive smile, "Pater said someone needed to watch you. Seems stupid, but Papa said we all have to do things we don't want to right now."

Of course, Roy would.

"You're weird," the girl stated plainly, "your face is kinda glowy, and you spend a lot of time with those aliens."

Back on Earth, it wasn't hard to forget that First Contact was a meer thirty years ago. Not that it was blame for their attitudes, but most of the humans had a hard time trusting the aliens. It was only made worse when the squadron of Turians joined them, piling them on top of the loud and aggressive Krogan; most of the natives were uncomfortable. Already the Turians and Krogan had old beefs to settle, and the dash of human fear for the Turian species quickly started a lopsided triangle. At least the Krogan adage of 'seek the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend' came to the humans and krogan developing a tenuous alliance.

"Those aliens are nothing to be afraid of," Jane chided gently.

The kid neither gave up nor responded, instead following the woman through the hall and into the open atrium. The place had boomed in population, the mall teeming with signs of life that would have echoed its days before the war. Voices, distant music, and the general clatter of movement greeting them from outside the confines of the sealed hallways. Once Jane could walk through here without watching a step, now she dodged other people, weaving through the crowd with ease and speed intended to dislodge her charge.

Evelyn was spry, knocking into the lady as she unexpectedly stopped. She peeked around her, watching as the red Krogan started to cheer loudly. Another alien, smaller and with a grey carapace charged at his elder, the two rather than colliding ended the charge with a weird arm hold. For a moment, the two crests rested against each other, sharing a few soft and private words.

Even weirder was The Recruit, looking over the scene sadly, a hand held over her heart. Her jaw flexed, another sharp and illuminated line flaring vertically up her cheek—another note to add to the log.

"They look so mean," Evelyn complained, unsure why Jane would be watching this sadly. It was frightening, to her they were great brutes that usually ended up destroying something.

"They really aren't," Jane countered softly, a slight crack in her voice, "if one gives you an attitude, a head butt will set them straight."

She did like that this grown-up did not treat her like a child, unlike the rest.

Both of them tensed at the appearance of a green-shelled krogan; the arrival of the male ended the short embrace between the red and grey one. Then, as usual, the aliens returned to their fierce and violent natures, turning the greeting into a shoving contest.

"Don't fu-," the adult caught herself this time, "leave him alone. He's trouble."

Jane strode forwards, picking up her pace. It was no longer weaving through the crowd, as so much a straight charge across the atrium and to the access corridor that leads to the western parking lot- deciding they wanted to stay out of the way for practicality and ease. The Turians chose to take up the ramp as their headquarters. And this is where Jane headed for her errand.

Yeah, make me, make friendly with the Turians. Screw that they respect the chain of command more than a friendly face, all arguments Jane had tried in vain against the LT to get out of this assignment,  watch me fuck this up over a plant. Jeez, why not let them grow their own garden? Fuck if I know what I am doing.

But he did have one counterargument that made complete sense and was entirely of her own fault. She was the known member of the humans in residence to have any formal diplomatic training. She was still kicking herself for that slip of knowledge.

"You should head back home," she murmured to her back, "boring adult stuff. You won't miss much."

The baggy military rags were not enough protection from the spring chill, but she would press on. Clipping up the three-story climb to reach the perched Turians. The 'outpost' could overlook the entire mall with well-placed postings, which the military-minded turians had already accomplished within hours of selecting this area as a base of operations. The forward guard used to seeing the Recruit hardly blinked, only balking in their subtle way at the package tucked into her arms.

"Recruit," the LT wasn't the only one called by their moniker, the pinkish hued Turian gave something equivalent to a grin eyes wandering down to the plant the human carried, "another issue?"

Jane pushed the plant on the turian, "pretty much. I don't know shit about these plants."

"I grew herbs in my kitchen, I'd guess too much sunlight?"

"Makes as much sense as anything else. We've learned they can't be next to potatoes, now they hate the sun," Jane glanced down at her arms, "and I forgot to wear gloves. That's disappointing- I had plans for those hands tonight."

Silva's mandible vibrated, "there are other ways to relieve tension."

So begun the dance. It always started clean, water running over her arms, a quick quip about the luxury of running water, and the application of ointment. The all too gentle rub of talons across the top of her knuckles, a lingering glance Jane couldn't quite bring herself to notice, and finally a cocky declaration of future victory.

The Commander enjoyed the relaxed regulations of the Turian military, not that Alliance would have ever forbidden forbidden a friendly sparring match it felt much better to let off some steam without fear of repercussion. One didn't have to play nice. Fringe pulling, blows below the belt, untamed aggression was all too welcome in the turian fighting cage. While today wasn't a dirty fight day, Jane was all too eager to move.

Silva made the first jab, and the Recruit absorbed it with a smile.

"The LT is going to have my head one of these days," the Turian went in for the next blow, this time the human dodged, "I'm even going soft on you."

"Come on, Shepard," Garrus mocked, weaving below her fist, "stop dancing around."

Roy didn't appreciate the fighting, even after learning they were all in good sport. The punishment of latrine duty was now part of her chores, for how much she heeded his grumbling. He blamed the bruises for too many things- headaches, sideways glances, the lack of respect she commanded for herself. Why did he care? She never asked, never expected it. But he never told her to stop, so she wouldn't.

"I can't always make it take easy on you, Vakarian," Mary retorted, sweeping out her leg to purchase at a braced turian.

The female turian's claws grasped into her arm, but she was ready, twirling around and planting her elbow into a painfully rigid chin sending the offender reeling back a couple of steps, "that's one advantage of an exoskeleton."

"Or are we afraid to bruise our pretty face in case the Major struts on by," Garrus teased, barely inching past the biotically charged fist going for his scarred mandible, "unless he doesn't know about our little fight club?"

"At least I can roll."

"I wouldn't worry, Shepard," if the Turian were human, his eyebrow would be cocked and a flashy grin across his face, "it's so much better when they are angry."

The turian cackled; today the hits were much easier to connect. Or was the human not trying? She could be like that, destructive. Silva kept the hits low and softened the severity in which she delivered them. Jane struggled to keep her hands where they belonged, one threading and rubbing through her hair each time they disconnected to reset their stances.

"Like I care what the M-" her friend's stern glare shut her down, "don't jealous Gar-Gar."

Jane tumbled to the ground, nose trickling the strange red color. It was time for this fight to be over, the human shook underneath her grasp. But the too expressive species wore a brave face, "Jane."

"Two hundred years later, and still nobody talks about fight club," Mary after close inspection, did notice that the Major strutted, "I'm disappointed I wasn't invited." The handsome human specimen winked at the Commander, his sideways grin all-knowing.

"It's fine, probably enough for the day."

The female moved out of her grasp, turning around to wipe at her face. Silva pretended not to notice Jane went for her eyes first.

"Well, that was quick," the turian was a little disappointed, "you're different for a human."

Jane deaned to turn her head back for that comment, cocking an eyebrow at her, "you must not have left Palaven, or whatever your colony was, much."

"No, ma'am," the turian hesitated, "at least, the rest of your group doesn't seem interested in us."

"How would you feel if this was Palaven?"

Her mandibles vibrated.

"Now add your species being attacked thirty years ago by this species you suddenly have to get along with," Jane smiled softly, she was too harsh, "plus we're a bunch of cranky jerks."

Silva laughed deeply, "and add a war that has crippled an entire galaxy, it is a wonder we aren't all fighting."

"It's the krogan," Jane mused.

"Spirits bless, the krogans being the most level-headed."

"After Tuchanka, they probably feel at home," damn her words, "it was the Salarians all along."

"I mean, that's some deep level conspiracy, but it checks out," her companion tried to keep up the fading mood.

"Just give us some time; we're people of action only that really means something," to which race the words were meant for was moot.

[ritamordio19]

A Court of Steel and Fire (3/?)

Summary: Post-ACOFAS. My take on Nesta’s banishment to the Illyrian camps with Cassian and her corresponding recovery process.

Alternatively, a reminder that hardened steel doesn’t melt easily. ~~ All the characters/locations are owned by Sarah J. Maas :).

Chapter 1 Here

Chapter 2 Here

AO3 Link Here

~~

Cassian hesitated at the entrance of her room, still questioning last night’s decision to have her accompany him on his rounds throughout the campsite.  Her reactions were still unstable, and the fact she hadn’t been ready to go right at 5, despite his note, should have made him decide to abandon his plan altogether and make his rounds himself, if only to avoid the inevitable conflict between her and the Illyrian warriors.  The operative phrase was, of course, “should have,” as he knew what that decision would mean on a deeper level, that abandonment of hope that she might find herself again, that willingness to give up on her that he couldn’t allow himself to accept.  So he raised his fist to the door all the same, ready to knock.

He needn’t have bothered; the door swung open hard enough that he had to dodge to his left to avoid being crashed into.  His resulting, exhausted glare was met with those familiar steel eyes staring him down, before Nesta Archeron dismissed him outright on her warpath through the living room, calling behind her and waving her arm.  “If you have all this time to waste in front of my door, I don’t see why I had to be ready promptly at 5.”

“My days are long here, and it’s the only way to guarantee sunlight for most of them.  Not that you’ll last more than a few hours in that state.”  For she was still in her clothes from the previous day, eyes dark and hair unkempt.  He doubted she’d slept a minute the night before.

“And what state would that be exactly?”  She turned on her heels at the entrance, staring him down.  “I wasn’t aware I had to meet your grooming standards.”

He growled in annoyance, closing the distance between the two of them, her gaze locked firmly on his the entire time.  “That state would mean being able to stand up for more than an hour without passing out from exhaustion; I feel that’s a fair bare minimum to ask for.  Go out naked for all I care about your grooming standards.”

“Maybe I will.”  Her retort came as he passed her on the way out of their cottage, and her eyes met his again in challenge, stopping him in his tracks with her endeavor to bring this to an accustomed fight, one where she could argue from their past, where she could use his jealousy to misrepresent his motives, to get out of the day’s tasks.  So he didn’t bite, despite the roar of familiar feeling that flared in his core, instead exhaling his retort into air as he tossed her a spare coat from the foyer closet and reached for the front door handle.

“Then I fear for the Illyrian who would be the first to leer; his torture would be an example to many.”

The biting cold that struck him as he passed through the wards blanketing the cottage spared him the process of wondering which of the two of them would be responsible for that consequence.

“I’m surprised you deigned an appearance today, with the hatred you seem to harbor for this place.”

Nesta flashed a poisonous simper in Cassian’s direction at his opening barb.  Three hours. It had taken Nesta only three hours to get under the skin of Prythian’s most cunning and powerful warrior, she noted internally to no small amount of debased satisfaction.  Sure, she had interjected the cold comment here or there, but it was her silence, the power in following him but ignoring him, that was ultimately her greatest weapon.  She had watched as it ate and ate away at his resolve, until her desired scene had reared its head at the edge of camp, far away from prying ears after his morning inspections of the training rings, where she could make her finishing blow and end this day early.

“I wasn’t aware there was much of a choice.”  She kept her body angled away from his, but glanced ever so slightly toward him, barely locking eyes before continuing.  “Besides, why shouldn’t everyone hate this place?  Your men are despicable, your women near-desolate.” She swept her arm across the campsite.  “If you ask me, I don’t see much difference between Hybern and here.”  

The words hung in the air, a blow to his gut as powerful as any her powers could summon.  It would be a lie to say the predictable blanching of his face didn’t revolt her to her core, that the pursing of his lips didn’t cause an instinctual, subtle aversion of her gaze, but he couldn’t be a part of her life anymore.  Telling him that to his face hadn’t worked; avoiding him hadn’t worked. So if the only way for him to learn that was for her to strike low, to assault the very core of his identity, then she would do so; she would make the point clear that it was not his job to push her forward.  After letting a few moments of stunned silence pass between them, she waved him off and turned on her heels, striking again before he could recover.  “I’m heading back to the cottage.”

“Where do you want me to take you?”

She hadn’t expected the reply, having known the emotional effects her words would exact, but she masked her surprise with her continued stride.  “I,” she spoke curtly, “don’t need you to take me anywhere.  My legs work perfectly fine.”

His pace sounded quickly behind hers, and she spun on him before he could cut in front of her.  She opened her mouth to speak again, but he was faster.  “No.  Not here.  Not this camp.”  He matched her respondent daggered glare and pressed further.  “Where do you want me to take you?”

She let the words settle in, her chin risen in defiance at his persistence, before dismissing him abruptly and turning to walk away again.  This time, he succeeded at blocking her path, and she turned wildly to him in incredulous anger.  “And where,” she seethed, “could I possibly choose?  This is your world, and mine doesn’t want me anymore.”  She pushed him aside, grateful for his final lack of resistance as he drifted to the side. “Just leave me alone.”  His hand grasped at hers desperately, but softly; she pulled sharply away and continued to storm off.

“I know how you really feel.”

That was her final straw.  Her insults aside, their dysfunction aside, that was not to be discussed, and he knew it.  For him to break their code, after all this time...even with their fights, it was inexcusable.  Cheeks reddening, Nesta halted in her tracks. “I. don’t. care.”  She laughed grimly as she wheeled on him, hands and eyes darkening in black and crimson flares she carefully wove around her body.  “Do you think I’m scared of this?”  She took a step toward him, amplifying the effect further and darkening her laugh.  “Do you think I can’t handle this?  Do you think I need you to help with any of this?”

He studied her slowly, his stance unchanged.  “No.”  He took a step toward her, but paused as she increased her flames even more.  He crossed his arms nonchalantly in response.  “But you can’t make me hate you.”

She met his unimpressed stare for a few seconds, black fire licking at the air around her, before cooling off her flames in quiet irritation at the lack of impact.  “Find someone else to torment, Cassian.” She turned away from him again, and shot back a line of black fire at the briefest sound of his movement.  “NO.”  This time, as she disappeared within the canopy of the surrounding forest, his presence did not follow her.

Nesta knew she’d made a massive mistake the moment she'd summoned that abhorrent power.  That eye had appeared – that eye that opened from deep within her, that called to her from far away.  She’d immediately changed her cabin plans, bolting for the woods in case it decided to pay another visit to her location, but she began to wonder if that had been an error as well, with the sensation of its eye opening wider the deeper within the forest she dove and the sense of foreboding filling her further and further, regardless of what change of direction she cut.

She’d lost her cool with him; she’d worked so hard for months to stay disconnected enough, drugged and sexed enough, unfeeling enough to prevent this very reoccurrence, only to have it dashed with a single, vexing sentence from him.  And now this feeling, her magic boiling over, filling her past the brims of her body...she collapsed to her knees as she broke into an open pasture and screamed, slamming layer after layer of her power into any and every inanimate object she found and turning several large boulders into elemental mist that swirled around her.  Tears swirled down her face as she collected her power as strongly as she could, dissipating it around her in a spherical structure to drain the overflowing energy from her body. Her hands bristled as the leaves and grass beneath her turned to ash, a perfect circle of blackened death surrounding her.  A metaphor for her life, she noted solemnly to herself.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

She shot to her feet, uneasy, at the clipped voice to her left.  The elemental mist floating around her from the boulders began to spiral in a tight oval a few meters away, before settling slowly into an undeniably male shape.  The figure, a mass of sparkling dots, jokingly marveled at his limbs before settling into a mock bow. Nesta threw black fire at him the moment his head dipped, only for the flames to pass right through him, hitting a tree on the other side of their clearing and slowly spreading those black veins through its healthy bark.  The figure chuckled at the sound of the tree collapsing under the disintegration of its trunk, before he straightened once more.

“Did you hope to use my own power against me?  Surely you understand you cannot kill me like that–” He raised his arm, and ashes from the ground shaped into black daggers and flew directly at her body. Nesta rolled to the side in anticipation, only for the ashes to divert course immediately.  She covered her head, then raised it when the expected pain did not arrive.  “–just as I cannot kill you with mine.”  And indeed, the ashes swirled through and around Nesta’s body as if she were air, piercing no skin and causing no pain.

“Leave me alone.”  She crawled back slowly onto her feet, giving the man a death stare.  “You can have the power back for all I care.”

“Oh?” The elements swirling around the man quickly flew into the air, before reappearing right before her, the figure’s head leaning toward hers; it was an effort for her to maintain her ground, stance, and glare.  “But you see, I’ve had time to think since your last...adventure with my powers.  It would be quite troublesome to find a way to kill you, what with us sharing the same carbon-based source of power.”  He shifted rapidly to her left, her eyes moving to match.  “And believe me that I would have to kill you, for certainly Beron would’ve taken his power back from your sister already as well otherwise, would he have not?”

Her lips pursed in anger.  “Don’t talk about her.”

“Why not?”  The man dissipated again, and the elements swirled around, kicking the ashen leaves up in an orchestra that sounded chillingly like laughter.  “She’s not the sister you truly care about, after all.  Besides--”  His body reassembled a few feet further away.  “--neither of us can do much about the other’s existence, so perhaps you should hear me out, after all.  I need a favor from--”

“No.” Her deadpan reply caused the elemental man to swirl three times as large, towering over her as he shone brightly.

“You don’t have much of a choice, Nesta.  You think today was bad?  I may not be able to physically harm you, but I can make every ounce of your power feel like blades cutting into your skin from inside; I can make your blood burn as if molten lava itself courses through your veins.  Hm? How long do you think you’ll be able to escape from me through drugs this time, Nesta, before I can latch on again, before you’re forced to endure me again?”  The form shrunk down to its previous size and moved as if brushing off its collar, sending bright sparks in the air.  “Oh dear, you’ve made me lose my temper.  Again.”  Its eyes narrowed.  “So perhaps we can come to an arrangement, being that you possess my stolen power and yet, ironically, pose to be quite valuable to me alive after all.  I’ve had quite a lot of time to think about this, after all, in the year that you’ve laid waste to the body I so graciously gifted you.  So, what do you say?  Do one simple task for me, and I can ensure you will never be bothered by my power again, forever living dormant in your body.”  He tilted his head expectantly.

“I don’t even know...what you’re asking for.”  She grunted out the words, as the previous, rapid usage of her powers finally began catching up to her.

“But you will, when it matters.”  The figure appeared inches in front of her again.  “Trust me.”  The flickering lights in the man’s face tilted upwards in what Nesta chillingly realized was supposed to be a smile, then the figure shrugged.  “And I assure you that I will be dropping by again to check in on you.”

“I’d rather die than hel--”  Nesta screamed as electric current flowed through her body, collapsing to the ground and clutching at her skin. Just as suddenly as it came on, it ended, and sure enough, she found her body completely unharmed, although she lay panting in her field of blackened leaves.  She gave a vulgar gesture to the figure, earning another scream from a second blast of current.

“We are connected, Nesta.  Neither you nor I can break that, whether we want to or not.  I am as much a part of you as you are of me. Though...perhaps it is beneficial that I can’t harm you.” The figure cupped her chin with his glowing hand, before passing it harmlessly through her skull.  “After all, my deal wouldn’t be nearly as incentivizing for either of us if I could.”  He paused in a mocking posture of contemplation, then stood up and began walking away.  “Either way, I’ll wait here with you for awhile while you think about what I’ve said; what you stand to gain...or lose...from your choice.  There’s not much--”

The figure paused and glanced up as a swift gust of wind flurried through the clearing and kicked up the ashen floor, and Nesta seized on its distraction, pulling out the Illyrian blade she’d hidden from her ankle and thrusting it upward.  It barely grazed skin before a force barreled into her from the side, and she quickly found her head pinned to the forest floor as she heard the quiet clanks of the knife bouncing away from her.  Her instincts, against good wisdom, tried summoning her power in protest, but it was as if she were mortal again, her core empty of force.

“Binding amulet.”  The gruff, unmistakable, condescending voice of Devlon sent adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she struggled and bit at him until he lifted off her.  “As much as I’d love to kill you for what you did to me--” She gasped as he turned toward her, his face intermittent with large spots of rotten flesh, twin amulets at each of their necks growing brightly.  “--I don’t feel like dealing with Cassian.  And speaking of which, the next time you try that--” He gestured at the knife laying a few feet away. “--try not to scream, would you?  Prevents me from looking away.”  

She glared at him, but her retort died in another powerful gust of wind as Cassian abruptly landed a few feet away, scattering a wide arc of ash.  Devlon held up his hand at Cassian, the latter Illyrian’s face red from more than just exertion.

“Relax, General.  Her scream wasn’t from me.”  He pointed at the knife on the ground.  “Your little witch here tried to take her own life.  I was merely intervening on your behalf.”  He shrugged as he flexed his wings in preparation for departure.  “I assume you can manage her from here.”  A quick smirk followed from Devlon before he continued.  “We can discuss my payment later.”

Nesta glared at Devlon, though she wouldn’t deny her true motive in avoiding Cassian’s eyes.  Not that she needed to look to know what she’d see.  She heard his voice distantly.  “And her shoulder?” She blinked as she checked both shoulders, finding her right one sticking out at a sickly angle.  She gently touched it, feeling no pain.

“Couldn’t help it; had to make a hard tackle.”  He gestured vaguely toward her. “She’ll be a mess to deal with when her amulet’s power wears off shortly. Unfortunately, hers barely has any magic left; I had to save our stronger ones for our soldiers, after the war you put them through.”  He stared down Cassian for a long span before taking off, blasting the ashen floor in her face in a move she knew was intentional.

She didn’t have much time to dwell on his patronizing departure, however.  True to Devlon’s words, the amulet’s glow almost immediately died, and she stifled a yell as she collapsed, her shoulder beginning to burn with hot fire.  She felt Cassian’s hands around her arms, and she tried to shove him off with her left palm, earning a muted, but exasperated, grunt.

“For Gods’ sake, Nesta, let me do one thing. Please.” His eyes tore into hers, and only the agony she saw piercing back at her caused her to relent, reluctantly allowing him access to her arms as she scanned the pasture, noticing the elemental man had disappeared as she had assumed.  And as she bit her tongue down to keep the yelps and curses down when Cassian shoved her shoulder back into place, tasting the coppery tang of blood as her eyes watered from the blistering pain, she realized how restricted her life might become in the coming weeks.

And how unbelievably screwed they both were as a result.

~~

Author's Note

I apologize for the [very long] delay!! I know 18 months is a long time to restart updating a fanfiction, so I hope it reads continuous for everyone. As always, comments and critiques are appreciated. I hope everyone enjoys, and thank you for reading!

[myownpersonaldemons]

Self-Tober Prompt 8

Comfort

UF!Sans/Reader

Edit: didn’t mean to post this today meant to schedule it for tomorrow. Woops. Oh well.

Though, this one does have some warnings attached to it: mentions of panic attacks and a dissociative episode, mentions of sex as well.

It wasn’t as often anymore that your boyfriend would have a bad day. When the two of you first started dating, he had tried to pretend that they never happened, and at first, you had believed him. There was part of him that refused to admit any weakness and for a while, you had been blind to his anxiety, his self-doubt, his off days...and his fear.

It had happened slowly, and each time he allowed you to peel away a layer of his protective casing, you felt your heart ache for him. Sans was worried each time that the next thing you figured out about him was going to be the final straw that made you leave him, and each time you proved him wrong.  You’d kiss the hands he scowled at, you’d plant a kiss on his golden tooth, you’d cuddle him tight after a nightmare, you’d tell him you loved him (all of him) as often as you could, and you were there for him during his anxiety attacks or dissociations.

They didn’t happen often, but sometimes when they hit there was no telling when or where.

If they happened around Papyrus, the two of you would get him away from others in a way that didn’t point any fingers towards Sans’ panic. Or that he wasn’t fully there.

If they happened when it was just you, sometimes it was harder to get Sans moving. He listened to Papyrus without hesitation, after years of doing so it came as second nature to him. However, you weren’t so lucky, and you hated bossing people around normally. You didn’t like to use the type of voice that Sans would listen to when he was so in his head that he barely recognized your presence.

When you woke up to see Sans sitting staring blankly at the end of the bed, it wasn’t so surprising but it made your heart clench. Had he had a nightmare and you hadn’t noticed? They were normally violent causing him to thrash about or sometimes he’d wake to shout ‘NO!’ You slowly, and very carefully, sat up and stretched out your tired muscles before following his gaze. He was staring at your foot that had been uncovered during the night. You wiggled your toes but he didn’t respond to it. Dissociation then.

You checked your phone. Early enough that the two of you could go back to bed.

“Good morning,” you said softly, wiggling your toes. It was a bit weird to sit like this, but you didn’t want to take away what he was staring at. It could bring him out of it, but you found that more often he could enter a panic state instead especially if he didn’t truly notice the object disappearing. Something about different timelines that you couldn’t really wrap your head around.

“I’m going to hold your hand, okay?” you said, getting no response you shifted your hand slowly into his view. His eyes flicked down to it momentarily before returning back to your foot. “Is that okay, Sans?”

No response still.

You wiggled your fingers and his eye lights dropped down to the hand and you saw them slowly shift and focus on them instead. You lowered your hand to his and intertwined your fingers together. He continued to stare at them, and you sighed softly. “Love you,” you murmured before launching into a conversation about what you had planned for the day. All one-sided of course. He was still not focused on you.

“Papyrus is coming over later,” you added, peering over at him, “He’s going to cut all my hair off, and then we’re going to make you a wig out of it.”

There was the tiniest of head tilts.

Unexpected turn of conversation with a very unexpected set of circumstances.

Processing.

Then he looked over at you, his teeth pulled down in a frown.

“what the hell?” Sans grumped, searching your face for a minute. “i don’t want yer hair as a wig.”

“Yeah?” you said with a smile, leaning against him and pressing a kiss against his teeth, “Come on, you’d look dashing with a full head of hair.”

Another face, “yer not serious.”

“No,” you said shaking your head, “Paps is coming over but he wants to make dinner for us. Less glass and vinegar as per my instructions.”

Sans let out a long relieved sigh, and then rubbed at his face. “what time is it.”

“Five,” you hummed, squeezing his hand, “I’m still sleepy, wanna cuddle? You can totally hold my boob.”

He snorted, “when do I not?”

You grinned, then laid back down and held out your arms towards him. There was a second that he just stared at you blankly that you thought he was entering back into his dissociative state, but then his face softened and he adjusted the blanket. With a heavy flop, he landed on you knocking the air out of your lungs, and what little did remain you huffed out some giggles as he wriggled to find a comfy position. Then with as much dramatics as he could, he made a show about placing his hand over your boob and then giving it a squeeze.

“Honk,” you giggled, and he snorted.

“yer a fuckin’ dork,” he grumbled, “most girls’d moan, but no. my datemate honks when i grab her tit.”

You laughed and kissed his head, “don’t act like you weren’t aware of what you were getting into when you started dating me!”

Sans looked up at you, with that soft look that made your chest fill with affection, “yeah...and i’m the luckiest sunvabitch out there.”

“Nah!” you said kissing his forehead, “I am, with a datemate like you.”

His mood seemed to drop, and you cursed adding ‘like you’.

“yeah...like me,” he grumbled and you felt his hand shift from your boob and onto the bed. You immediately picked it back up and placed it where it belonged.

“Yeah, like you. My sweet, cute, gruff, grumpy datemate,” you said smooching his skull again, “and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“yer gunna fight me?” Sans asked, looking up at him and you narrowed your eyes.

“I could take you,” you said, knowing fully well that you could not, in fact, take on your boyfriend in a true fight. He’d kick your ass in two seconds, if you didn’t trip over your feet yourself. He chuckled, but you more felt it than heard it. “What! I totally could! Two seconds! Look at these guns!” you fake flexed, and he continued to laugh, “I am so tough!”

“hehehe...yeah,” Sans looked up at you, “as tough as a fuckin’ pillow.”

You fake gasped, “Take that back! I’m tougher than a pillow!”

“alright, alright, don’t get yer panties in a twist, yer as tough as yer stupid memory foam pillow,” he teased and you placed a hand over your face as you snorted.

“Oh no, my feelings. They’re crushed!” you bemoaned and then hooked a leg around his hips and flipped him onto his back before he could realize what you were doing. He blinked up at your in surprise before his hands went to your thighs, and ran them up to your hips. “See! Two seconds!” you wiggled two fingers at him, “now for my prize!”

You smooched his tooth. Then for good measure you peppered kisses over his entire face and then you straightened.

“hehehehe...seems more like i won,” he said, leaning up and kneading his fingers into your ass. You kissed his nasal ridge.

“Nope, because I’m tired,” you said pressing your forehead into his, “and it’s too early for you as well. Whatever would Papyrus think if I told him you woke up at...5:30 AM! To do adult things!”

“he’d point out that ‘SEX DOESN’T CONSTITUTE AS ‘ADULT THINGS’ AS YOU ARE IMPLYING IT’,” Sans said, mocking his brother poorly but getting the dry sense of retort down pat. You giggled against his lips, and felt his grin widen.

“Come on, we can get freaky later. I want cuddles without it ending up going anywhere,” you said before kissing his teeth gently. He grumbled but you knew he wasn’t actually put off that you didn’t want to have sex, and flopped down with you still on his chest. You beamed down at him, “I love you, so much, you big dork.”

Another grumble, but his face dusted with a red blush. “love you too, sweetheart...love ya too.”

You cuddled against his side, sliding your hand under his tank top to gently grasp one of his ribs. His own hand slipped under your sleep shorts and gently rubbed circles into your butt. His other hand rested over top of yours and he shifted to place his teeth against your forehead.

“thanks...by the way,” he mumbled quietly. You simply nodded.

“Anytime, you beautiful bitch.”

He snorted, “that’s my line.”

“You’ve never called me a bitch,” you pointed out, closing your eyes and nuzzling against his teeth. “You respect me too much.”

“yer saying you don’t respect me?” he teased, and you gave him a weak glare.

“No, now hush, I’m trying to cuddle my sweet, sweet datemate and hope it conveys how much he means to me,” you huffed, and he chuckled.

“love ya too.”

[dr-gloom]

Kintsukuroi

A continuation of Fall Apart, loooong overdue! Thank you everyone for being patient with me while I worked up the focus and motivation to write this. I hope you like it as much as I! <3

Fandom: Sander’s Sides

Pairing: none

Words: 1,207

Summary: Virgil is trying to recover from his soul-shattering breakup with Roman, reminded that the world won’t stop for his depression. He learns to pick himself back up and gains a nugget of wisdom from an unlikely source. 

Tags/Warnings: depression, Human AU, recovery, basically vent-fic-part-2

A/N: so yeah, just like Fall Apart, this is based heavily on real life. The only real difference is that I never met a Patton. 

Read it on AO3

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@hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @unbefuckinglieveable @punsterterry

To say that things got better would be a complete fucking lie.

In the remainder of his shitty summer vacation, Virgil only really left his bed to use the bathroom or eat when the hunger became unbearable. He slept a majority of the time, turning his back on the sunlight shining through his blinds in a mocking reminder that just because his world was falling apart, that didn’t mean the real world was. He was numb. And when he wasn’t numb he was heartbroken, or angry. He had no one to talk to about it because Logan wasn’t the most empathetic person out there and Roman still had him blocked.

Roman.

Virgil couldn’t stop asking himself what he’d done wrong. How had he screwed this up? He thought they were doing great, he thought Roman loved him. What was he talking about in that last message?

He wished he could just ask.

When he felt up to it, he brought up Tumblr on his phone to scroll through it and distract his mind. That became rather hard when half the posts were about people venting their problems and talking about how depressed they were, though. He remembered back when he was new to Tumblr and had just followed all of these blogs, how happy and dumb and funny everyone was. Now they all just logged on to use Tumblr as a personal diary.

He deleted his blog the next day.

Eventually he has to force himself out of bed to go to his fall classes. No matter how low he’s feeling or how much he hates himself he’s always been a good student, and it wouldn’t stop just because he was alonealonealone a little depressed. His classes gave him plenty to focus on to distract himself, making his mind numb, empty of free thought and only capable of answering homework questions or performing basic tasks like showering and eating.

Logan still messaged him at least once a week to ask how he was doing, if he wanted to hang out, or just to make sure Virgil was still alive. Virgil hardly ever responded, and when he did it was short one- or two-word answers. He didn’t want to talk to Logan. He didn’t want to talk about what happened and how he was doing and how his thoughts were cognitive distortions. He knew Logan meant well, but he just… He didn’t think he could deal with that right now, so he was all but avoiding the other, claiming to be swamped with school.

It wasn’t a total lie; this was his last semester before fieldwork, so he’d needed to shove as many classes into these sixteen weeks as possible. Eighteen units, the absolute max they would allow, and even though that usually meant homework all day every day, he still found himself with some free time. God, he was so bored.

So he made a new Tumblr.

He felt bad abandoning the friends he’d made on his old Tumblr, but he wasn’t interested in the same things anymore and they were all so depressed and…. He just. Didn’t need that.

He spent an obsessively-long time trying to think of a new URL. For some reason, he found himself cycling through the nicknames Roman had given him over the months.

doom-and-gloom? Nope, taken.

dark-stormy-knight? Nah. Damn.

surley-temple? Taken.

jack-smellington? Taken.

Taken.

Taken.

Taken.

Taken.

God dammit.

Virgil groaned, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Without thinking too much of it - it was probably taken - he types in ‘dr-gloom’.

Not taken.

He grins for the first time in weeks as he finishes going through the mandatory bullshit to set up his blog and find people to follow. Sure, he looks up some of the people he used to follow and follows them on this new blog, but he doesn’t tell them who he is.

This is a new beginning, after all.

He’s already decided that this blog will be more positive. He’ll be the positivity he wanted when he was hurting. It’s… out of character for him, but that doesn’t mean it can’t become a part of him. By being others’ positivity, he can be his own too.

As he finds more people to follow and his dash is filled with posts, something inside him - a gut instinct he’s learned not to ignore - tells him to message people. Not everyone; specific URLs stick out to him and he can’t help but feel like maybe the universe is telling him who needs his help. It’s stupid, and maybe a little egotistical, but after he sends the messages he feels…. Good. He sends good morning and good night messages to ten strangers-turned-family every day, regardless of how he feels inside, and little by little he finds that he’s not as depressed as he used to be. His daily ritual actually picks up his mood as he reads the responses from people and talks to them through PMs.

He does this for nearly two months before someone randomly messages him one day. The URL reads ‘pattoncakes94’, the icon most likely a selfie of possibly the cutest, bubbliest person Virgil has ever seen.

pattoncakes94 hey! just wanted to come say hi! i love those messages you send to people, it’s a great idea!

He takes entirely too long trying to come up with something to say that doesn’t sound too cheery, hyper, or creepy.

dr-gloom uh thanks

He face-palms. He sounds like a jackass!

pattoncakes94 oh! sorry, i should probably introduce myself, huh? im patton (he/him/his)! im 24, i looooove cats and puns and cookies and sweaters, and im a taurus!

Virgil snorts. Oh my god, this guy’s a dork.

dr-gloom thats cool uh im virgil 20 he/him/his i like music, nightmare before christmas, and deathnote and im a leo i think i dont really do the astrology thing

pattoncakes94 oh, thats okay! its just kinda fun, i dont actually believe in those daily astrology things what kinda music do you like?

The next few hours go like this, with the two men chatting about anything and everything. Virgil didn’t even know how two people could talk this long without the conversation feeling strained or boring. He hated small talk, but for some reason he found himself enjoying talking to Patton. The conversation flows seamlessly, Patton filling any possible pauses or lulls with his own little anecdotes or questions.

Over the next few weeks, whenever he’s in a bad mind space Virgil messages Patton. Patton never asks what’s bothering him or pressures him into opening up. Instead, he willingly provides a distraction and chats with Virgil until he’s laughing in the comfort of his room, heart light and mind clear. His favorite conversations were the ones that were the most random, but led to Virgil learning something new.

pattoncakes94 hey, you ever heard of kintsugi? also known as kintsukuroi

dr-gloom no…? what is it

pattoncakes94 it’s this japanese thing, it’s so cool! basically they take broken pottery and fix it with gold, silver, or platinum instead of throwing it out!

dr-gloom why? sounds like a waste of time

pattoncakes94 because they saw the beauty in those flaws in the cracks and breaks because just like people, it’s the blemishes that make them beautiful

[scoobydoodean]

wow cas stans are so touchy

I got a similar kind of ask about Sam stans a while back so let me just go ahead and say every lil group in SPN fandom has some pretty touchy people. Dean fans, Sam fans, Cas fans... (actor stans man don’t get me started on some of them holy shit) And sometimes people just make assumptions because of experiences within this subculture we have here that tends to give us all rather black and white perceptions of one another and perceive animosity based on “alignment”.

I mean we’re all a little touchy in different ways. I will follow someone then unfollow them for like a totally random headcanon I don’t like equivalent to if they were like, “Cas loves cheese” and it just rubs me the wrong way and I’m like “alright bye”. I think screenshotting people’s posts to mock them for perceived slights (then reblogged by people who didn’t realize it was sort of a malicious thing) is a bit much, but I have absolutely vagued about people like tons of times. I usually just try to focus on the ideas they present and don’t screenshot their actual posts and/or name them typically lol. Except hate anons because they are on anon and all hate anons should be mocked and what they say is often hilarious. I’m often trying to figure out how far I want my own vaguing to go and have toed and passed over that line just a bit a couple of times. There’s always room to adjust what you think is an appropriate way of responding to an idea you dislike going forward, taking into account the sort of cultural norms of the platform you’re using. (Like Tumblr is weird because reblogging someone to disagree with them is considered rude and will get you blocked so vaguing about things becomes popular instead which is a bad thing when it comes to discussion but a good thing when it comes to making your own space and just wanting to avoid wank—like in a way it’s considered rude to NOT vague about someone and respond directly instead, which is totally backwards from real life… just totally doesn’t work when your screenshot immediately pops up on their dash lmao).

[beheadingofmakai]

“Exorcist” Is A Strong Word

<- Previous Chapter

The girl’s fragile body heaved and thrashed violently as the Exorcists chanted while holding the unholy presence prisoner to shackles affixed to their own bodies, each of the men standing on opposite ends of the bed.

“...Ut inimicos sanctae circulae humiliare digneris...” the older of the two chanted as the younger focused entirely on subduing the demon’s attempts to resist with a smaller, simpler chant.

The room was dimly lit, just four candles providing both lighting and ambiance to the grotesque or extraordinary, depending on who ask, scene that unfurled in front of the terrified parents of the possessed girl, flanked by the two focused men, one tall and with wavy hair that rested in a ponytail atop his left shoulder, the other sporting shorter, dark red hair, and a far more stiff posture that spoke of inexperience and anxiety. The girl was held in place by two large, thick golden chains of light that protruded from the very bodies of the two men, a most fetid and unholy spirit attempting to resist their intervention, convulsing and shrieking in tones both audible and inaudible to humans.

“I-Is she fine!?” blurted out the concerned father of the girl, his wife holding him back and “shhh”ing him, urging him to be quiet as he was instructed. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing while my daughter is suffering like this!”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done, sir,” replied the younger Vinn, trying to sound as calm and pleasant as possible, as if he wasn’t wrangling a creature most foul by the tentacles. “My partner is almost done with the-- Oh, here it comes, one second, please, I need to catch it.”

“...You need to catch it?”

“Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri, Benedictus Dea, Matri Gloria!”

A blinding flash of light burst from the girl’s chest, and an ocean of pitch black darkness with dark red orbs that you might just mistake for eyes burst forth from her mouth, immediately being captured by Vinn in a small rectangular object, and just as fast as it came, it was gone. “...Eyup, that’s a good one, now let’s scram,” commented Bastian casually, slinging his coat over his shoulder and heading to the exit.

“...Jeez. Sir, madam, your daughter is perfectly fine now. She’ll be asleep for a couple of hours, but his work is as precise as he is rude, unpleasant, and smells bad in the morning. Now, I need you to come here for a second so I can give you the post-care instructions.”

“T-thank you so much, Mister Ingram! Our daughter is everything for us! Do tell us, if it’s any medicine or doctor, we’ll pay for it!”  the ecstatic mother raved, her tears of joy already streaming down her face.

As soon as they got close, Vinn grabbed them both by the back of the neck, a dull green light in his fingertips, and the couple’s eyes went white for just a second. “...Huh? Who are you? Do you have any business with us...?”

“I said that the toilet is now completely fixed.” remarked Vinn. “It shouldn’t need any further repairs. It gave us a hell of a bad time, and the smell was horrible, but we sanitized the place while we were at it. We’ll send the bill later, have a good day!”

“...Oh, right! The toilet, yeah, darn thing, kept clogging up for no reason! Why, we had some good chili some days ago, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it-- Oh, um, thanks a lot, Mister Ingram! See you around!”

                                                         ——-

“No one’s looking?”

“Nope. Let that bastard out. Imma let him have it.”

“Oh boy, alright.”

The back alley where they stood was a spacious, convenient space between two large buildings, both made of brick, with a large green dumpster on the side, and out of the sight of any city crawler that wasn’t looking for trouble. The backside of a large billboard promoting a popular soda brand hung above them as the older man spat on his hands, rubbed them together, and cracked his knuckles like a boxer about to despoil a champion of his belt. It was 2:34 PM, two men on the clock, two hands ready to guarantee the local hospital would see some action today, and two eyes that rolled at the outdated display of bravado, because, let’s face it, who the hell still spits on their own hands and rubs them together anymore? Only whatever few Pre-Amnesia cartoons that can be salvaged together do that anymore.

Vinn produced a cheap, common, and rectangular sponge from his breast pocket and squeezed it with all of his strength, a black sludge and a blood-curling scream oozing out of it. “OOWWW! Ow ow ow! Yo, hold on! No need to-- AHH! Please, come on, man, yeesh!”

As the viscous sludge hit the pavement, a vaguely person-shaped creature began forming as more and more sludge accumulated, until the sponge had been squeezed dry, and in the floor lie a young man, large and built, with broad shoulders and a body hugging t-shirt that flattered his physique. He’d probably look very dashing if he wasn’t already off the floor and against a wall, with Bastian Ashfield’s firm grip on his neck.

“Possessing a little girl, man? Really? What shitter did you come from?” barked Bastian as he turned him around and seized his wrist, pushing him face-first against the wall. “What did you do to her? Lie, you piece of shit, lie right now and give me the excuse I need to smoke your ass right this instant.”

“Woah woah, man, calm down! I didn’t do anything to her! It was just the ol’ vitality drain, you know? A man’s gotta eat!” cried the demon nervously, struggling in vain to get out of the detective’s grasp. “...I did play a couple of pranks on those old folks, but I didn’t harm no one, I mean, anyone, I swear!”

Bastian looked at Vinn, whose eyes were coated in the gentle light of Fallitur, the SSSD of True Sight. “...It checks out. He’s saying the truth. He didn’t do anything aside from getting nourishment and... Playing some pranks, I guess. This one reeks of milk, man. How old are you, 14?”

“Alright, perfect.” Bastian interrupted before the demon could answer, casually tossing him to the ground as he put his coat on. “Vinn, you remember what I told you yesterday? That I needed to confirm one extra thing with you?”

“Yes, and just as you did today in the morning, when you broke into my house in the middle of my breakfast, Bastian.” remarked the younger Exorcist with the slightest but realest hint of resentment in his voice, his delicious bacon and cereal interrupted by a certain hydromancer who stealthily got inside from a window. “...But you refused to say it because you need to be cryptic and vague and ‘mysterious’ in order to make up for lacking manners and a personality.” Vinn punctuated the word “mysterious” by doing quotation signs with his fingers.

“Where’s your sense of adventure and suspense, Ingram? Were you That Kid in school? The one that did sudoku during recess ‘cause he always lost at Hide and Seek?” -- Bastian laughed, since he clearly had gotten under Vinn’s skin -- “Well, whatever, look, you can handle sacraments and spells well, you can fight well, your heart is the right place, but I need one more thing outta you, one thing more important than those and, if you lack it, you are out of the game.”

Vinn was certainly irritated with his high maintenance and annoying partner, but it was true that he was very curious and intrigued about what this final requirement might be. “...What is it?”

“I need you to find this guy a job.”

“What?!” grunted the demon on the floor.

“What.” flatly responded Vinn.

“What~?” mockingly quipped Bastian, lifting his arms in mock surrender, saying it in a funny voice. “I said, you need to find--”

“But why do I need to find this guy a job?”

“Vinn, we are Exorcists. You remember what they taught you way back in the first year on the Academy? What is it that Exorcists do?”

“We solve crimes related to Mythics or magic, and we--!”

“...You seem to have remembered something.”

Vinn brought his hand to his mouth, almost ashamed of himself. “...It’s been so long... But yes, Exorcists... Solve Mythic and magic-related crimes, but they also serve as involved parole officers for minor crimes, which includes setting Mythics right, letting them know their rights, and assisting them in finding their place in society in a way that lets them live with dignity and a purpose.”

“...And assisting them in finding their place in society in a way that lets them live with dignity and a purpose”. Bastian said these words alongside Vinn, his mocking demeanor gone and his hands reaching for a cigarette. “...It’s definitely not unwelcome to know that you can crack skulls when you need to, and that you care about Mythics, but see, if you can’t actually provide this help to them, then I don’t need you. The Academy’s fucked up, ain’t it? You spend one class in the first year talking about the supposed duty of the Exorcist, and then the rest of it all is learning how to pulverize them, or worst, how to smoke them. It never comes back up, does it? Not in the entire god damn MAB-approved and cooked curriculum. Well, Vinn, if you are going to truly help me set this rotten MAB right, you are going to show me you can do the most important job: Helping Mythics out for realsies. Not ‘beating up Mythics’, not ‘gathering evidence’, but actually caring and showing concern for Mythics that deserve this help, that with just that little push, can find their place in this God forsaken city.”

“...” Vinn held his tongue tight because Bastian was absolutely right. The Mythic Affairs Bureau’s Mythic Law Enforcement Academy’s education was mostly based on immediately assuming Mythics were a threat to humanity, something that always bothered Vinn, but the fact that even then, all he could think about this current case was to just give the demon a warning and letting him go instead of doing his duty properly was enough to make shame itch from within his skin. Vivid memories of his time at the Academy popped into his head, all the spellcasting, all the sacrament learning, the weaknesses of Mythics, what items and elements were most effective at hurting each type, and among all of these, he had naught a memory of Mythic rights or how to properly help them. “...Oi, Bastian, generally speaking, how many Exorcists would’ve killed this guy for what he did?”

Bastian’s face grew grim. “...Seven out of ten, I’d say. They would’ve truly and well exorcised him instead of just pulling him out. This one’s weak, too, so they wouldn’t have bothered like this, definitely”. The demon, who had gotten back on his feet but had not dared make a run for it, gulped visibly. “I’m going back to the Office to interview our lovely necromancer nurse. Help this guy out properly. I’m not demanding you do this in a day, but put your truest and hardest into this. I want to see if you can really call yourself an Exorcist.”

As Bastian walked away, Vinn recovered his composure and approached the demon. Short, stylish black hair, tight black t-shirt, built physique, and jeans. He was dressed as the most generic Joe out there, but his particularly model-like physique set him apart, and he’d look handsome if he wasn’t trembling in his sneakers. The somewhat red eyes of the demon avoided contact with Vinn’s green own as he uncomfortably shuffled in place. It was easy to see that he was not exactly calm, alone in a back alley with an Exorcist who had just caught him red handed.

“Oi, calm down. My name’s Vinn Ingram, and honestly, I am not going to harm you at all. I don’t get kicks from kicking kids like you around, so come on, ease up, what’s your name?”

“...How could you tell I’m a kid? I am pretty sure I have the appearance of an adult male right now. Are you a really experienced Exorcist?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, totally, I’ve been doing this for a while.” responded the man on his second day of work. “I just know how to tell Mythics apart really well by now. Demons especially.”

“...Mathanac. 17 years old, almost 18. This is my True Form, though, I’m not trying to look older on purpose. Look, I realize what I did was wrong, so please, can we not do the smoking thing? I didn’t hurt anybody, just maybe slid a couple of ice cubes down someone’s trousers, and, um, maybe I printed out scary pictures and hid them behind the shower’s curtain... And...”

“...And?”

“Well, um, maybe I spun my head a couple of times to freak ‘em out.”

“...I can’t even be mad at you for that one, it’s a classic.”

“Yeah! See? So please, come on, man, just give me a pass here, I’ll really be on my best behavior! Don’t put me in a room with that other guy, please.”

Vinn scratched the back of his head. Interaction after interaction, he understood one thing more and more with each word that came out of anyone that ever mentioned Exorcists: They were feared, they were dreaded, and they weren’t welcome, not by the Mythics they were supposed to guide, nor by the Humans they were supposed to protect.

Turns out, this job wasn’t as rosy or as noble as initially expected, if you have basic decency and a moral compass. Though he had serious personality problems, that was the one thing Vinn did like about Bastian: It was truly luck for him to be partnered with what seemed to be one of the few decent Exorcists in the line of duty, if the comments of anyone he’s ever met so far on the clock and his own experiences in the MLEA were anything to go by.

 “...Look, man, I am not going to hurt you at all. We are kinda close in age too, I’m just 21. All I want to do is help you find your place in this city so you don’t have to resort to possessing people again, and so you don’t get in trouble again. Tons of Mythics live just fine and without causing trouble, so there’s no reason to believe you wouldn’t be able to as well.”

“...21?” Mathanac took a step back and stabbed Vinn with doubtful eyes. “...You just said you were a very experienced Exorcist, but you are just 21? Liar alert! You are trying to bamboozle me! Trick me, even!”

“Oh! No no, uh, it’s just--!”

     Of kindred spirits, ink stains, and the reassuring caress of purpose:                                 – Chapter 2: "Exorcist” Is A Strong Word –

“See! You are just another Exorcist that wants to have his kicks by smoking me the moment I decide to trust you!”

“Aah, crap, look, sorry... I’ll explain, I’ll explain, please believe me.” Vinn sighed deeply, nervously fiddling with his hands just slightly. “I... Have been around demons since I was a kid. I know what to look for when trying to identify their age.”

Mathanac looked less panicked but no less confused than before. “...You’ve been around demons since you were a kid...? Aren’t you an Exorcist? Isn’t it your job to put us out of commission?”

“Ahh, man, look, “Exorcist” is a strong word, I like to think of myself as a civil worker first and foremost, ‘cause to be honest, screw having to outright off Mythics for small shit, you know? It’s not fair. I try to at least do my part, it’s what I’ve always aimed to do, since the first day I entered the Academy.”

The demon was taken aback. Demons are creatures fundamentally made of emotions, and they can read the emotions of others better than they can read between lines. Mathanac sensed no subterfuge or trickery behind the words of the young Exorcist, no matter how hard he tried to. “...I didn’t think good Exorcists existed... You care about Mythics and demons for real, huh? You ain’t lying.”

“...I’d rather not get into it, but I kinda want to protect demons. Don’t tell my partner I said that, though, I really dunno how much I can trust humans.”

The demon laughed. “Aren’t you a human, though?”

“Yeah, I am, but I don’t know shit about them, haha.”

“...Haha, what? What kinda oddball are you? Just in whose care did I get put? Man, today’s wild, first I see a grown man scream like the shrillest kindergartener, and now I am face to face with an Exorcist who isn’t a full on dickhead!”

“Hey, better me than some human jerk who’d outright freaking smoked you, man.”

The two laughed, the atmosphere clearly more light than when Bastian was around. “...You looked and talked real stiff when dealing with your partner and the girl’s parents, but you are all loosened up now, it’s killing me. What’s up with that?”

Vinn chuckled nervously. “...I don’t know how to handle other humans too well, but demons are easy. You can just speak your mind, you know? No need to watch your words, ‘cause they understand you. Let’s get looking for your job, though, the sooner we are done with this, the better for the two of us.”

The demon and the Exorcist nodded, and off they went to the business district, but unknown to them, a pair of magenta eyes was fixed on them, having been watching them for a while now. Silent like the shadow of a ghost, the silhouette moved out, tailing them in secret.

                                                        ——-

“So, Mathanac, whatcha good at?”

And the first question was like a well placed hook right into the demon’s ribs. “...Ya think I’d be out here possessing children if I was good at anything?” 

“I’m asking what is you primary emotion. Demons are fundamentally emotional people, and there’s usually a main temperament to you from the moment you are born. We should start by picking something suited to your temperament.” advised Vinn, adjusting his coat and checking his phone. “I mean, it’d be stupid going to random places, hoping you’ll hit it off by coincidence, yeah? It’s better if we can reduce our options.”

Mathanac’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. “I truly have no idea. My parents got... Smoked by Exorcists when I was a baby, apparently, and as soon as I could start possessing people, the family that had me ‘till then sent me on my way. Never really had the talk with anyone that could’ve helped me figure this out.”

There was a moment of silence between the two men, with Vinn unsure of what to respond with when faced with this rather grim turn of events. “...Sorry to hear that, man. I, uh... Damn, sorry, I really don’t know what to say, I don’t want to patronize you, either.” The answer to Vinn’s condolences was a forced chuckle.

“Don’t worry too much. My parents were apparently pretty damn vile, so it was inevitable. That’s also why I never really do any harm to whoever I possess, I mean, if these two dedicated demons got smoked in the end, someone far weaker like me would get pulverized in no time if I were to lay one finger on anybody. I’m a coward by nature, so I’d rather not sign my own death warrant if I can help it.”

“That doesn’t make you a coward, but jeez, alright, I guess our only option is to go to random places and try it out. Alright, so, how do you feel about the food industry?”

The demon boy raised his hand. “Question! I meant to ask this before, but how are you gonna get me a job just like that?”

Pulling out his MAB-issued notepad from his breast pocket, the young Exorcist flipped it open and showed a list of names and addresses to the inquiring demon. “This is a list of places where, if we mention who we are, we’ll be given freedom to get you hooked with a job as part of our parole officer duty. These are mostly Mundane-owned places, but they know of Mythics and such.”

The MAB has many connections, even with people outside the world of Mythics. Even though the majority of people in Stroln are Mundane -- that is, humans that are not users of any sort of sorcery or sacrament -- some Mundanes do indeed know of the world of Mythics that lies hidden under the surface of the expansive city for this or that reason. Generally, these Mundanes are visited by the nice, cordial chaps of the MAB, who politely request, without any sort of threats or implied violence, of course, that they sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement that, if breached, can result in red stains on the carpet. These NDAs contain pretty severe restrictions, but these can be lessened through various means, one of which is agreeing to participate in the MAB Parole System, which allows Exorcists get jobs for their assigned Mythics, no questions asked.

“So that system is actually real? I had heard some people talk about it before, but I assumed it was just bluster.” exclaimed Mathanac in marvel. “Yeah, let’s go for a bite.”

“You’ll be the one cooking, smartass.”

Not ten minutes later, Vinn introduced himself to the owner of a small diner, and got the owner to give Mathanac a trial day immediately upon mentioning the MAB. Though not comfortable with the clear fear in the owner’s eyes upon hearing the acronym, it was a step forward for Mathanac’s rehabilitation.

“...Jeez, never thought the day would actually come...” the owner lamented as he opened a ledger and wrote some stuff.

“Pardon?” inquired Vinn. “How come you never thought the day would come if you are a part of the MAB Parole System? If you signed up for it, it is at least expected that you consider the possibility.”

“Eh. Everyone signs up for that for the benefits, since no one actually makes use of it. It’s the first time in years an Exorcist comes and brings it up, and the previous time it was brought up was when I was asked if I wanted to sign up for it. Just my luck...”

“...Please excuse me.” Stroln’s beauty and hospitality never ceases to impress.

                                                       ——-

“Alright, you get to wait some tables today. Play nice and you can keep the job.” explained the young Exorcist as he sat by the counter. “I gotta watch you and review your performance, so just do your best. The owner says he wouldn’t mind a mild demon like you on the payroll, plus, you got your looks going for you, which always helps in the service industry.”

“Alright, it’s worth a shot. It’s just knowing what each person wants and delivering it, right? Yeah, easy peasy, got this in the bag, dontcha worry!” Mathanac boasted, getting changed into the diner’s uniform and apron already.

The door’s bell chimed, and in strode a new customer, almost too conveniently, just in time for Mathanac to test his waiting mettle. The customer was quite the sight, as well, with striking magenta eyes, a head full of shoulder length white hair with her right lock dyed black, and most notably, a lilac t-shirt that exposed her left shoulder, albeit it wasn’t due to the shirt being designed with that in mind, but rather, it was too big for her. This would usually call attention by itself, but the most curious aspect of the t-shirt was the large ink stain on the front, clearly not part of the original article, which contrasted not too pleasantly with the lilac color of the clothes. With a smile and a joyful stride, she sat on a chair, looked at the menu briefly, and then looked at the Exorcist with expectant magenta eyes.

“Oi, on table 17, go get her order, man.” chided Vinn, prompting the demon to make his debut in the food industry. As he watched the demon and the girl talk, the Exorcist checked his phone and texted Bastian.

                                                                        Is the interview going well?

marvelous shes a dumbass but shes the real deal no doubt

                                                                       Mathanac is starting with his job                                                                        and he’s a pretty decent demon                                                                        so I don’t think this will be hard.

cool im glad youre calling him by name can’t stay on the phone much longer don’t get cocky though keep an eye on him                                                                        Alright, mom.

There was nothing for Vinn to worry about! In the time spent texting with Bastian, Vinn had been keeping an eye on his demon: Mathanac had taken the order, brought the seasoning and sauces, the girl’s drink, the whole deal. Why, just now, he had set down the noodle soup she had ordered! No problem, no dilemma, it was in the bag. Right up until she wanted to put some salt on the soup and the cap fell off, dumping a mountain of tiny white rocks on the noodle soup, accentuated by the snickering of a certain demon, whose laughter immediately ceased upon receiving a powerful finger jab in the ribs.

“You were doing so well! Why the hell did you think this was a good time for a prank!?”

“Haaa, oww, haha... Man, come on, there’s no sin in adding some... Spice to a meal!”

Finger jab and a cry of pain that, if put through a translator, it would read “worth it”.

“Salt’s not even a spice, dumbass. Ma’am, I’m so sorry, we’ll get you a new bowl.”

“Oh, no no! No worries, hmhm, it was pretty funny, no worries! I’ll pay for it, too. I’d like it wrapped for take out, please.” replied the girl with a gentle demeanor and a pleasant smile as she stood up and got close to Vinn. “Actually... That guy’s a demon, isn’t he?”

Vinn took a step back, surprised. “...Guess you are not a Mundane.” The girl simply chuckled and lifted her arms in mock surrender, answering by just nodding. “Ah, no, sorry, didn’t mean to sound accusatory. Vinn Ingram, Exorcist with the Seventh Office of the MAB. I’m helping this guy get a job, but...”

“Oh? An Exorcist actually helping a Mythic? I see! And this is the part where I get careless, lower my guard, you ask for my papers and send me to jail over some little bit of bureaucracy, right?” she prattled.

“Ahh, no, look, I won’t--”

“Chill, I’m just kidding. I know that you are really helping that guy out. I saw you guys before. I miiiiiight have overheard you, and decided to follow you.” -- the girl stretched -- “You got a little careless, I guess!”

“Oh, she totally heard us, haha. Some Exorcist you are,” taunted Mathanac, coming back in his regular clothes and with the take out wrap. “The boss fired the crap outta me, so I guess this is a good time to go to the next place. Ah well, food biz ain’t my thing, anyways.”

The young Exorcist pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, easy for you to say... Well, we’ll get going then, and I’d appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself, miss...?”

“Oh no no, I won’t snitch on you, no worries! In fact, I’m of a mind to come along. This should be fun.”

“Yeah, no, I can’t let a civilian get involved in an MAB affa--”

“Oh, guess I’m snitching, after all. Seventh Office phone number... +56 9 762--”

“Welcome to the group! It’ll be our pleasure having you come with us! Please don’t get me flayed alive on my second day of work!”

“...Second day...” “...Pff... Second day...!”

The demon and the girl, who could figuratively be said to also be a demon, said this in unison, one voice with concern, the other with palpable hilarity.

“...L-let’s get going.”

                                                       ——-

The sky of Stroln turned pink behind the three young adults. Step after step, they would find a new place for Mathanac to work at. Step after step, Mathanac would do a prank and get fired. Step after step, the girl would laugh and Vinn could feel his hairline receding and his life becoming shorter. What he thought would be an easy job had turned out to be a nightmare. On top of the very building by the back alley where they had technically met for the first time, atop the billboard, the three sat, taking a short break, mostly for the sake of Vinn’s nerves.

Cracking open a can of beer, the young Exorcist sighed and drank half of it in one go. “...Haa... Mathanac, you are going to give me a god damn ulcer.”

“Ah, look!” the girl exclaimed, pointing at another billboard from their vantage point. The other billboard had burns and scratches that made it impossible to read or make out in the slightest. “A Pre-Amnesia billboard, huh? It’s a miracle that relic is still up.”

“Oh yeah, I thought the same thing yesterday. I think that one is the same I saw. I guess no one wants to foot the bill for that one when there’s this one here.”

“Hmm? Is it rare for that burned-up billboard to be up?” Mathanac asked, apparently out of the loop. “I mean, they could just clean it and reuse it, no?”

“Looks like our little unemployed prankster isn’t too cultured,” teased the girl. “Do you know what Pre-Amnesiac things are?”

“Oi, buzz off, I was busy trying to survive these years, not learn the lore of the world, nature, and all things that surround us, oh mighty scholar,” jested the demon, always in a good mood, despite having been fired from 14 jobs just today. “What’s that about?”

Vinn threw the now empty can and produced another from a plastic bag nearby. “You see those burn marks on the billboard? They aren’t actually burn marks. No matter what you do, you cannot remove, repair, or erase them. They cannot be affected at all. It’s unknown what caused those immutable marks, but whatever they hide, it’s as good as gone. That’s what happened to everything when the Amnesia hit.”

“Mmhm! Books, movies, videos, virtual text files, photos, audio tracks, billboards, even the washing instructions in clothing... It’s all gone. Not only did humanity lose its memories when the Amnesia hit, it lost almost everything that they had made or accomplished, too. 33 years ago, that was one hell of a show, I bet. Imagine coming by one day and not remembering a thing,” followed up the girl, a more solemn tone replacing her usual upbeat one.

Mathanac gasped. “...Woah, what? I had heard of some amnesomething stuff, but did it really hit the whole world? And it just erased everything? That’s nuts...”

“Not everything,” Vinn explained. “People forgot almost everything, and most information was outright gone and inaccessible, but not all. There’s many theories, but the most widely believed one is that the more something was recorded or known, the more it resisted the Amnesia. That’s why we know we are ‘humans’ and that you are a ‘demon’, for example, or how we still know how to make stuff like the concrete mix for buildings. Had we truly forgotten everything, we’d have gone back to something that was apparently named the Stone Age. In fact, the Amnesia wasn’t all encompassing: There’s entire groups of people dedicated to reconstructing Pre-Amnesia things, and they have been able to fully salvage books simply by finding enough copies of it and piecing together what isn’t covered in those burn marks.”

The girl clapped and cheered. “It’s just as the nerd said! So basically, it’s weird that that thing has been there for 33 whole years and no one’s cared enough to take it down. Some people are pretty sensitive about Pre-Amnesia paraphernalia, too, so I bet more than a couple of people have complained about it.” The clapping, however, caused the girl’s already loose t-shirt to shift even lower on her left shoulder, and Vinn’s eyes couldn’t help but react to said shift, only to find what seemed like a tattoo next to the girl’s shoulder blade. He couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like a circular object wreathed in something spiky.

“Nice tattoo. What is it?”

“!” The girl immediately adjusted her t-shirt back and forced a laugh. “Ah, haha, you saw it. Yeah, um, it’s... Just some ink I got, just some tattoo, random impulse, really.”

“Cool acting. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” -- Vinn stood up after emptying his second can -- “More importantly, what the hell do we do about Math’s job?”

“...Mister Exorcist, you haven’t realized yet?”

Vinn looked at the girl with confused eyes. “Haven’t I realized what?”

“You’re going at this the wrong way. Your heart’s on the right place, I mean, if anyone had told me about an Exorcist that’s stuck by a demon through 14 disastrous jobs, I wouldn’t have believed it. Since you truly want to help this idiot, I’ll help. First, what has been the reason for his gold medal record in getting fired?”

The Exorcist scratched his chin. “He keeps making pranks. No matter the job, he keeps doing something mean but kinda funny, and that ends up getting him booted... Actually, now that I think about it, he was doing pranks on people when he had possessed the little girl, too.”

“What can I say? I like adding that extra oomph to stuff, man. It just ain’t me to do something serious.”

The girl had opened her mouth, but words were unnecessary when she noticed the young detective’s eyes, which were wide open, as if he had struck a realization. “...Seems you’ve realized it, Mister Exorcist! You were trying to fit a squ--”

“I was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole!” declared the young man, his vim returning, his eyes ablaze. “Mathanac, follow me, I want you to try something.”

“Huh. Sure thing, let’s do this.”

The three got off from the billboard, the sky already dark, but the day definitely not over, not just yet.

                                                      ——-

Mint Hill Street. Not a main street by any means, but one that does see a lot of pedestrian activity. Many shops, offices and apartments compose this hillside road, with busy people darting by and lo twenty four-seven. Today was a day like any other in this busy street, but with one main, loud, and colorful difference. Standing in the middle of a small crowd, a man in a bright red wig and a big red nose clamored to his loving audience. His oversized suspenders contained all sorts of artifacts of hilarity, and he seemed to be the one that had the most fun of them all, even if the audience was all smiles.

“Hmmm?” the colorful man expressed, upon noticing the not-so-smiling face of a little girl. “Why the long face, little fella? Did something happen?”

“Ahh... No, it’s nothing, Mister Clown, it’s just, the last few days I’ve been exhausted, as if something had been draining my energy... I’m feeling better now, but it was a couple of weird days, and I don’t remember much... B-but I am enjoying your show here!”

“Why, I feel like you are trying to bamboozle me! Trick me, even! With a face like that, you corner me, nay, force me to have to utilize one of my secret...” -- the clown exaggeratedly looked to both sides before coming close to the girl and muttering the rest -- “...one of my most secret techniques, just for you! Now, tell me, what’s your favorite animal?”

“I like cats!”

“The contract is sealed, little girl!”

The clown produced a balloon from his pants, inflated it, and began shaping it like a cat. “See,” the clown announced. “This fella’s name is Missifus, and he’s such a lovely cat! And he likes lovely little lasses that smile brightly! Now, where’s one such girl? Hmmm? I don’t see one...”

“Hehe! Me! Me!”

“Oh! Who are y-- N-no way! Are you the same little girl from just now!? What a radical change! Oh, this won’t do, this won’t do! See, Missifus loves girls who smile, but his family will get jealous if he leaves with someone with a smile this good!”

The little girl’s face was about to droop from the disappointment before the clown continued. “...That’s why they have decided that they will all come with you!”

In a flash, four other balloon cats of different colors appeared out of seemingly nowhere, crowding the happy girl with lots of cute balloons, which her parents helped hold as they all smiled in gratitude to the clown. The crowd cheered, and many coins and bills filled the outstretched blanket in the ground, where the audience was free to donate to the performer.

“Haha! I’m glad you enjoyed the show! Let’s call it a day for today, yes? See you around!” And with that, the clown packed his things and quickly left, disappearing into a back alley, where he removed his wig and nose, and came face to face with Vinn and the girl, who were cheering and clapping for him.

“I can’t believe I know a star! Please sign my shirt!” congratulated the girl, patting Mathanac’s shoulder. “No, but for real, that was pretty good! You sure it was your first time?”

“Eyup! Never done this before, but it felt so natural, and I feel so... Satisfied.”

“You gave one hell of a show, I’m impressed, man. You were the one having the most fun out there. So, it was the emotion of “laughter”, huh?” Vinn commented, writing on his notepad.

“It sure seems that way. I feel much better and more fulfilled than any time I’ve ever possessed anyone.”

“Demons can get sustenance in many ways, but the main and most effective way is to be exposed to the emotion that governs their being. So it makes sense that you would feel like you just had a feast from making so many people laugh. I take this to mean you won’t be possessing more people?”

The demon laughed and clicked his tongue. “No, sir, no more of that for me... And, Vinn? Thanks, man, for sticking with this idiocy for as long as you did. You had no reason to, but you did it. I swear I won’t cause any more trouble.”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it? Good Exorcists exist! Out of all the jokes I saw a literal clown make today, that one is the best one! Just quit that job and join Math as a clown already,” the girl jested and she playfully pocked Vinn in the ribs with her elbow.

“Jeez, I get it already... Man, it feels weird to be praised for just, like, not being a dick, haha. Well, that’s case closed, then. I gotta check in with you now and then, Math, since I am still technically your parole officer, so--”

“Yeah, no problem, dude, hit me up whenever, we can hang out or something.” interrupted the demon, having no problem with this arrangement at all. “I’ll be on busy streets like this one mostly. You can easily find me by looking for the tall guy with the massive red nose.”

The three laughed and then realized that it was already night. “Well, today was a pleasure, but I gotta get going. Nice to have met you, Mister Exorcist and Math! Best of luck!”

“Ah, wait! Thanks a lot for your help! I wouldn’t have made it without you!” Vinn quickly exclaimed.

“Damn right you wouldn’t, haha. Everyone has a role in this world, see? You just gotta figure out what it is, what’s that little something you are good at, and then, the road is easy. Well, see ya! I hope you help many more Mythics!” And with that, she was gone.

“...So what was her name, anyways?”

“Iunno. She never said. Well, Math, see you around.”

The city of Stroln was far from perfect. Crimes that affect both Humans and Mythics keep happening, unimpeded and shamelessly. Abuse of power is common, and in the end, you can only truly trust yourself and those close to you to keep you safe. But, today at least, Mint Hill Street was made a livelier place, thanks to a certain colorful man, and the man that helped him get there. 

Every wall starts with a brick, after all.

                                                      ——-

The large steel door covered in graffiti closed behind the lithe girl, who confidently stepped into the comfortable darkness, magenta eyes barely visible in the pitch blackness of this nondescript building. Far ahead, a little light finally could be seen, and near it, a man in red robes sat on a table, reading a book. The closer the girl got to the man, the stronger the scent of chamomile incense became. As she stepped out of the darkness and into the dull light, the man’s eyes turned to her, and he finally waved.

“Back late today, aren’t you?”

“Sorry! I kinda got distracted by something. It was an interesting day,” the girl explained, setting the take out wrap on the table.

The older man in the robes gestured for her to have a seat. On the table, two plates of hot food were ready to be feasted upon. “That’s great to hear! Tell me about it while we eat.”

The girl gasped and immediately took a seat. “Awww, Balthazar... You held off on dinner to wait for me? Thank you, ehehe...”

“Oh, it wasn’t much! So, tell me! You seem to be very happy.”

“Yeah! So, like, I came across an Exorcist cornering a demon in a back alley. I was ready to eviscerate him, when I noticed that he was actually helping him!”

The man’s eyes were wide open. “What, for real? Like, actually helping him? Hey, I’ve told you lying is pretty tasteless!”

“No no, for real! I couldn’t believe it either, but he was legitimately helping out the demon, so I joined them to see where it would go, and--”

“I see you two are enjoying a late dinner as usual.”

The elegant, feminine voice came from the shadows, from whence an alluring silhouette emerged. As soon as her words were heard, the white haired girl in the ink stained shirt held her tongue and looked away.

“...We are, Alkelda. Anything we can help you with?” said the man, quickly locking eyes with the elegant shadow.

“Four days from now, we’ll be conducting our experiment. I assume you know what this means, right?”

“Yup. You need your test subjects soon, right? Don’t worry, we already have it scheduled. We’re planning on getting them tomorrow, so relax. We are ahead of schedule.”

“Oh? My, it pleases me how efficient you and your... Partner are, Balthazar. I assume it’s just you two, as usual?”

“Yup. We’ll be going out to get them tomorrow. We’ll bring them here, so have the pens ready to receive them.”

“Mhmhmhm... Excellent. Well, enjoy your meal, Balthazar and Sacrifice. You have a busy day tomorrow, from what I can tell.” As fast as she came, the silhouette was gone.

If disgust had a shape, it definitely was the girl’s face right now. “...Can’t get used to that bitch...”. The man simply laughed at that comment.

“Just go to bed, and take it easy. It’s all in the name of clarity. We’re almost there, we can’t let personal grievances get in the way so far in the game.”

“Yes, it’s all in the name of clarity... Yes! Indeed! Yes! You are right! See you tomorrow Balthazar. Thanks for having dinner with me!”

The girl hurried to her room, and locked the door behind her. 

“...Everyone has a role in this world, see? You just gotta figure out what it is, what’s that little something you are good at, and then, the road is easy...”

Red robes that matched those that the man wore hung from a rack, beneath a large, realistic, almost grotesque full-head mask of a pig.

“...For some, that role is that of an entertainer that gifts laughs to those around them. This is admirable.”

A small jar of a bright liquid sat on the dilapidated desk opposite to her bed.

“...For some, that role is that of a seed of hope among a rotten crop, doing what they should, and yet, they don’t. This is admirable.”

A long baseball bat, inscribed with runes, leaned against the wall, next to the robes.

“...For some, that role is that of the ultimate sacrifice that will save all, in the name of clarity...”

A slender, pale finger ran across the repulsive mask.

“...This is admirable.”

    Of kindred spirits, ink stains, and the reassuring caress of purpose:                                 – Chapter 2: "Exorcist” Is A Strong Word –                                                        End  

                                           To be continued in Chapter 3: Neon War Paint.

[pandabearlikes]

Priceless

Characters: You x Baekhyun Genre: Romance, Slice of Life, Fluff Music: `*•.♩ ♪ ♫ ♬♥ .¸.•*

My friend spends her fortunes collecting limited edition items, shelving her precious children into containers and containers that span the breadth of her entire room. I sit there, mesmerized by each and every object, her dedication…counting in my head how long it must have taken, counting with my fingers how much money she must have spent...to realize I don’t quite have that many fingers.

Money. Every one loves money, those who say they don’t probably never realized that in this society, everything costs something. A homeless woman shakes a plastic cup in my direction as I race to get onto the morning bus for work.

-Deet- The machine beeps, invisibly withdrawing little bits of my blood and sweat. But I refuse to slave away like this for a manmade system...slave away for materials that will only dust over time. My friend says I’m not adapting, with the implication that one day even the slightest naivety in me will be tainted by the hunger for money, just as it has done with her.

A race. My friends tell me life is a race, a competition, a battle of who can pocket as much in the shortest amount of time with the shortest amount of effort.

“I want to train for a marathon,” I announce to a room of chuckles as they stare me from head to toe.

“Well, you still need money, lots of it even to sign up for the marathon,” they jeer.

I guess, that’s true. Everything costs something. Rolling my sore shoulders, I squeeze through the crowded bus to the exit located at the center of the bus. The little claustrophobic child in me thinks this way, I can escape reality when need be. With all my might, I cling onto the metal pole - an action of contradiction in itself. Escape reality, you say? Then why are you grabbing for dear life?

“Here, sit here,” a silvery voice offers as its owner stands up and invites me to sit down on the seat he once occupied.

I shake my head and turn away, closing myself off from the world that seemed so daunting and merciless. According to the philosophy, everything cost something so his kindness must cost something. And as a broke post college grad, emptied of anything remarkable enough to pay the riches, I settle to declining without a word.

The young man glances up at me, his lower lip protruding a bit, wondering why this strange girl seemed as though he had asked for her bank account number. But he shrugs, guides an elderly woman into the seat, and to my dismay takes the spot next to me. Unlike me, he nonchalantly crosses his arms over his chest and leans his back against the door. Out of reflex, I latch onto his collar and tug. The miscalculated force causes him to crash right into me. Wincing, I blink and peer up, right into his gorgeous puppy eyes. They’re soft but alluring. I’m not sure if I’m breathing anymore.

“It’s...It’s dan-dangerous to lean against the door,” I stutter in between allotted breathes.

Passengers push and pull, locking the two of us into an unfortunate cul-de-sac. The young man lifts an arm up, what he thinks is offering me a protective barrier at a comfortable distance. Instead, I misinterpret it as a flirtatious reenactment of the infamous kabedon move. He throws me a handsome smile and I immediately turn my back to face him. My heart fumbles between thundering out of fear and celebrating in joy to be in the presence of God’s most handsome child. Due to my lost trance, my grip on the metal bar had unknowingly loosened. I heave and fumble to latch on when the bus takes a sharp turn. Instantaneously, the nimble young man catches me by the waist.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” he reassures, taking my hand and maneuvering it back onto the metal pole. His touch is gentle but firm. I get lost in admiration at the smoothness of his beautiful hands that seem to mock my heavily battered and chapped ones. Sensing my discomfort, he eases his hold and moves his hand to the space directly above mine. Without my knowledge, a frown graces my lips.

“What stop are you getting off on?” the gentleman asks.

To my better judgement, I answer with honesty. Immediately, I internally reprimand my carelessness. So all it took was a handsome testosterone-filled human to make me drop my guard.

“Oh, same,” he replies.

“Re-really?” I stutter.

“I’ll protect you until then,” he half-jokes.

“Wh-what?”

“I won’t let you fall,” he slates.

No. Of course, I will not fall. I haven’t fallen ever. And I will not let myself fall…because the price of falling is far too much.

Yet, my heart responds with a gracious smile.

“My name is Baekhyun,” he stops me in my tracks when I dash as soon as we reach my bus stop. Rummaging through his coat pockets, he takes out a business card, blows off invisible dust, and hands it to me.

“How much does it cost?” is the first thing that sips from my lips.

Chuckling, he replies, “Free.”

“Free?” I respond, a bit shock, though my brain has already signaled for my hands to accept it.

“Except…” Baekhyun rubs the back of his neck and nervously jokes, “Maybe your name and number.”

My body jerks and eyes widen; I’m seconds from shoving the business card back into his precious beautiful hands.

“Name,” he corrects, “Just a name will do,” he backtracks after sensing my discomfort.

Nodding, I pay him with my name for his hospitality on the bus…a trade that made me feel guilty because it seemed like a lacking payment. But the gentleman accepts, complimenting on how beautiful and unique my name is…and that he’d remember it the next time we meet. As we separate, from the corner of my eyes, I catch him racing to get onto the adjacent bus…

“Byun Baekhyun. Financial Advisor,” the business card read. I cackle a bit at my own naivety. Financial advisor, just the person I needed but didn’t want. Just the wit I needed to get pass this roadblock in my life, but just the reason I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be calculated and sly and cunning, like a fox.

Perhaps, I’m not adapting well.

I catch my fingers bending and unbending, counting away.

Or perhaps, I’m already becoming more calculated than I think I am…

``

“Hey!” Baekhyun greets, cheerfully gracing my name with much more worth than I thought I’d ever mean to anyone, much less a kind stranger.

“Hi, Baekhyun-ssi,” I shyly bow. Already, my cheeks flush, betraying my interest, which growing up, my mother taught, would surely cost me.

Grinning at my reply, the young man automatically positions himself as my personal bodyguard. Today, I hesitate before spinning around. It’s a quiet but calm bus ride, just as I’ve always wished. I could sense a few times that Baekhyun wanted to initiate conversation but feared scaring me. Internally, I cursed my anti-social personality.

“Thank you,” I bow in gratitude and voluntarily hand him a folded up piece of paper for his kind services.

Slightly amused and incredibly curious, he accepts my payment. I flee away before I could see his reaction. But the buzzing of my phone right after answers my curiosity. A silly emoticon greets me as soon as I open the device.

``

“Mornin’ :)” Baekhyun texts me the next day.

“Good morning,” I reply with professionalism.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” he alerts.

“Okay,” I type back, rocking back and forth on my feet at the bus stop. Three minutes later, the bus arrives and to my dismay, my male companion hasn’t shown up yet. “The bus is here,” I message.

“Wait for me :(,” he replies.

“What do I get for waiting?” I automatically type. Instantly, I regret it, shoving my phone back into my pocket, because I realize I’ve really become more calculated than I had hoped. Slouching, I drag myself onto the bus. I’m midway through pushing through the crowd when I feel my phone vibrate against my thigh.

I fail to suppress a giggle when I open the message to a selfie of Byun Baekhyun’s handsome face. I spend too many moments longer admiring the photo that I forgot this is supposed to be the payment for my waiting. With a gasp, I dash to exit the bus but the floor beneath me had began to move. From the window, I catch a sprinting Baekhyun growing smaller and smaller until he is forced to give up in a fit of pants, huffing and puffing for air.

“:(,” he texts.

“Sorry,” I type back.

“Send me a picture of you,” he surprises me by requesting. Though hesitant, I figure it is to make things even. Since I failed to wait for him, despite his payment, I had to pay him back. Fixing my hair out of my face as best as possible, I snap a quick selfie and send it to him.

``

The next day, I arrive to a suave and yawning Byun Baekhyun at the bus station. At the sight of my arrival, he immediately straightens up, his entire stature beaming at my presence. Automatically, I bashfully turn away and out of habit, loop a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Mornin',” he chirps, rocking back and forth on his heels as if he’s just been gifted boxes of chocolate.

“Hey,” I reply back and make note, “You’re early today…”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to miss you— or I mean the bus again,” Baekhyun nervously chuckles, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A tinge of pink dusts his cheeks.

“I see,” I throw him a soft smile, oblivious to his stutter because I’m lost in a world of nerves, myself.

Naturally, we make our way to the doors near the center of the bus. He positions himself to stand guard over my smaller physique. Today, I surprise both of us by not turning away, though, I can’t seem to be brave enough for direct eye contact so I settle on fidgeting with the tassels of my coat and staring at his briefcase. Must be full of money or documents that easily exchanges for cash six times its thickness… I shake my head and frown.

“Hm?” Baekhyun dips his head to observe my expression. Instantly, my body jolts, my cheeks burn up at the close proximity. “Ah, the roads are a bit bumpier today, right?” he straightens himself and interprets. “The government needs to stop wasting money and drilling dayum holes everywhere,” he mumbles under his breath, which causes a giggle to escape from my lips. In turn, a grin spreads across Baekhyun’s face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” the gentleman requests at the point of separation.

“Mhmm,” I gift him a grin and nod. “What…what do I owe you today?”

“Hm?” he raises his brow, a little amused by the oddity of my calculations. Flattening his lips, he rolls his wrist and glances at his watch. “We both got here ten minutes earlier than normal. Care for some morning coffee to wake our brains up?” he suggests.

“Okay,” I nod in agreement. I tag along with him to the nearby coffee shop.

As soon as he made his order, I prance forth and almost shove the money in the cashier’s face. She blinks while Baekhyun attempts to push my hand away to pay with his credit card.

“I still owe you for today,” I remark.

Both his brows lifts and it takes him a few seconds to make sense of the situation. “You don’t owe me anything,” he answers, swiping his card through the machine. With his other hand, he personally retracts my outstretch palms and stuffs them and the contents back into my pocket. I blink and he throws me one of his cute puppy smiles.

“How much do I owe you for the coffee?” I question when he hands me one of the steaming espressos.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” he, instead, warns.

``

“Hi,” I beam. My little legs giddily kick back and forth at the sight of Byun Baekhyun.

“Morning,” he greets with a wink that causes my feet to almost lose balance.

“You’re such a good boyfriend,” an elderly lady compliments after observing Baekhyun holding his arm out to block a drunk man from collapsing over me.

The corner of his lip twitches. He turns away but from the bus door’s reflection, I catch his timid grin. I don’t know why I also don’t deny the misinformation.

~~

A season passes by just like that. Then another. With students out from school, morning hours on the bus become less crowded. Taking my hand, Baekhyun guides me through the aisle and we settle down on a pair of seats near the center.

“You’re extra cute today,” he teases.

I stifle back a giggle and turn away.

It doesn’t occur to me that our hands remained interlocked through the bus ride, until it was time to leave and he easily guided me to the exit.

``

“Mornin’, Beautiful,” Baekhyun grins, toothily.

“Good Morning…um, Hand…” I rub my neck, “…Some…”

The self-proclaimed body guard almost chokes on his coffee. I try to make a run for it because that must have been the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever….but the bus arrives. Baekhyun grabs hold of my wrist, slips his fingers through mine, and tugs me onto the bus.

``

“What’s wrong?” Baekhyun questions, figuring out that I was troubled as soon as I showed up at the bus station with inadvertent sigh.

“Hm…nothing…” I try to dismiss as we get onto our ride.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he casually counters.

Today, the bus is abnormally crowded due to there being a fair at the downtown area. Baekhyun and I automatically head to our spot near the doors. Holding onto my backpack straps, I continue to sulk. Only the scent of Baekhyun’s cologne instills hope back into me.

“Hm, what’s up?” my male companion questions, tapping me lightly on the tip of my nose.

“It’s not a big deal,” I ponder, chewing on my inner cheeks.

“Well, it’s bothering my Little Sunshine so it’s a big deal,” he concludes. My chest bubbles and tummy flip flops to the nickname.

“Just…just student loans…I’ve been paying for a year and the numbers seem to never move,” I admit.

“Ahh, I see,” my crush nods in acknowledgement. Unknown to either of us, his hand had naturally found mine with a squeeze. “I’m the same,” he informs.

“What?” my eyes widen, baffled by his statement. “How? You’re a financial advisor. Aren’t you really good with these things?”

Baekhyun lets out a chuckle. “Well, not really. I just try my best to come up with plausible financial agendas for clients in different situations. I don’t see myself in any tight situation to need to worry about my student loans just yet.”

I blink.

“Do you have a plan?” he squeezes my hand again and questions.

I nod, “Yeah, I’ve been paying for it monthly.”

“Then what are you stressing about?”

“Just that, it seems most of my friends aren’t in debt anymore and I’m just —”

“Don’t think about it that way though. Some people have parents that pay for them. Some had scholarships, some were lucky enough to nail high paying jobs off the bat. As long as you have a plan that’s yours, you are fine,” he reassures, “Go at your own pace.”

The frown on my lips flip. “I guess, you’re right.”

“Honestly,” he chuckles, “I’m not even sure how much I still owe. I’m on auto payment.”

My eyes bulge, “For real? I thought people in your field would calculate their money down to the last penny.”

The remark causes the finance grad to fall to another fit of chuckles. “Money isn’t that important to me,” he notes. I stare at him like he grew a horn at the center of his forehead.

That day, I watched as he rushed to catch the adjacent bus after he had thought I entered my work building.

``

“Mornin’, Babe,” he sneaks in the label that causes both of us to flatten our lips in attempts at suppressing our foolish grins. Instead, I playfully smack him on his abdomen. “aHH, my nutella abs,” he jokes, rubbing his belly.

Covering my smile, I skip ahead and head onto the bus. With a chuckle, my handsome beau tags along, slipping into the seat next to mine…also, slyly slipping his hand through mine. I surprise both of us by turning around with my eyes narrowed into slits. Baekhyun blinks.

“What? We’ve been holding hands everyda—”

“Why do you always chase after the adjacent bus right after dropping me off?” I interrogate.

“Oh,” he nervously rubs his neck and laughs.

“I Google Mapped your work place and you’re supposed to get off one stop before mine,” I continue with raised brow.

“Oh…hah…about that…” Baekhyun awkwardly shuffles his feet. “…because I just want to accompany you longer…” Cheesepuff. You cheesepuff!!!

I eye him half suspicious and half in awe.

“So you take the bus back, everyday?”

“Yeah, just one stop. I could totally walk but I’m lazy,” he shrugs. More like it’s take-the-bus-and-make-it-on-the-dot or walk-and-be-late-to-work…but he’d never admit it.

“That’s wasting money,” I lecture.

“Well, it’s worth it for me,” Baekhyun responds, bringing our intertwined hands up to his lips. He plants a sweet kiss on the back of my hand, sending butterflies fluttering in frenzy within my heart. Out of shyness, I turn away to hide my cherry red cheeks.

Though I’d rather deny, all my life I had been calculating. Calculating how many days I had left to live from the day the doctor held me in his arms and shook his head, calculating how much I owed my mother because she kept a journal of every penny she spent on me, calculating what percent tile I must achieve on the next exam to receive an A on my report card, calculating how much I owed a friend for their kindness, because it always had to be more from my side or else it’s not fair...or else I’d drown in heedful guilt...calculating, calculating…forever calculating.

...when there’s nothing to count. Life didn’t work in numerals.

“Sometimes, the best things in life are priceless,” Baekhyun explains.

I spin my head around to respond. Our lips meet. A half gasps rid from my throat but I hold my breath and stay still as a statue. Grinning, Baekhyun closes his eyes and eases us into a deeper and more affectionate kiss. Like a broken record, the brain races to calculate, but my heart wins the marathon. Slowly, I begin to kiss him back.

“Like you,” he finishes, pressing his forehead against mine, “One of a kind and priceless.”

A/N: Dropping another one-shot ^-^ If you guys haven’t, go read Busy Nights ft. Sehun, the scenario I posted yesterday.  

Hope you guys liked this scenario!  Do you guys want more?  Be sure to follow, like, comment, spam my inbox :)

Story Master Archive

[quills-and-quaffles-blog]

Perfect (George Weasley x Reader)

"Request:  ‘2 & 11 for george weasley from the prompt list? thank you! 💝’ ~ @bookthrills

A/N: Here, we see an example of my horribly inconsistent writing style. I spent far too long looking up idioms to see whether they were recognised worldwide or if they were just British or Scottish. Also, I’m an idiot and hit Save as Draft rather than post, so this is up later than I had originally expected.

Summary: Your plans to prank your boyfriend backfire when you inadvertantly ruin his plans to ask you a huge question.

Words: Approx. 1292

Prompts:

2. “After everything you did, you’re asking ME to apologize for snapping at you ONCE?”

11. “Be my wife.”

Hiding behind the counter, you waited expectantly for your boyfriend to return. George had spent a lot of your relationship pranking and teasing you- in fact, the very reason you got together in your fifth year was the aftermath of one of his pranks- and, today, you had decided that it was time for a little revenge.

It had taken you a while to set everything up, but you were proud of the fact that you had come up with this plan all on your own. Many people seemed to think that you were the level-headed, sensible one in the relationship, and that was true to an extent. Still, the people who seemed to think that you weren't any fun because of that were absolutely wrong- you loved a good practical joke as much as the next person and you could get... creative with your pranks too.

Still, though, the classics never hurt either. You had spent the best part of the morning making sure that everything was perfect- you had spent the best part of the morning making sure that everything was perfect- you had rigged a large bucket of feathers mixed with rotten eggs above your kitchen down, ready to rain down on your unexpecting boyfriend when he returned home from work.   While there was a lot worse you could do, you thought that this would be the perfect way to have a bit of harmless fun with George. The plan was set. It was simple really- a Stickfast Hex to make sure that he stayed in place and wouldn't move during the feather downpour, and that was basically it. Nothing to it. Simple yet effective and all that, right?

"I'm home!" You heard George shout from the entrance. As a grin spread across your face, you had to place a hand to muffle a laugh in anticipation of what would happen. "[Y/N]?" George called again after a short pause, wondering why you weren't responding to him. His footsteps got closer, and you smirked excitedly as you heard him turning the doorknob.

Peeking out a little from the counter, you silently cast a Stickfast Hex on your boyfriend, securing his feet in place. As he looked down, confused, a shower of the feathers and eggs rained down upon him, coating him whilst he stood frozen in place.

You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of George standing there, unable to move, with feathers and rotten eggs covering his clothes. It was this that alerted him to your presence in the room- in the downpour, he obviously hadn't noticed you peeking out slightly from your hiding spot.

"[Y/N]..." He said slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure how to react to what was going on. Finally, you fully emerged, still chuckling from how well your joke had gone. However, the smile started to fall from your face when you saw that George's expression wasn't anything like you had expected- when you were planning the prank, you envisioned your boyfriend standing there, laughing along with you, or teasingly mocking and criticising your lack of imagination when it came to your pranking methods; but the George in front of you was doing none of these things. Instead, he was standing there with a face like thunder, looking thoroughly unhappy.

"Uh... what's wrong?" You questioned cautiously, beginning to regret your actions. You had just thought that it would be a little bit of fun, but right now, it seemed like you had just triggered an argument.

"Well, if you hadn't noticed, [Y/N], I appear to be covered in feathers and eggs. And rotten eggs, at that." George snapped sarcastically, causing you to be taken aback. You frowned slightly, scoffing.

"What's your problem? Have you forgotten how to take a joke or something? That's unlike you. There's no need to get so angry with me- I was just trying to have a bit of fun. Or have you forgotten what fun is too?" You quipped back, crossing your arms across your chest.

“After everything you did, you’re asking ME to apologise for snapping at you ONCE?” George retorted indignantly. For a moment, confusion clouded your face. 'Everything you did'? Surely he wasn't just talking about the feathers incident here. Yes, there had been times when you hadn't taken his pranks in the best nature either, which had led to arguments between the two of you, but you thought that you two had resolved those conflicts.

"Look, [Y/N], I'm sorry," George said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, "I'm just... I guess that you could say I had plans for things to do today that didn't really include being covered in a disgusting mix of rotten eggs and feathers." He trailed off with a chuckle, making to move towards you to apologise properly. It was at this moment you realised that you still hadn't cast the counter-spell for the hex you had placed upon him, evident by the fact that it was impossible for him to move his feet even an inch. Mumbling something which could be interpreted as an apology, you hurriedly cast another spell and released your boyfriend.

He took the opportunity to dash forward and wrap you in a hug, spreading some of the feathers and rotten eggs to you. You let out a shriek, but his arms just wrapped around you tighter, until both of you spontaneously broke down into laughter about how ridiculous the incident seemed to be.

"You got even, at least." You said with a grimace, looking down at the mess that now covered both of your clothes. Still, a small smile spread across your face as you looked back into George's eyes, glad that the pair of you hadn't descended into any sort of fight. You were about to cast a Scouring Charm on the pair of you, when something that George had said earlier snatched your attention. "What were those plans that you had today, anyway?" You questioned, genuinely curious.

"Well, that's..." George said, appearing to be nervous. Something resembling a blush crossed his cheeks, which only piqued your curiosity more. When you raised an eyebrow to urge him on, George only sighed.

"I really wasn't expecting to do this with the pair of us covered in rotten eggs and feathers, but here goes." He said, taking a deep breath. You watched as he filled with something in his pocket, and your eyes widened as he drew a small box from it. Was he going to...?

"[Y/N] [Y/L/N], I love you. I've loved you since the first time we ever interacted- since the time you charmed my hair to change colours for a week in retaliation for Fred and I pranking you." The memory couldn't help but make you grin, and you felt your heart pounding with every second that passed. "And, well... I was wondering if you would do me the honour of spending a lifetime with me. Be my wife." He concluded, opening the box to reveal a beautiful, shining ring.

Almost immediately, you squealed with joy. "Yes! Of course! I love you." You practically shouted, your heart swelling. George grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger, before securing you in yet another embrace and further dispersing the mess on your clothes between the pair of you.

"Sorry if the whole feathers thing ruined the moment." You murmured as his arms wrapped around you. You felt the vibrations of a chuckle from your now-fiancé, who pulled back, looking you straight in the eye.

"For us, it's perfect. As long as it's us, it'll always be perfect."

[ihavereadandagreetothetermsofuse]

Day 9: Bell Collar

 <<Day 8 // FF.net // Ao3

This is a chapter fic in the works, but I thought it fit alright with today’s prompt. A continuation will be posted to my ao3 or FF, then the final chapter will probably go to day 17.

It could get worse, and he’s not going to pretend like Murphy’s Law doesn’t hold shackles to his wrists. He told Adrien. Plagg told him he’s sick, he needed to be healed, and what does Adrien do? Gets ear of LB and floors it.

So when he transformed into Chat Noir and leapt off for the roofs, you can imagine his surprise when his efforts sent him maybe five feet off the ground before he careened down, only to land perfectly on his feet.

He lifted his hands - raven clad fur paws - and turned his head in time for a new tail to flick his nose.

“No way!” He exclaimed— yowled a meow into the school.

“Ew!” Chloé sneered, lifting her hands up and away as she pointed. “Sabrina! Get this filthy stray out of my sight!”

“Chloé!” He meowed.

Sabrina took off her bag and swung. It connected with his side, and he didn’t need any more of an incentive to scat.

Sabrina screamed as he dashed by her. A pitch that grated painfully against his senses. The moment he could, Chat hid under a bench, peering wide-eyed at the giants stomping above. His heart raced, he needed to calm down. The sounds, the sounds. Too much. He closed his eyes, and after two awkward attempts, cupped his ears. Calm down. Calm down.

Ladybug, the name flew by and his eyes snapped open. Alya gestured excitedly with her phone to Nino as they passed. “That was incredible! And I got grade A footage. Ladybug’s at the top of her game,” she cheered, “smashed Laughter Lines in seconds! Views on the Ladyblog are up! ”

“What kind of villain sends victims into a laughing fit? Not cool.” Nino grumbled.

Alya patted Nino’s shoulder with a mock-pout. “Still sulking?”

He shrugged her off. “My side still aches, ugh, I need to lie-down.”

She laughed. “If you say so.”

Chat slumped onto his paws. Ladybug’s fine, thank goodness. He slowly rose to his feet, amazed by the sense of balance, and shook himself off. The bell at his neck surprised him, he pawed at it, noticing a light collar attached to it. Okay... at least he looks owned. Does that make this any better? ...anyway.

First he tried to simply release the transformation, dead-end. Then he searched for some form of Miraculous to remove, but found nothing.

He extended his paw and claws, shouting, “Cataclysm!” (a mew echoed through the trees in an empty park) He admired his new little weapons, but nothing more.

Chat growled. He scratched the ground, pouncing around, shredding grass till he collapsed from exhaustion. He flopped onto his back and called, “Ladybuuuug!” Chat pouted, murmuring, “your precious kitty’s an idiot.” He got up to go begrudgingly back home, and started at a giggle.

“Never seen that before.”

“Marinette!” He shouted.

“Eek!” She fell from a crouch to her bum. “N-nice kitty.”

His ears folded despite himself. “Sorry,” he mewed. He sat and waited, trying to seem as innocuous as possible.

She tilted her head. He lied down onto his paws, and mewed.

Suddenly Marinette cupped her cheeks. “Aww!” She glanced back and forth before taking out a sandwich and plucking off a bit of cheese from the contents.

“Marinette,” squeaked a small voice, Chat’s ears flicked to it. “I’m starving, and you’re wasting your lunch break with a kitten.” A red being slumped out her purse, and he stopped breathing. “Typical.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Tikki, Chat Noir didn’t even show up.” She haughtily raised her nose. “Your argument is based on flawed logic.”

“Marineeeeette!” she groaned. “This Caaaat!”

“Hush, eat my sandwich if you’re so desperate.”

The red being—Tikki sprang into her bag with delight, earning a fond smile out of Marinette. Then she looked at him, still holding the cheese. Marinette lowered it invitingly. “Here kitty, hungry too?”

Chat dumbly took the morsel, green eyes locked with blue, he chewed mindlessly as she beamed. He’s sure his tiny kitten heart couldn’t handle this, legs jello, he would have fallen had he not already been down. Her hand went from a small daze-inducing scratch at his cheek, to an electrifying caress from his head to back. Muscles involuntarily reacted, and suddenly they were magnets. His back arched into her, but his legs refused shortly after, and he flopped back onto his chin.

She laughed behind her hand, a gentle melody to his sensitive ears. Eyes lidded, he gazed at her in a stupor.

Then a bell rang, and it scared him to see the color drain from her face.

She tugged her pigtails. “I’m late!”

“Marinette!” he cried after her. “Wait!”

“Bye kitty!” she shouted over her shoulder.

“No!” He got to his feet and dashed. “I’m Chat Noir— Adrien, Ladybug!” Ladybug. His heart skip a beat in the midst of a samba. She crossed a street with cars and thunder-herds of footsteps and he leapt back, curling away as he cried. “Ladybug! Help me, I’ve turned into a cat!” She turned out of sight. “Marinette!!!” He panted. His mind whirring around the double meaning. She’s real. Ladybug is real, he can touch her, and she’s sat behind him from the start! And she can help him, she has to be able to, she can do anything!

Given a moment he knew school had to end eventually, and she would come waltzing home. He admired the Boulangerie Patisserie before him and sighed, contented. She lives next to the school, she sits behind him. So close, so real, so touchable, and he’s not getting over it anytime soon.

With the coast cleared, he trotted to her home doorstep and sat adamantly at the entrance.

Thunder cracked.

His ears folded down, the first droplet hit him, and it rained...

But that’s okay. She’ll show up, fix him - and really - being wet is the least of his worries.

It’s when the sun began setting did he realize she probably wasn’t coming back. The rain only worsened, he sneezed, shivered, and regretted not searching for her instead. Chat had long since curled into himself. But this is okay. No one’s expecting him anyway. Gorilla isn’t picking him up today, nothing scheduled, all that is expected is that he’ll walk home, and do the same tomorrow.

Easy.

No worries.

Ladybug will fix it.

———————

Chat startled awake at a shove. His sense of balance betrayed him and he twisted to lie on his paws, a swift movement that jump started every new ache in his body. He groaned before blinking up at— Marinette!

“Kitty!” Marinette harshly whispered, drenched and panting. Her pigtails drooped from the rain, she crouched over him, and he suddenly felt very awake upon spotting a cut at her cheek.

“What happened?” Chat chirruped.

She lifted him onto her lap, warmth, and he almost drifted back to sleep. Safe.

“You’re soaked,” she breathed.

“Hypocrite.”

When she jittered and struggled to stand, he felt a zap to wake and try to look her over. The angle proved that effort fruitless, so he impatiently waited as she entered her home.

“Marinette,” her mother called from a room over. Marinette planted herself against a wall, hidden, except for her face around the corner. “I heated up some dinner after you said you’d be home soon. It’s in your room. How was that project you had to stay after for?”

Marinette said a bit too cheerfully. “Fine! We - uh - got a lot of research done on our particle physics paper.”

Even in his sleep riddled state, that sounded far from right. They went over particle physics weeks ago. Still. Ladybug’s a good liar. That’s something to keep in mind.

“Okay, good,” her mother said, a smile in her voice.

When her footsteps faded, Marinette tip-toed down the hall, and wrapped Chat into a cozy towel ball before creeping to her room.

When she set him down, he protested out a meow, but obediently stayed as she ruffled his fur dry. It enveloped his being, and only bits of light cracked into his cocoon before she left him settled in a pile. He peeked out to catch her slumping over an open drawer, her clothes dripping, making a puddle on the wood floor. His heart withered at the sight. Chat needed to help her, but was too tired himself. Helpless, he watched her. A longing pushing down his chest as he cursed his new body.

“Is it still bad?” Tikki asked, circling Marinette.

“Yeah,” she rasped.

“You shouldn’t have forgotten the Lucky Charm.”

He blinked. An Akuma? But she handled Laughter Lines fine, Alya said.

Marinette pulled things from her drawers in quick succession. “It’s fine. No one else got hurt.” She groaned. “Except the tinsy little power outage over three fourths of the city.”

“Marinette...”

“It wasn’t fair. The Inductor shocked my yo-yo.”

Inductor? A second akuma?

“Where was Chat Noir?”

Chat huddled away into the towel.

“MIA,” Marinette puffed, pushing from her knees to her feet, holding a set of pj’s. “I hope he’s okay.”

What?

“Why do you say that?” Tikki questioned.

“That cat loves being a superhero.” She smirked. “More so than me. I don’t think he’d disappear for no reason.” Marinette glanced at Chat. And he clung to some far gone hope that she recognized him, but found no glimmer of familiarity. “He’s not moving, but keep an eye on him, Tikki?”

Tikki nodded and Marinette disappeared down the trapdoor.

———————

“I think the kitten’s upset.” Tikki announced as Marinette stepped in, a towel hung over her shoulders. She gritted her teeth with each step, reaching the top to look at the kitten; the picture of despair. Ears folded, he stared at the floor in a daze, a sad black puddle on her chaste. She wondered briefly if pets could be akumatized.

“Oh no, I forgot! He got drenched too!” Marinette put a hand to his body. “Is he sick— geez, he’s freezing! I’m such a ditz, Tikki, what do I do?!” Her body protested wildly, but Marinette lifted the limp kitten to her chest. “He’s gonna die!”

The kitten mewed indignantly, but it came out cracked.

“Relax, Marinette,” Tikki soothed. “Give him a warm bath too, maybe that will help.”

Marinette didn’t respond. She flew down the stairs and shut them behind the washroom door. Only pausing when she had grabbed the doorknob, and it sent an electric jolt from her head to soles. She turned the shower dials with a wince to the temperature she used earlier, before lowering the kitten in.

“Please be okay,” Marinette begged his half hooded gaze. She propped his head onto a dry sponge momentarily before rolling her sleeves. Using a cup, she doused him in warm water. Only daring to breath when a pur reverberated around the tub walls. Given a few minutes the kitten padded to the deep end of her slanted tub and plopped down. Keeping his head above water, he mewed through a pur and pawed in her direction.

She giggled, relief evident.

In his playful efforted, the bell at his neck jingled.

“A collar.” Marinette turned the bell in her hand, quirking a brow at the design she knows she’s seen elsewhere. “But no name.” She dropped it. “It’s a fancy bell. You have to belong to someone...”

And his tail sparked. Panic seized her heart like her ribs discovered how to give it a hug, when the current of electricity traveled across his body. Limbs awkwardly thrown about the tub, Chat Noir took its place, smiling up at her.

Marinette sucked in a deep breath - and inherently knowing - Chat Noir whipped the towel from around her neck and pressed it to her lips before she screamed her lungs into raisins.

Her hands came to his, yanking the towel away to hiss, “you’re a cat?” She flailed her hands. “An actual cat?!”

“If m- my lady purrfers it.”

She spun the towel into a whip.

“No! N- no wait!” His hands drew between them. He watched his arms move like watching a movie in slow motion. Lethargy kicking in from the cold. “My kwami, P-Plagg, he was s- sick. I transformed, and I shouldn’t have, because what a transformation. I’m sorry, this- this isn’t how I wanted to find out either...” He growled at the inelegance of it all. “Agh, I’m an idiot. But... um,” his hands fell to his lap, splashing slightly, and she didn’t know those leather ears could droop. “I kn- know you’re not happy, but I’m glad to ha- have found you, Ladybug.”

She huffed, hands pushed onto her knees as she looked away. She’s trying to be upset, but he’s shivering, and being sincere. That added to her exhaustion brought a sigh. Best to deal with this later.

New objective in mind, she cupped his cheek, heart flopping like a land bound fish when he nuzzled his nose into her touch. “Well... if anyone were to find out, I’m glad it’s you too.” Marinette praised herself for not pulling away, and instead went to his neck. What she thought was a safer area to check for fever, until his hair stood on end, and he looked at her like—

“You- you’re still freezing,” she told him before her tongue got any dryer. “I know the suit’s waterproof, warm up through the shower.”

He waited.

“Well?”

“Oh,” he toyed with the knobs. “Privacy?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re fully clothed, Chaton. Besides, I leave, and my parents ask why I left the water running.”

He shrugged, drawing the shower curtain to a close. “No peeking!”

Day 10>>

[doublel27]

Bedtime Stories - Ron/Hermione

Title: Bedtime Stories

Fandom: Harry Potter

Ship: Ron/Hermione

Summary: Young Rose wants to hear the story of how her parents met, Hermione just wants to go to bed. 

Based on this prompt: http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/115706758104/imagine-your-otp-has-a-young-child-and-one-night

"Mummy, how did you and Daddy meet?"

Hermione smiled at Rose as she leaned over to tuck her daughter in.  She pulled the covers up tight, her belly brushing against the flowery spread.  Days seemed to get even longer the further she got into her second pregnancy.  Laying in bed with her current book on the history of wand making was the dream she was having right now, and she wanted to get to it now.  "We met at school, sweet," she reminded Rose, running a hand over her daughter's riot of chestnut curls, "Now you've already had your story. Time for bed."

"We didn't meet at school," Ron corrected from the doorway.  He leaned against the doorway casually, still in his Auror robes.  "It was on the train to school."

Hermione sighed before turning to face the doorway and glaring at her husband.  Her bed was getting further and further away.  It was going to be an age before she could separate the inseparable father and daughter.   "My question wasn't even where, it was how!"

"Well, Rose-o-mine,” he began, pushing off from the doorway and crossing the floor, “I had just met your Uncle Harry."

"Ron."

He paid no mind to her, crossing Rose’s sunshiny bedroom.  Hermione had told Ron that she wanted to give their child all the light that they had lost in their own childhoods.  So they had given her butter yellows and cool blues and a room that made you feel like nothing could ever be sad.  The bed often reminded Hermione of a cloud, soft and fluffy and warm.  

"I was sitting across from him, just so," Ron continued, seating himself in the chair Hermione had just vacated, grinning at their daughter.  For her part, Rose sat up, grinning right back at her father, the carefully tucked in sheets now rumpled at her waist. "And we were talking about magic and I told him my brothers had been teaching me a spell."

"What spell?" Rose asked, leaning forward, a grin forming across her face, exposing the gap between her two large front teeth.

"Anyways, as I was about to cast it--” Ron looked up from his tale, conveniently leaving out the fact that the spell wasn’t a real spell.  He waved his hand in her direction, “Hermione, go into the hall and pretend you're coming into the train car."

Hermione’s hand came to rest on her back which was beginning to ache as she sighed, "Ron."

Concern bloomed in his blue eyes and Hermione hoped that he would cut off the story. Ron stood and came to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.  Her hopes were dashed however, when he said, "No, you sit and be me.  I'll be you."

Hermione lowered herself in the chair, glad to be back off her feet. Ron, for himself, moved into the hallway.  “As I was saying, I was about to cast the spell.”

Ron motioned at her, and Hermione picked up one of the stuffed animals that was on Rosie’s bed. This one of the ones that Luna had made, it was purple and gold and had large floppy ears and tiny wings.  Hermione couldn't remember the name of it for the life of her; something that had been featured in the Quibbler. Instead, she pretended it was Scabbers.   Well, Peter Pettigrew, really, but this had been before they had known better.  Peter Pettigrew wasn't really a bedtime story anyways.

Hermione gave Rose a conspiratorial grin, as she had always imagined Ron had been looking at Harry before she had poked her head in. “Oh, I have done loads of magic.  My brothers have been teaching me on the side.  Let me show you.”

“Oh!” Ron said, entering dramatically with a high-pitched voice that sounded little like her own. “Are you doing magic?  I have memorized every spell in our school books and can tell you the entire history of Hogwarts, having read Hogwarts, A History for fun.  It took me one afternoon.”

Ron blinked at her, as Rosie giggled. “Well, go on then. Let's see it.”

Hermione waved her imaginary wand at the imaginary Scabbers and muttered, “Something, mellow, turn this rat yellow.”

Ron broke character, shaking his head. “No, no, that's not what it was. It was Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” He looked at her for a long moment and then pointed at fake Scabbers again.

“Oh, for Heaven's sake…” Hermione rolled her eyes, but hid her smile as she affected a lower voice again. “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

Just as had happened in real life, the stuffed mystery animal remained unchanged. Rosie was looking at the whole scene with avid interest. Her brown eyes darted between them both.  

“Are you sure that's a real spell?  It isn't very good, is it?” Ron stared at the not-rat with disappointment and disgust. “I have tried simple spells at home and they've all worked for me.  I am sure you’ll get one to work soon.”

Rosie giggled again at her father's voice. Hermione pretended to slouch in her seat, her arms crossing over her now giant breasts. “It worked at home.”

“Well, let me know if you see a toad. Neville has lost his.” Ron affected a hair flip and turned to leave.

“I swear Harry, it worked before.” Hermione grumbled, to a non-existent Harry.  She shot resentful eyes towards the bedroom door. “She doesn't know what she's talking about.”

Ron came back in the door, and grinned at her. “You make me sound quite slow.”

“You make me sound quite obnoxious,” Hermione shot back, love infusing her voice. And at the time, that was how they had felt, she supposed.

Hermione tried to shove herself out of the chair.  Rocking back and forth made no real difference.  With a frustrated huff, she tried again, but instead found her husband’s speckled hand reaching out for her.  

“That's it?  But it doesn't sound very nice.  How did you fall in love?”

Ron leaned over and pressed a kiss to their daughter’s light brown forehead. “That is a much longer story, Rosie that involves trolls in bathrooms, balls, canaries, and adventure.  But your mum is tired because it is past the baby’s bedtime. So, next time, maybe I’ll tell you about the time Uncle Harry and I accidentally locked Mummy in the bathroom with a troll.”

“You didn't?!” Rose gasped and looked between the both of them. “Mummy, he didn't really?!”

“He did.” She tucked an erstwhile curl behind Rose’s ear, thinking back to that long ago day.  “But he didn't know I was in there and, most importantly, he came back for me. Your father has always come back for me.”

Looking back at him, she saw that there was the hint of blue tears hiding in her eyes. Hermione took Ron’s hand, which gave hers a squeeze.  Together they walked across the soft carpet towards the door.

“But I want to hear about the troll!”  Rosie’s voice was somewhere between a shriek and a whine.  

Hermione just gave her a smile.  “Goodnight, darling,” she said, before closing the door definitively as they stepped into the hall.  

Hermione whispered to her husband, “I think she was hoping for love at first sight.”

“It wasn't that, certainly,” Ron responded, giving her a large grin as he whispered conspiratorially.

“No,” she said, leaning past her belly to press a kiss to her cheek, “but I think it was something much better.”

Ron smiled at her softly, that face that tended to remind her he had a romantic nature underneath the bluster that made him Ron.  His free hand came to rub the mound that had become her belly. “Let's get you and the bean in here to bed.”  

Letting go of her hand, his arm came around her back, and Hermione leaned into his tall, strong form.  Together they began the shuffle down the hall that her gait had become.  One never would have thought from that first day with the rat, they would become what they are.  

“For your information,” Hermione corrected him, pretending that she wasn’t as sleepy as she felt.  The arch tone he used to mock in first year had come into her voice. “I plan to read at least a half-hour.  I have that book on the history of wand-making.”

“I recon that would put me to bed within five seconds, but you have your time now. But if you would like a history of the making of my wand--”

“Ronald!”

She couldn’t pretend shock even, as she found herself giggling helplessly against his body as they continued into their bedroom.  

“No?” he asked, laughter rich in his voice. “Another time then.”

[dumbestpersoniknow-blog]

The Path to Avengers: Endgame. Part 12 of 21--Ant-Man

Observations and opinions. Feel free to disagree. I ain’t trying to convince you of nothing. Ant-Man begins flashing back to the 80s. Hank Pym, the original Ant-Man, doesn’t get along with Howard Stark. Pym has created a juice that can change the very fabric of reality. In other words, it can make things small. His protege wants to make things small for evil purposes. He must be stopped. Pym isn’t up for the fight, so he recruits Scott Lang, a burglar with a heart of gold, to do the tiny heavy lifting for him.

For years, all I knew about Ant-Man was what I learned from Garrett Morris playing him on Saturday Night Live. Morris said he could shrink to the size of an ant and still have the strength of a human. Then the other superheroes mocked him for having the strength of a human. That all changed when the announcement came that Edgar Wright had been hired to write and direct Ant-Man. Wright is one of the most creative and exciting directors working today. He was an inspired choice. Giddy-up!!!

Let me recommend a video to you lovers of film:  The late, great Every Frame a Painting did a piece on how Edgar Wright towers above other modern comedy directors. They compare and contrast his movies to other comedies. Wright knows he’s working in cinema and he knows how to use all of the cinematic tools at his disposal to imbue his movies with life and imagination.  It’s on YouTube. Search for "Edgar Wright - How to do Visual Comedy". It’s good stuff— even though it barely scratches the surface of what Wright does. But clips are taken from R rated movies, so prepare your sensibilities. 

Onto Ant-Man’s title: Marvel does Iron [space] Man or Ant [dash] Man and Spider [dash] Man. Whereas, DC is pretty consistent about letting no daylight shine through in their compound nouns, e.g., Batman, Superman, Aquaman… Although, if they were truly consistent, she would be “Wonderwoman”. 

This is the first new character to get its own movie since The Avengers formed— except for the Guardians, I guess. This is the second first new character to get its own movie since The Avengers formed. And after the epic Age of Ultron, Ant-Man is a nice downsizing in scope — in more ways than one. This pattern is repeated later, going from Infinity War to Ant-Man and the Wasp. Both seem like a chance to catch a breath and have a few laughs.

Speaking of funny, how can you not like Paul Rudd as Scott Lang? He has a nice, easy, natural charm. He’s a likable actor and an unlikely superhero. This is also the first time we see a Marvel hero as a parent with a child. A child child, that is. You know, of childlike age. It’s nice to see and immediately gives the hero stakes worth fighting for. 

As I’m writing this I’m realizing that Hawkeye had kids in the previous movie. His kids were just kind of thrown in there, weren’t they? I just watched Ultron a few days ago but I have no mental image of his kids. Now that I think about it, they should have been used to better effect. Total extinction of the planet was at stake and I don’t remember Barton being concerned about his kids. He did look at their picture during the final battle. Am I forgetting something? Am I being unfair? Lang’s little girl is a major part of his motivation. That is new. And that makes him more relatable than other characters.

Anyway, back to speaking about funny, Michael Pena might have the best comic performance in a Marvel movie. Maybe. There's a lot of good ones, but he's a solid contender.  In fact, some of the TV ads that came out after the movie was released focused on him. Well deserved. 

Heyley Atwell, Agent Carter, is the first and only person to be with the two different Howard actors, Dominic Cooper and John Slattery. But that’s not too surprising since the only other character John Slattery had previously been seen with was Tony as a tyke in Iron Man 2. As noted in The First Avenger, Bucky had no scenes with the younger Howard. Civil War hindsight being 20/20, that’s a missed opportunity.

Michael Douglas is the first in a series of actors to get the de-aging treatment— Robert Downey Jr. in Civil War, Kurt Russel in GotG II, Samuel L. Jackson and Clark Gregg in Captain Marvel, Michell Pfeiffer and Laurence Fishburne in Ant-Man and the Wasp, and Zoe Saldana in Infinity War. 

Scott Lang gets a job at Baskin Robbins. I wonder if he works at the same Baskin Robbins as Saul Goodman. Son of Zorn is the Baskin Robbins customer!!! I hope his dad becomes an Avenger for Endgame. They could use the help- and I hear they have some openings. Also, what happened to Son of Zorn?  It was a funny show.  

Edgar Wright has a trilogy of movies called the Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy-- Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz and The World’s End. It’s about as loose of a trilogy as it can be. It’s a trilogy because in each movie the someone eats the same fictional brand of ice cream. Wright should have had Lang working at a Cornetto Ice Cream shop instead of Baskin Robbins to turn the trilogy into a quartet. Quartet? Is that what's one more than a trilogy?

I love Falcon’s cameo. Returning characters appearing in unexpected ways is one of my favorite things about these movies. Although, I do have a problem with how he arrived on the scene. I can buy a man shrinking to the size of an ant. I can buy a man controlling ants with his mind. But Falcon responding to a sensor that is set off by ants? That I cannot abide. Maybe they have high tech pest control at Avengers HQ.

I wonder if Edgar Wright ever had Captain America in his script. He had worked with Chris Evans on Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Brie Larson is also in that movie. That's both Captains. Martin Freeman is in all three of Wright’s Three Flavours Cornetto trilogy. David Bradley is in two of those movies. He gets killed off by Red Skull in the beginning of The First Avenger. Wright has a long history with MCU actors.

The biggest problem with this movie is the Hank/Hope relationship. The conflict between them is deep-seeded, complicated and should be emotional. But It's mostly in the backstory. And the backstory is all done with exposition. Then it's resolved with dialogue. It’s not the least bit visual. Hank leaving SHIELD is done with a flashback. Janet disappearing after going subatomic is done in flashback. 

Hank says Hope never looked at him the same after Janet disappeared. Why didn’t they show a glimpse of that in flashback? Hope had the deciding vote to cast her father out of his own company. That sounds like a crushing moment for Pym. Why isn’t that in flashback? This whole subplot couldn’t be less cinematic if they tried. This isn’t Edgar Wright’s typical style at all. This is the kind of laziness Every Frame a Painting contrasted against Edgar Wright’s work to make him look good. This is very disappointing.

Do I come across as not liking this movie? I have mostly quibbles. I love this movie. It’s loads of fun.

I like that Lang says, “Our first move should be calling the Avengers.” Pym responds, “This could change the texture of reality. Besides, they’re probably too busy dropping cities out of the sky.” Hank Pym created Ultron in the comics. He better hope that texture of reality doesn’t change too much. He’s not blameless in another reality. 

Earlier, Scott flies across a newspaper with the headline “Who’s to blame fo Sokovia?” Fun tidbit. 

The ability to control ants creeps me out a little. I can’t stop thinking about Killgrave. He is a great, creepy villain in Jessica Jones. His mind-control powers are a big part of his creepiness. I wonder if the ant world sees Pym and Lang as their Killgrave. To deactivate a bomb, Janet had to go subatomic so she could go through solid titanium. That small, how was she big enough to deactivate the bomb? I want to understand.

Hank Pym likes to remember his wife by looking at a picture of her hat. If they ever do recuts of these movies like they do with Star Wars, they should insert Michelle Pfieffer into that old picture of Hank and Janet. It’s a little odd that Hank’s favorite picture of his long lost wife doesn’t include her face.

Although this movie is a lot of fun, after reading Edgar Wright worked on it for eight years, I have to say, the directing and editing is a disappointing. I mean, Baby Driver came out just two years later and it is filled with verve and visual delights. Clearly, the director had much more of passion and panache in the latter's case. In comparison, the directing style of Ant-Man leaves the charisma of the actors to carry the movie—which is fine.  They do it well. 

Speaking of which: Michael Pena drives the last scene with more of Luis' storytelling. In the last bit of dialogue in the movie, he alludes to Spider-man. This is the first hint of Marvel’s most popular character. Marvel had been wrangling over rights to Spidey with Sony for years. He’s coming home. As an aside, there are a couple people in Wright’s Hot Fuzz with their faces painted like Spider-Man. It was almost prescient, like it was meant to be. Wait. What? Who’s Peyton Reed? Stan Lee Cameo— Bartender lip syncing to Luis’ story. Mid-Credits Scene— Hope gets a suit Post-Credits Scene— Sam knows a guy Returning Characters— Howard Stark, Peggy Carter, Falcon, Captain America, Bucky

[smallforone-blog]

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Attention!:

Some of my muse’s thoughts and behaviors are problematic. He is a victim of emotional neglect and sexual abuse, from a toxic household, and has developed deviant sexual and social tendencies in response to this trauma. Notably, he exhibits some narcissistic and sociopathic traits, has a poor/flawed understanding of appropriate sexual behavior, enjoys manipulating people, mocks/criticizes/verbally abuses others especially when stressed/defensive, possesses low empathy, and passes blame to excuse his behavior. Depending on when in his timeline he is being portrayed (before or during/after intensive therapy in third year high school), these facets may be more or less pronounced, controlled, or acknowledged by him.

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I may not follow back for myriad reasons all regarding my personal preferences (muse identity, characterization choices, writing style/ability, frustrating blog layout, missing rules/info, etc). Please do not take this personally. If this happens, you are still welcome to initiate interaction with me in any way, IC or OOC!  Also, if I do follow back, I definitely want to RP with you!

I will likely unfollow and decline to interact if you have too much OOC drama/fandom hate/anti behavior/bullying/callouts/discourse/politics/worldview on your blog. HUGE pet peeves of mine. I repeat, I do not support callout culture.

I am very uncomfortable with interacting with duplicates of my muse. It is absolutely my own failing and insecurity, but even just reading about others of the same muse triggers my inferiority/superiority complex, and I feel very sensitive. I wish it were not this way and could better interact with my fellow muns with good taste in muse, but this is currently not the case. Again, nothing personal is intended, but I will most likely not be able to interact with the blogs of duplicates for my own personal comfort. (This is 100% not the case for other fans of the muse or meta/fanfic writers; come to me!)

Multimuse blogs generally make me uncomfortable for various reasons, so unless I make a rare exception, I probably won’t follow (though I repeat you are still free to interact with/follow me).

I operate my muse based on what I feel is in his character to do at that moment. Sometimes that makes planning difficult, because he may not respond to a circumstance in a way I anticipated. Sorry if things do not go as planned. But I do also love plotting and overthinking things, and I think the more we communicate about what’s going on, the more we’ll both be on the same page.

I am willing to play scenes including sex/smut, gore/violence, angst, horror, abuse, torture, my character’s death, etc., and there will likely be somewhat disturbing content like this on this blog, especially considering his personality flaws and history of abuse. They will be tagged with “cw:” followed by the label.

I have severe depression and social anxiety with unpredictable mood/energy/motivation swings. I have a history of sporadic activity sometimes, and I know that is inconvenient, sorry! Also, in general I’d tell you I am slow at responding.

I may drop a thread due to general life anxiety, lack of ideas, or loss of inspiration, my deepest apologies. Don’t feel bad and do feel free to continue interactions with my muse in the future!

If you are RPing smut with me and I do not know your age, I assume you are above the age of consent. I am uncomfortable with roleplaying smut with underage individuals, so please refrain if you are under age 18.

What I Appreciate:

I am a huge fan of thorough communication. Notably, if you are planning on attempting to kill or torture my muse, it would be nice for some notification of this (either in the post/tags or in a message) at least one post beforehand.

Let me know if something I’m doing in a thread with you is making you uncomfortable. I myself am comfortable with exploring some very dark themes. I will do my part to check your blog rules, and I apologize if I am ever forgetful about anything mentioned.

Please try to refrain from controlling my muse’s thoughts and actions (unless that is your muse’s quirk; ask me).

Please try to remember to start a new post instead of reblogging an ask post over and over. I literally do not care, but some people whose dash I may show up on do care, and I’d rather give the people what they want.

I would rather non-RP blogs not reblog my RP threads (but following me and ‘liking’ them is totally okay)! Headcanons I’m going to say are generally okay to reblog, because I appreciate that others enjoy them. Just don’t steal them for your own muse or anything--like, especially the really specific/original ones.

I am not an artist and none of the art on this blog is mine. However I do edits on various images from time to time, usually tagged as such if significant enough. If you are the artist of something on my blog and want it taken down, message me! Similarly, I find it unsettling for others to use my significant edits meant for my muse in particular as their RP blog dash icons, so please don’t do that; I...think that’s fair and makes sense...? ? If you’re not sure, you can totally ask me about it.

What Is Acceptable:

Always feel free to send me an ask, IM, or communicate in our RP thread if you have something to say or ask. Or if you just have a random comment! Seriously, anything.

If it seems like I’ve forgotten about a thread or neglected to respond and you you really want to continue it, feel free to message me to remind/ask about it.

Let me know if there is something you want tagged, and I will try to accommodate with what I see as reasonable.

I am 100% cool with us engaging in more than one thread at once. Do it.

Pretty much all the memes in my #memes tag are always open. Meaning as long as you specify which one you’re referencing, you can send it in any time, even if I reblogged the post ages ago.

I selectively accept OCs and characters from other fandoms. It would be nice to have a little background on them first (either in a message or a link to info), especially if I am unfamiliar with the character or fandom (just assume I am). I may not be capable of responding if I don’t have enough knowledge about what I’m doing.

I am okay with roleplaying total AUs (as in, a completely different setting), but it is not my default preference. The best way to go about seeing if I’m interested would probably be to message me.

#info is my tag for posts with further information about my RP tendencies, habits, and preferences. Reading those is absolutely not obligatory but just there in case you want to know more!